by Trish Morey
Oh, God, surely not that.
Her senses were at fever pitch. Nobody—but nobody—had ever touched her there, and he was going to with his …
His fingers gently parted her and, ‘Oh, God!’
His tongue flicked hot and hard against a tiny nub of flesh that seemed to hold an entire warehouse of nerve endings and it was as if he’d just provoked every one into life.
Oh, God.
And then he swiped her again and she wished she was lying down, because all the sensation in her body was centred there and there was nothing left to make sure her knees would work.
She planted her hands in his hair, her fingers tangling in his waves, clutching him as he played her, flicking and circling, circling and flicking, needing stability in a world not only teetering on its axis, but flashing in bright colours.
The water cascaded over them, steam enveloped them and the temperature built to fever pitch and she wished he would stop but she wanted more, and he gave her more, with his lips around that exquisitely tight bud of nerve endings, sucking, inviting, and she cursed that weapon of sinful seduction that was his mouth.
Cursed it and blessed it as the colours intensified and the world teetered some more, and she hovered on an exquisite edge of nowhere.
Until she felt his hand—there—and the press of a searching fingertip at her core, felt the push and slide of intrusion and the strange unworldliness of it, and the strange auto-clenching answer of her muscles.
He seemed to hesitate then, his mouth stilled on her most secret of places, but it was already too late, her muscles already constricting, the colours brightening and the world already spinning out of control and there was no stopping them.
The orgasm slammed into her and cracked her head back hard against the wall. She didn’t feel a thing. All her feelings were centred on the series of tidal waves that burst from her core and slammed into every part of her, leaving her limp and dazed and her body humming. And she was glad Franco was there to hold her, or she might have otherwise slid to the floor in a sodden, strength-obliterated mess.
She sagged against him like a rag doll as he turned off the taps, still too dazed to speak, still buzzing with the discovery that such pleasure existed, exquisite and intense, and the wonderment that if he had done that with his mouth, how would it feel to have him inside her?
He wrapped her in fluffy towels and lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed in the next room.
Soon she would find out.
He dropped her on the bed a little more unceremoniously than she would have preferred. And then he turned and headed straight back to the bathroom.
Through the open door she could see him give himself a quick rub-down with a towel before flinging it on the floor, and pulling on his underwear. A cold fear gripped her heart and woke her from her daze.
‘What are you doing?’
He thrust his long legs into his moleskins. ‘What’s it look like? I’m getting dressed.’
She sat up, still wrapped in towels. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘When were you going to tell me?’ he said, pulling on socks and boots. ‘Or were you just hoping I wouldn’t notice?’
She pulled the towels up tighter around her breasts, fear pulling what was left of her warm glow to shreds. ‘Notice what?’
‘That you’ve never done this before.’
She blinked away at moisture suddenly welling in her eyes. She knew she was inexperienced but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be quite so obvious. ‘Was I that bad?’
He growled in frustration as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders and did up the buttons. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?’
‘Why should I tell you?’
‘My God, Holly—’ he pulled on socks and boots ‘—because you’re twenty-eight years old. Nobody would expect you were still a virgin. What happened with that man anyway?’
‘What man?’
‘The rich one—the one who only wanted the vines or something.’
‘Who the hell told you about him?’
‘Josh did. He was warning me not to hurt you.’
‘Oh, my God.’ She put her hands to her face, mortified that not only the details of one of the most humiliating episodes of her life was being discussed between the menfolk, but that men were being warned off. Great. No wonder she was still a virgin.
‘So I never for one moment imagined you’re a virgin. I mean, you’re twenty-eight years old. Nobody’s still a virgin at twenty-eight.’
She might be a virgin but she wasn’t some kind of freak like he made out. ‘You know this for a fact, do you? Or is it just that you Chatsfields have different priorities to the rest of us mere mortals. At what age are you expected to lose your virginity? Eighteen? Twenty? Or do the tabloids prefer you lose it even earlier?’
‘That’s rubbish.’
‘How old were you, Franco?’
He shook his head. ‘My family has got nothing to do with this.’
‘Why? Your family permeates every part of this deal. Your family is the reason I didn’t want this deal in the first place. How can I leave your family out of it?’
He tucked his shirt into his jeans and bundled up her clothes from the bathroom floor that he tossed onto the bed beside her.
‘This is about you and me. Nobody else.’
‘So if it’s about you and me, and nobody else, then why can’t you make love to me?’
‘Because you’re a virgin, Holly.’
‘So what?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘What?’ That was no kind of answer at all. ‘So if I wasn’t a virgin, you’d be making love to me right now?’
He grunted a response, neither acceptance or denial, as he threaded his fingers through his still-damp hair, looking anywhere but at her. ‘I should go pack those cartons on the truck.’
‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why does me being a virgin make any difference? You wanted to make love to me. God, you practically did. Why is it now a problem? Are you afraid of virgins?’
‘Stop being so melodramatic. I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t mess with them. Get dressed.’
He was serious! He was actually going to walk away. ‘What do you want me to do? Beg?’
‘I want you to put your clothes on. We’re leaving.’
Dammit, he could not do this to her. Not now. She’d been so close. So damned close. Talk about slamming the door before the horse had bolted.
Holly leapt from the cover of her towels and for the first time in her life didn’t care that she was bare or exposed or naked, because she was so angry. Besides, perhaps he needed a reminder of what he was missing out on.
Tremulously she stood naked in the centre of the room, her hands open by her sides.
‘You wanted to make love to me,’ she said, offering herself to him.
His eyes danced and flickered around the fringes of her. ‘Sure. Right up until I found out about your condition.’
‘For God’s sake, Franco, it’s hardly a condition! It’s not like I’m pregnant!’
‘It was a mistake!’ he said. ‘Now put some damned clothes on and let’s get going.’
The scar at his side ached. With cold, Franco told himself, although he knew it was the pain of a thousand mistakes. Sleeping with virgins was right up there on the top of the list. He’d made that mistake once and he damn well wouldn’t do it again.
Virgins were needy. They gave up their bodies and then they wanted blood in return. Promises. A lifetime of commitment all tied up with a happily-ever-after bow.
Virgins were trouble.
Michele had never accepted that they shouldn’t be together for ever. If she’d come back into his life saying it was just for Nikki, they might even have made a go of it, but she’d taken her daughter’s illness and Franco’s match as proof that he should never have left her in the first place.
‘You were my first,’ she’d reminded him constantly. ‘You were special.’ As if
those words would be enough to convince him that he should never have left her behind. Never mind that she hadn’t bothered to inform him of her pregnancy or of the child he never knew existed. Never mind their constant fights and the fact that, if it hadn’t been for Nikki, they would have never been reunited at all. She would have been nothing more than a part of the history he’d left behind in London, a rebellious fling with a girl he knew his family would never approve of.
A fling that had ended when he’d taken off for Italy to work in the vineyard near Piacenza.
Or so he’d thought.
He rubbed his side.
A twenty-eight-year-old virgin. How was that even possible?
He’d wondered what other surprises Holly Purman was hiding.
But that was one surprise he had not seen coming.
The night was dark and cold and wet, the road a slick ribbon of black, and if it hadn’t been framed with white lines, the winding road would have merged into the inky night. Holly fumed alongside a silent Franco, but if he thought her getting dressed like she’d been told and clambering into the car for the long drive back was going to be an end to the matter, he was going to be sadly mistaken.
The miles added up and so did the tension in the cabin until finally Franco got sick of Holly glaring at him. ‘You should try to get some sleep.’
He wished. ‘So what’s the real reason?’
‘What?’
‘You said you’re not afraid, so what’s the real reason you wouldn’t make love to me?’
‘Dio!’ he swore, for it felt like more of a curse when he could say it in Italian. ‘Am I going to be subjected to a six-hour interrogation?’
‘If that’s what it takes.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re unreal.’
‘I’m waiting?’
‘You think it will make a difference? That I’ll change my mind?’
‘I just want to know why you dropped me faster than a hot potato when you found out I was a virgin when you seemed so damned keen up until then. I think that’s a fair question to ask, don’t you?’
The orange lights of the freeway lit up the interior of the car with a weird otherworldly light. The roads were empty and it was just them and a slick ribbon of freeway and a crazy conversation.
‘You won’t like it.’
‘I’m a big girl, Franco. Hit me with it.’
He looked at her. ‘All right. But don’t blame me if you don’t like what you hear. You take a woman’s virginity and you’ll always be her first. Good or bad, you’ll always be the one against whom all the others are rated. If you’re number two or three or even number ten, you’re just another number, but number one, that’s special.’
He looked across at her to make sure she was taking it all in.
‘I’m listening.’
‘And women get emotional. The first time can hurt, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. And then come the tears and the comforting. And she’s already been thinking, Is this the one I’m going to spend my life with, and now they’ve shared this amazing experience. Sex complicates that whole thing—when it’s her first time, it makes her want to believe he’s the one.’
‘And you know this to be fact, of course, as opposed to some male fantasy of how women work?’
‘I’ve seen it. I’m not making this up.’
‘How old was she, Franco? Was she twenty-eight years old?’
His jaw clenched. ‘Sixteen. But it’s the same principle. I’d still be your first.’
‘She was a teenager!’
‘She was first and foremost a female.’
‘And you think I’ll get needy.’
‘I told you you wouldn’t like it.’
‘You think I’ll start drawing up wedding plans and poring over bridal magazines?’
‘I did warn you.’
‘Jesus, Franco, there was me thinking you might help me out with my little problem, and you’ve got us marching down the aisle.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you have any idea what it feels like to be a twenty-eight-year-old virgin? I feel like a freak.’
‘So go find someone else to take your virginity out on. It’s not that hard to find someone to sleep with.’
‘Maybe not for you. But it is when you grow up in a small town and you know everybody within fifty miles, you know who they talk to in the pub, and you know they talk.’
‘It can’t be that bad.’
‘You want to bet?’ She dragged in air, remembering. ‘When I was in high school, I confessed to some so-called friends that I’d never had sex. It was all over the school by the end of lunchtime. You know what everyone called me for the rest of the year?’
He looked over at her, shook his head.
‘Purman the Virgin. Do you know how many times I heard that during my final year, because I sure lost count?’ She sat back in her seat. ‘Too many. And if there’s one thing I can thank Mark Turner for—that man who was just after the vines as you referred to him—it’s that everyone assumed we’d been lovers and they gave up and found somebody else to harass. But if anyone found out now, I’d be a joke all over again. I’d be Purman the Virgin for the rest of my life.
‘So no. You can take your needy virgin theory and shove it. Because I wouldn’t be your needy virgin wanting to march you down the aisle or have your babies.’
‘You don’t know that for sure. Sex changes a woman.’
‘You think it would change the way I think about you? No, the way I see it, it’s foolproof. Because you blow out of here in three weeks’ time and we never have to see each other again and I know I’m not going to become the subject of gossip at the local footy club. I know nobody will ever know. And then if I find someone I want to have gratuitous sex with, I can.’
‘Who are you thinking of having gratuitous sex with?’ he said too quickly. ‘Have I met him?’
‘That’s my secret,’ she said with a small smile. ‘Maybe I should have just asked him in the first place.’ This time she was rewarded with a glare. ‘Maybe I will.’
He grumped into silence, his mood as dark as the night around them. She didn’t understand. Didn’t want to. Couldn’t see past her sad stories and that he might be right.
It was too easy for her. Because she didn’t know.
He knew.
He’d witnessed a woman tear herself to pieces trying to find an excuse to hang on to a relationship when there was nothing else to hold it together. He’d borne the brunt of her tears and her anguish as she’d tried to find a reason to make the unworkable work.
And all the time he’d known he wasn’t blameless.
All the time he’d borne that guilt.
Because from the very beginning he’d let Michele down. He’d used her to get back at his family. He’d used her for his own purposes and then abandoned her just as carelessly when he’d taken off for Italy.
He could use this woman too. No matter what she asked of him, no matter what he agreed to, making love to her would never be an act of generosity. He would take more than he would give. He would be doing it for him. And then, just as he had done to Michele, he would abandon this woman too. He would return to Italy and leave her behind without a backwards glance.
Could he do that again?
Dare he risk it?
Because last time it had cost him a kidney and the love of a child he had known for too short a time.
What would it cost him this time?
She’d called Gus from the car to tell him they’d be home late and she was hoping he’d be tucked up in bed. He wasn’t. Gus was waiting for them when they got home, shuffling behind his new walking frame, happy to be out of the wheelchair.
‘I hear the highway was blocked for hours this morning,’ he said as they pulled boxes from the back of the car to stack on the long table for tomorrow’s labelling exercise. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t stay overnight.’
‘We thought about it.’
‘Holly was in a hurr
y to get back,’ explained Franco.
‘That’s funny,’ she said, ‘I could have sworn that was you.’
They didn’t look at each other or at Gus.
‘What’s that smell?’ Gus asked, his nose twitching as they passed. ‘You both reek of wine. What happened? Did you drop a bottle?’
‘Holly disgorged and dosaged a bottle and forgot to put her thumb over the top.’
Gus frowned and it was clear this was something that had never happened before, anywhere in the annals of Holly Purman wine whisperer folklore. ‘Holly forgot?’
‘Yeah, Pop,’ she said, because it was much, much easier than admitting that Franco had distracted her, and how. ‘I forgot.’
CHAPTER TEN
FRANCO PUNCHED HIS pillow but the pillow fought back and wouldn’t let him sleep. He swiped it out from under his head and threw it on the floor, cursing. It wasn’t the pillow’s fault, he knew that.
It was hers.
Three days they’d been back.
Holly had smiled her way through every one of them as if she hadn’t revealed to him her deepest darkest secret. As if she hadn’t begged him to make love to her.
Three sleepless nights of reminding himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t go there.
And Holly had taunted him every time he closed his eyes. Holly peeling off her top and revealing those breasts clad in lace and bows. Holly in the shower, with the water cascading over her skin. Holly tasting of wine and woman.
She was killing him. Driving him mad. And she hadn’t so much as come near him for days. And whereas in the corking room it had been the brushing against each other, the seemingly casual touches that had stirred him, now it was their lack of touching that stirred him and made him hot with wanting.
And now a new team of workers had arrived to prune the acres of the younger vines and she left him working alone in the old vines to spend half the day with them. He could hear her laughter welling up from the rows as she worked alongside them. He could hear their deep voices, and he wondered if she was thinking about having gratuitous sex with one of them.
And he wondered about his reason for not wanting to make love to her—a reason that had seemed so potent that night, but now seemed more feeble by the minute. Shouldn’t her first time be good? Not some fumbled grope in the dark with someone who didn’t care about her experience.