by Lynne Graham
Their tongues tasted and tangled, their breath hot and gasping as the power of their desire overtook them, dousing all rational thought. With her hands threaded through Rafael’s wet curls Lottie pulled him even closer to her, their faces sealed by the damp and by the kiss that was juddering down the length of their seemingly weightless joined bodies beneath them.
Pulling away, Rafael took a gasp of air, peeled their bodies fractionally apart and dragged words from the tiny part of his brain that still had some rational thought.
‘Is this what you want, Lottie?’ His heart was thumping dangerously fast, and the sight of Lottie’s kiss-swollen lips was doing nothing to ease it. ‘Because if not you need to say so now—before it’s too late.’
Lottie gazed back at him, her eyes heavy with desire, her body aching with an all-consuming need. This was what she wanted—what she wanted so badly that she was physically trembling with the power of it, the realisation of it. It didn’t make it right, but it made it impossible to resist.
Unable to voice the words, she simply closed the watery gap between them until their bodies met again, moulded against one another in a perfect fit of sexual intimacy.
Rafael let out a guttural growl of raw sexual need and paused for a split second—all it took for that last bit of reason to vanish. Then, sweeping Lottie up in a slippery embrace, he waded towards the end of the pool with her, the water swirling hurriedly out of their way. Splashing up the shallow steps and across the marble tiles, he pushed open the door through to the gym, then strode over to the rubber mat in the middle of the dark room. He half slipped, half fell down on to it with Lottie still in his arms. Locking his elbows, he dug his slippery damp toes down into the mat and straddled Lottie, above her in a press-up position, staring down into her eyes.
This was madness—total madness. But there was something inescapable about it. Since that first second she had walked into his office at the palazzo this was all he had wanted to do. To take her, to consume her, to try and fill the yearning chasm that had gripped him ever since she had left.
With the muscles in his biceps rippling, he started to bend his arms as he slowly lowered himself down over her wet and shivering body, his lips seeking hers again, needing the reassurance that this was what she wanted. And she did.
With her cold mouth opening, her lips formed a sexual cavity that longed to be plundered. Rafael gave out a rasping moan and claimed it, his tongue immediately diving into its depths. Then, peeling away, he bent his head, moving his mouth down to her breasts, kissing and licking the soft, wet, chlorine-tasting swell of each one before taking the cold-puckered nipple in his mouth to suck hard, then harder, as he felt Lottie squirm erotically beneath him.
This felt so good. She might not love him, but he could still turn her on—he could still make her body writhe and twitch for him. He gasped when he felt Lottie’s hand move down to where he wanted it most, taking his erection in its cold grip, owning his rock-hard length as she moved the skin up and down with trembling fingers.
Her body contorted beneath them, sticking and sucking on the wet mat as she positioned herself for him, ready to be taken. Reluctantly grabbing her hand, he moved it back over his shoulder. He felt her nails dig into his shoulderblades. If this wasn’t to be over in a matter of seconds he needed to take control. He slid his own hand down between them, running it over her damply matted pubic hair, slid a finger inside her, parting the warm, soft folds, feeling the tight muscles clench around it as he touched her clitoris and started to rub it with soft but assured pressure.
Hearing her moan, he covered her mouth with his own again, wanting to absorb the energy of her pleasure into his own body, to feel it with her. As she arched her body against his finger he increased the speed until he knew she was almost there. But not quite. Shifting his hips, he replaced his finger with the tip of his penis, then stopped, savouring this second, before sinking his length into her—halfway at first and then, fractionally altering his position, pushing again, more forcefully, until his entire hot, throbbing length was inside her, being gripped mercilessly by her muscles.
With a small yelp Lottie dug her nails into him further as she clung to him feverishly.
‘Lottie?’ He just about managed to grate out her name as he raised himself up to look into her eyes.
‘Don’t stop.’
The deep tremble in her voice, together with the faraway look in her eyes that he remembered so well, was all the confirmation he needed.
As she pulled him back down on top of her he felt her muscles tensing and clenching around him, holding him tightly, urging him on. He had to move faster now, increase the rhythm. The want in him was growing and swelling all the time, demanding release. And Lottie matched him, driving him on to join her, to be right there with her when it happened, and he knew that neither of them could hang on much longer.
With no more than five or six deeply penetrating thrusts he felt her body shudder, heard the irregular gasping, panting of her breath and knew that she was there and that he couldn’t hold back any longer. A shuddering, squeezing climax surged through his body, so powerful that it seemed to take Lottie with him, and he covered her lips with his own to silence his low, animal growl. As their wet-slicked bodies gripped and convulsed against each other it felt as if the world could end now and neither of them would notice.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BUT THE WORLD hadn’t ended. And even before the last shuddering convulsions had left their bodies Rafael was pulling away, looking down at her, the hunger of desire in his eyes turning to a cold watchfulness.
‘I’ll find us some towels.’
He was up on his feet now, and Lottie watched his naked body as he padded silently across the room, returning with two towels.
‘Here.’ Handing one to her, he avoided her eyes as she crouched forward to take it and wrap it round her protectively hunched body. ‘You mustn’t let yourself get cold.’
‘No.’ He was tying a towel around his waist now. ‘Rafe...’ Lottie stopped, not sure what she wanted to say but desperate to ward off the chill that couldn’t be warmed with a fluffy towel.
‘You need to get to bed, Lottie.’ He hurried to block any further conversation. ‘We both do.’
Everything about his posture, the tone of his voice, the tight line of his mouth, made it quite clear that he was talking about separate beds.
‘It’s getting very late.’
* * *
If she didn’t open her eyes it wouldn’t be true. Lottie could feel the sunshine streaming in, insistent against her closed lids, making it plain that the next day had dawned whether she liked it or not. That time didn’t stop just because of what they had done last night.
Colourful images flickered frame by frame behind her eyes, like an excruciating X-rated home movie. The pool, the gym, the mat...what they had done on the mat... And, worse still, the way Rafael had behaved afterwards.
She had no one to blame except herself. Unfortunately she could remember with bruising clarity the sequence of events, and if it hadn’t exactly been totally one-sided she had definitely been the one who’d started it. Maybe she could blame it on her hormones. After what she had been through they had to be all over the place. Or the hypnotic effect of the pool, perhaps. But deep down she knew there was only one thing she could blame it on. The relentless, carnal, erotic effect that Rafael had on her.
And she was only human. There was only so much temptation a woman could take.
She thought back to the image of Rafael at the end of the pool, peeling off his jeans, gloriously naked in the shadows before diving into the water... Sensuous shivers ran through her again. But the temptation had been her undoing, as her screwed-up ball of a heart could testify now.
The sex had been amazing, of course. They had always had the most incredible connection—as if their two bodies had been
specifically designed to fit together for the most explosive of results. But last night had felt like something else...as if the lid had been blown off the pressure cooker of their lives, right there and then, in that dark room, on that slippery gym mat. The pain of the past, the strain of the present, the hopes of the future—all detonating in a mushroom cloud of intensely powerful sexual intensity. She could still sense the aftershocks rippling through her.
But it wasn’t those memories that were scratching their nails down her skin now—not the image of his lean, honed body as he’d spread himself on top of her, not the excruciating pleasure when he had pushed inside her, and not even the realisation that no one else could ever, ever make love to her like that, make her feel like this.
No. This gash of pain came from what had happened afterwards: the look of distaste on Rafael’s face when he had handed her that towel, the way he had almost herded her back up the stairs, watched while she had closed the door of her bedroom, almost as if she was not to be trusted, as if at any moment she might fling herself at him again, force him to make love to her. That was what was crucifying her now.
Snapping open her eyes, she pulled back the coverlet and got out of bed. She had to be strong now, not agonise over her mistakes. She would focus on the day ahead, on the reason she was here. The baby—if there was a baby—was the important thing. Wincing slightly, sore where Rafael had been, she took determined strides towards the bathroom.
Rafael was nowhere to be seen when she finally ventured downstairs. Which was a relief. She certainly didn’t want to see him. Even if she had spent the last hour bracing herself for the awkward meeting, repeatedly going over in her mind how she would be with him: cheerful, light-hearted, casually flippant about what had happened the night before in a Ho-ho, that was fun, but obviously it didn’t mean anything and obviously it won’t happen again sort of way.
But in the event none of her acting skills were needed. Lunch came and went and still there was no sign of him. Several times Lottie passed his study door, pausing gingerly outside to see if she could hear anything. But all was quiet, and she certainly wasn’t going to debase herself any further by tapping on his door to see if he was there, looking as if she cared or, worse still, as if she was going to make repugnant demands on him again.
By the evening, when there was still no sign of him, she had convinced herself that he had gone for ever, abandoned her alone in this beautiful place. And she didn’t care if he had. In fact it would be for the best. It would save a lot of embarrassment all round.
As twilight started to turn into dusk Lottie decided she needed some fresh air and, pulling on a warm jumper, walked out on to the terrace. There was a full moon tonight, illuminating the garden with a ghostly light, sharpening the outline of the plants and trees so they appeared to be harder, more aggressive versions of their daytime counterparts.
Opening the iron gates, Lottie paused, gazing at the moon’s searchlight across the rippled water. It was stunning. Slowly she started to descend the steps to the water, treading carefully through the shadows. The last thing she wanted was to fall now—now that she had been effectively deserted. Heaven knew when anyone would ever find her.
As she neared the bottom she became aware of the sound of an engine and, looking up, saw a speedboat coming towards her, Rafael at the helm. She watched as he came closer; he was standing up, the top half of his body visible above the windscreen, one hand on the wheel, confidently manoeuvring the sleek vessel towards its mooring.
Cutting the engine, he let the boat drift towards the mooring pole and jumped ashore with a rope in his hands.
‘What are you doing here?’
It wasn’t the warmest of greetings.
‘I just was just admiring the view. Across the lake,’ she added hurriedly, in case he might have thought he was the view.
‘Have you eaten?’ Pulling the boat towards him, he leant in to retrieve two carrier bags before turning to face her, one in each hand.
‘Um, no—not yet.’ Lottie stared back at him. Everything about his cold stance suggested that this was a purely practical question rather than a cordial invitation.
‘Well, there’s plenty of food here.’ He shook the bags in his hands. ‘I’m going to have to work this evening, so I’ll just get a sandwich, but you should make yourself a proper meal.’
‘Right.’ His uncompromising tone left no room for negotiation, but still Lottie tried. ‘If I’m cooking I might as well make something for you too.’
‘No, thanks. Like I say, I will just grab a sandwich.’
‘Fine.’ If he was going to be like that then so be it.
For a moment the two of them faced each other, the moonlight illuminating their profiles, only the slapping sound of the water breaking the silence. Lottie had prepared herself for some awkwardness, but this was more like hostility. She realised that all her fears were founded. She hadn’t been mistaken about that look on his face last night. He really did find her repugnant. Up until now she had thought that last night was just a mistake—something that should never have happened. Now she saw it for what it really was—a hideous betrayal, an abhorrent debacle that shamed her to the core.
And everything about the cold, arrogant temperament of the man standing before her now made it quite plain that he thought the same.
Turning away from him, she started to ascend the flight of steps back up to the terrace, furious with herself when hot tears of self-pity started to roll down cheeks already burning with shame and humiliation. She could hear him behind her, taking the steps two at a time, the carrier bags rustling in his hands.
‘Lottie, wait.’ Catching up, he dropped the bags, putting a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to stop her getting away. ‘About last night...’
‘Forget it, Rafael.’ Shaking him off, she continued to march up the steps, determined that he wasn’t going to see her tears. There was certainly no way she was going to talk about it, listen to him telling her that it had been a mistake or, worse still, that he was sorry. That was more than she could bear.
With each step her shame and despair was joined by temper and then anger, until by the time she reached the top she was seething—so much so that she stumbled, falling forward in an ungainly half-trip, half-run that made her heart hammer in her chest.
‘Lottie!’ A second after his call he was beside her. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I am fine.’ Drawing herself upright, Lottie struggled to regain her balance before she marched off up the terrace path, her defiant words rippling in her wake. ‘You really don’t need to worry about me.’
* * *
Rafael was unpacking the groceries in the kitchen when he realised that Lottie was watching him from the doorway. He looked up quickly, registering the flush of her cheeks, the halo of hair, full of static from the woollen jumper she had just pulled over her head, the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the tight fabric of the tee shirt beneath. She looked both sexy and vulnerable. But, more than that, she looked as if she was fighting to hold in a lot of things she was desperate to say.
‘I’ll be out of your way in a minute.’
This produced nothing more than a shrug of her shoulders.
‘I’ve bought some prosciutto and fresh pasta, and there are plenty of vegetables or salad if you would prefer.’ He shut the fridge door and leant against it.
‘Thanks.’
She had swept into the room now and brushed past him to fill the kettle. The air was full of the floral scent of hostility.
‘Look, Lottie, if this is about last night...’
‘Last night?’ She flashed him a contemptuous stare. ‘Did anything happen last night?’
‘There is no point in being childish.’
His patience was wearing thin now. He was tired from lack of sleep and the long and tedious telephone conference that
he had had to take away from the villa because of her. He was hungry, and he was furious with himself for letting last night happen.
‘I think we have to acknowledge the foolishness of what we did and ensure that we don’t find ourselves in that position again.’
The ice in Lottie’s cold blue eyes almost froze the words in his throat.
‘I’m sure we both regret it now.’
He certainly did. Even though he had been twitching to make love to Lottie for weeks now. Even though every little thing she said or did set him off, and even though there had been countless times when he had wanted to pull her to him, feel the luscious softness of her against him, rip off her clothes, claim her naked body for his own—any or all of the above. But he had been convinced he could handle his infatuation, he really had. A master of control, it was inconceivable that he would give in to his weakness.
When they had been at the palazzo it hadn’t been quite so difficult. With the pressure of work and meetings and business trips—not all of which had been strictly necessary—he had been able to keep out of her way, distract himself enough with the hundred and one things that needed his attention. Plus the place was big enough to hide in. Though the thought that he, the Conte di Monterrato, respected head of the principality, formidable businessman, someone who had never run away from anything in his life before, should be hiding himself away from this young woman—a woman he had vowed never to let get to him again—held an irony that wasn’t lost on him.
But in the villa there was no escaping her. It shocked him, this visceral effect she had on him. It almost knocked the breath out of him and he needed all his powers of self-control to keep up the façade of indifference, to stop the mask from slipping and revealing the unadulterated lust beneath. Now he knew all his pretence had been for nothing and he had been shown to be the fool he really was—a fool for exposing himself again to the woman who had broken his heart and a fool for ever thinking he could resist her.