‘Again?’ he suggested in a low growl.
She had no chance to do anything but cry out, ‘Yes!’ Dante’s fingers were magic and he knew just what to do. Grinding her body frantically against the heel of his hand, she claimed her second powerful release. He silenced her panting and groaning with a kiss that was as deep as it was tender.
She loved the way he held her buttocks firmly in place with one hand as he pleasured her with the other. ‘Are you going to be as greedy as this all night?’ he teased in a deep, husky tone as he loomed over her, swarthy and dangerous, and so impossibly sexy.
‘You made me insatiable,’ she said, marvelling at how gentle he could be, how persuasive. She was half his size and Dante treated her as if she were made of rice paper, which was frustrating but also reassuring.
‘I want to taste you,’ he growled, moving down the bed.
She laughed softly. ‘Do I have a say in this?’
‘No.’ Lifting her legs onto his shoulders, Dante dipped his head.
She thought she knew pleasure? She was wrong. This was pleasure. This was something beyond anything else.
‘I can’t,’ she protested, speaking her thoughts out loud. ‘Not again.’
‘Is that a fact?’ Dante queried with a wicked look, pausing.
His tongue, his mouth and fingers continued to work their magic. This time the pleasure waves were so strong she was tossed about on a wild tide of sensation that stole away every thought except one: could she remain suspended in Dante’s erotic net for ever?
* * *
Jess...
Holding himself back was the biggest test he’d ever faced. Jess took even longer to recover and when she did her eyes were heavy. She wasn’t just tired; she was exhausted. It had been a long day, with the shock of seeing him and the rescue of the sheep. Then she’d gone on to cater a meal for who knew how many before allowing herself downtime. Who wouldn’t be exhausted? Taking her now would be taking advantage. She was sleepily sexy but her conscious mind was taking a well-earned breath. He’d waited a long time to make love to Jess and when it happened he aimed for special, not something to tag to a long, draining day.
‘You’re smiling,’ she commented drowsily.
Because he wasn’t used to waiting, but Jess was different.
‘Well?’ she prompted softly, reaching out. ‘Are you going to explain?’
Turning off the light, he drew her into his arms.
‘Are you asleep?’ she asked when some quiet time had passed. ‘Do you regret this?’
‘No.’
‘Then...?’
‘You’re tired,’ he murmured.
‘I’m not,’ Jess protested.
‘Exhausted, then.’
‘I do need a hug,’ she admitted.
To reassure her, he tightened his grip.
‘I don’t want you to think I’m having second thoughts,’ she whispered.
It was obvious she wanted to talk. Releasing her, he sat up beside her. ‘Talk to me,’ he encouraged her gently.
‘About loss and grief and duty, and how there’s never enough time to mull over those things?’
‘There hasn’t been a right time for either of us, I’m guessing,’ he admitted, raking his hair.
‘Stop distracting me,’ she scolded, smiling, ‘or we’re wasting another chance to talk it out.’
‘I’m not even sure we should be talking about it now, when you so clearly need to sleep.’
Searching his eyes, she explained, ‘I need to talk first and then sleep.’
‘Go ahead,’ he said softly, waiting.
‘I didn’t cry when my mother died,’ Jess eventually revealed in a small voice, as if she still felt guilty about it. But then, remembering his loss, she reverted to her customary warm, concerned self. ‘I don’t expect you showed any emotion either when you lost your parents.’
‘Oh, I was angry,’ he confessed, thinking back. ‘When I arrived at the hospital one of the doctors told me, “Where there’s life there’s hope.”’
‘And of course you desperately hoped he was right and believed him.’ Her eyes were in that moment as she stared into his.
‘There was no hope,’ he confirmed flatly. ‘My parents were already dead, as I discovered when I barged into the room where they had been treated.’
‘You were how old?’
‘Old enough to know better—seventeen or eighteen. I’ve found it hard to trust anyone outside my inner circle since that day.’
‘And who could blame you?’
‘Not you, apparently,’ he remarked as he stared into Jess’s eyes. ‘So, what’s your excuse for being so bottled-up?’
‘Events,’ she said succinctly in the way people did when there was a world of trouble hidden behind a single word.
‘Tell me about those events,’ he said gently. ‘The grief you hid I know about, so I’m guessing we’re talking about your father.’
She was silent for a while and then confessed, ‘He was such a proud man...’
‘Was?’ he prompted.
‘You must remember...’ Her eyes were big and wounded.
‘I do. Everyone’s brought low by grief, so I’m guessing your father took some time to pull through.’
‘It wasn’t easy for him.’
‘Or for you,’ he observed quietly.
‘Don’t they say love makes anything possible?’
She looked so sad as she asked the question. His imagination could fill in the blanks for now. Jess wasn’t ready to tell him the detail. Maybe she never would be. She was right about her father being a proud man, and Jess was as protective of family as he was. It was up to her to decide if and when and how much she told him.
‘I trust you,’ she admitted before falling into a thoughtful silence. ‘I know you won’t say anything to harm my father’s reputation,’ she added at last, staring into his eyes, unblinking.
‘Never,’ he pledged.
He let the silence hang until Jess was ready to continue. ‘I built my adult life on the promises I made to my mother, which were to continue my education and to qualify so I could earn a living and look after my father and the farm. That didn’t leave much time to mourn my mother’s loss, but it was a relief to be busy because the alternative was to sink into grief and achieve nothing, which would have betrayed her trust.’
‘We all need time to mourn.’
‘Says you,’ she rebuked him with a sad smile.
‘Let’s build on the past and remember those we loved happily, positively, knowing that’s what they’d want us to do.’
‘You always find a way to make me smile,’ she observed thoughtfully.
‘Do you want to punish me for that?’
‘Do you want to be punished?’
His smile darkened. ‘Not for that.’
Her gaze flew to the rumpled bed. ‘You spoiled me for other men ten years ago.’
‘That kiss in your father’s stable?’
‘That was just the start,’ she admitted. ‘And now you’ve spoiled me all over again.’
‘Don’t expect me to apologise.’
When he fell silent she asked, ‘Dante, is something wrong?’
This was not the right time to explain what was happening with the farm. ‘No. There’s nothing wrong. We’ll talk again in the morning.’
‘Promise?’ she asked softly.
‘I promise.’ Drawing Jess into his arms, he settled down on the bed. Feeling her tears wet his chest, he turned to look at her. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘I’m happy,’ she confessed.
Cradling her in his arms, he kissed the top of her head. ‘Sleep now. I’m not going anywhere.’ She was possibly already asleep, he thought as Jess’s breathing steadied, and he was surprised by the deep sense of satisfaction that
stole over him at the thought that she could relax in his arms.
Was this love?
Deep trust was love. Unpacking memories that had wounded them both and entrusting them to each other was closer to love than anything else he could think of. The warm contentment inside him felt like love. How else could he be lying here, wanting this woman as he did, without the slightest intention of disturbing her?
* * *
Had there ever been a better way to start Christmas Day than this? Jess woke slowly to find she was naked in bed with Dante in the dark quiet hours of early morning. Naked and contented, she amended, though not for long. It was a small step from lazy contentment to making her wishes clear, and Dante was as eager as she was. With a soft growl of cooperation, he shifted position to make things easier for her.
Guiding him, she used Dante’s body to rouse a place that could never get enough of him, and now badly needed more.
‘Hey,’ Dante whispered, ‘take it easy.’ Moving over her, he whispered, ‘There’s no hurry.’
She was way past listening to advice, but when he allowed her the smooth tip of his erection she was more than ready to bow to his greater knowledge, especially as he had moved her hands by this time and taken over.
‘When I say and not before,’ he instructed.
How could she answer when all her concentration was focused on getting him to probe a little deeper? Dante’s jaw was set, she noticed, glancing up. He was suffering too. So much restraint had to be torture for him. Damping down the urge to thrust forward and bring their torture to an end, she settled for doing as he suggested, which was to let everything go and allow Dante to set the pace.
‘That’s right... Relax,’ he encouraged. ‘Sensation will be so much greater if you allow me to pleasure you, while you do absolutely nothing.’
Heaving a shaking sigh, she knew at once he was right. Each touch was amplified by her stillness. She could concentrate on every feeling as Dante pleasured her at his own pace. She tensed momentarily as he sank a little deeper, stretching her beyond belief. They weren’t even past the smooth, domed head of his erection yet but, feeling her concern, he stopped to allow her to become used to the new sensation. When she was ready to move on, he cupped her buttocks and took her a little deeper still. There was no pain. He’d prepared her too well. There was only pleasure—wave after wave of incredible pleasure, fired by the overwhelming need to be one with him.
Sinking deeper still, he took her to the hilt in one slow, firm thrust. She couldn’t help but gasp, but Dante had an answer for the shock of his invasion. Massaging her with rotating movements of his hips, he brought her swiftly to the point of no return and then he commanded in a low voice, ‘Now.’
She didn’t need any encouragement and plunged into pleasure with repeated cries of relief. Even when the waves crashing down on her eased off, Dante was still moving. He took her steadily and gently until her hunger built again, when she grasped his buttocks to work him faster and harder, and he pounded into her as if they would never ever stop.
Now the dam had burst their lovemaking was fierce. They enjoyed each other in as many ways as they could, gorging on pleasure, sometimes on the bed and sometimes not. A shared shower to cool down after more heated activity proved another excuse for lovemaking, only this time she scrambled up him and Dante slammed her against the wall to take her deep. Towelling dry was another opportunity to test the resilience of the black marble countertop, and when they returned to bed they didn’t quite make it.
‘Not so fast,’ he said, dragging her close. Bending her over where she was standing at the side of the bed, he encouraged her to brace her hands against the mattress so he could take her from behind, while using his hand to encourage somewhere that needed no encouragement. He allowed her cries of release to subside before turning her so she was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing him. Moving between her legs, he pressed her back. Grabbing a pillow, he placed it beneath her buttocks.
There was no end to pleasure with your soulmate, Jess reflected some considerable time later when she sank back, gasping, on the bed.
What else could she call Dante? Could fate be so cruel that it had thrown them together again for no reason? The gulf between them remained wide in terms of financial success and lifestyle, but were these the most important measures? Wasn’t the way they played off each other, and improved each other, far more important than that? Would this feeling of euphoria last? she wondered as she stared at Dante. Why not, she reasoned, when his care of her, and his sheer damn sexy self, was so different to the grim face he showed the world? Was that a coincidence too? Couples could destroy each other, while others were improved in every way just by being together. She wanted to believe that she and Dante were builders not destroyers, and that they would be stronger together than they were apart.
‘It’s your turn now?’ she teased as Dante joined her on the bed.
She reached for him. They reached for each other. Dante took them both to the edge, and over it.
* * *
They slept for what must have been hours. When she woke the light was filtering through the curtains. Could it really be Christmas morning? Tiptoeing across the room, she tweaked back the edge of the curtain.
‘Hey,’ Dante complained huskily as light poured into the room. ‘Don’t you ever need to rest?’
Bouncing back on to the bed, she threw her head back with sheer happiness. ‘Says the man who keeps more plates spinning than anyone I know?
‘Happy Christmas! The best Christmas ever!’ Tossing her hair back, she laughed with sheer happiness at the dawning of this special new day.
‘Ah,’ Dante said, sitting up. ‘Thanks for reminding me—’
‘You needed reminding? You are a lost cause.’
‘Not quite,’ he assured her. ‘Let me grab a robe.’
‘Wow. This sounds serious,’ she said as Dante rolled out of bed. Her spirits took a dive when he didn’t answer. ‘While you do that, I’m going to take a quick shower.’
Freshen up, think, organise her brain cells. Last night had been spectacular, but now it was another day. And she was determined to remain optimistic.
One of the advantages of Dante taking the entire top floor of the pub was that they didn’t have to share a bathroom, so she luxuriated for quite a while before dressing and returning to the bedroom to find Dante seated at the desk. He’d showered too, and was dressed in jeans and a form-fitting top—a pairing that pointed up his spectacular physique. She didn’t have long to dwell on that. There were some documents on the desk that somehow made her nerves twang. And Dante was looking serious. This wasn’t good.
‘Why are you frowning?’ he asked.
‘Am I?’
He gave her one of his amused, forbearing looks. ‘I’m not allowed to give you a Christmas present?’ he queried.
‘Depends what it is. And I feel terrible,’ she added.
‘Oh?’
‘I don’t have anything for you,’ she explained.
‘But I’m not expecting anything,’ Dante told her with a shrug. ‘You didn’t know I was coming.’
‘I could have sent a card.’
‘Write one now,’ he suggested with a casual jerk of his chin in the direction of the pub’s info pack, which would almost certainly contain some of the striking postcards they sold at the bar.
‘I wouldn’t know what to say,’ she admitted honestly.
‘Really?’ Dante barked a short laugh. ‘You being short of words must be a first.’
She hummed while her heart raced. What was Dante hiding in that case?
‘Well?’ he prompted as she hovered by the door. ‘Are you coming in properly, or are you going out again?’
She shut the door, but stayed where she was.
‘Don’t you want to know what your gift is?’ he coaxed.
‘A halter and a
bag of pony nuts?’ she ventured, unable to rip her gaze from the official-looking papers.
Dante pulled a mock-disappointed look. ‘Is that your best guess?’
‘It’s my only guess.’
‘How would you feel if I said that this document is my way of gifting you the farm?’
As Dante held out an official-looking envelope time stood still. Jess didn’t speak or move a muscle, and was completely incapable of rational thought.
‘Well?’ he prompted.
She attempted to moisten her lips so she could reply, but her mouth had turned as dry as dust. ‘I’d say you were teasing me,’ she said at last. ‘But it isn’t a very funny joke.’
‘I’m not joking, Jess,’ Dante assured her with a long steady look. ‘That’s why I’ve come here. Well, partly, anyway. I guess I could have sent the contract, but I wanted to hand it to you in person.’
‘Why?’ she demanded faintly. ‘Why have you done this?’
‘Your father needed help. He asked me for help.’
She was confused. ‘You mean more help after the sale of the ponies?’
‘You must have known that buying his stock would only temporarily bail him out of trouble. He needed more. The bank needed more.’
‘So what are you saying?’ She shook her head as if none of this made sense.
‘I’m saying I bought the farm, paid off your father’s debts and cleared his overdraft at the bank. He’s a wealthy man now, so he can breed and train ponies to his heart’s content. That’s what he’s good at, Jess. It’s what he should be allowed to do. Business isn’t his thing. And you need a life too.’
She frowned. ‘And you decided this?’
‘It was the best way to help your father and help you too.’
‘Help yourself, don’t you mean?’ she flared. ‘My father owns the best pasture in Yorkshire, the best gallops, the best ponies—or he will once the new foals are born and brought on. Anyone would want to buy Bell Farm.’
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