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Guilt had her biting her bottom lip. As did regret. The trouble was it was too late to tell him the truth now. He was a cynical man, and possibly ignorant of how well a woman could know her own body. He wouldn’t understand that there really was very little risk. She was as regular as clockwork. The only time in years when it had been disrupted was when Jerome had died. Shock and stress, the doctor had said. But eventually everything had settled back into its normal rhythm, not missing a beat since.
Veronica sighed then stood up. Whilst washing her hands, a quick glance in the vanity mirror showed a tear-stained face and very messy hair. Without stopping to think, she dived into the shower again, turning on the taps, squealing when it came out freezing cold at first. She squealed again when Leonardo suddenly pulled back the screen door.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked anxiously.
‘The…the water was c-cold,’ she stammered. ‘It…it’s getting warmer now.’
His frown smoothed out, replaced by an apologetic smile. ‘I am a fool,’ he said. ‘I trust you, Veronica. Truly I do. Forgive me?’
He didn’t wait for a reply, stepping into the shower with her and pulling her into his arms. They kissed under the warm jets of water. Then kissed some more. Leonardo ran his hands up and down her back, then stayed down, cupping her buttocks and yanking her hard against him. His head lifted then and he laughed. ‘See what you do to me? Anyone would think I hadn’t had sex in months.’
‘Poor Leonardo. How long has it been, then?’ she asked him with a coquettish glance. ‘A whole week at least?’
‘Longer than that,’ he protested.
‘Two weeks?’
‘You really do have a bad opinion of me. Let me assure you that, since Laurence passed away, sex has been the last thing on my mind.’
His mentioning her father made Veronica sigh. ‘I came here to find out about my father, and all I’ve wanted to do since I arrived so far is be with you. You’re like a drug, Leonardo. A very addictive drug.’
‘Is that a criticism or a compliment?’
‘I’m sure you’ll take it as a compliment.’
‘If you insist,’ he said. And he grinned down at her. ‘Come. I’m not one for making love in showers. I much prefer the comfort of a bed.’ So saying, he leant past her and turned off the taps before pushing open the glass door. The nearest towel rail was empty, however, both towels still on the bedroom floor where Leonardo had dropped them.
‘There are more towels in the utility room,’ Veronica informed him—not very helpfully, since the utility room was some distance away.
‘I think we’ll just make a dash for the bedroom. Use the towels we left there.’
‘All right,’ she said, wringing out her hair so that it wouldn’t drip too much.
They were like two naughty teenagers who’d gone skinny dipping in the sea and had to run for their clothes. They both made a dive for the nearest towel, actually having a mock tug-of-war before Leonardo gave in and let her have it. She didn’t wrap it around herself this time, just rubbed herself dry then bent forward and wound it around her wet hair, before straightening and scrambling into the bed, where she sa
t up against the pillows with her arms crossed over her bare breasts and her turbaned head feeling ridiculously heavy.
‘All done,’ she said.
Leonardo shook his own head at her. ‘No way,’ he said. ‘I’m not making love to you with a towel on your head. Take it off.’
There was something in his eyes which put paid to the momentary temptation to refuse. Leonardo, when crossed, was nothing like his usual smiling, charming self. His whole face darkened, his shoulders stiffened. No wonder he’d been such a fierce competitor on the ski slopes. He didn’t like to lose. And he didn’t like a woman to say no to him.
‘My hair’s still wet,’ she complained, even as she removed the towel and tossed it away.
‘I like you wet,’ he replied, his good humour restored. As was his sexually charged persona.
Veronica tried to find something saucy to say back but he’d already climbed into the bed beside her, and then he pulled her down under him.
‘None of this, either,’ he said as he took hold of her arms and placed them up above her head on the pillows. He didn’t hold them there, thank God. She would not have liked that. Or maybe she would have. She seemed to like everything he did to her. She certainly liked it when he slid down her body and started making love to her with his mouth. She loved it, just as she’d imagined she would. He knew exactly where to kiss and where to lick. His lips and tongue were knowing enough, aided adeptly by hands which knew how to move and lift her to give that questing mouth better access to all of her.
He shocked her at times, but she never wanted him to stop. The only sounds coming from her open, panting mouth were the gasps and groans whenever she came: three times in as many minutes. She could hardly believe it. Multiple orgasms were unknown to her personally. She’d heard of them but thought they existed only in books and the imagination of fiction writers.
Not so. This was real. This was her, about to come again.
This time, Leonardo stopped just in time, sliding up her body and into her, taking her breath away with the size of his erection. Clearly, doing what he’d been doing had been a huge turn-on for him as well.
She expected to come straight away but, strangely, she didn’t. Maybe she’d run out of orgasms for the day. But slowly, and quite deliciously, his steady rhythm stoked the fire back into her. Her hips began to move with him. He groaned, then whispered her name with the kind of warmth and passion that she’d never heard on any man’s lips. Certainly not Jerome’s. His love-making, whilst skilful, had been on the clinical side.
