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r /> His eyes darkened. ‘On second thoughts, I want to see you nearly naked. Leave those on,’ he instructed softly, pointing to the shoes, as he led her across to the bed.
Now this really was mistress-like, Kate thought, torn between anticipation and self-consciousness, as the cool linen of the duvet whispered against her back. Having your dark, beautiful lover tower over you in a foreign bedroom, with you wearing nothing but a pair of very sexy, green shoes.
‘You look like my every fantasy come to life,’ he whispered, his voice deepening.
‘How?’ she whispered back.
‘Wicked. Abandoned. And…’
She heard his hesitation, was intrigued by it. ‘And what?’
‘Here,’ he admitted. ‘Now. On my bed after too long. Waiting for me to make love to you over and over again.’
She closed her eyes, so that he wouldn’t read the regret there. Making love. It was nothing but a turn of phrase. What they were about to do was a lot more basic than that. ‘Then don’t keep me waiting too long,’ she said shakily.
Wait? Why, he could barely contain himself enough not to thrust straight into her as soon as his hands began to explore her. But she was as ready and as turned on as he was and it was only moments before he was poised against her.
Provocatively she parted her legs for him and then engaged in intimate capture, teasing him, edging him against her enticingly until he was completely in her power, and she in his.
It all happened so quickly. Too quickly, she thought as regret was dissolved by wave after wave of gut-wrenching pleasure by an orgasm which exploded into instant life.
‘Giovanni!’ she sobbed.
There was a long silence afterwards while they struggled for breath, and it was a long moment later before he looked down into her face, his dark brows criss-crossing as he saw the tears which slid from beneath her closed eyes.
‘Why are you crying?’ he asked quietly.
Because this was the only place she could find happiness, locked in the embrace of a man motivated only by desire. Hopeless.
‘Because it was beautiful,’ she answered, and that was no lie.
He pushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek. ‘The best,’ he agreed softly. ‘The very best.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ he said gravely, and then smiled. ‘You want to stay here, or do you want to go out and eat?’
‘It’s too late, surely?’ she protested.
‘They eat very late in Spain. Didn’t you know?’
‘I don’t know if I can be bothered to get dressed.’ She yawned, unwilling to leave this room, to shatter the curious air of intimacy which had somehow evolved between them.
‘Then I can ring down for Room Service?’
‘Mmm. That sounds better.’
She feasted her eyes on him as he walked naked across the room to the telephone, and heard him issue a number of requests in what sounded—to her untutored ears—like fluent Spanish.
When he turned around he saw her watching him, her eyes alive and on fire, and then saw her face close, as if she was keeping something secret from him. For a man brought up in a culture where secrecy was second nature, it was oddly disconcerting.
‘You’re happy?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Of course.’ She drew in a deep breath and looked at him. She had to know. ‘Did you…did you…see Anna?’
He turned away, but not before she had seen the dark look of regret which haunted his eyes, and it stabbed straight through her heart.
‘Isn’t this a rather strange time to ask me a question like that?’ he returned in a harsh, cruel voice.
