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Carrie’s eyes fluttered closed, and that frustrated him, too.
“I want to make love to you here, and I want you to keep your eyes open.”
She laughed tremulously. “Is that an order?”
His eyes flared wide. “It’s a firm request.”
He was serious and intent; serious enough to make Carrie nod. “Yes please.”
He smiled tightly, disposing of their clothes quickly. His skin was warm from the day and the sunshine. Carrie held him close, wondering why she felt cold in her core.
Gael ran his hands reverently down her body, his calloused palms brushing against her breasts, teasing her nipples, making her ache and need and writhe. She reached for him, seeking fulfilment, but he laughed gently. “Soon, princesa,” he promised throatily.
He kissed her neck, and then her breasts, teasing one with his fingers while the other was tormented by his tongue. He paused before taking her, to stare down at her face.
“Eyes open,” he commanded firmly.
Carrie watched, as he pressed into her, and she felt her muscles contract around his length. She moaned and scratched his back, lifting her bottom desperately, but she didn’t close her eyes.
They stared at one another, black eyes hunting blue, while their bodies spiralled inexorably towards the relief they both needed with desperate urgency. Carrie swore as she felt herself tumble apart, glad that Gael was holding her, because he was surely holding her together. Without him, she suspected she might have flown high up into the heavens, to join the matter of the universe.
“Gael,” she whispered against his cheek, her desperation apparent. “What is this?”
He ran a hand over her pale hair, his eyes showing her something she didn’t comprehend. He didn’t answer. Instead, he flipped onto his back, rolling her with him, so that she lay caressed and cosseted against his chest.
Carrie felt safe. She felt adored. She felt happy. And it scared her. Because the happier she was, the harder she knew it would be to process the end of all this.
* * *
“Darling?”
Gael awoke with a start. His arm was heavy, tingling with the unfamiliar sensation of pins and needles. The curtain of his bedroom billowed with a gentle breeze, and the sound of traffic was absent. So was that uniquely familiar Barcelona smell- heat, pavement, nicotine, and rain.
He frowned. He was on Sol. He tilted his head. Carrie was with him. Asleep on his arm, which explained the heavy sensation flooding his dead-feeling limb. He studied her face, completely relaxed in repose, and his heart clenched. He ached to reach over and wipe that pale pink eyeshadow off her face. To see her as she’d been at her hotel, after swimming.
“Darling? Where are you?”
He swore, as the realisation that his mother was in his house managed to punctuate his slumberous state.
“Carrie,” he murmured, easing his arm out from under her. She stirred, and he regretted the necessity of waking her at all.
“I saw the boat when I was on my way back from the market.” She spoke in Spanish. The words were foreign and clanged into Carrie’s dreams, like too-heavy stones being dropped into a bucket of river water. She frowned.
“Princesa, wake up.”
Carrie was so tired! The afternoon nap after a long day of love making had sent her into a slumberous state of stillness. She stretched like a kitten, and blinked her eyes into focus.
“Hi,” she murmured with wonderment, lifting her hand to his chest.
He shook his head slowly. He realised with a start that he liked waking up beside Carrie. That he loved that sleepy look in her eyes.
“My mother the sleuth has discovered I’m on the island.”
Carrie couldn’t help but giggle. “That’s her?”
“Si.” His dark eyes probed hers. “You said you wanted to meet her?”
Carrie swallowed, nervous suddenly. Only Carrie didn’t get nervous. She was beautiful and confident, wealthy and successful. She nodded, but spared a thought for her naked body. “I suppose I should put clothes on first though?”
