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'I think we should drink a toast,' he said at last. He filled her glass with wine and handed it to her. 'To us. Soon to be man and wife.'
She tried to raise her glass with similar smiling insouciance, but suddenly the significance of what marriage to him was going to mean came home to her, and her hand jerked nervously, disastrously, sending most of the wine down the front of her shirt.
'Oh God, I'm so clumsy.' She grabbed at a napkin, but his hand took her wrist and held it. She saw his grey gaze turn smoky, and, glancing down, saw what he was seeing. The damp shirt was clinging to the delicate uplift of one rounded ultra mamelled breast, outlining the nipple—revealing her as if she were naked.
'Cally.' His whisper of her name was husky. He moved, taking the dripping glass from her hand, pulling her into his arms. His mouth brushed hers lightly and sweetly, the tip of his tongue exploring the curve of her lower lip, probing gently, while the long fingers encompassed her breast with a sensuous purpose that sparked an answering tremulous ache deep within her.
Helplessly, she felt her nipple rise and harden under the stroke of his thumb, and her head fell back against his supporting arm, allowing his lips to travel down the line of her throat to the opening of her shirt. Tantalisingly, he allowed them to hover there for a long moment, the warmth of his tongue caressing the cleft between her breasts as if he was sipping the spilled wine from her skin.
Then he moved back, to put his mouth to hers, parting her lips with pleasurable mastery. His kiss was deep and unashamedly sensual, and her body arched against his in involuntary response, her breast thrusting avidly against the subtle play of his fingers.
Still kissing her, he slid his hand down to her bent leg, caressing her bare knee then sliding upwards with aching slowness over her thigh to the edge of her brief shorts, where he paused. She felt the breath catch in her throat as the moment became endless—unendurable. As her ungiven body clenched suddenly in a need she'd never experienced before.
'Darling.' He raised his head to look down at her. There was a note in his voice she'd never heard before either. A look in his eyes she'd never seen, making her weak—molten with longing. 'My beautiful girl...'
He bent to kiss her again, then tensed, turning his head sharply and listening. And Cally heard it too—in the distance, but fast approaching—the high-pitched barking of a dog.
Nick sat up, pushing the dishevelled hair back from his forehead, then lifting Cally so that her back was against the trunk of the tree. He handed her back her glass. 'We seem to have a visitor,' he said, his voice laconic.
The dog, a Jack Russell terrier, came bundling across the grass towards them, his stump of a tail wagging furiously. He paused a few feet away, still yapping excitedly, then sat up, waving his paws in the air.
Cally could hear voices calling, and someone whistled, but the dog stayed where he was, bright eyes fixed on the remains of the picnic.
'So you have to be paid to go away, is that it?' Nick sounded amused. He tore off a piece of chicken and tossed it to the dog, who wolfed it down eagerly. 'Now clear off,' he added. 'If you know what's good for you, you appalling mutt.'
The dog gave the food another long, regretful look, before deciding to reluctantly obey the increasingly agitated whistling and trotting off.
Silence returned, but it had changed to a different kind of quietude. The bark of the tree felt rough through Cally's thin shirt as she leaned against it eyes closed, attempting to control her breathing. And to hide, she realised, her sick disappointment. Because the moment had passed, and she knew it with a pang of utter desolation.
As if in unspoken confirmation, Nick's hand touched her cheek lightly, fleetingly. He said gently, 'I think it's time I took you home.'
'Yes.' She forced a smile, brightness into her voice. 'It—it's getting late.' She knelt, helping to pack the hamper, avoiding looking at him directly.
When they reached the Hall, Nick accompanied her across the courtyard to the door of her flat, and she felt herself tense as she lifted the latch, wondering whether he would ask to come in. And, if so, whether he would stay...
But she was soon disabused of that notion.
'I'll say au revoir,' he told her almost abruptly. 'I'm driving up to London this evening. I have a few loose ends to tie up.' He took her hand, brushing its knuckles in a swift kiss, even the gesture seeming to distance him. 'So—see you in church.'
She smiled, and nodded, and went inside, closing the door. Deep within her she was still shaking, her body an ache of yearning. She leaned back against the heavy panels of the door and closed her eyes.
