Читать книгу Redeemed By Her Innocence / Sheikh's Royal Baby Revelation - Annie West - Страница 18

THE BRIGHT AFTERNOON sparkled and finally faded as the lilac clouds of dusk slipped through purples and mauves and came to settle over the low hills. Night wrapped warm arms around the vast lands of the villa, snuffing out everything except the sconces on the walls, the lamps dotted on paths and the fiery glow of the man himself.

Jacquelyn, freshly showered, hair long and loose, slipped into her silk jersey maxi dress and stepped out on the terrace to watch.

Her hands curled round the cool metal barrier and she breathed, deeply. What a day. From the moment the plane had touched down on the soil she’d been swept up in love for this place. The light, the scents and sounds, every fabulous aspect of this fabulous villa. And then spending the last part of the afternoon walking through shady olive groves, visiting the fabled Well of Agamemnon and sitting on Nikos’s private beach.

She could hardly believe she was the same person who had been so dismissive of Nikos Karellis only one day earlier. Now her heart raced and her stomach fluttered at the thought of his face breaking into a smile, as he took her hand to guide her down the worn sandstone steps onto the baking sand.

She’d been right not to strip off and swim though, tempted as she was. But that would have been a step too far. Instead she’d kept her sundress on and her dignity intact, and watched happily from the tiny terrace as he’d emerged from the pool house in a pair of swim shorts and jogged past her into the sea.

He was magnificent. All that she’d denied herself in that flash as he’d opened the door to his suite, she’d then feasted on from the safety of her deck chair. She’d gorged herself on the rippling muscles of his back, his firm calves and thighs as he’d pounded past her to the waves. The sight of his fabled tattoos winding from his neck over his back and his chest, tracing their silky path over strong, hard, perfect muscles.

He’d pounded the waves, swimming out some fifty metres and back, making her feel stupidly, ridiculously nervous when he’d almost seemed to disappear in the foaming white horses.

And then finally he’d emerged and walked towards her, dragging a towel this way and that, mesmerising her, like a magnificent godlike hypnotist. She’d been powerless to stop herself. And that was OK. Because all she’d been doing was looking. And as long as she remembered that, she was in no danger.

But even now as she stood watching him on the terrace below, she knew that every single thing about Nikos Karellis eclipsed every single thing about every other man she’d ever met. Back and forward he paced, like a general pacing in front of his army. In the calm, silent night his voice carried to where she stood, switching from the Greek she barely recognised, to Italian and then back to his deep, drawling Australian English—he was orator, statesman and king all in one.

She knew she should be thinking about her presentation, but she simply couldn’t make her mind focus. Yet. As long as she had an early night, she’d be up at dawn and get back into the zone.

‘Hey up there! Juliet! Coming to join me?’ said Nikos. He had walked to the end of the terrace and was almost underneath her.

‘Yes, Romeo, just coming,’ she laughed. She lifted her fingers to her lips to blow him a kiss, and then stopped—what was she thinking? She drew her hand back as if she had been intending to tuck her hair behind her ear.

But the look in his eyes told her he knew. He knew she was attracted to him. She was useless at hiding it. From the way she’d drooled as he’d dried himself down, to the way she’d been caught, open-mouthed, watching him just now.

Of course she was attracted; who wouldn’t be? The question was, what was she going to do about it?

She slipped silently along the hallway, her feet slipping on the marble, her silver bracelets jangling. She caught sight of herself in the mirrored doors that led out to the terrace.

You’d better be careful, Jacquelyn, she told herself. You’re almost out of your depth. Don’t spoil it all now…

She walked across the lamp-lit terrace. Nikos walked towards her, and her heart leaped in her chest. She breathed, she smiled. She took the cheek he offered, right, then left, and she kissed him quickly, ignoring the swirl of musky male scent and the smooth warmth of his skin.

‘You look very beautiful,’ he said. ‘That coral colour suits you. The cut of the dress—really nice.’

She knew it did. The soft jersey draped over her figure, hugging her curves, the coral pink toned with her skin. She was lucky.

‘Thank you,’ she replied as he showed her to her seat at a round table, tucked in the corner of the trailing rose arbour, lit by candles and strings of little lamps.

‘Are you hungry?’ he asked as he settled himself beside her and speared a bit of melon, watching her carefully.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, looking at the plates of appetisers. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t hungry in the slightest.

He nodded, still watching, and she lifted some food to her plate.

‘Your room OK?’

‘Oh, yes. Thanks. Very comfortable.’

He nodded. ‘I’ve been busy, but that swim did me the world of good. Unfortunately it was all waiting for me when we got back from the beach.’

‘I guess you’re always on call.’

‘Aren’t you? As head of a business, there never seems to be a moment when someone doesn’t want an instant solution to some problem or other.’

‘I’m not quite in your league. My issues are more around being taken seriously.’

He raised a sharp eyebrow.

‘Not by my staff. But by men. Bank managers usually.’

‘You feel objectified in the business world?’

‘Objectified. Patronised. Demoralised. Take your pick. I’m sorry if I sound bitter, but the number of times I’ve heard “Oh, isn’t your father coming?” Honestly. It would never happen if I were a man.’

‘People make judgements in less than a second. It takes a lot to change a preconceived idea, but I bet you can do it if you want to.’

It was the thing that upset her more than anything else. Taking over from her father, and feeling that sense of disappointment every time it was she alone who walked into meetings. It was fine when she was just there as window dressing, but as soon as she was running the whole show she knew she’d been judged and filed before some of them had even read past the first line of her accounts.

‘I don’t imagine anyone has ever told you you’re far too handsome to be getting all mixed up in business before?’

‘No,’ he said, scathingly. ‘And I honestly can’t believe in this day and age that anyone would doubt your credentials because you’re a woman.’

‘It happens,’ she said, taking a sip of wine, feeling it slide warmly into her stomach.

‘If it’s any consolation, you wouldn’t begin to imagine what’s been said to me. The question is, do we let what other people think affect our decisions?’

‘Is this about to turn into my second piece of business advice?’ she asked, smiling as she took another little sip of the very delicious wine.

‘Life advice,’ he countered.

‘So why exactly does Mister Seventy-Sixth-on-the-Forbes-List feel so maligned?’

‘I don’t. But what I’m trying to get across is that people paint pictures in business. And in life. The perfect world you think you see here…’

He jerked his fork around the space. Lamps were now glowing softly right along the lines of the terrace, highlighting clumps of sleeping flowers nestled in their bushy beds. Further on, the blue glimmer of the pool and the solid lines of pale loungers stretched out expectantly under the watchful hillside, and the bright-faced moon above.

‘This paradise and every other paradise like it will be hiding all sorts of cracks and holes and heartache.’

As she stared up at him lazily spearing watermelon and letting it slide down his throat, she recalled another article she had read, about his early childhood and humble beginnings.

‘You had it tough at one point in time, didn’t you?’

He raised an eyebrow, continued to munch melon and she watched in a hazy trance now as his muscled forearms flexed with each movement of his fork, and the thick column of his throat constricted with each swallow. It was poetry in motion, dark and male and utterly magnetic.

‘No tougher than any other kid growing up in an abusive, dysfunctional family. All things considered, I had it pretty easy.’

‘I’m sure you could take care of yourself,’ she said, a trifle dismissively. He might have had humble beginnings but he had it all laid out at his feet now. He had no idea how she’d had to struggle.

‘Well, you see, that’s where you’re wrong, Jacquelyn. I couldn’t. So that’s how I ended up here.’

He sounded so different, so quiet. He glanced down at the plate where a few glistening pink cubes of melon remained, but then he put his fork down, stared at it for a moment.

‘I ran away. I met my wife at the side of the road when she was still someone else’s wife. I knew what she was doing was wrong but I was eighteen. I was in so much trouble, with the police, with the gangs, with my father. I knew if I stayed in Sydney I’d be dead within a year. And then along comes Maria. And she wanted to be my wife and so I married her, I “reinvented myself” and now here I am. And here you are.’

As he spoke she felt the ghosts of his past swirl around. She saw him look at her, really look at her. He wasn’t looking at her like a boss, he was looking at her like a man.

‘Here we are indeed,’ she said, and she glanced around with a nervousness that she wasn’t sure was real.

‘So, you see, I’ve bought the T-shirt with the whole marriage crap. It doesn’t really do it for me now that I’ve grown up. No offence,’ he said.

‘None taken. For the record, I may work at one end of the marriage production line, but I’m well aware of how it can end up.’

‘Things didn’t work out for you either, did they?’

She flushed. She hated bringing all that up again. Not here, not now.

‘Things worked out,’ she said, but she couldn’t meet his eye.

‘Still hurts, huh? You’re not alone. Men can tend to have the upper hand in relationships. Things seem a bit less complicated for us.’

‘That’s just an excuse for dishonourable people to act in a dishonourable way,’ she said, and there was the bitterness in her voice, still there because she really didn’t buy the argument that men were different from women. There were people who were good and there were people who weren’t. There were good men in the world, like her father. The trouble was, they all appeared to be taken…

‘OK. I hear you. But relationships come in many forms. I’m not saying it’s OK to lie, but if everyone is clear about the boundaries, who are you to judge?’

‘Not everyone is as clear about the boundaries as you think they are,’ she said.

Nikos looked at her with understanding painted in his eyes.

‘That Tim guy,’ he said, quietly. ‘What did he do to you?’

She’d told no one apart from her mother the facts of that night, but somehow the whole story had made it around town before she’d even taken her ring off and flushed it down the toilet.

‘It’s no secret. We were going out for four years, engaged for two and he left me five weeks before we were due to get married.’

He nodded. He reached over and squeezed her hand, but she drew it back again quickly. ‘I’m sorry, but people split up, all the time. It happens. Better that it happened before you got married than after.’

‘I know that. And believe me, I thank my lucky stars every day now. But it was how he did it. We were out for dinner. He ordered fillet steak, medium rare—he even said that—and then he just excused himself to go to the bathroom and never came back.’

She’d sipped her gin and tonic, watching the light dance off the self-same engagement ring, and feeling so proud and pleased that she would soon have a golden band there beside it. And she’d sipped some more as she’d waited on Tim, and then some more until she’d finished her drink. And then she’d realised, he was away too long. Far too long.

The shame, the humiliation. How long she had sat there, calling for help. ‘My fiancé is stuck in the toilet…something must have happened to him. Please call the police…he’s been abducted…’

All the silly nonsense she’d convinced herself was true until, gently but firmly, the police officer had told her he had driven away in his own car—and had shown it to her there on the CCTV.

‘That’s pretty tough. You mean you didn’t actually split up—he just split? Was there someone else?’

Nikos poured a little more wine, the gentle slosh of liquid in the glass a mesmeric accompaniment to his words.

‘I think so. I heard he went abroad, met someone else, a woman with children of her own. He’s only been back in the country a few months.’

She wasn’t going to tell him about the email he’d finally sent a month later. Saying it was all her fault, that she wouldn’t listen. She’d driven him away.

‘Rubbish,’ her mother had said.

‘I’ll kill him if I get my hands on him,’ her father had said.

‘And yet you’re “pure as the driven snow”. Wasn’t that what he called you?’

So he’d heard that. She wondered what else he’d heard. She swallowed and looked away.

‘I might not have had the same experiences as some other people.’

‘Experiences?’ he asked. ‘What kind of experiences are we talking about?’

How could he lace a simple word with such meaning? The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, a shiver ran through her and she forced herself to stare at her wine glass. She was hardly going to tell him about her sexual experiences, or lack of.

‘I don’t really care for the things other people care for.’

He watched her as he poured her another glass of wine. His eyes sparkled wickedly in the candlelight. He was as intoxicating as the wine. One more lingering stare and she’d be drunk. She reached for the water.

‘You’ve been a good girl your whole life long.’

And look where it’s got me, she thought, but sipped her water, said nothing. Being good was the only way she knew how to be. She didn’t ask for it to be this way; she simply couldn’t imagine any other way.

Her teenaged years with Tim had been innocent. They’d had their fun, but she’d been told by her mum and Nonna what wearing white meant. It had been drummed into her, like her date of birth, her address, her vital statistics.

All she’d wanted was to wait until they were married. What was so wrong with that? Why couldn’t Tim do the same?

‘Have you ever stepped onto the dark side, Jacquelyn?’

She swallowed, looked at him hard.

‘I’ve never been tempted,’ she said.

He smiled then and all over his face was temptation. In every hard line of his jaw, every brooding inch of his eyes, in the devilish swirl of his tattoo, she could see now, clearly, the other side of Nikos Karellis. The profit-driven retail mogul was gone and in his place was the Sydney Hell’s Angel, and there was nothing remotely gentlemanly about him.

No more polite tolerance, no more board-meeting manners, now she was picking up something else entirely. Now he was seeing her as a woman, and nothing else.

Her heart thundered in her ears. Her body was swirling, she felt drunk, out of control, exhilarated, afraid.

‘Never been tempted?’

He pushed away his plate and sat back, one hand resting on the white linen cloth. She shook her head. Things were shifting, the ground moving from under her, the world reforming into another place entirely. She was suddenly conscious of her legs, bare, her arms resting on the chair, her spine erect, the bodice of her dress with its revealing view of cleavage.

She pushed herself back from the table and the silk jersey of the dress slid over her bare legs as she crossed them, leaving her thigh exposed. He looked right there, at her leg, and she knew he liked what he saw.

‘Not even a little?’ he said, his fingers drumming a slow tattoo on the white linen.

Prickles of awareness swept over her arms, her legs and right to the tips of her breasts. She felt a tingling at the nape of her neck. Her body was waking up from a long sleep. And it felt good. It felt exciting.

Her fingers curled around the cushion of the seat as she leaned forward to pull the skirt of the dress back over her legs.

‘Leave that,’ he whispered. ‘Let yourself be tempted.’

Her breath quickened. Her heart picked up a strong, thudding beat. She felt herself rooted to the spot, hot and heavy and utterly under his spell. She was in very dangerous territory.

He pushed his chair back too, turned himself round to face her. She was afraid now—but only of herself and the calm, cool exterior that was slipping and sliding and beginning to feel like a puddle of watery ice at her feet.

Kiss me, kiss me, she thought, willing him closer. Her eyes fixed on his lips, her breasts ached under her dress and her back now arched into a curve all by itself, inviting him to savour her and take her.

But he sat there, just watching, drumming his fingers, slowly, slowly.

‘I’ll make the first move,’ he said, and he stood then and closed the two steps to stand beside her. His groin was level with her eyes and her mouth. It was huge and she longed to reach out and touch him.

She was shocked, shocked that these thoughts were in her mind. And it was as if he knew. He stood still as a rock, watching her, then suddenly she felt his hand on the crown of her head, and with a jerk her head was tugged back.

‘I bet you’ve got dark little thoughts and wicked fantasies in that head of yours.’

Her face flamed but she didn’t try to deny it.

‘I think you want me to forget why you’re really here and lift you up and turn you in my arms and let you feel what you are only imagining.

‘You want to taste it—it’s so close now, Jacquelyn. It’s right here. But you’re still too afraid to let go.’

Her head was tilted up, her hair caught in a bunch in his hand, her lips were open and his face glowered down at hers, dark and deadly.

‘I’m not afraid,’ was all she said, her voice hoarse and throaty.

Slowly he raised her to standing, tugging her hair with just the most exquisite mix of pleasure and pain. And she was so close to him now she felt as if she was breathing in the very essence of maleness, the root and power of masculinity, and she was getting drunk on it.

‘You want to know what it’s like to make love to me.’

She would die rather than admit it, but silence was her confessor.

‘And for a reason I still can’t quite put my finger on, I am just as curious to know what it’s like to make love to you.’

‘I’m trying to take that as a compliment,’ she said, rolling her head sensuously as his grip loosened to a caress.

‘You should. It’s been a very long time since I felt anything like this. A very long time. Maybe never…’

He trailed a finger down her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parted. She felt the finger land on the cushion of her lower lip. She would not give in so easily. She would not grab him the way she wanted to.

Seconds ticked by. His finger followed the lines of her lips, lightly dusted the edges of her cheekbones, the arcs of her eyebrows and with every passing moment she yearned for his lips.

‘You know if we do this, Jacquelyn…you know what that means.’

Her head had fallen back and his arms scooped against her back, holding her steady as her neck lengthened in a gentle stretch. His fingers slid up to rest on her collarbone. And then she was closer still and she knew she was past the point of no return, that she had to feel his lips now…

‘What does it mean?’ she breathed.

Instead of answering, he now followed where his fingers had trailed from the base of her neck, with tiny feverish little kisses, brands. Up her neck to the apex where her jaw began, the most tender spot, so weakening her that her knees buckled.

‘It means nothing. Just an amazing night, one amazing night. And tomorrow we go back to where we were.’

She heard his words and she felt his kisses, at her cheekbones, and she knew if she only waited, if she had the patience, if the seconds could only stop stretching for hours, days, weeks, that his lips would finally land on hers, that she would feel his kiss and taste him and know him.

And it was as if every moment of her life had been building to this. As if every single moment she’d ever spent as a girl, learning about her femininity, the way she walked and talked and held herself, the way she put on lipstick and painted her toenails, every moment was building into this, the essence of who she was as a woman.

Kiss me, she gasped, maybe aloud this time…

Her eyes were still closed but she knew he was hovering over her face. She knew he was staring at her, at her opened lips. She felt her body throb with longing, she felt her nipples harden and ache for his hands. She arched her back and pressed closer to him, sinking into his maleness.

‘I will kiss you. I’ll kiss every part of you. But first…open your eyes, Jacquelyn.’

The rough rasping burr of his voice demanded and received. Her eyes flew open and she stared into his face. His eyes sparkled, points of light in the darkness, the black night sky behind.

‘You understand what I am saying? This means nothing beyond pleasure. I don’t owe you anything and you don’t owe me. Your company and my company are nothing to do with this.’

‘I understand,’ she breathed, impatient for the sensations to return. If he had given her a contract to sign in blood she would have done it.

She stared at him, and when he didn’t move she twisted out of his grasp and put her hands on his face, framing his mouth. She registered the surprise in his eyes, and heard the burst of black laughter that spilled from his throat.

‘You are impatient, aren’t you?’

But as she opened her mouth to speak he grabbed her wrists and tugged them down to her sides. Her back arched and her breasts protruded and he growled and then finally, finally he placed his hot harsh kiss on her mouth. And his lips were hard and soft and wet and warm and she began to drown in each moment as the tug to have more and more began to tear at her. Then his tongue teased her lips apart, and now they duelled, and she gasped as another sharp tug built at her core. One of his hands now held her wrists, the other he trailed to her jaw, holding her steady.

‘So we’re clear—you’ll not set this pace. That’s not how things roll.’

She had never done anything more than kiss or caress a man. And she knew that none of the kisses or caresses had ever felt like this. Being close to him, the anticipation, each single moment was like a lifetime love affair in itself. The pleasure and pain of waiting, the exquisite heat that was building and building. She was emboldened. She was sexually confident in a way she’d never been before, she’d never known this language, these words and phrases, and she was desperate to start to converse.

‘You don’t really believe that,’ she said, finding her voice. ‘We both know who’s really in control here.’

‘You’re deluded, Jacquelyn. You’re mine. And I will do anything I want with you.’

‘Anything?’ she laughed.

She could barely keep the shivering desire from her voice. In the fleeting seconds she saw that she was in a new world. She’d never given away control of her body before, never fully relaxed.

Sex had once seemed part of a wonderful world that she would one day be given a map to arrive at. Then, it became this giant immovable structure that dominated everything, everywhere she looked, everyone was part of it and she was locked out.

She was tired of being the one on the outside. She wanted to know. She wanted to know so badly and she wanted to know now, tonight, with Nikos.

She didn’t want to think about tomorrow, there was only now.

‘I think you’d succumb to pretty much anything I asked.’

But still he did nothing other than glaze her with his eyes. Her spine felt bent as a bow, strung out, and his body was going to be the instrument that she played. She was almost reverberating with the tension of holding back. She longed to sing and throb and climb the heights with him. But she wasn’t going to break and beg.

‘You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?’ she asked, her voice tremulous and she knew he heard it too, because he smiled even more devilishly.

‘When it comes to lovemaking? I think we both know the answer to that. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think the same.’

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ she said.

‘Good question.’

Then he bent his head low, to the exposed column of her neck. And she could see the crown of his head, the thick, dark crop of his hair. He released her wrist and she sank her fingers into his hair, holding him to her neck, her décolletage, her breasts. He growled as he nuzzled first one nipple, then the other. She heard a song in her own throat, a call from her heart.

Hungry, thirsty, greedy for every last bit of this man, she ran her hands over his head and down to his shoulders. She filled her palms with his muscle and drank deeply of the very air around him, the hot, humid night, the sky now bands of orange and mauve and the sun a tiny ball of gold sinking out of sight.

And like an addict craving more and more, she could not seem to get enough of his tongue, his lips, the pleasure he brought. She marvelled at the solid mass of muscle across his shoulders, ached to touch the skin beneath and slid her fingers to the buttons to begin her greedy exploration.

‘Let’s get comfortable,’ he said, standing and scooping her up in his arms in one smooth movement.

Her laptop slid from the seat, from the corner of her eye she saw it land and fold, and as it hit the ground her heart sank with a moment of dread, as she remembered why she was really here and thought of what was still to come—the unfinished presentation, the half-baked plan…

But it was only a moment, a fleeting grey cloud of worry in this dazzling sky, and was gone, because she was up in his arms, her vision now his solid chest and the retreating terrace with all the ornaments of their brewing passion, the whisky bottle, the dining table, the half-drunk glasses of wine, the coffee pot, untouched, the candles flickering in the late evening breeze, to the billowing curtains of the daybed…

And then down she was placed. Soft mattress, cream curtains all around, tiny lights within the canopy like some fairy-tale chamber and there, proud and male and staring down at her like the warrior returned, Nikos.

She sat up on her elbows as he leaned over her and their lips found each other in a new familiarity. His tongue claimed hers, hot breath and wet mouths, his scent, his skin, his utterly irresistible Nikos-ness had her scrabbling up, holding him while he pulled off his shirt.

And then she saw what she had needed to see, and he was magnificent and marvellous and she felt as if she was reeling at the sight. His shoulders, broad and golden, and biceps, inked and hard, and his chest, wide and dark, and his nipples, small and flat and beaded, and it was there her tongue went, as her hands touched and stroked and grabbed and she filled all of her senses with this man.

What on earth had she been imagining? Not this! This was so much more, so wonderful. The more male he was, the more she felt her own femininity, the more emboldened she was. So this was making love. She was awake and alive for the first time in her life.

She felt his arms slide under her shoulders; her legs wrapped around his waist as if they had a hundred times before.

‘Take your dress off,’ he said in a growl.

His words splashed water on her fever, and she slid back from the discovery of his body to look up into his face. For a moment he looked distant, his eyes dark and impassioned, as if the fire that burned was darker now, and the light behind his eyes was almost out.

For one horrible second a laser point of fear burned in her heart. She was on fire with lust, dishevelled, her dress around her waist, her breasts soaked with his mouth, her nipples taut, but the sweetness had gone, the sense that something uniquely special was building between them. Now she could be anyone lying here in this chamber.

She could still stop this now. She could roll over, fix her clothes, run back to the terrace, collect her laptop and turn back into the person she really was. She had her life, her business, her family name, her little courtyard and her shop. She was never going to be this woman again. She had opened the door but she didn’t need to run through it.

But then he moved. Back. He stepped back as if he sensed what she was thinking. He pulled out of the fiery circle that had been burning around them and she felt the chill of that. Was he having second thoughts? His eyes were trained on her but it was concern she saw there; she saw it and she scorned it. She didn’t want his concern, or anybody else’s.

She was sick of being Jacquelyn Jones. She was sick of being the devoted daughter whose only goal in life was to replicate the goals of all the people who came before her. She was sick of waiting for a fantasy that hadn’t come true. This was her fantasy now—here in Greece, in the villa of one of Europe’s best lovers, and she would never be here again…

In a moment she was up on her knees. She threw her arms around his neck and she found his mouth and she kissed him with everything she had.

He paused, he stilled, and then the fire erupted in seconds, the roar of his voice and the cry from her throat as he, one-handed, laid her down, and unfastened his belt and flies and she scrambled out of her dress.

Her eyes and hands started to grab for him, the huge silken-tipped beautiful manly thrust of him, but he grabbed her wrists and shook his head.

‘Ladies always come first,’ he said, and then he dropped to his knees, and eased hers apart and placed his head where she longed to see it, and instead of rejecting, because she knew in her heart that there would never be another touch like his, she lay back and let him call the song from her heart with every lap of his tongue.

The bloom of her orgasm built from every pore of her body to her core, one huge wave of pleasure, and she screamed his name as pulse after pulse rocked her.

And as she sank back he was there, naked, sheathing himself masterfully, his eyes boring into her face, his own desire as boldly painted as the inked designs on his chest. His arm was now under her back, her chest lifted, her neck stretched and her head falling back, and then she was down again and he was sliding his shaft inside her body, and as it closed around him, inch by inch, the flash of pain was buried by the last moments of her beautiful, heart-melting orgasm.

But her eyes opened into his face, watching, and she killed his questioning look with a smile and a kiss and a silent prayer of thanks for making her first time better than her wildest dreams.

She squeezed her thighs and urged him on, and he pushed himself inside her, his body sliding over hers, the weight and warmth, the strength and power rubbing against her soft tender flesh and nothing in the world had ever felt as good as this. She relished it like the best food and wine, the best sunset, the softest silk. Nothing was as good now, nothing would ever be as good again.

Her lips kissed and tasted, her hands roamed everywhere—his hair, his muscled back; she grabbed for the sheets of the daybed, then back to him again, as he thrust and built it up all over again.

Then a cry came from his throat, the start of a noise that built—he pushed himself back from her and, bereft of his body, she reached forward and licked at his nipple, flat and hard—and he opened his eyes and smiled, sweetly—he smiled and she licked again and then he started to thrust hard and fast and he was going to orgasm, she could feel the moment swirl and swell between them.

It was all she needed to join him. Like two animals writhing, loving under the light of the stars, lost in passion.

And then it was over. He rolled onto his back, threw his arm above his head. She rolled with him, as if tugged by a magnet, and watched as he blew out a long sigh. He shook his head, first with a kind of incredulity and then as if to settle everything back down to normal.

She lay back beside him, gazing up at the tented roof of the daybed, the tiny lights twinkling down, witnessing their heartbeats slowing, and the cool realisation of each second ticking by, knowing that what was once hidden was now known.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, but without moving.

She waited a moment before replying as the images flashed through her mind.

‘Perfectly well, thanks,’ she said.

He leaned up on one elbow, stared at her.

‘For a moment I thought you were a virgin.’

‘No. I’m not a virgin,’ she said. Not any more.

Because technically it was true, and he didn’t need to know her truth—not right now. She’d tell him later, because all she wanted to feel now was the relief, the joy of being part of a world that she’d never been able to visit before. She wasn’t a little girl any more, she was a woman. A healthy, happy, normal and free woman.

What a truly beautiful experience. What an amazing man…

‘My mistake,’ he said.

His eyes were soft, his mouth in a smile, his face mere inches away; that special moment bloomed again, that calling to her that this was all OK, that she hadn’t been crazy to do this, that she was safe.

Yes, that she was safe…

‘Shall we see if we can feel any better than “perfectly well”? Based on first impressions, I think we might just manage it.’

He was leaning even closer and now mingled in with the man was the scent of them and, like a switch, on it went—her lust and longing. Her body turned towards him, complicit and willing, and she was welcomed back into his arms with a smile that turned into a kiss, that turned into an embrace and, with a laugh in her throat that startled her, she was swept up in his arms, and on through the night, to the house.

And with every step she felt a tremor of anxiety, and with every breath she batted it away. This was one night. One night. And all her tomorrows were ahead of her. Nothing was going to change how they passed. Nothing she could do now was going to change a single thing, other than her memories.