Читать книгу The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection - Кейт Хьюит, Aimee Carson - Страница 101

CHAPTER EIGHT

THEY HAD FIVE days in California, five days of seeing the sights and enjoying each other’s company and each other’s bodies. Making love.

That was what it felt like to Sandro, what it was. He was falling in love with his wife, with the warm woman who had broken through the coldness and the ice.

Looking at her as they strolled down the pier in Santa Monica, Sandro could hardly believe Liana was the same coolly composed woman he’d met two months ago. She wore a sundress in daffodil yellow, her pale hair streaming about her shoulders, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed. She looked incandescent.

Her step slowed as she glanced at him, her brow wrinkling. ‘You’re giving me a funny look.’

‘Am I?’

‘Do I have ice cream on my face or something?’ She’d been eating a chocolate ice cream with the relish usually exhibited by a small child, and every long lick had desire arrowing inside him and making him long to drag her back to his house and make love to her in yet another room. So far they’d christened his study, his bedroom, the shower, the beach, and the front hall when they’d been in too much of a rush to get any farther inside. At this rate, Santa Monica pier would be next, and damn the crowds.

‘I’m just enjoying watching you eat your ice cream.’

‘Is it really that fascinating?’ She laughed and Sandro felt himself go hard as she took another lick, her pink tongue swiping at the chocolate with a beguiling innocence.

‘Trust me, it is.’

She faltered midlick as she took in the hotness of his gaze, and then with an impish little smile she leaned forward and gave him a chocolatey kiss. ‘That’s to tide you over till later.’

‘How much later?’

‘I want to walk to the end of the pier.’

Sandro groaned and took her arm. ‘You’re going to kill me, woman.’

‘You’ll die with a smile on your face, though.’

‘Or else a grimace of agony because you’re too busy enjoying your ice cream to satisfy your husband.’

She arched her eyebrows in mock innocence. ‘I believe I satisfied my husband twice today already, and it’s not even noon. I think you might need to talk to a doctor.’

‘I might,’ he agreed. ‘Or maybe you just need to stop eating ice cream in front of me.’ And then because he couldn’t keep himself from it any longer, he pulled her towards him and kissed her again, deeper this time, more than just something to tide him over until he could get her alone.

The ice-cream cone dangled from Liana’s fingers and then fell to the pier with a splat as she kissed him back, looping her arms around his neck to draw his body against her pliant softness, and he very nearly lost his head as everything in him ached to finish what they’d started right there, amidst the rollerbladers and sun-worshippers.

And Liana must have agreed with him, because she kept kissing him, with all the enthusiasm he could ever want from a woman.

A woman he was falling in love with, and damn if he didn’t want to stop.

A flashbulb going off made him ease back. The paparazzi hadn’t bothered them too much since they’d arrived in LA; there were enough famous people in this town to make Sandro, thankfully, just another celebrity. But having his hands all over his wife in public was front-page fodder for sure.

‘Sorry,’ he said, and eased back. ‘That’s going to be in the papers, I’m afraid.’

‘I don’t care,’ Liana answered blithely. ‘We’re married, after all.’ She glanced down at their feet. ‘But you’d better buy me another ice cream.’

‘Not a chance.’ Sandro tugged her by the hand back down the pier. ‘I won’t be answerable for my actions if I do.’

Several hours later they were lying in his bed—they’d made it there eventually, after christening another room of his beach house, this time the kitchen—legs and hands entwined, the mellow afternoon sunlight slanting over them.

And as much as Sandro never wanted any of it to end, he knew it had to.

‘I’ve finished up with DT,’ he said, sliding a hand along the smooth tautness of Liana’s belly. ‘We should return to Maldinia tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ He heard the dismay in her voice and then she sighed in acceptance, putting her hand over his and lacing her fingers through his. ‘It went by so fast. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed myself so much.’

‘Me neither. But duty calls.’ He heard the slightly sardonic note enter his voice, as it always did when he talked about his royal life, and he knew Liana heard it too.

She twisted towards him, her expression intent and earnest, her bare breasts brushing his chest. An interesting combination, and one that made Sandro want to kiss her again. And more.

‘Why do you hate being king?’ she asked, and he felt as if she’d just touched him with a branding iron. Pain, white-hot, lanced through him. Desire fled.

‘Why do you think I hate being king?’ he answered, glad his voice stayed even.

‘Maybe hate is too strong a word. But whenever you talk about it—about Maldinia and the monarchy—you get this...tone to your voice. As if you can’t stand it.’

He started to shift away from her, sliding his fingers from her own, but she tugged him back, or at least stayed him for a moment. ‘Don’t, Sandro,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not trying to offend you or make you angry. I just want to know you.’

‘I think you’ve known me pretty well this week, wouldn’t you say?’

Her expression clouded, her eyes the colour of bruises. ‘But that’s just sex.’

‘Just sex? I’m offended.’

‘All right, fine. Amazing sex, but still, I want to know more than your body, as fantastic as that is.’

He stared at her then, saw the shadows in her eyes, the uncertain curve of her mouth. ‘Do you really, Liana?’ he asked quietly. ‘We’ve had a wonderful time this past week, I’ll be the first to admit it. But we haven’t talked about anything really personal and I think you’ve liked it that way.’

Her lips trembled before she firmed them into a line and nodded. ‘Maybe I do. I’m a private person, Sandro, I admit that. There are—things I don’t like talking about. But I still want to get to know you. Understand you.’

‘So I bare my soul while you get to keep yours hidden? Doesn’t sound like much of a fair trade to me.’

‘No, it doesn’t.’ She was silent for a moment, nibbling her lip, clearly wrestling with herself. Sandro just waited. He had no idea what she was going to say or suggest, and he felt a wariness leap to life inside him because he might accuse her of keeping things back, but he knew he was too.

About his family. His father. Himself.

‘How about this,’ she finally said, and she managed to sound both resolute and wavering at the same time. It made Sandro want to gather her up in his arms and kiss her worries away, as well as his own. That would be far more enjoyable than talking. ‘We ask each other questions.’

He frowned, still wary. ‘Questions?’

‘Sounds simple, doesn’t it?’ she agreed with a wry smile that tugged at his heart. And other places. ‘What I mean is we take turns. You ask me a question and I have to answer it. Then I get to ask you a question and you have to answer it.’ She eyed him mischievously, although he could still tell this was big for her. And for him. Honesty, intimacy? He might crave it but that didn’t make it easy. ‘I’ll even,’ she added, ‘let you go first.’

Sandro took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He nodded. ‘Okay.’

‘Okay. Ask me the first question.’ Liana scrambled into a seated position, her legs crossed, her expression alert. She was completely naked and Sandro didn’t know whether he wanted to ask her a question or haul her into his arms. No, actually he did.

Sex would be easier. Safer. And far more pleasurable. But he’d accused Liana of holding things back and he’d be both a coward and a hypocrite now if he was the one to pull away. He drew another deep breath and sifted through all the things he’d wondered about his wife. ‘Why have you devoted your life to Hands To Help?’

She inhaled sharply, just once, and then let it out slowly. ‘Because my sister had epilepsy.’

Surprise flashed through him. ‘You’ve never mentioned—’

She held up one slender palm. ‘Nope, sorry. My turn now.’

‘Okay.’ He braced himself for the question he knew she would ask, the question she’d asked before. Why do you hate being king? And how would he answer that? Nothing about that answer was simple. Nothing about it was something he wanted to say.

‘Why did you choose California?’ she asked, and his jaw nearly dropped. She was gazing at him steadily and he knew with a sudden certainty that she was going easy on him. Because she knew how hard he’d found her first question. And yet he’d cut right to the quick with his own. He felt a surge of feeling for this woman who had shown him in so many ways just how strong and deep and wonderful she was.

‘I chose California because I wanted to go into IT and it was a good place for start-up businesses. Also, for the weather.’

She smiled, just slightly, and he felt herself tense for his next question. ‘What’s your sister’s name?’ he asked, and to his surprise and recrimination her eyes filled with tears. He’d meant it to be an easy question, but obviously it wasn’t.

‘Chiara.’ She drew a clogged breath. ‘I called her Chi-Chi.’

The past tense jumped out at him and he realised what a moron he was. He should have realised her sister was no longer alive. ‘What—?’

She shook her head. ‘My turn.’ She blinked rapidly until the tears receded, although Sandro would have rather they’d fallen. When, he wondered, had Liana last cried? He had a feeling it had been a long, long time ago.

‘What made you renounce your inheritance?’

It felt necessary at the time. That was what he’d told her before. He could say the same now, but it wasn’t really much of an answer. He gazed at her steadily, saw the remnant of old sorrow in her eyes even as she gazed unblinkingly back. ‘Because I thought I’d lose myself—my soul—if I stayed.’

‘Why—?’

‘Fair’s fair. My turn now.’

‘All right.’

He saw her brace herself, everything in her tensing for his next question. ‘How did your sister die?’ he asked softly.

For a second, no more, her features twisted in a torment that made him want to lean forward to embrace her, comfort her, but then her expression blanked again and she said quietly, ‘She choked during an epileptic fit when she was four years old.’

This time he didn’t keep himself from reaching for her. ‘God, Liana. I’m sorry.’ No wonder she devoted herself to her damned charity, to supporting the families of children like Chiara. She remained in his arms, stiff and unyielding as he stroked her hair, her shoulder. ‘How old were you when it happened?’

‘Eight.’ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘But that’s two questions from you, so I get two now.’

‘We could stop—’

‘Not a chance.’ She eased back, dabbed at her eyes with one hand before she stiffened her shoulders, gave him a look of stony determination.

‘Why did you feel as if you’d lose yourself, your soul, if you stayed in Maldinia?’

They were drawing the big guns now, Sandro thought wryly. Asking and admitting things that made them both very uncomfortable. Terribly vulnerable. ‘Because I couldn’t stand all the hypocrisy.’

‘What hypocrisy?’

‘It’s my turn now—’

‘No.’ She shook her head, her pale hair flying over her shoulders. ‘I get two questions in a row, remember.’

‘Damn.’ He smiled wryly, sighed. ‘The hypocrisy of my parents as well as myself.’

‘What—?’

‘Nope.’ He shook his head now. ‘My turn.’

She closed her eyes, and he felt as if she was summoning strength. ‘Go ahead.’

‘What was your favourite subject in school?’

Her eyes flew open and she stared at him in surprise, before a small smile tugged at her mouth. ‘Art. What was yours?’

‘Computers.’

They stared at each other for a long moment, the only sound their breathing, the rustle of covers underneath their naked bodies. ‘Do you want to stop?’ Liana asked softly, and he realised he didn’t. He wanted to tell everything to this woman, bare his soul and his heart along with his body. And he wanted her to do it too, and, more importantly, to want to. He wanted that intimacy. That vulnerability. That trust, that love.

And he hoped to God that Liana wanted it too.

* * *

Liana held her breath while Sandro’s gaze roved over her and then he smiled and shook his head.

‘No, let’s keep going. My turn to ask now.’

She nodded, steeling herself. It was almost a relief to answer his questions, like lancing a wound or easing an intense pressure. But it also hurt, and while he might have given her a break with the last question she didn’t think he would now.

‘Why didn’t you go to university?’

‘Because I wanted to start working with Hands To Help as soon as I could.’ That one, at least, was easy, even if it most likely made him think she was a bit obsessive about her charity. That was because he didn’t know the whole truth about Chiara; he hadn’t asked. And she wasn’t, she acknowledged, going to admit it unless he did.

Now her turn. She eyed him, his body relaxed and so incredibly beautiful as he lay stretched out across from her, unashamedly naked, the late afternoon sunlight glinting off his burnished skin, the perfect tautness of his muscled body. ‘How were your parents hypocrites?’

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his gaze drawn and thoughtful, and finally Liana prompted him softly. ‘Sandro?’

‘It’s not just a one-sentence answer.’

‘We didn’t make a rule about answers having to only be one sentence.’

‘But it’s easier, isn’t it?’ He glanced up at her, eyes glinting even as his mouth twisted with something like bitterness. ‘We’re both revealing as little information as we can.’

She couldn’t deny that. ‘So we start small,’ she said with a shrug. ‘No one said this had to be a complete confessional.’

‘My parents were hypocrites because they only pretended that they loved us when there was a camera or reporter around. When it mattered.’

‘Why—?’

‘Nope. My turn.’ So he was sticking with a one-sentence answer. She gave a little shrug of assent and waited, wondering just what he would ask her next. ‘What do you fantasise about doing with me that we haven’t done already?’

Shock had her jaw dropping even as heat blazed through her at his heavy-lidded look. ‘Umm...’ Her mind was blank, spinning. ‘Going to the cinema?’

He let out a low, throaty chuckle. ‘I see I’m going to have to rephrase that question.’

Her cheeks warmed. She might have been unabashed with him in the bedroom—or whatever room it happened to be—but talking about it felt different. More revealing somehow. ‘My turn,’ she said, her voice nearly a croak as she willed her blush to fade. She was suddenly, achingly conscious that they were both naked. That they’d just made love but already she wanted to again. And so, it seemed, judging from his words as well as the proud evidence of his body, did Sandro.

‘What’s your question, Liana?’ Sandro asked in a growl. ‘Because the way you’re looking at me, I’m not going to give you the time to ask me.’

‘Sorry.’ She jerked her gaze up to his face, tried to order her dazed thoughts. ‘Umm... How were you a hypocrite?’

‘Because I bought into their lies and when I realised that’s what they were I kept it going.’ He tossed the words away carelessly, but they made Liana want to ask more. Understand more.

‘My turn now,’ Sandro said, his voice a growl of sexual intent. ‘Now I’ll rephrase my last question. What do you fantasise about doing with me sexually that we haven’t already done?’

Just the question, in that husky murmur of his, made her breasts ache and her core throb. ‘We’ve already done a lot....’

‘Are you saying there isn’t something?’ Sandro asked silkily, his tone suggesting that he knew otherwise.

‘No, not exactly....’

‘Then what? Play by the rules, Liana. Answer the question.’

She pressed her hands to her face. ‘This is embarrassing.’

‘Why?’

‘I—I don’t know.’

‘I think you do.’

‘Fine, if you know so much, you tell me what I fantasise about.’

He laughed softly. ‘I don’t think so. You’re not going to get off that easily.’ His mouth curved in a wicked smile. ‘No pun intended. But I will tell you what I fantasise about.’

‘Okay,’ she breathed, and Sandro leaned forward, all predatory power and sexual intent.

‘I fantasise about tasting you.’ Liana inhaled sharply and felt her insides turn liquid. ‘And I don’t mean your mouth.’

She let out a wobbly laugh. ‘I might be inexperienced, but I didn’t think that’s what you meant.’

‘I want to taste you, Liana. I want to feel you tremble against me while I do.’

She closed her eyes, images, amazing, explicit images, blitzing through her brain, making it impossible to think. To respond. And yet the words came of themselves and with her eyes still closed she heard herself whisper, ‘I want that too.’

And then Sandro was reaching for her and kissing her, his mouth hard and hot and yet so very sweet. His hands slid down her body as his tongue delved deep and Liana tangled her fingers in his hair, drawing him closer, needing him more.

But then he began to move his mouth down her body and she knew where he was going, knew what he wanted—and what she wanted. Everything in her seemed to still and hang suspended, waiting, yearning—

And then her breath came out in a sudden gasp of pleasure as he spread her thighs and put his mouth to her, his tongue flicking against the sensitive folds, everything in her exposed and open and vulnerable.

It was exquisite. Unbearable. Too much. Too much pleasure, too much openness, too much feeling. She felt his breath against her heated, tender skin and she let out a choked gasp, felt tears start in her eyes. Tears that felt like the overflow of emotion in her soul.

‘Sandro...’

He lifted his head slightly. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

‘No—’

And then he tasted her again, deeper still, his mouth moving over her so surely, and her thighs clenched, her hands fisting in his hair as she cried out her climax and tears trickled down her cheeks. She felt as if she’d been broken and put together again; as if Sandro had reconstructed her.

He rested his cheek against her tummy as her heart rate slowed and she wiped the tears from her face with trembling fingers.

Gently he reached up and took her hands from her face, wiping the remaining tears away with his thumbs.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

‘Sorry? What on earth for?’

‘For crying—’

‘I don’t mind your tears, Liana.’ He kissed her navel. ‘You’re amazing,’ he said softly and she let out a shaky laugh.

‘I feel as weak as a kitten.’

‘Amazing,’ he repeated, and Liana had a sudden, overwhelming urge to tell him she loved him, but she kept the words back. Despite what they’d just done, it felt like too much too soon.

So instead she decided to admit to her fantasy and pay him in kind.

Gently she pushed at his shoulder and he lifted his head, his chin resting on her tummy, to gaze at her, his expression sleepy and hooded. ‘It’s your turn now,’ she said, and that sleepy gaze became suddenly alert.

‘My turn?’

She pushed him again and with a smile he rolled over onto his back, everything about him masculine, magnificent, hers. ‘Fair’s fair,’ she said and, with a blaze of sensual anticipation and ancient, feminine power, she straddled his thighs, bent her head so her mouth brushed his navel—and then moved lower.