Читать книгу One Night To Wedding Vows - Ким Лоренс, KIM LAWRENCE - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

‘IS SOMETHING WRONG?’

Lara shook her head and her spurt of panic subsided. Instead, desire, warm and fluid, spread through her body as his iron-hard thigh nudged hers, then a second later drew away.

‘Is it your ankle?’

‘My ankle?’ It took her a moment to recall turning it earlier. The pain had been sharp but it had subsided now. ‘No, it’s fine, see?’ Proving her point, she hitched the long skirt of her dress slightly to expose her calf and foot, stretching them out as far as the confined space allowed. ‘I just turned it, but it’s fine now.’

She turned her head and found his eyes on her leg. She could see a nerve relaxing and tensing like a ticking bomb in his lean cheek as he stared.

He turned his head, his eyes only brushing hers for a moment before he leaned forward to give the driver directions in Italian. But one glimpse of the devouring heat in them was enough to pull her back in her seat shaking, frightened not by the intent she had seen written in his face but the response it had awoken in her.

She sat there, thinking of the taste of his cool, firm mouth, her hand pressed tight to her quivering stomach.

Raoul didn’t move any closer or attempt to put his arm around her. As the car drew away from the kerb they could have been strangers forced to share a space on crowded public transport...except for the air thick with possibility between them.

Lara’s head was spinning as she sat there, and her thoughts began racing to keep pace with the turbulent thud of her heart.

What are you doing, Lara? You have no idea where you are, let alone where you are going. You just got into a car with a total stranger, and the plan is to have sex with him?

Mark thought you were easy—how is this different?

What does it matter? Lara asked herself. She was just using him. It would be liberating; she wouldn’t have to pretend. So far her wild-child reputation had been window dressing. This was real.

A conversation with her recently engaged friend, Jane, surfaced in her head. A crowd of them had been sitting in a bar drinking shots, except for Lara, the designated driver with a zero tolerance to alcohol, while Jane showed off her ring.

‘It was magic, guys, the moment I saw him I was dizzy with longing—you know what I mean?’

Because it was expected Lara had smiled and nodded her agreement along with everyone else, but she hadn’t known what Jane meant. Not really. And she had actually been happy in her ignorance. Losing your balance, not to mention your grip on reality—Jane’s dream man was not exactly what you’d call irresistible—was not something she envied anyone.

Had she lost her grip on reality now? It wasn’t too late to change her mind.

She halted the inner dialogue and turned her head. Raoul was sitting back, both hands rested on his thighs, as he looked straight ahead. She sensed a darkness in him, and in profile the austere beauty of his face brought a lump of emotion to her throat.

He’s not a sunset, or an ocean view, she reminded herself. He’s a man, a stranger. And you’re in the back of a taxi with him.

‘I can take you to your hotel, if you prefer.’

The offer made her relax. The option was there, although she knew it was one she had no intention of taking. ‘No, I don’t want that. I want you.’

She heard a sharp intake of breath but his only response was a jerky movement of his dark head.

Raoul didn’t trust himself to touch her, because he knew that when he did he wouldn’t be able to let her go. The scent of her, the warmth where their thighs were almost touching, were driving him insane. A woman had not made him feel this way in a long time.

He had never been so relieved for a journey to end.

‘We’re here.’

Standing beside him on the pavement, watching him pay off the cab, Lara wondered where here was. There were no names, numbers or signs on any of the anonymous buildings this side of the street, though she could just make out a plaque on a building opposite. Squinting, she read Embassy, then before she could read the rest of the inscription a big set of gates slid silently open.

He gestured for her to go through, which after a tiny pause she did.

Nothing in the street suggested that this place existed.

‘It’s beautiful.’

Her apprehension gave way to appreciation as the tall gates closed, cutting them off from the street again. The softly lit courtyard they stood in was stone cobbled, uneven and old. The plants that spilled from the massed stone troughs in the central section filled the air with the heady scents of jasmine and lavender, and water spilled from a stone lion’s head set in the wall out into an ornamental pool.

She tilted her head back. The building that enclosed the space on three sides was tall, the first-floor windows arranged symmetrically with wrought-iron Juliet balconies.

‘Is it a hotel?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I live here.’

‘Alone?’ The possibility seemed extraordinary to Lara. It was a massive place for one person...had he got the marital home after the divorce? Assuming there had been a divorce—really she knew nothing about him. She exhaled a measured sigh, starting slightly when he placed a hand between her shoulder blades. The touch of his fingers on her bare skin made her gasp.

‘This way.’

Quivering inside with anticipation that she struggled to hide beneath an air of cheerful insouciance, she let him guide her up a small flight of shallow stone steps, as though she were in the habit of doing this sort of thing every day of the week.

He leaned across her to put a key in the lock of the heavy metal-banded door that was dark with age. Given the traditional, almost historical, external appearance of the building, the inside caused her to gasp in surprise.

Internally it had been opened up—presumably walls had been knocked down to create this one massive ground-floor space, bisected by a staircase that seemed to float in mid-air. The end wall had been taken out and was now glass; several sections of internal wall were exposed stone while others were pale limewashed.

The furniture was eclectic. Big, comfortable-looking sofas, a long, highly polished antique trestle table, and one entire wall lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

They had entered the kitchen area, which boasted every modern appliance set in pale ash units with polished stone work surfaces.

‘This is not what I expected.’ But then, nothing about their encounter had been.

Raoul gave the space a dismissive glance. He felt no emotional connection to it; he’d simply given the architect free rein. The place said nothing about him or his taste in books, except that he liked big spaces. It wasn’t the soundest of financial investments he’d ever made—he’d bought it for its location and size, only to discover it was falling down.

‘The place was riddled with wet rot, dry rot, deathwatch beetle, I could go on... A lesson in the danger of buying without a structural survey. Once the building was made safe I had to decide whether to reinstate the original period features or not.’ His shoulders lifted.

‘And you chose not.’

He nodded.

‘It’s spectacular.’ She clamped her lips together to prevent a gushing response.

He took a step closer and the room got smaller, her heartbeat got faster, and there seemed a strong possibility her shaking knees were going to fold.

‘I always talk a lot when I’m nervous.’ Should she tell him before...?

Oh, yeah, because that worked so well last time.

‘You’re nervous?’

‘Well, this might surprise you,’ she said, forcing a laugh, ‘but this isn’t something I do every day.’

His dark brows lifted. ‘No, it doesn’t surprise me. Why should it?’

‘It’s just—’

‘You don’t have to explain.’

She felt hot as embarrassed colour flew to her cheeks. ‘No...no, of course not.’ The man doesn’t want your life history, Lara, he wants sex.

He watched the blush and recognised the vulnerability it exposed. His jaw clenched. He didn’t want vulnerable, he wanted hot, mind-numbing sex with a beautiful, bold, confident woman who could fearlessly face down a gang of thugs.

Where had she gone?

He heaved a resigned sigh and swallowed his growing frustration. The hot-cold thing was killing him and the prospect of a night of cold showers did not appeal, but in such a matter acceptance was the only recourse.

‘Would you like a coffee...?’

Lara swallowed but didn’t dodge his stare. There was probably something playful she should say but the emotions in her throat made even the basic truth hard to utter.

‘We both know I don’t want a coffee.’

‘I thought I did. What do you want?’ He lifted a strand of her shining hair with one finger and let it fall. ‘Is that real?’

‘Everything about me is real.’ Good line, Lara. Means nothing, but good line! ‘And I want you.’

She didn’t attempt to escape his gleaming stare. She quivered as he cupped her face with one hand, her eyelashes lowered and falling in a dark filigree against her cheek. They lifted a moment later when his free hand curved possessively around her bottom.

A soft moan left her parted lips as with barely leashed violence he pulled her in hard against him.

‘That is real,’ he ground out, his breath warm on her face as he caught the soft flesh of her lower lip between his teeth. ‘What you do to me is real. Everything about you,’ he slurred, bending his head to move his lips over the pulse spot at the base of her throat, ‘is real.’

When was the last time that he had experienced anything close to the primitive need to possess that was pounding through him at that moment? It was madness!

But madness had never felt so sweet and as the passion between them escalated definitions became irrelevant.

The kiss seemed to go on for ever. Lara gave herself up to it and the dormant passion deep inside her that he had awoken. Her head was spinning and instinctively she wound her slim arms tight around his neck, and met the repeated probing thrust of his tongue with an eagerness that masked her inexperience.

She gave a little gasp of shock as his hand moved up to cover one breast, his thumb brushing the swollen peak through the red silky fabric, causing the gasp to slide seamlessly into a low guttural moan of pleasure.

He lifted his head to look into her passion-glazed eyes, then he moved his hips against her. He watched her eyes darken in instant response, then slid his hand up and down the long smooth lines of her thigh. He heard her breath quicken before, with a muffled cry, she jumped into him, wrapping her long legs around his waist.

Raoul caught her, and brushed the hair from her face to expose one side of her neck before spreading his hands supportively under her bottom and kissing the smooth swanlike curve he had revealed. He began to carry her towards the staircase.

‘I never knew that anything could feel this good, this right.’

She didn’t know that she had voiced her thoughts out loud until his fingers slid around her jaw, forcing her face up to him.

‘Don’t stop!’

The fierce intentness of his dark stare did not soften as he gave a short, hard laugh. It was all he could do not to back her against the wall and take her there and then, but this was too good to hurry, much too good. ‘I have no intention of stopping, cara,’ he admitted thickly.

The need to define or analyse what was happening had passed. She tasted sweet as again he drove his tongue with sensual precision between her plump, parted lips.

Like a drowning man he kissed her as he walked with her in his arms towards the bedroom door.

Lara had a hazy impression of cool as he carried her across the room to the low platform bed set centre stage. But the pulse of need inside her left little room for anything else. It was a need she couldn’t explain even if she’d wanted to—all she wanted was him.

‘I want you so much it hurts.’

He growled a response in Italian, the urgency of that language making more sense to Lara than his words as he laid her down on the bed, sweeping the pillows out of the way as he did so.

He was above her, his face a dark blur as he lowered himself. The hard press of his arousal, as it ground into her belly for a moment before he rolled them both to one side, drew a low, feral-sounding groan from Lara’s lips. The erotic contact offered deep pleasure, but no release for the ache of her own arousal, the throbbing need between her legs.

As they lay thigh to thigh there was a tremor in the big hand he lifted to curve around her face, turning it up to him until their eyes caught. Hungrily he took in the details of her passion-flushed skin.

He felt something tighten in his chest as he stared into her luminous green eyes, which were glazed with passion; her plump lips were soft, trembling, almost vulnerable. His gaze remained locked on to hers as he kissed her cheeks, his warm breath moving over the downy softness until he found her mouth and possessed it before he levered himself away and began to rip off his clothes.

Watching him through half-closed eyes, Lara wondered if she ought to be undressing too. The question was academic, as her body was infiltrated by a heavy languor that seemed to pin her to the bed. She watched him, her breathing getting ragged, until finally he stood there naked, like a tall, aroused god.

Her breath caught, hot excitement flooded her body and a scalding wave of heat tinged her skin with a delicate pink. He was beautiful, and aroused—very aroused—a fact that was hard to escape!

Looking at his arousal made her very aware of her own. The idea of her hands framing him, her body holding him, made her ache in a way she had never experienced. He strode back to the bed and dropped down on his knees beside it.

‘I love your mouth.’ An expression of rapt fascination on her face, she reached up and trailed her fingers down his stubbled cheek.

Raoul caught her wrist; turning her hand palm up towards his mouth, he felt her shiver as he pressed a fierce, damp kiss to her wrist. He ran his fingers down the smooth skin of her shoulder, hooking the shoestring strap of her dress down as he did so. Then, sliding his finger under the folds of red silk that were cut to form a soft cowl neckline, he exposed one perfect breast. Raoul reached out, his touch almost reverent as he cupped the quivering mound, weighing it for a moment, then with a groan he bent his head.

The sensation of his mouth on her skin was a sharp, searing pleasure; her body arched in response. She barely registered him peeling the second strap from her shoulders as she held his dark head, her fingers deep in his thick hair.

When he lifted his head he looked at her with eyes that seemed to burn from within. The rigid control he exerted drew the skin taut across the bones of his face, emphasising the dramatic bone structure.

His kiss, when it came, was deep and plundering, the seething emotions inside her burning hotter as she kissed him back, making tiny mewling noises of pleasure in her throat as he came to lie beside her.

The first skin-to-skin contact as he pulled her against him made her gasp, her nerve endings quivering as her breasts were crushed against his chest.

She ran her hands over the hard muscles of his shoulders, pulling back a little as she moved down his chest. His skin was warm, slightly damp, and, when she bent her head to taste, it was salty. She pulled herself half over him, running her hands over his body, getting bolder as she drew moans and gasps from him.

She bent her face to his belly and followed the line her finger had just traced with her tongue. ‘Mmm...’ Her murmur turned into a soft squeal as he tugged her dress down over her hips.

A couple of wriggles and a moment later she was lying there in just a pair of silky, French-cut pants. No longer lying on top of him, she was on her back, one leg anchored to the bed by his muscular, hair-roughened thigh.

Her nerve endings reacted to the brush of his eyes as they would his touch.

But then, the unexpected gentleness as he kissed her lips softly made her chest tighten with emotion.

She touched his face and whispered his name. Raoul’s nostrils flared as he bent his head, but this time the kiss was not soft. It was hard and demanding, bruising in its intensity. He kissed her as if he’d drain her, and everything he wanted to take, Lara wanted to give, and more.

Her fingertips dug into the golden skin of his back as they kissed, her body felt fluid and on fire, but when she felt his fingers slide under the lacy edge of her panties she tensed. Feeling his eyes on her face through her closed lids, she blinked them open.

‘Relax.’

She smiled faintly, then breathed a tremulous sigh that was lost in the moisture of his mouth.

She moved against his hand as he touched her through the silk, and closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation. Then as his fingers moved under the silk across the damp folds of sensitised skin Lara forgot to breathe, forgot her name; the pleasure was mindless and all-consuming. She dug her teeth into her lower lip as he slid her panties down her legs with what felt like tantalising slowness.