Читать книгу One Night In… - Кейт Хьюит, Оливия Гейтс - Страница 40

ANNA didn’t stop running until she had reached the bottom of the hotel steps and there was a taxi right in front of her. Heart hammering, she wrenched the door open and flung herself inside.

‘Château Belle-Eden, s’il vous plaît. The beach. La plage.’

She saw the taxi driver glance at her curiously in his rear-view mirror, no doubt wondering why a girl in an expensive designer dress wanted to go to the beach at this time of night, but Anna didn’t care. Anything to put some distance between her and Angelo Emiliani.

Green. He had been going to bet on green. To taunt her with the fact that he recognized her and knew exactly what she was up to. And to show her exactly how wealthy he was, and how little a loss like that would affect him.

She could still picture his hands as they moved the chips across the table. God, they were beautiful: slim, long-fingered, artistic, the skin smooth and golden in the light from the lamp above. Hands that could handle huge sums of money without a tremble—what else could they do?

A small sound escaped her—something between a whimper and a groan—as she stared wildly and unseeingly out of the window into the street-lit dark. It was completely new to her, this maelstrom of yearning that turned every nerve in her body into a taut string, vibrating with sexual awareness. She realized that she was shivering, sitting bolt upright on the back seat of the car, and with a conscious effort leaned back, looking up at the stars through the back window. But it was impossible to relax while every cell in her body was screaming in protest at being torn away from Angelo Emiliani.

‘Stop the car! Arret!

‘Mademoiselle? Are you OK? We are almost there—at the beach. You want me to stop now?’

Up ahead Anna could see the turning off the main road on to the private track that led down to Belle-Eden’s beach. In desperation and despair she rubbed her fingers over her stinging eyes.

‘No. Sorry. Carry on. The beach will be fine, thank you.’

Pulling up at the top of the track, the driver looked worried. ‘Ici, mademoiselle?You will be all right on your own out here?’

‘Fine, thank you. I’m home now.’

Stepping out into the warm night air, she breathed in the salt wind and heard the bass beat of music from the beach below. Hurriedly she paid the driver, suddenly desperate to get back to the uncomplicated company of her GreenPlanet friends and drink beer and dance.

Her bare feet sank into the sand as she ran to the edge of the dune, from where she could see the camp fire on the beach and the writhing bodies of people dancing to the music that came from some unseen source. Stumbling down towards them, she hitched the silk dress into the denim hotpants and put both hands up to her head, burying them in her hair, messing it out of the silken sleekness achieved by Fliss. The warm salt breeze caressed her bare skin. Every nerve-ending seemed to have heightened sensitivity and to be crying out for more.

‘Anna! You’re back! Cool dress …’

She moved through the crowd, closer to the camp fire. Normally there were only about twenty GreenPlanet campers, but tonight there were maybe double that number as friends had joined them. Gavin, one of the group’s founders, broke away from the people he’d been talking to and came over, holding out a beer.

‘OK?’

She nodded. ‘I met him.’

Behind his small wire-framed glasses Gavin looked momentarily bewildered. ‘Who?’

Anna almost wanted to laugh. How bizarre that Gavin shouldn’t know who she was talking about when Angelo’s face, his voice, his scent was filling her head and blurring the rest of the world behind a haze of longing.

‘Angelo Emiliani.’

Even saying his name set fireworks off in her pelvis. She took a mouthful of warm beer and continued slightly breathlessly, ‘I think you might be right about the pharmaceutical connection. I overheard him on the phone mentioning Grafton-Tarrant.’

Gavin nodded slowly, thoughtfully. ‘Wow. Righteous. I’ll get a couple of animal rights mates on to that in the morning. They might have heard something.’ He had started to drift away towards some more people who had just arrived, but turned back and called over his shoulder, ‘Nice one, Anna.’

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, feeling the rhythm begin to steal down inside her. It was more mellow than the vibrating wall of sound in the nightclub, but no less insistent for that. All around her people were swaying, together or alone, their eyes closed, their voices muted, totally relaxed.

With a thud of misery Anna knew she didn’t fit in here either. She had told Fliss this was where she belonged, but looking around at the peaceful, carefree faces in the firelight she knew that wasn’t true. Maybe it was all that talk of karma and chi, but these people had an inner peace, a deep-down conviction that Anna completely lacked. They had a passion for their cause.

She had passion. Passion that before now she had never imagined. The difference was that hers wasn’t going to be satisfied by saving the nesting sites of a few woodpeckers.

Her throaty moan was lost beneath the music. Snaking her arms above her, she let her head fall backwards and circled her hips as all the pent-up tension of the last few hours seeped out of her and the music took over.

Anna knew plenty of people who had sought the solution to their problems in drink and drugs, and had seen the fallout that followed. The cure for the frantic beating of her heart and the tingling adrenalin that was surging through her veins was not to be found in the bottom of a bottle or the contents of a syringe, but in music.

When she was dancing she forgot everything. The past blurred into insignificance beside the rhythmic immediacy of now. It was the closest she ever came to being simply herself.

Above her the sky was vast and dark indigo, studded with stars. Underfoot the sand was soft and caressing, and around her the low murmur of conversation gradually faded as everyone lost themselves in the dancing.

No one noticed that they were being watched.

Angelo got out of his chauffeur-driven car and leaned against it, looking down over the beach.

A slight breath of wind caught his hair, lifting it off his forehead, and carrying to him the salt tang of the sea and, beneath it, the more earthy scent of woodsmoke from the fire.

There were more of them than he’d thought. But he could still pick out Felicity Hanson-Brooks without even having to try. It would have been much harder to ignore her presence, as his eyes seemed to be irresistibly drawn to her as she swayed and writhed to the hypnotic beat of the music.

So his instinct had been right and his private bet had been a winner. She was a spoiled little society princess who stayed in one of the best rooms at the Paradis and came down here to play at eco-warriors between social engagements. The smile that curved his lips in the darkness was one of triumph mixed with disdain.

Her money and status no doubt made her more of a dangerous adversary, but in many ways it made his position much simpler. So much easier to bring her to heel now he had lost all respect for her.

Swiftly he bent and unlaced his shoes, then took them off and tossed them into the back of the car. His socks followed, joining the dinner jacket and black silk tie he had discarded on the journey here, as he had followed the taxi.

‘You want me to wait, sir?’ The chauffeur’s voice was entirely expressionless. ‘Will you be going back to the hotel tonight?’

Angelo considered for a moment. ‘No. Ask Paulo to prepare the yacht and send the tender down to the far end of the beach in—’ he glanced at his watch, calculating ‘—half an hour.’

‘The far end of the beach, sir?’

‘Yes. Down there, where the forest slopes down to the water.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Slamming the door, Angelo rolled up his exquisitely tailored trousers and set off at a run.

The music was loud, pulsing, good.

Anna scooped her hair up from her hot neck and held it loosely on the top of her head while the breeze cooled her skin. She was hot, she was tired, but she didn’t want to stop dancing. As long as she kept moving she could deal with the torrent of emotions that raged within her. The torrent of desire.

It hadn’t subsided. If anything, the music had intensified it, so that with every flick of her hips, every snaky undulation of her spine she could almost feel invisible hands upon her, holding her as she longed to be held. Every so often one of the boys would sway against her and the sheer nearness of another human being was like a spark on the dry tinder of her longing. But none of them even came close to providing what she needed.

She felt as if she were burning from the inside, and threw her head back to gasp for air. The music slowed, seguing seamlessly into Nina Simone, singing ‘I Put a Spell on You'.

Anna shuddered with need and frustration and longing, sliding her hands through the tangle of her hair and arching backwards as two hands slid around her waist.

Strong hands, slipping down to her hips. She felt them writhe sinuously beneath their touch. Eyes closed, she leaned back against him as an image of Angelo Emiliani’s beautiful hands swam into her head. Helplessly she found herself imagining that the hands that were now resting on the flat of her belly were his hands, that it was his strong thumb which was slowly caressing her quivering flesh.

A shot of pure molten desire shuddered through her.

With a low groan of anguish she wrenched herself away, but those hands pulled her back. Her eyes flew open and for a second she found herself staring into the narrow gleaming eyes that had haunted her all evening.

Her overwhelming feeling was of relief. He had found her. He had picked up the desperate signals her body had been sending out to his and responded. Thank God. Thank God. He was here. There was nothing more to do than give in to it. This was her passion. The white-heat generated by the friction between their bodies as they danced, his chest hard against her shoulders, his hands moving across her midriff, spanning her ribs, cupping her breasts—that was what she lived for.

She couldn’t have said how long they danced like that, his body curved around hers in a way that was simultaneously passionate and protective and possessive. It was everything she wanted, but at the same time it wasn’t enough. Her hands were raised above her head, knotted around his neck, her fingers exploring the hardness at its nape and the little dip at the base of his skull, then matting themselves into his hair. She loved the feel of him, but she needed more. She needed to see him.

To taste him.

With a smooth flick of her hips, she spun round so she was facing him, her eyes level with the hollow at the base of his throat. Her hands were still locked loosely around his neck and despite the pain in her ankle she found herself rising up on her tiptoes so that her pelvis was level with his. For long moments they swayed together like that—their hips meeting and grinding together in mutual hunger as the music wrapped itself around them in the darkness. Their eyes met, and held. It was like looking into a furnace.

His hands were on her waist now, their warmth and strength radiating through the thin fabric of the dress. His fingers slid downwards and for a second she registered the question in his eyes as they encountered the heavy denim top of her tiny shorts, low on her hips.

Slowly, without taking her eyes off his face, she crossed her arms and, taking hold of the hem of the dress, peeled it upwards over her head. Tossing it aside, she looked defiantly up at him.

Angelo let his gaze travel slowly over her.

Madre di dio, she was glorious, he thought grimly as his eyes swept downwards over the perfect breasts, barely concealed beneath a small white bikini top, and flat, narrow stomach, in the centre of which glittered a diamond piercing.

He felt liquid fire lick through his veins.

In a split second she was transformed from high-maintenance It-girl to rebellious grunge-chick but, Gesù, he liked it. Reaching out, he trailed a finger from the valley between her breasts down to her midriff, gently circling the silver stud above her navel.

His physical response to the feel of her skin was instantaneous. And uncomfortably strong.

The music gathered pace and intensity. He felt the shiver that vibrated through her at his touch and watched her face intently as she let her head fall back, her half-closed eyes proclaiming her desire.

It had started as a cynical ploy to find out what she was up to, but Angelo realised his actions were no longer motivated by business. Sliding his hands around to the small of her back, he pulled her towards him, bending his head to brush his lips across the exposed column of her throat.

This was pleasure. Pure, wicked pleasure, he thought, trailing the tip of his tongue slowly upwards to her jaw before their mouths met in ferocious mutual hunger.

And then suddenly his long fingers were in her hair, his hands cupping her head, so that the sound of the music and the sea were drowned out by the roaring of the blood in Anna’s ears. Their bodies didn’t touch, but she was aware of his height as he bent his head to hers, the strength and power that radiated from him like a physical force. Their open mouths devoured each other, desperately seeking, exploring, plundering until their teeth clashed and Anna tasted the iron-tang of blood.

Breathlessly she pulled away, then, catching sight of the expression of dark arousal on his perfect face, helplessly reached for him again. This time their bodies met too, as the music swept them up in its hypnotic beat. She was aware of her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his arms but was powerless to let go.

It was as if a dam had burst inside her and all the frustration, the anger, the loneliness and longing of the last ten years had come bursting out in a boiling tide of all-consuming lust. Like a volcano. She had always been too scared of intimacy, too frightened of rejection to give herself to a man, but suddenly all of those fears were simply swept away by the strength and simplicity of her need.

It didn’t matter any more who she was. This was who she was.

The music had changed, become more upbeat, and people were drifting apart, going in search of another drink, as the spell of sensuality that had captured them all dissipated. But in their midst Anna and Angelo remained oblivious, until someone started clapping, drawing attention to them.

‘Hey, Anna! Get a room!’

Dazed, she opened her eyes. Angelo’s face was very close to hers, his eyes glittering in the firelight.

‘Anna?’ he murmured sardonically. ‘I think we have some talking to do, don’t you? Smile nicely at your friends, sweetheart, and let’s walk.’

His fingers were like steel bands around her upper arm, but she was grateful. Without him holding her up, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to stand. Behind them there were a few scattered whoops and catcalls as they stumbled away from the group in the firelight and felt the velvet darkness envelop them. The rhythmic swish of the sea grew louder as the music receded slightly and for a few moments they walked side by side in silence.

When he eventually spoke his voice was soft, but edged with menace.

‘So, Anna, don’t tell me—that was a staff party for the London office of Arundel-Ducasse. A team-building exercise?’

She tugged her arm free of his grip and took a couple of stumbling steps away from him, raising her chin as she spoke. ‘I’m not an estate agent. I made that up. But I’m not ashamed of what I am.’

He stopped, slipping his hands into his pockets and looking down, as if looking at her was somehow distasteful.

‘And what is that, Anna?’

‘A member of GreenPlanet. Someone who’s prepared to stand up for what they believe in and fight what they know is wrong.’

He sighed deeply and started walking again. ‘Yawn, yawn, yawn. And what is so very wrong about me buying Château Belle-Eden, may I ask?’

The GreenPlanet group was far behind now and the sand beneath their feet was no longer soft and shifting but firm and damp, indicating that they were being inexorably drawn down towards the water’s edge. Ahead of them she watched unseeingly as a small motor boat skimmed over the waves and came to a halt near the shore.

‘Apart from the fact that you intend to cause environmental havoc by destroying most of the pinewoods for a landing strip?’

‘You have done your homework.’ He gave a small snort of cynical laughter. ‘Don’t worry—I’ll arrange a decent relocation package for every displaced squirrel in the area.’

‘Don’t be flippant,’ she snapped, then paused, watching his face intently in the darkness. This was a long shot, but she had nothing to lose. ‘We don’t like the sound of Grafton-Tarrant’s involvement.’

That had him worried, she thought with a flash of triumph. He was suddenly very still, but in the silvery moonlight she could just make out a muscle flickering in the taut plane of his cheek.

‘You interest me, Anna—?’

She hesitated for a fraction of a second. ‘Field. Anna Field.’

‘You obviously have a great passion for your cause.’ His voice was like a caress in the warm night air. He took a step closer to her and caught hold of the ends of her slender sequinned scarf. ‘But, Anna Field, I think it’s only fair to warn you that I have a great deal of passion for this project. Which means that one of us will end up being hurt. And—’ he lifted his hand and stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek ‘—I think it’s only fair to warn you that I don’t do failure.’

Oh, I do, thought Anna savagely as a shudder of pleasure ricocheted through her at his touch. Failure and I are old friends.

She took a step backwards and was caught off balance for a second as her foot sank into the wet sand. At that moment a bigger wave rolled in, lapping over her feet and making her gasp at the sudden chill.

He caught her before she fell, scooping her up in his arms as if she were no heavier than a child. On the dark beach the intimacy of his nearness stole her breath away and banished every rational thought from her head. The cold water had spread goosebumps over her quivering flesh.

He radiated warmth.

And strength.

And sex.

His smile stopped her heart and stole her soul—and along with it her powers of resistance. ‘I’ve got you now.’

‘Put me—’ She tried to struggle but knew the movement her body made was a desperate wriggle of invitation. His lips came down on to hers, silencing her and concentrating all her thoughts on the sensation of being in his arms, clasped against his chest, while he waded powerfully through the water.

She should feel scared. Angry. Indignant. But she didn’t.

She felt cherished.

And so aroused she couldn’t think straight.

Dazedly she opened her eyes as he stopped. The boat she had seen from further down the beach was right in front of them, and the man inside it stood as they approached.

‘Wh—what the—? What are you—?’

‘Shh.’

Effortlessly he lifted her in and vaulted over the side to take his place on the seat beside her.

‘Grazie, Gianni.’

Anna looked around her with wild eyes as the speedboat engine started up with a roar. Her hair whipped her cheeks as it spun round and accelerated away, seeming to fly across the water away from the shore. ‘What are you doing? Where are we going? I didn’t ask—’

Gently he placed a long brown finger on her lips, then, as her words died away, trailed it down her throat and into the deep V between the triangles of her bikini. His eyes burned into hers.

‘Not in so many words, carissima, but you can’t deny that you want this as much as I do.’

‘What?’

‘Privacy. I don’t doubt your friends are all very open-minded and liberal, but I prefer not to have an audience.’

She gasped in outrage. ‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

He slid his hand beneath one of the triangles of fabric. Lazily he moved his palm downwards so that he was cupping her breast, and with exquisite, agonizing gentleness brushed his thumb across her hard nipple.

She couldn’t restrain the cry that escaped her.

‘Yes.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘With good reason, I’d say.’

With a barely there touch like the whisper of a butterfly’s wings, his lips brushed hers, then he dipped his head and murmured against her neck, ‘If you want to go back to the shore say so now. Gianni will turn round. But—’ he nuzzled her earlobe ‘—I can assure you, you’re quite safe. I’m a property developer, not a mass murderer.’

The blood was pounding in her ears, matching beat for beat the pulse that throbbed between her legs. Closing her eyes, she shook her head, trying to clear it, but instead arching her neck backwards and offering it to the caress of his mouth.

‘I don’t know who you are. I don’t know anything about you …’ she groaned.

‘Exactly. That’s what I intend to remedy. Give me the chance to show you that I’m not the complete philistine you imagine.’

This was madness. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder, in the sensitive curve at the base of her neck, sending cascades of shooting stars through her, so she couldn’t concentrate on anything beyond the growing need inside her.

‘Tesoro? Do you want to go back to the shore?’ he whispered, his thumb tracing delicate circles beneath her ear.

‘No.’