Читать книгу Sara Craven Tribute Collection - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 28

ROME closed the bedroom door carefully behind him and leaned against it, his breathing as hard and strained as if he’d taken part in some marathon.

Saying he wanted a drink had just been an excuse. Suddenly he’d needed to be on his own—to think. To come to terms with what he’d just heard. If he could…

He walked over to the French windows, opened them and gulped the chill rain-washed air into his lungs.

He felt nauseous—sick to his stomach. And dizzy with the kind of shame that no amount of alcohol could cure.

The decent thing, he knew, would be to get dressed and take Cory home before he did more harm.

She might be hurt, but that was inevitable. And it was nothing compared with the wound he would almost certainly inflict if they stayed together.

As he’d listened to her struggling with the quiet, halting story, he’d been possessed with a savage longing to seek out this unknown Rob and give him the beating of his life.

Except, as he’d suddenly realised, he was no better. For wasn’t he deceiving Cory just as viciously—and for money?

Cursing under his breath, he leaned against the doorframe, staring up at the scudding clouds.

He was caught in this trap, and there was no escape. Whatever he did, the end result would be the same.

He would lose her.

He wasn’t sure of the precise moment when she’d become essential to him, or how it had happened—or why.

He only knew that when he’d gone to her in the Gallery that morning it had been because he couldn’t keep away any longer. He’d been drawn to her, instinctively, involuntarily, knowing that he had to be with her, whatever the eventual cost.

He hadn’t, he thought wryly, even had a chance to fight it. In too deep before he knew it, and lost for ever.

Yet there was no way they could ever be together. This was the brutal reality he had to face. The anguish that twisted in his gut.

If he told her the truth she would turn from him in hurt and disgust. And even if he could prevail upon her by some miracle to trust him again he would have nothing to offer her. Because Montedoro—his home, his livelihood—would have gone. He would be starting again with bare hands, and he couldn’t ask any woman to share that kind of hardship, even if she were willing.

While if he simply continued with his grandfather’s plan, let the whole thing run its treacherous course, she would end up betrayed and—hating him.

But no more, he thought wearily, than he hated himself.

He stepped back into the room and closed the windows. He collected a bottle of mineral water from the bar, and two glasses, and took them back into the bedroom.

Cory had not moved. Her eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn’t asleep.

And she’d been crying. He could see the marks on her face, and felt the hard knot of reason inside him dissolve into an aching tenderness and, a heartbeat later, into a need that could not be denied any longer.

To hell with the right thing, he thought, shrugging off his robe, letting it drop to the carpet. They would have this one night together. A chance, perhaps, for him to undo the harm that Rob had done and prove to her that she was a woman both desirable and capable of desire.

Maybe his last chance.

While, for a few hours, he in his turn could forget shoddy bargains, threatened ruin, and the inevitability of heartbreak, and think instead of nothing but her. Lose himself completely in the slender paradise of her body.

He slid into bed beside her, and drew her gently back into his arms. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked at him, her eyes wide and bewildered.

She said, ‘Rome…’ and he laid a quieting finger on her lips.

‘Hush, mia cara,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t speak. Just—feel.’

And he began to kiss her.

Even as her lips parted beneath his, Cory knew she should resist. But the urge to yield was too strong, too beguiling, she realised dazedly.

His skin smelt cold and fresh, as if he’d been in the open air, and she wanted to ask him about it, only other ideas, other sensations were beginning to press on her, driving coherent thought away.

His hands seemed to drift on her, and everywhere they touched her skin sang. She felt her body lift, arching towards him in a silent demand which was almost pleading.

He pushed away the concealing sheet and caressed her breasts slowly and very gently, making the rosy nipples soar in proud response. He bent his head, worshipping each small, delicate mound in turn with his lips, letting his tongue flicker over the aroused peaks, forcing a small, frantic sound from her throat.

His mouth returned to hers, soothing her. Whispering softly in Italian against her lips, coaxing her to relax—to trust…

The fingers that stroked her skin were warm and leisurely, exploring every curve, every plane and angle as they moved downwards, and she felt his touch in her veins, quickening her bloodstream.

When his hand reached the silken barrier of her briefs she tensed again, and Rome paused, running a questing finger along the band of lace that circled her hips.

He kissed her more deeply, the play of his tongue against hers a heated, wicked incitement.

His lips moved to the whorls of her ear, and down to the haywire pulse in her throat.

The hot dart of his tongue penetrated the valley between her breasts, licking the salty excited moisture from her skin.

His cheek rested against her ribcage, assimilating the flurried thud of her heartbeat, and his hand moved downwards with exquisite deliberation, his fingertips burning through that final fragile barrier, but so slowly that she thought she might not be able to bear it.

Because she knew where she needed him—where she craved him—and he was making her wait—dear God—so long. So terribly—agonisingly long.

Her thighs were slackening and parting, offering him access in a molten, scalding rush.

He touched her through the silk, grazing softly, intimately against her tiny, excited bud. Then delicately increasing the pressure, using that last covering against her to deepen the delicious friction. Creating a rhythm that she could recognise—that she could respond to.

The breath caught in her throat as she lifted her hips to thrust herself against his hand in open need. To tell him that she wanted that ultimate obstacle gone—to be as naked as he was himself.

Suddenly Cory could feel the velvet hardness of him against her thigh. Her hand cupped him shyly, marking him, measuring him. She heard him groan softly in answer.

He moved swiftly then, stripping away her final defence, his fingers reclaiming her with total mastery. Stroking her, circling on her, drawing her into a sudden breathless spiral of sensation. Bringing her with throbbing intensity closer and closer to some undreamed-of edge where all control would be gone.

This was uncharted territory, and for a moment she was scared, afraid of ceding him too much. Of losing her identity and becoming some mindless creature of his instead.

And, as if he sensed her sudden tension, she heard him whisper against her skin, ‘Don’t fight me, cara. Come with me.’

His hand moved again, and almost at once she was lost, crying out soundlessly, wordlessly, as her body was caught—tossed to heaven and back—in the rippling convulsions of her first orgasm.

And Rome held her close and kissed her, and felt her shocked, delighted tears on his lips.

When she spoke, her voice was husky, dreaming. She said, ‘I never knew—I never guessed…’

She felt his smile against her hair as she lay, her head pillowed on his chest.

He said, ‘And that’s only the first lesson.’

‘What’s the second?’

‘This.’ He took her hand and brought it gently to his body again.

‘Ah.’ Her fingers encircled him, softly, teasingly. Caressed him with new knowledge—new wonder. And, she realised, new confidence, as she felt him stir beneath her touch. ‘And only this?’

Rome said thickly, ‘No.’

He turned, tangling a hand in her dishevelled hair, bringing her mouth to his powerfully and urgently while his other hand began a long journey down the length of her spine, tracing the curve of her hip and the taut roundness of her buttocks with sensuous greed.

Cory found herself shivering with pleasure under the passage of the long, clever fingers, her body arching—straining towards him—so that the sensitive points of her breasts grazed the hard wall of his chest.

She said breathlessly, ‘I want you. All of you.’

‘Show me.’ The invitation was almost a challenge, delivered huskily.

She felt the heat, the potency of him at the apex of her thighs, and, gasping, driven by pure instinct as her body melted—opened, she brought him into her.

He entered her slowly, his control absolute, the blue eyes scanning hers for any sign of pain or fear. But her gaze was clouded, sultry with pleasure, her breathing quickening with excitement as his strength filled her.

Then, when the union of their bodies was complete, he held her for a long moment, giving her time to accustom herself to this new sensation. Waiting…

Her hands touched his shoulders, revelling in their hard muscularity. Her fingers stroked the dark silky hair at the nape of his neck. She placed her hands flat against his chest, feeling the hammer of his heartbeat, revealingly unsteady, against her palms.

Her finger brushed his lips and he captured it, biting gently at the soft flesh.

Then, gently but deliberately, Cory began to move under him, and he matched her, taking her rhythm, letting her dictate the pace. Carefully reining back his own need for release for her pleasure.

Her body rose and fell, answering his measured thrusts. Glorying in them.

He kissed her mouth, his tongue hot and demanding against hers, then the arch of her neck, and the small eager breasts, suckling the hard pink nipples, making her moan in her throat, her head turning restlessly on the pillow.

He was murmuring to her against her flesh, his voice slurred and heavy.

Nothing existed for her in the universe but this man, in her bed, in her arms, in her body. She buried her face against him, breathing him, wanting to be absorbed into him.

His hand slipped down between them to the moist centre of her, softly and sensually caressing, and she felt the first quiver of rapture rippling like water across her being.

She lifted her legs, clasping them round his lean hips, her hands clinging to his shoulders as Rome began to drive more deeply, more powerfully, inciting her, drawing her on.

She said something—sobbed something that might have been his name—and found herself overtaken, her body imploding, fragmenting into ecstasy.

She cried out wildly, eyes blind, all her senses consumed by pleasure, and he answered her, his body juddering dangerously in his own climax.

Afterwards, when the world had steadied to a semblance of reality, they were very quiet together, lying close, kissing softly.

She said wonderingly, ‘I thought I was dying.’

‘They call it the little death.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘Do you want me to prove that you’re still very much alive?’

She looked at him demurely from under her lashes. ‘You think you could?’

‘Not at this moment, perhaps.’ He grinned at her lazily. ‘But soon.’

She was silent for a moment. ‘Rome—is it—always like that?’

‘It was like it for us,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that all that matters?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For the lessons—all of them.’ She forced a smile. ‘I think I’ve just undergone a crash course. And I’ll always be grateful.’

He propped himself on an elbow and looked down at her. He said slowly, ‘What we had just now was beautiful, and sensational, and totally mutual—as you must know. So gratitude doesn’t enter into it.’

She played with the embroidered edge of the sheet. ‘But it’s not the same for you. It can’t be. You can’t possibly pretend it was your first time…’

He took her hand and carried it to his lips. He said, ‘It was my first time with you, Cory. And you blew my mind. And if you’ve got it into your head that I made love to you out of sympathy, I have to tell you I’m not that altruistic.’

She said, not looking at him, ‘Would you have made love to me if I hadn’t told you about Rob?’

‘You hadn’t told me about Rob when we walked home from Alessandro’s—and I could barely keep my hands off you.’ His voice was cool and considering. ‘Nor at Blundham House this afternoon. We went up in flames together, Cory, and you know it. We could fight it as much as we liked, but it was really only a matter of time before we ended up in bed with each other.’

He paused. ‘But, in the interests of frankness, I’ll admit I wanted to make it good for you so that it would drive that poisonous bastard out of your mind, once and for all.’ He framed her face with his hands, speaking very distinctly. ‘He can’t damage you any more, carissima, do you understand? He’s gone—finished with—so forget him.’

He dropped a kiss on her nose. ‘Are you hungry?’

A gurgle of laughter welled up inside her. She said, ‘That’s quite a change of subject.’

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Because I no longer have to fight to keep my hands off you, and the time is fast approaching when it won’t be enough for me to simply look at you and talk to you.’

He kissed her mouth softly and sensuously.

‘We have a long night ahead of us, mia bella,’ he whispered, ‘and we need to keep our strength up. So—I’ll ask you again—are you hungry?’

And, to her own astonishment, she was.

Rome ordered smoked salmon sandwiches and champagne from Room Service, and she ate and drank, propped up on pillows in the crook of his arm, and knew she had never felt so happy or so much at peace.

The awkward girl, she told herself, had given way to a woman with her own sexual power.

And then, like a frost to blacken her mood, came another thought.

How in the world, she asked herself with anguish, was she ever going to live without him?

He said, ‘You’re very quiet.’

Cory started slightly, banishing the unhappy reverie that she’d conjured up some five minutes before. She said lightly, ‘Just conserving my energy.’

Rome took her chin between thumb and forefinger and tilted her face so he could look into her eyes. ‘Truly?’

‘Of course,’ she lied. ‘Try me.’

His face was solemn, but his eyes were dancing. ‘Mia cara, I thought you would never ask. Just let me get rid of these plates.’

When he came back, his expression was oddly brooding, as if he too had been having unpleasant thoughts.

She said, ‘Is something wrong?’

‘I hope not.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, studying her. ‘But I don’t know.’ He was silent for a moment, then said abruptly, ‘Cory, mia—are you on the Pill?’

‘The Pill,’ she repeated wonderingly, then grasped the implication. ‘Oh.’ She swallowed. ‘No—no, I’m not. I—I never have been.’

‘That,’ Rome said grimly, ‘is what I was afraid of.’ He shook his head. ‘Dear God, how stupid—how irresponsible can I be?’

She put a hand out to him. ‘It’s not your fault. I’m just as much to blame. I wasn’t thinking…’

‘Nor was I,’ he said. ‘But I should have been.’ His tone was bitter with self-reproach. ‘I should have taken care of you.’

She watched him in silence for a few moments. She said, her voice quiet, ‘Would it matter so much—if it happened? If I was—pregnant?’

He said roughly, ‘Cory—you’re not a child. You know it would.’

She’d hoped for comfort, and instead there was pain. He was telling her, she realised, that they had no future together. That sex, however wonderful, was not enough to make a lasting relationship—and a baby would just be an unwanted, indeed an impossible complication.

And you, she thought, are all kinds of a fool to have hoped for anything different.

She found herself praying that she hadn’t given herself away too seriously, and wondering, at the same time, what she could do to retrieve the situation.

One thing she was sure of. If this was all she was to have of Rome, then she would make it memorable—for both of them.

She lay back against the pillows and smiled at him composedly. She said, ‘If the horse is gone, there’s little point in worrying about the stable door—is there? So why don’t we do as we planned and—enjoy the rest of the night?’

He groaned. ‘Carissima—be sensible.’

She said softly, ‘Oh, it’s much too late for that.’ She let the sheet fall away from her breasts. She heard the small sound he made in his throat, and her smile deepened. ‘Besides—I’m getting impatient…’

Hours—perhaps aeons—later, she lay beside him as the early-morning light began to penetrate the room and watched him sleep. His breathing was deep and peaceful, his skin dark against the white bedlinen.

He deserved his rest, she thought, colour warming her face as she remembered how one act of love had seemed to flow naturally into the next. As she recalled the things he’d said to her—the things he’d done.

Their bodies had moved together with such harmony, she thought. There’d been laughter too, and, once, tears.

And now it was over.

Moving carefully, she slid out of bed, collected her clothing and went to the bathroom.

She looked in on him again before she left. He was still sleeping, but he’d moved into the space she’d vacated as if unconsciously seeking her.

The porter was not on duty when she went down to the foyer, but there was a friendly girl at the reception desk, who told Cory the nearest station with a direct link to London, looked up the time of the next train, and ordered her a taxi to take her there.

‘There’s no need to disturb my husband,’ Cory said calmly. ‘He’s planning to spend the day locally—do some walking. But unfortunately I have to get back.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ the other woman sympathised. ‘Particularly as it looks like being a nice day. I hope you’ll stay with us again some time.’

Cory made herself smile. ‘Some time—perhaps.’

But she knew in her heart she could never come back. That it would be too painful to relive, even at a distance, the crazy beauty of this night, with its tenderness and its savagery.

Now she had to go away, and try to forget.

The journey back was a nightmare. Because it was Sunday, there were engineering works taking place, and the train crawled along in between long pauses in the middle of nowhere.

It was mid-afternoon before she arrived back in London, and took a cab to her flat.

She would change, she thought, and do some food-shopping. Or perhaps even book a table at the neighbourhood French bistro, because it might be better to be with other people.

She paid off the cab and turned towards her door. And stopped, a sudden prickle of awareness edging into her consciousness.

She turned nervously, and saw him walking up the street towards her.

For a moment they stood facing each other. Cory bit her lip, expecting anger—recriminations.

But all he said, quite gently, was, ‘Why did you run away?’

‘Perhaps because I hate saying goodbye.’

‘Then don’t say it. Unlock your door and invite me in, and listen to what I have to say.’

‘There’s no need to say anything.’ Bravely Cory lifted her chin. She thought, Don’t apologise. Oh, please don’t tell me you’re sorry, because that I couldn’t bear. ‘It happened,’ she went on, ‘and it was wonderful, and now it’s over. And we both get on with our own lives.’

Rome shook his head. ‘It’s not that simple, Cory.’

‘If you’re still thinking there might be a baby, it’s my problem and I’ll deal with it.’ She gave him a travesty of her usual smile. ‘There’ll be no paternity suit. I won’t ask you for anything.’

‘I wasn’t thinking that,’ he said slowly. ‘Of all the many thoughts I had on that hellish, lonely drive back, the prospect of becoming a father didn’t even feature. Not that I’m against it in principle,’ he added. ‘But I feel it would be better for us to have some time just with each other before starting a family.’

She stared at him, her eyes enormous. She said, ‘I think one of us must be going mad. What are you talking about?’

He sighed. ‘I hadn’t planned on doing this in the street,’ he said, ‘but I’m asking you to marry me, Cory. To be my wife. Will you?’