Читать книгу Postcards From Rio - Шантель Шоу, Tina Beckett - Страница 14
ОглавлениеDIEGO BRIEFLY FOUGHT and lost a battle with his conscience. A saint would not be able to resist Clare’s passionate response, he told himself, feeling his erection strain against the constriction of his jeans as she parted her lips beneath his.
He was surprised to discover a vulnerable side to her. On the journey from Manaus he had been impressed by her determined spirit and amused by her dry sense of humour. But now she was clearly distraught and he felt her tremble as she burrowed against him like a frightened animal seeking shelter from danger.
She was so tiny. He felt a surge of protectiveness. ‘What’s the matter, pequeno?’ Instinctively he felt sure that her tears were not just because she had believed he’d left her alone at the cave.
‘I don’t know if I am doing the right thing.’ Clare’s iron control over her nerves crumbled and her fears poured out in a flood of tears. Maybe she should have gone to the police and asked them to find her sister’s kidnappers. Maybe she wasn’t brave but stupid and naïve to think that she could rescue Becky.
‘It’s natural for you to have doubts,’ Diego said gently as understanding dawned in him. Clare was facing the biggest decision of her life when she would make her final vows and commit herself fully to a nun’s life. Perhaps she was having second thoughts about the life she had chosen. His conscience told him he should step away from her and suppress his desire, somehow stifle the sexual chemistry that existed between them, which must add to her confusion about her future. But how could he resist her when she wound her arms around his neck and sought his mouth with hers, initiating a sensual kiss that stirred his body into urgent awareness?
She did not look like a nun. When he had walked into the cave and seen her wearing just a plain white bra and knickers, with her auburn curls tumbling around her shoulders, he’d been stunned by her beauty. She was a petite package of voluptuous curves and he could not stop himself from running his hands over her body, exploring the gentle flare of her hips and the indent of her slender waist.
She tensed when he slid his hands across her ribcage and lightly stroked his fingers over the underside of her breasts. But she did not pull her mouth away from his, and when he deepened the kiss she melted into him and parted her lips to allow him to push his tongue between them.
Diego heard a faint voice inside his head warning him that he must not take advantage of her innocent eagerness. But she had told him she’d had one serious relationship, he reminded himself, so she could not be completely innocent. The way she was kissing him with fiery passion and sliding her hands over his chest was heating his blood and evoking a primal hunger in him that obliterated all rational thoughts from his mind and left only an insistent throb of desire that demanded to be appeased.
* * *
Once again, the situation Clare found herself in seemed surreal. A week ago she had been engrossed in company spreadsheets and wondering what to wear to the Association of Accountants’ Christmas dinner. Now she was in a cave in the Amazon rainforest, dreading tomorrow when she would meet her sister’s kidnappers, but at this moment she was half-naked and the sexiest man on the planet had laid her down on a sleeping bag and was looking at her with a gleam in his eyes that blazed hotter than the flames of the fire.
Maybe it was all a dream, and if so she did not want to wake up from this part of it. The sensible, circumspect Clare Marchant from England had been transformed by the sultry heat of the Brazilian rainforest into a sensual siren who was burning up with desire. Diego incited in her a need for sexual fulfilment that she had never felt with any other man.
She realised she had been fooling herself by thinking that her decision not to sleep with Mark was because she had wanted to be sure of their relationship. He seemed like a preening, self-obsessed boy compared to Diego’s raw masculinity, and the truth was that Mark had not turned her on like Diego did. She had been unaware until now that she was capable of feeling such an intensity of lust. Every word of Aunt Edith’s advice about waiting to fall in love before she gave away her virginity was drowned out by the loud drumbeat of desire pounding through her veins.
Diego was kneeling above her, his thighs straddling her hips and his hands resting on the ground on either side of her head so that she was caged by his powerful body. In the firelight his blond hair looked like a golden halo, but he was a fallen angel with a wicked promise in his eyes to fulfil Clare’s wildest fantasies.
He bent his head and kissed her mouth again, slower this time, coaxing her lips open so that he could take his pleasure while he increased hers until she moaned softly and curved her arms around his neck. His blatant seduction intoxicated her senses and made her want more, more...
She snatched air into her lungs when he finally released her mouth and trailed his lips down her throat, but the sensation of him sucking the tender skin at the base of her neck where a pulse beat erratically made her catch her breath. The caress was outrageously erotic, but he did not give her time to assimilate the new sensations he was creating, for he was already sliding his lips lower, over the slope of one breast.
Clare felt his warm breath through the material of her bra cup and wished his mouth was on her bare skin. He must have read her thoughts because he slipped his hand beneath her back and, with a deftness that indicated plenty of experience in undressing women, unfastened the clasp and removed her bra.
His silver wolf’s eyes gleamed as he rested back on his haunches and stared at her naked breasts. Clare had always felt self-conscious of her curvaceous shape and compared herself unfavourably to her sister who was a model-thin size zero. But the undisguised hunger in Diego’s eyes made her glad that her breasts were full and firm, and for the first time in her life she felt proud of her feminine figure.
She did not feel apprehensive when she read the feral intent in his gaze. She felt as though she had been waiting for this, for him all her life. Sexual chemistry had sizzled from the moment they’d met and she felt a connection with him on a fundamental level that defied explanation.
‘Diego...’ She whispered his name like a prayer.
He gave her an oddly crooked smile and held his finger over her lips. ‘Don’t speak, anjinho. Maybe this isn’t real, and I don’t want to return to reality,’ he said softly.
Clare understood exactly what he meant. It was easy to sink into the dream and forget the world beyond the fire-lit cave; easy to sink into bliss as Diego lifted his finger from her lips and traced a feather-light path down her throat to her breast. She sucked in a sharp breath when he touched her nipple and it immediately hardened.
His husky laugh was rough with desire. ‘Bela.’ He was still kneeling above her and he cradled her breasts in his hands and flicked his thumb pads across her nipples in a repetitive motion that created such a storm of exquisite sensations in Clare that the pleasure was almost too much to withstand. Diego lowered his blond head and soothed one engorged peak with his tongue before he drew it into his mouth and suckled her until she moaned, and he transferred his lips to her other nipple and lavished the same delicious torment.
She tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged to bring his face close to hers. His smile should come with a government health warning, she thought, but then he claimed her lips in a possessive kiss that emptied her mind of all rational thoughts and left only the certainty that she wanted the kiss to last for ever.
His passion was scorching, yet he tempered his hunger with an unexpected tenderness that infiltrated her heart. When he slipped his hand between her legs it felt perfectly natural for him to caress the silken skin of her inner thighs. Clare’s lack of experience meant that this was uncharted territory for her, but she offered no resistance as his fingers skimmed inexorably higher and slipped inside her knickers.
‘Open your legs for me, querida. That’s right,’ he murmured his approval when she relaxed her thighs to allow him to gently part her and he discovered the slick wetness of her arousal. The first probing touch of his finger gently easing into her was enough to almost send her over the edge. Her body quivered but instinct told her to try to control the pulsing sensation deep in her core because it was only the start of a journey that she wanted to take with Diego.
To distract herself from her body’s response to him she concentrated on his body and undid the last few buttons so that she could pull off his shirt. He had an incredible muscular physique. In the firelight, the satiny skin on his shoulders gleamed like bronze and the hairs covering his chest were pure gold. She ran her hands down over his flat abdomen to the fuzz of hairs visible above his jeans and, after a second’s hesitation, she undid the button on the waistband. Her forwardness would have shocked her if she hadn’t been in a dreamlike state where anything was possible and nothing was shocking.
He kissed her breasts again, teased each swollen nipple in turn until she moaned and jerked her hips towards the heat and hardness of him in an unconscious betrayal of her need. The gossamer-soft brush of his lips over her stomach elicited a molten warmth between her legs, and when he kissed her there, where no other man had ever touched her before, and when she felt his tongue flick across her clitoris, she could not control the pulse waves of pleasure as her body juddered in a swift, intense climax.
She was spinning out of control. It felt as if she was riding a carousel and images and sensations were flashing past her faster and faster. She did not remember when Diego had removed her knickers or the rest of his clothes, and when he stretched out next to her and drew her against his naked body she was too absorbed in sliding her hands over his impressive abdominal muscles to care. He was a work of art and she delighted in tracing her fingertips down his flat stomach and powerful thighs until she came into contact with the solid length of his erection. Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh. He felt big and hard in her hand and she was curious to know what he would feel like inside her.
When she stretched her fingers around him he gave a low groan of primitive sexual need that stirred an equally primitive response in her. He lifted himself over her and it felt perfectly natural to guide the tip of his swollen shaft towards her moist opening. Instinctively she spread her legs wider to allow him to settle his hips between hers, and he slowly eased forwards, entering her inch by careful inch until he possessed her utterly.
Clare caught her breath as she experienced a moment of mild discomfort, but the brief stinging sensation was over before she really registered it. Diego hesitated, but she curved her arms around his back and pulled him down on to her at the same time as she lifted her hips in invitation for him to take her virginity that she offered willingly.
He waited until her breathing had steadied before he moved, slowly at first, pulling back so far that she thought he was actually going to withdraw. He laughed softly when she clutched his shoulders, and pushed forwards again, then drew back, then forwards, increasing his pace with each thrust and going deeper into her so that she was filled by him, overwhelmed by him and felt that he had taken ownership of her body.
In this primal dance of sex he was her master and her tutor. He slid his hands beneath her bottom and tilted her hips, forcing her to accept each devastating thrust of his body into hers. But he countered his strength with gentleness and there was no question of him forcing her to do anything she did not feel ready to experience. She wanted everything he gave her, wanted more, wanted quite desperately the something that hovered frustratingly just out of her reach.
‘Easy, querida,’ his deep voice soothed her. ‘Don’t be in such a rush. Relax and let it happen.’
She looked into his eyes and saw a familiar glint of amusement at her impatience. But as she watched him make love to her she saw heat and hunger in his predatory wolf’s gaze, and she heard the hoarse sound of his breaths coming faster and faster as he increased his pace.
And then it did happen. Suddenly. Spectacularly. He gave a powerful thrust that made her gasp, but before she could drag oxygen into her lungs, the tight knot of tension deep in her pelvis exploded without warning and sent her soaring and sobbing into the stratosphere. Her vaginal muscles contracted and released as wave after wave of intense pleasure swept over her so that she could not breathe or think, could only feel the shattering ecstasy of her orgasm.
Diego waited until she came down before he immediately took her higher again, driving into her with an implacable intent that made her realise he was nearing his own nirvana. She let him ride her fast and hard, instinctively knowing that he needed it like this and the time for gentleness had passed. His passion was raw and elemental. But when he paused and tipped his head back so that the cords on his neck stood out, before giving a harsh groan that sounded as though it had been torn from his soul, Clare was overcome with tenderness for him and pressed her face against his shoulder to hide the tears that inexplicably filled her eyes.
* * *
Diego pushed his hat off his face where he’d placed it over his eyes before he’d fallen asleep and was instantly aware of three things. The fire had gone out, the slice of sky that he could see through the cave’s entrance was a couple of shades lighter than pitch-black and Sister Clare was lying beside him, as naked as the day she’d been born and, fortunately, fast asleep.
Santa Mãe! He’d found himself in some awkward situations in his life, mostly after he’d drunk more beer than was good for him. But he doubted that all the saints in heaven could help him out of this one. His eyes dropped to the delectable curves of Clare’s buttocks and he cursed softly beneath his breath and pulled the sleeping bag over her.
There was no point wasting time in recriminations. He couldn’t despise himself any more than he already did anyway, and deflowering a nun simply added another black mark against his name. An image came into his head of the overcrowded prison cell where he had spent two years of his life. His mind flashed back further. He saw the figure of a man sprawled on the floor of his mother’s apartment, and a pool of black congealed blood.
Diego swallowed convulsively and forced himself to look at his hands. There was no blood on them now. He breathed easier. Of course there wasn’t; he only saw the blood in his dreams. It had been years ago, and Father Vincenzi had said he hadn’t killed the guy. But how could the priest know for sure, Diego brooded, if he had no recollection himself of what had happened the night he had found his mother being beaten up by a drug dealer? The only person who knew the truth was his mother, but the last time he had seen her he’d been seventeen, and she had told the police he was a murderer.
Deus. He snapped a shutter down on his memories and quickly pulled on his jeans, taking care not to disturb Clare. She looked angelic as she slept with her lips slightly parted and her auburn curls spread across her shoulders. But, thanks to him, she was no longer innocent. After she’d mentioned an ex-boyfriend, he had assumed that she wasn’t a virgin, and by the time he had discovered her inexperience, he’d been unable to stop himself from making love to her.
Other memories assailed him, not of the distant past but the previous night. He visualised Clare’s curvaceous body, her round, creamy breasts topped with pointed, cherry-red nipples that had been ripe for his mouth. The taste of her still lingered on his lips from when he’d kissed her between her thighs and dipped his tongue into the honeydew of her arousal.
He swore beneath his breath and walked out of the cave before he succumbed to the temptation to kiss her awake and instigate an early morning ride. It would be a first for him because he had never spent an entire night with a woman to be able to have sex upon waking. It was curious that he had slept dreamlessly with Clare cuddled up against him, her body all soft and warm like a kitten, he mused. But he had a feeling that in the cold light of day his little cat would reveal her sharp claws and accuse him of seducing her.
Because undoubtedly, and not entirely unfairly, Clare was going to blame him for leading her astray from the life of pious devotion she had chosen. She was unlikely to believe he hadn’t intended for things to go so far. But it wasn’t all his fault, Diego tried to convince himself. The way she had thrown herself into his arms would have tested a saint, let alone a mortal man.
He tried to dismiss the voice in his head, which said that he should have been stronger and given Clare time to decide if she wanted to give up her life with the church and give her virginity to him. Instead he had lost control and made love to her mindlessly and without a care for the consequences, and it was that which concerned him more than anything else. No other woman had ever made him feel as desperate for sex as Clare had done last night. He didn’t do desperate or, God help him, needy. He was a lone wolf without cares or commitments as far as his numerous temporary mistresses were concerned. It was better that way. Safer.
The sky was lightening with the arrival of dawn as Diego followed the path through the trees towards where he had left the Jeep. He rubbed a hand over his rough jaw and decided he needed a shave. Maybe taking a shower beneath the powerful waterfall would help him to think straight and answer a vital question: What the hell was he going to do with Clare now?
The answer slipped unexpectedly easily into his head. He would have to take her back to Rio with him. He felt partly responsible that, now that they had slept together, she could not make her final vows to become a nun. But really he had done her a favour. Her uninhibited response to him last night proved she wasn’t cut out for a life of chastity. He would set her up in an apartment near to his penthouse overlooking Copacabana beach, and then he would take her shopping. He was looking forward to seeing her dressed in sexy clothes that made the most of her gorgeous figure, instead of her drab grey nun’s habit.
His erotic fantasy of watching Clare parade around his bedroom wearing a see-through black negligee came to an abrupt halt when he heard a noise that instantly put him on his guard. The snap of a twig on the floor of the rainforest could have been made by an animal, but Diego knew that only humans moved so clumsily.
He jerked his head in the direction of the noise and saw the dull silver gleam of a gun aimed at him through the trees. His first instinct was to warn Clare she was in imminent danger but, as he gave a shout, he felt something hard hit his skull, followed by searing pain and nothing more.
* * *
She hurt everywhere, Clare discovered when she stretched and became aware of a slight soreness between her legs. Her back ached from where she had spent the night lying on the hard floor of the cave and, when she sat up, internal muscles she had never felt before twinged, and she winced as the zip of the sleeping bag grazed her acutely sensitive nipples.
Glancing down, she saw the swollen reddened tips of her breasts and felt a mixture of shame at the memory of her wanton behaviour, coupled with a newly awakened awareness of her sexual needs. Diego had satisfied her last night, but now she felt ready to play again. It seemed that her body was determined to make up for being a late starter in experiencing sensual pleasure.
It was immediately apparent that she was alone. Diego must have dressed—his jeans and shirt were missing—and only her bra and knickers were strewn on the floor where he had thrown them after he had removed them with her willing cooperation.
The pale pink sky outside the cave reassured her that it must be early morning and thankfully it seemed that the kidnappers had not yet arrived. Fear sent a cold chill down her spine and self-disgust churned in her stomach. While she had made love with Diego, Becky had spent another night in terror, held prisoner by the criminal gang who had snatched her.
Feeling guilty that she had temporarily forgotten about her sister, Clare stood up and pulled on her nun’s habit, before covering her hair with the veil. Of course she would explain to Diego that she wasn’t really a nun and also explain about Becky being kidnapped. He would probably argue when she asked him to leave her alone at the cave, but to save her sister’s life she must follow the kidnappers’ instructions and meet them on her own.
She picked up her rucksack and the case of money and stepped outside, but there was no sign of Diego or the Jeep. She vaguely remembered that she had been woken by what had sounded like a shout. Unease made her skin prickle. Where was he? She was about to call him, but hesitated. The forest was eerily silent without the usual cacophony of birdsong, and she sensed that she was being watched.
‘Senhorita Marchant?’
A man stepped out from the trees to one side of Clare. She whirled round to face him and inhaled sharply when she saw he was holding a gun. He, and the two men who followed him into the clearing, looked of Hispanic origin, dark-eyed and swarthy-skinned, with an air of menace about them that filled her with dread as she imagined them hurting her sister.
‘Where’s Becky?’
The man with the gun seemed to be transfixed by her habit and veil. He glanced at the briefcase. ‘You have the money?’ When she nodded, he held out his hand for her to give him the case.
‘I want to see Becky first.’ Clare could feel her heart thumping painfully hard in her chest. She had never thought of herself as particularly brave. But her bravery had never been tested when she had lived an ordinary, unexciting life in a leafy north London suburb, she acknowledged. She pictured her father, waiting desperately for news of his daughters, and her fragile mother who was struggling to regain her health after suffering a stroke. Her parents would be devastated if Becky did not return home and Clare knew she was the only person who could secure her sister’s release.
She curled her fingers tightly around the handle of the briefcase and stared unflinchingly at the kidnapper when he pointed the gun at her. For some reason she remembered Diego’s admiration when she had ignored her exhaustion and helped him dig the Jeep’s wheels out of the mud on the road to Torrente. He had made her feel like she was stronger and capable of achieving more than she’d ever realised. Her heart lurched as she wondered where he was and prayed he was safe.
It took all her will power to prevent her hand from shaking as she reached out and calmly pushed the gun away so that it was no longer aimed at her. ‘Would you really shoot a nun?’
To her surprise and relief, the kidnapper lowered the weapon to his side and a dull flush mottled his face. ‘My apologies, Sister. I was sent here to collect a ransom. I did not realise I would be meeting uma noiva de Cristo.’
Clare silently thanked the Mother Superior, who had persuaded her to dress as a nun for her protection. ‘I will pay the ransom when my sister is released and transport has been arranged for us to return to England.’
The man shrugged. ‘You must come with us,’ he said, pointing through the trees to a four-by-four with blacked-out windows parked near the road. He looked at Clare and made the sign of a cross. ‘I am sorry, Sister, I just do my job.’
* * *
Torrente looked as deprived and rundown as Diego had described it. The main road was busy with street traders selling their goods from the back of carts, and barefoot children played in the piles of rubbish heaped in the gutters. There was an air of despair about the place, and Clare noticed several young women—some did not look much older than girls—dressed in revealing dresses and towering heels, trying to attract the attention of men who were willing to pay for sex.
The kidnapper who Clare had overheard his companions call Enzo drove through the town and turned up a winding road leading to a huge villa that stood on top of a hill. Whoever lived here was certainly not poor, she thought, as electric gates opened to allow the four-by-four to pass through and closed with an ominous clang behind them. The lush, beautifully manicured grounds were patrolled by armed security guards, and the guards at the front door looked at her closely as she followed Enzo inside.
She had a vague impression of gleaming white marble walls and flashy gold decor, but her heart was beating so fast with fear that she was finding it hard to breathe. They walked along what seemed like miles of corridors before Enzo stopped and opened a door, indicating for Clare to enter the room. She stepped inside and her legs almost buckled with relief when a familiar figure jumped up from a chair and ran towards her.
‘Becky!’ Clare flew across the room and flung her arms around her sister. ‘Are you all right? They haven’t harmed you?’ Another wave of relief surged through her when she saw that Becky’s ears, revealed where her long ash-blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, were perfectly fine. Clare wondered briefly who the severed piece of ear she had been sent by the kidnappers belonged to. But, thankfully, her sister seemed to be unhurt, and in fact looked as beautiful and elegant as she always did, despite having been held captive for a week.
Compared to Becky, Clare knew she must look like a grubby urchin from a Dickensian novel in her crumpled, mud-stained clothes. She realised that her sister was staring at her veil.
‘Why are you dressed like that?’ Becky pulled the veil from Clare’s head and watched her hair tumble around her shoulders. ‘Thank goodness you haven’t cut your hair short. It’s your best feature.’
‘It was a disguise. I was helped by some nuns in Manaus and the Mother Superior suggested that I should wear a habit and veil as protection from the criminals in Torrente who are apparently God-fearing, although they don’t fear the police.’
Becky gave a shaky laugh. ‘I thought for a minute you had actually joined the church. Wearing the veil makes you look like a very realistic nun.’ She glanced across the sitting room to a door which led into an adjoining room. ‘Don’t you think so, Diego?’
Shock robbed Clare of the ability to speak as she spun round and stared at Diego leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his broad chest and his lips curved into a familiar cynical smile that was not reflected in his hard as steel eyes. ‘You certainly convinced me, Sister Clare,’ he drawled.
