The Sicilian's Wife (11 page)

She watched him warily as he prowled nearer, not coming close enough to touch, but near enough to set all her senses fizzing, to put the scent of him into her nostrils, to make her want to reach out, feel that bronzed skin under her fingertips. But that was a weakness she couldn't give in to and so she folded her hands tightly in her lap and clenched her fingers hard.

‘But things will have to change.'

Cesare made it sound as if he was thinking things through, as if each new idea was just occurring to him, but every instinct told Megan that that was just not the case. For one thing, Cesare Santorino never spoke without thinking, and for another there was a light in his eyes that warned of a cool, astute brain working very very calmly and very very confidently towards an end it had already decided on. An end that he had every intention of achieving.

‘This marriage we have is no marriage at all. No Sicilian would put up with a marriage in name only. No Sicilian would let it even be
thought
that he had never made love to his wife.'

‘No…' Megan put in, seeing only too well just where this was leading, and trying desperately to deflect him from
his purpose. But the only thing her interjection achieved was a faint pause, a sudden stillness in which deep brown eyes locked with uncertain green, and then Cesare's low, beautifully accented voice began again.

‘No?' he questioned, softly, hypnotically, effortlessly weaving a sensual spell around her already tangled thoughts. ‘That is not what you said in the library less than a month ago,
cara.
Nor again in the wedding service when you vowed to—'

‘They're just words!' Megan snapped, getting to her feet in a rush.

Although he was still carefully keeping his distance she felt far too vulnerable sitting down, having to crane her neck up to look into his beautiful face. She needed to look at him head-on, though as soon as she did her nerves tangled painfully as she saw the brilliant glitter of implacable resolution burning in his eyes.

‘Words you said in a church,' he reminded her with malign softness. ‘Words you swore would be true until death do us part.'

‘I…'

It was no good! Looking into his face deprived her of the power of speech. And so she dragged her eyes away from the stunning features, forced them instead onto the strong, tanned hands that rested on the back of a chair.

And this was no better. If anything, it was far, far worse! All she could think of was the way those hands had touched her, the caresses they had delivered, the pleasure they had given her. Just to look at them made her feel as if the blunt tips of the long fingers were actually wandering across her skin, making her shiver in sheer delight, wanting to purr like a cat that has been stroked into a delirium of pleasure.

‘Be my guest…'

She blinked in confusion and astonishment as Cesare
moved suddenly, lifting one arm and holding it out to her so that all she would have to do would be to raise her own hand and she would come into contact with him.

‘What…?'

‘Don't hold back. I won't mind…'

His smile, enticed, drew her in, as he unfastened the cuff of the shirt, pushing back the white sleeve all the way to the elbow. Then he held out his arm again, closer this time. So close that she had only to breathe in and she could smell the clean, faintly musky scent of his skin.

‘Touch me, Megan,' Cesare urged. ‘I know you want to. I've seen it in your eyes.'

‘No you haven't!'

To her horror her fingers actually twitched convulsively at her sides, fighting against the restraint she was imposing on them and she had to forcibly hold them still. But Cesare had seen the movement and his smile deepened.

‘You lie very badly, you know.'

‘I'm not lying!'

‘In the same way that you're not tempted, hmm? Okay,
amante
, let's see how strong your resolve truly is.'

And to Megan's total consternation he moved his hand away from her and on to the tie still loosely hanging around his neck. With an arrogant little flick of his wrist he pulled the tie free, tossed it to one side, heedless of where it landed, his eyes holding hers. Then he moved on to the white pearlised buttons of his shirt.

She couldn't tear her eyes away, could only watch, transfixed, as he slid first one and then the next free of their fastenings, the actions opening the neck of the fine shirt, exposing the strong lines of his throat, the smooth lines of his throat, the smooth skin of his shoulders, the point where a pulse beat steadily and strongly.

His chest was almost as tanned as his arms; rich bronze
satin hazed with black curling hair. And as yet more buttons slid open she was intensely, heatedly aware of the way that the line of hair traced a tantalising path down towards his waist, disappearing tormentingly below the fine leather belt that encircled his narrow waist.

Just how far would he go? She wondered as the last button was undone and the shirt, tugged free at his waist, fell fully open. If she didn't stop him, would he perform a complete striptease right here in front of her? Would he shrug off the shirt as he had his jacket on his arrival home? And what would follow then? The trousers? More? Her throat tightened and dried just to think of it.

‘Touch me…' Cesare urged again, his voice dropping a husky octave lower.

Somehow Megan forced herself to shake her head again and heard his low, dark laughter.

‘A coward as well as a liar. Okay…'

She didn't know if he really meant to close up his shirt again or not. Simply the threat of it was enough to drive her into action. She couldn't stand there silent any longer.

‘Wait!'

The word was torn from her, impossible to hold back, and in almost the same instant her hand went out, fingers splayed, reaching for that tempting expanse of dark skin.

Cesare stilled instantly, silent, waiting.

There was no way she could stop herself. It was as inevitable as breathing, as the way one heartbeat followed another.

No turning back. The words sounded in her mind as her fingertips made burning contact with the hard wall of his chest and she knew that she was lost.

H
IS
flesh felt like heated satin, smooth and soft under her touch. But beneath that again were the hard lines of bone and sinew, the play of powerful muscles as they bunched and flexed under the tips of her fingers. In the moment that she'd touched him, he'd frozen, standing immobile, scarcely breathing, as she let her fingers wander over his exposed chest.

And it was that very stillness, when combined with his total silence, that gave her the courage to indulge herself, explore the strong masculine contours of his torso as she wanted. If he had so much as moved an inch, or said a single word, then she would have panicked like a nervous bird startled by a cat, spreading its wings in instant flight.

But Cesare sensed intuitively that movement and speech would spoil the moment, shatter the delicate mood in an instant, and he stayed motionless under her touch, though the bitter-chocolate eyes watched her every move, following the path of her caressing fingers over his body, studying her absorbed face as she discovered everything about him.

Each new spot held a fascinating discovery, from the curling crispness of the black hair, the curving framework of his ribcage, to the dark, tight nubs of his male nipples that hardened instantly under her touch. This time he could not hold back the swiftly indrawn breath that was his instinctive response to the caress and the faint sound brought her eyes instantly to his, so that he saw how her pupils had enlarged and darkened, leaving only the faintest rim of green at the outer edge.

‘Megan…' he began, but immediately swallowed down the rest of his words, fearful that he might have broken the trance that held her, destroyed the beginnings of the trust that had built up between them.

But then Megan smiled and again he caught his breath, but this time in delight. The blend of shyness and uncertainty, combined with a subtle but undeniable provocation, a hint of teasing seduction was irresistible, heating the blood in his veins until its warmth flooded his body in the space of a heartbeat.

‘Megan…' he tried again, angling his head so that he could capture her mouth, needing to touch her, to kiss her, or he would explode.

But she slipped away from him, dodging his caress with a smiling ease, one soft hand coming up to lie across his lips, hold back the kiss he had tried to give her. So instead he pressed the caress on her fingers, loving the feel of her, the taste of her skin. Slowly, delicately he moved his mouth up and along each one, kissing each inch of skin he encountered, and he heard her sigh of response, felt the warmth of her breath against his lips, soft as the brush of a butterfly's wings.

When her hands closed over the edges of his shirt, slipping the fine linen back and over his shoulders, down the taut lines of his arms, he felt his heart pick up pace in immediate response, thudding heavily inside his chest, making his blood pound round his body. His hunger for her was already an ache that was close to pain, the swollen shaft of his desire straining at the confines of his clothes, depriving him of the ability to think of anything but the way that he needed her.

‘
Cara
,' he groaned, knowing he would soon be unable to take any more. ‘
Amante.'

His shirt had gone, removed from his back and dropped
carelessly on the floor, but there was no time to feel the chill of the night air against his skin. Instead, his clothing was replaced by the warm touch of Megan's hands, the soft pressure of her lips, the moist trail of her tongue that was almost more than he could bear.

‘Do you know what you are doing to me?'

Once more there was that slanting, upward glance, and this time there was no smile in her eyes, only a dark intensity of need that matched his own.

‘I think so,' she murmured.

‘Then let me make sure…'

At last he allowed himself to move, his hands coming out, closing over her arms, grabbing her and dragging her close. Her head was tilted back, her mouth so close, inviting his kiss.

And he took that invitation; took her mouth with all the force of the need that had come close to driving him insane. He had thought that the kiss might ease some of the pressure, that the deep, demanding power of the caress might appease some of the hunger, give him a chance to draw breath, slow the pace, consider her needs as well as his own.

It had the opposite effect.

From the moment that their lips met, he was lost. Hot waves of desire were breaking over his head and he was going down rapidly, drowning in the sensual currents that were tugging at all his senses, dragging him under, making him lose himself in the surf.

‘
This
is what you do to me…' he muttered against her yielding mouth, snatching wild, almost angry kisses and returning them one thousandfold to her lips. ‘
This
is how you make me feel!'

She didn't need the words, Megan thought hazily. No speech could communicate anything of the urgency, the
passion, more clearly than his touch, his kisses, the heat of his burningly aroused body crushed against hers. Words were too cool, too rational, too
controlled.
And she wanted nothing of control, nothing of restraint. She wanted only fire and heat and thunder crashing in the darkness while lightning split the sky with its brilliance.

‘Show me…' she formed the words raggedly, gasping them out between the wild, erotic kisses he showered upon her willing mouth. ‘Show me…'

His response was the rough sound of laughter deep in his throat.

‘Oh, I'll show you,
cara.
I'll show you how you make me feel—how much I want you. I'll show you how I make love to my wife—how I stamp my imprint on you, drive you to an ecstasy so wild, so hot, that you'll never recover. Never be able to look at another man again.'

‘I don't want any other man…'

Megan's voice was raw round the edges. Her mind felt as if it was coming apart, unravelling and fraying in the force of the wild tempest of desire that swirled around her, trapping her in its primitive power.

‘No other man but you…only you.'

They were the last coherent words she could manage, because the next moment, with his mouth still hard on hers, his hands had come between them wrenching open the buttons on the cotton dress, and pulling it open. Haste made his fingers clumsy, breaking one of the buttons off and sending it spinning away across the floor to land with a faint rattle against the skirting board under the window.

Neither of them even saw it go. They were too intent on each other, too busy touching, smoothing, kissing. Megan's fingers closed over the wide strength of Cesare's shoulders, clutching tight and digging deep into the hard muscles of his back. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the heat
of his fingers against the undersides of her breasts, the way they sought and found the front fastening to her bra and dispensed with it swiftly and easily. As the soft weight fell free into his waiting palms, her body arched towards him, her head flung back, offering the lush curves his fingers had exposed to the burning caress of his mouth.

A high, abandoned, crooning sound broke from her as she felt his tongue touch her straining nipple, draw a flaming circle round the aching peak then move to treat the other breast to the same tormenting delight. She was lost, adrift on a tidal wave of excitement, the throbbing pulse between her legs burning white-hot, making her crush her yearning body against his, sliding the cradle of her hips up and down and over the force of his erection.

‘Megan!'

Her name was like a foreign sound on his lips. She hardly recognised him, hardly knew herself in this wild, wanton woman whose frantic hands clutched in the black silk of his hair, whose lips were swollen from his kisses, her dress half on half hanging gaping from her shoulders.

She didn't even pause to think or to object when Cesare ripped the rest of the buttons apart, not pausing even to attempt to open them properly. The next moment he had wrenched the dress down the slim length of her body, abandoning it in a crumpled heap on the carpet as he lifted her high off the floor. Acting purely instinctively, she wrapped her slender legs around his waist, squeezing tight as she bent her head and plundered his mouth as fiercely as he had taken hers.

She knew that he was moving but she didn't know where. Had no sense of anything beyond Cesare until he tumbled her down onto the settee, coming down hard on top of her, pressing her into the burgundy velvet cushions, imprisoning her with the weight of his body. And somehow
in the flurry of movement, the scrap of ice-blue silk and lace that was all her remaining clothing had been taken from her too, leaving the last, most heated, most intimate part of her exposed to his predatory hands.

And Cesare took full advantage of the fact. The long powerful fingers probed and caressed, awakening, tantalising, arousing, driving her to distraction. He took her to the edge of a precipice, held her there, and then, just when she was sure she must take flight and tumble headlong, he brought her back, kept her waiting yet.

Again and again he did it, tormenting her with almost, with not yet, with
wait
, until she was writhing desperately under him, covering his face with frantic kisses and whispering urgently in his ear. Pleading with him to take pity on her, have mercy, release her from this most sensuous of torments. And it was only when she was totally beside herself with need that he parted her legs with a non-too gentle nudge from a powerful thigh, slid between them, and buried himself in her aching, yearning body.

It was all she needed. Her eyes opened wide in one brief moment of shocked delight, her whole body stiffened, arced, then seemed to explode from deep within, her mind splintering into a shower of golden stars that swept all awareness from her other than the deepest, wildest, most glorious sensation she had ever known.

And Cesare was not long behind her. From the moment that he had felt the intimate warmth of her inner muscles close about him he was lost, incapable of any control. It was hard and fast and hot and strong, and so fierce that his head went back and a wild, primitive cry broke from his throat as he too reached his climax and collapsed, his big chest heaving, on top of her again.

It was the start of a night like none Megan had ever known. A night in which she discovered sensations she had
never known existed. Found pleasure spots on her body, and in her mind, that she had never suspected had ever been there before. She learned how to please Cesare and he in turn taught her how every inch of her flesh responded to his slightest touch by coming wildly awake, passionately demanding and taking everything he had to give. And in the process she unearthed a whole new part of herself, a different, grown-up woman, with a woman's needs, a woman's pleasures. A woman that no one had ever uncovered before; the woman that only Cesare could show her she really was.

She supposed that at some point they must have slept, if only for a moment or two. But if she did, she was not aware of it, except as a time of recovery, a space in which she drew breath, recouped her strength and recovered from one wild sexual onslaught enough to be hungry enough to submit to another. And, in those brief spaces of time, Cesare must have taken her up in his arms and carried her to the other parts of the house she found herself in when her consciousness slowly returned to her again.

The first time she came back to herself in the bathroom where he took her into the shower and gently washed the sweat from her body with tender, almost reverential hands. But, in the space of a couple of stirring heartbeats, that touch changed from gentle to demanding from demanding to arousing and once more their passion overtook them, hot and strong as the water that pounded down on their heads, sluiced their shuddering bodies. Megan could only be thankful that Cesare had the strength to carry her from the steamy cubicle and wrap her in a thick white towel before dropping down on the bed beside her, his heart still thudding, his breathing uneven.

‘This is what I wanted from you,' he managed, reaching out and pulling her close, folding his arms round her and
tucking her up against the hard strength of his body. ‘Why I married you. Why you can only ever be mine.'

By the time the slow pink fingers of the early dawn began to creep over the horizon flooding the bedroom with the first early threads of light, while outside the waking birds began to sing their loud, joyful chorus to the dawn, Megan had lost count of how many times they had actually made love.

She only knew that every limb and muscle ached with exhaustion, so that she had to bite back a groan of weariness when she moved, and her eyelids were too heavy to open even halfway. But she had never been happier or more fulfilled in her life. Her whole body was sated with pleasure, filled and totally content, in a way she had never ever known before.

Sighing happily to herself, she wriggled nearer to Cesare's long, relaxed body, curving against him so that her back fitted along his front, the curves of her buttocks pressed into the cradle of his pelvis. In his sleep he stirred faintly, expelled a low, weary sigh, and then his arms came out, enclosing her tightly and holding her close again.

This was a new beginning, Megan told herself. A new beginning in the dawn of a new day. No matter how badly things had gone wrong before, surely now they could start all over again, this time as husband and wife, and learn how to have a proper marriage. Surely now, after a night like this, they had a hope of getting it right.

Because if there was one thing tonight had taught her it was that Cesare was the one, the only man for her. She had always known it, even as an adolescent, but then she had loved him in an immature way, with the love of a child, a teenager in the throes of her first crush. As a result, she had lost her way for a brief, foolish moment and so she had fallen out of love with him—or thought she had—stupidly,
naïvely falling in to Gary's arms in the bitter pain of rejection on the rebound.