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‘I was hungry.’
He laughed as the waiter came over with the menus, and Sabrina took hers with hands which had begun to tremble. She wondered whether Guy had noticed.
He had. But he hadn’t needed to see her fingers shaking to know that she was working herself up to a fever pitch of sexual excitement which almost matched his own. That was evident enough from the soft line of colour which suffused the high curve of her cheekbones and the hectic glitter of her eyes. The way her lips looked all swollen and pouting, parting moistly of their own volition, the rosy pink tip of her tongue peeping through. And the way the buds of her tiny breasts pushed like metal studs against the silvery silk of her gown.
His grey eyes glittered into hers as she stared unseeingly at the menu. ‘Want me to order for you?’
Strange she should be so grateful for a question which would normally have left her open-mouthed with indignation. ‘Yes, please.’
His eyes scanned the menu uninterestedly. About the only things he felt like eating right now were oysters, followed by a great big dish of dark, juicy cherries—and it didn’t take a great stretch of the imagination to work out why that was.
Guy shifted his chair a little, relieved that the heavy white damask of the tablecloth concealed the first heavy throbbing of desire. Another first, he thought wryly, unable to remember a time when he’d been so exquisitely aroused by a woman without any touch being involved.
He ordered Brodetto di pesce followed by moleche. Dessert he would take an option on. He had his own ideas for dessert…
The waiter brought over a bottle of the bone-dry Breganze bianco, but Sabrina felt intoxicated just by the lazy promise of his smile.
‘I don’t know if I need any wine,’ she admitted.
‘Me neither.’ He shrugged, but he poured them half a glass each and signalled for some water.
Sabrina sipped at her drink, feeling suddenly shy, not daring to look up, afraid of what she would see in the grey dazzle of his eyes. Or what he might read in hers…
‘You know, we’ve spent nearly the whole day together—and I don’t know a single thing about you,’ he observed softly. ‘I’m not used to women being quite so mysterious.’
Sabrina put her glass down. Here it came. The getting-to-know-you talk. A talk she most emphatically did not want to have. She’d been touched by a tragedy which had left her tainted, simply by association. People treated you differently once they found out and she didn’t want Guy to treat her differently. She wanted him to carry on exactly as he was.
She forced a lightness into her voice. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’
Guy narrowed his eyes. Women usually loved talking about themselves. Give them an opener like that and you couldn’t shut them up for hours. ‘It isn’t supposed to be an interrogation session,’ he informed her softly, and then he leaned across the table, dark mischief dancing in his eyes. ‘Why? Have you got some dark, guilty secret you’re keeping from me, Sabrina? Don’t tell me—in real life you’re a lap-dancer?’
His outrageous question lifted some of the tension, and Sabrina found herself smiling back. ‘Much more exciting than that! I work in a bookshop, actually,’ she confided, and waited for his reaction.
‘A bookshop?’ he repeated slowly.
‘That’s right.’ Now it was her turn for mischief. ‘You know. They sell those things consisting of pages glued together along one side and bound—’
‘And why,’ he said, with a smile playing at the corners of his lips, ‘do you work in a bookshop?’
She took a sip of her wine. ‘Oh, all the usual reasons—I love books. I’m a romantic. I have a great desire to exist on low wages. Do you want me to go on?’
‘All night,’ he murmured. ‘All night.’ But then their fish soup arrived and Guy stared at his darkly, wishing that he had known her longer. Wishing that she was already his lover so that he could have suggested that they leave the food untouched and just go straight home to bed. ‘And where exactly is this bookshop?’
Sabrina nibbled at a piece of bread. ‘In Salisbury. Right next to the Cathedral. Do you know it?’
‘Nope. I’ve never been there,’ he said thoughtfully.
She studied the curved dip at the centre of his upper lip and shamelessly found herself wanting to run her tongue along its perfect outline. ‘How about you? Where do you live? What kind of work do you do?’ She thought of the man she had first seen, in jeans and T-shirt. ‘It must be something pretty high-powered for your company to pay for a hotel like that.’
Guy hesitated. When people said that money talked, they didn’t realise that it also swore. It sounded ridiculous to consider yourself as being too highly paid, but he’d long ago realised that wealth had drawbacks all of its own. And when you were deemed rich—in a world where money was worshipped more than any of the more traditional gods—then lots of people wanted to know you for all the wrong reasons.
Not that he would have put Sabrina into that category. But he liked the sweet, unaffected way she was with him. He hadn’t been treated as an equal for a very long time. And if he started hinting at just how much he was really worth, might she not be slightly overawed?
‘Oh, I’m just a wheeler-dealer,’ he shrugged.
‘And what does a wheeler-dealer do?’
He smiled. ‘A bit of everything. I buy and sell. Property. Art. Sometimes even cars. Houses occasionally.’ But there was no disguising the dismissiveness in his voice as he topped her wine up. ‘All pretty boring stuff. Finish your soup.’
‘I have finished.’
She’d barely touched it, he noticed as the waiter removed their plates—but, then, neither had he. And he was still aroused. So aroused that…
Sabrina saw the dark colour which had flared over his cheekbones and suddenly she felt weak. Across the table they stared at one another, and the sounds of the other diners retreated so that they might have been alone in the crowded room.
‘G-Guy,’ she stumbled, through the ragged movement of her breathing.
‘What is it?’ he murmured.
‘The waiter is w-waiting to give us our main course.’
Guy looked up to find the waiter standing beside the table, holding two plates containing crayfish and barely able to contain his smile.
‘Grazie,’ said Guy tightly.
‘Prego.’ The waiter grinned.
Sabrina smoothed her fingers over her flushed cheeks. She didn’t speak until the waiter was out of earshot. ‘Did you see his face?’ she whispered.
‘We’re in Italy,’ he remarked, with a shrug. ‘They’re used to couples displaying…’ he lingered over a wholly inappropriate word ‘…affection. Now eat your crayfish,’ he urged softly.
Like two condemned prisoners eating a last meal, they both silently spooned the crayfish into their mouths. It was fine food, meant to be savoured and enjoyed, but they both ate it quickly, without tasting it. In fact, Guy only just refrained from shovelling it down as if he were on a ten-minute lunch-break.
Sabrina wondered why she didn’t feel shy. Or embarrassed. Why being with Guy in an atmosphere so tense with expectation seemed to feel so right. Something she needed more than anything in the world. She put her knife and fork down with a shaky hand and saw that Guy had mirrored her movements.
‘Shall I call for the bill?’ he queried.
She forced herself to try and respond normally, even though she knew what he meant by his question. ‘Don’t you want dessert? Or coffee?’
His mouth curved. He heard the delicious thunder of the inevitable. ‘I thought we could try somewhere else for coffee.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed with nervous excitement, because she knew exactly what he meant—and wouldn’t a well-brought up girl be frightened by that? Or outraged? ‘I guess we could.’
In a daze she allowed him to drape the wrap around her shoulders, feeling the negligent brush of his fingertips against her bare flesh as he did so, and she felt the breath catch in her throat like dust.
He took her by the hand and led her outside into the starry night, looking down at her with soft, silver light gleaming from his eyes.
‘You’re shivering,’ he observed quietly, tracing a thoughtful fingertip down the slim, pale column of her neck and seeing her tremble even more. ‘Again.’
‘Y-yes.’
He took his jacket off and draped it around her shoulders; the broad cut of it almost swamped her slender frame. ‘Here, take this…’
‘You’ll get cold yourself,’ she objected.
‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that,’ he said softly, and, sliding his arms around her waist, he bent his head to kiss her.
Her heart was blazing as her mouth parted to meet the first sweet touch of his lips. She ignored the half-hearted voice of her conscience telling her to stop this, because who could have stopped this?
He was breathing life into her, bringing warmth flooding back into her veins. As though she had been some cold, bloodless statue and now…now…
‘Oh, Guy,’ she whispered, in a distracted plea. ‘Guy.’ But the words were lost against the honeyed softness of his mouth.
Desire shafted through him like an arrow. ‘Oh, God, yes, Sabrina,’ he ground out, on a sultry note of hunger. ‘Yes, and yes, and yes.’ He brought her closer into his body, up to the cradle of his hips, where the hard, lean power of him was unmistakable. And now it was Guy’s turn to make a harsh little sound. He broke the kiss off with a supreme effort, tearing his mouth away to look down with frustrated perplexity into her disappointed eyes.
‘This is all threatening to get out of hand,’ he groaned, sucking in a shuddering breath which scorched the lining of his lungs. ‘I haven’t engaged in such a public display of passion for a long time.’ He had always liked beds—clean sheets and clinical comfort—so why was he having to swallow down the primitive urge to lead her to the nearest narrow, dark alleyway, pin her up against some ancient wall and do it to her right there…?
She felt no fear, and no shame. Only an overwhelming need to be near him. She trickled a questing fingertip down the proud, hard lines of his face. ‘M-me neither.’
He forced himself to bite out the question, even though it was the most difficult thing he had ever had to say. ‘Do you want me to take you back to your hotel, or would you like to…?’ The word trailed off temptingly.
‘To what?’ she asked softly.
‘To come back with me? We could have that dessert. Coffee. What do you think? Would you like that, princess?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, knowing that he didn’t want coffee any more than she did.
He took her hand and led her through the darkened streets. She felt dizzy with the sense of his proximity but she was so disorientated that he could have been leading her to the ends of the earth for all she knew. Or cared.
It wasn’t until they found themselves back in the grand elegance of his suite, with the hazy gleam of the lamps falling like moonlight on her flushed cheeks, that something of the enormity of what she was about to embark on began to seep into Sabrina’s consciousness. She ought to stop this, she told herself, and stop it right now.
Yet the longer she stared into the mesmerising glitter of those dark-lashed eyes, the harder it was to listen to reason. Because reason was a weak component in the presence of raw need.
And Michael had taught her that nothing was certain. His death had brought the frailty of life crashing home in a way that nothing else could have done. Why, she could walk out of this room right now and something could happen to ensure that she would never see Guy Masters again. And never know the warmth of his embrace, or taste the luxury of his kiss.
She turned her face up to his, but her half-felt protest became a moan of surrender as he drove his mouth down on hers with a hungry kiss which splintered her senses.
He reached out to remove the clip from her hair, murmured his warm pleasure as it fell in a red-blonde gleam around her shoulders. ‘See how your hair glows like fire against your skin. And how your eyes sparkle like pure, clear aquamarines.’
She had never been seduced by words before, had never known their sweet, wanton power. ‘G-Guy,’ she said shakily.
His eyes gleamed like silver and onyx. ‘I want to see you, to see your flesh glow in the moonlight. I want to undress you.’ He moved his hand distractedly to find the zip of her dress, before sliding it down with unsteady fingers, kissing her neck as the silky material parted for him.
She gasped as she felt the touch of his fingers against her burning skin and the weight of his hands as they moved down to possessively cup the curve of her bottom. Her head fell helplessly against his shoulder as she felt her dress begin to slide down over her thighs.
‘God, princess, you’re driving me crazy,’ he ground out on a shudder as the dress pooled with a silken whisper at her feet. He lifted his head to gaze at her, taken aback by the sight of her frivolous underwear.
It was the last thing he had been expecting—she looked like a centrefold. A pure white lace bra through which her nipples peaked rosy and hard, and a matching wisp of a G-string through which he could distinctly see the red-gold blur of hair. And then there was the outrageous little suspender belt, onto which were clipped the sheerest stockings he had ever seen.
He very nearly lost control. What had happened to the plain cotton functional garments she’d been wearing the other day? The ones which he’d sent to the laundry whilst thinking that she was obviously of the gym-mistress persuasion?
He gazed at the slender curves of her body, his hand unsteady as it followed the path of his eyes. ‘You wore these for me?’ he questioned shakily, his fingers splaying over the barely perceptible curve of her belly.
‘Yes.’
‘Sweet, sweet torment. You look…wonderful.’ He swallowed. ‘Quite the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.’
She found herself blushing under that passion-glazed scrutiny. The underwear had been bought as part of her trousseau, for the honeymoon she’d been fated never to have.
Her worried mother had persuaded her to pack them. ‘Good underwear always makes a woman feel better about herself,’ she’d urged her. ‘And it seems such a pity to waste such beautiful lingerie.’
Not wanting a row, Sabrina had weakly agreed to take them and had stuffed them into the bottom of her suitcase, knowing that she would never have the heart to wear them. And yet some instinct had urged her to slide them onto her scented and freshly bathed body before dressing to meet Guy this evening…Had she secretly been imagining that shining look of delight as he looked at her?
He dipped his head and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth. ‘Get into bed,’ he ordered unsteadily, ‘while I undress.’
She slid between the linen sheets immediately, thankful that he wasn’t expecting her to undress him. Why, her hands were shaking even more than his.
She watched as he slowly began to unbutton his silk shirt, and in a reflex action her fingers slid up to clutch at her throat, their tips colliding with the thin gold chain from which hung a ring.
Her engagement ring!
Guy had bent to remove one of his shoes, and Sabrina took the opportunity to pull the sheet right up to her chin and to unclip the chain without him seeing. She was about to place it unobtrusively on the floor beside her when he glanced up to see her shrouded in the sheet, with only her face and bright hair showing, and he gave a lazy smile.
Maybe he was more old-fashioned than he gave himself credit for—because it pleased him to see that she was a little shy. ‘You look sweet,’ he murmured. ‘Very, very sweet.’
‘D-do I?’ Whereas he looked the antithesis of sweet. He looked strong and dark and very, very aroused. Maybe she should have been frightened by his hard, masculine body, but she was in too deep now. Too enthralled by him—too chained by the honeyed flutterings of desire.
His shirt fluttered to the ground and he left it where it lay with arrogant disregard. But when he turned his attention to the belt that was holding up his trousers, Sabrina surreptitiously allowed the chain to slither like a slim gold snake onto the carpet.
He kicked his trousers off and Sabrina hastily shut her eyes, only to open them to find him looking down at her, a kind of bemused tenderness on his face.
‘You are shy,’ he observed softly.
‘A little,’ she answered truthfully.
‘I like it.’
‘Do you?’
‘Mmm. But, then, I think I like everything about you. Your golden hair spread all over my pillow. Your skin as white as milk.’ Wearing only a pair of dark, silken boxer shorts, he lifted back the sheet and climbed into bed beside her. ‘Come here,’ he said softly, pulling her into the warm cradle of his arms.
She felt the shock of sensation as they tangled their limbs, his bare, warm flesh pressing against hers, and she gasped with a heightened sense of recognition.
He dipped his mouth to brush against a tiny, puckered nipple. ‘I find myself in the curious position of not knowing where to begin,’ he murmured. ‘Like a starving man being presented with the most fantastic banquet and being completely spoilt for choice.’
‘Guy,’ she stumbled helplessly, her eyes huge and dark. ‘So, do I kiss you?’ he mused. ‘Yes, I think so.’ His lips brushed lightly over hers, there and gone in an instant, leaving her mouth moistly open and expectant. ‘Or touch you here?’ A feather-light flicker of finger to nipple which made her shiver. ‘Yes, you like that, don’t you, my sweet torment?’
‘Y-yes,’ she gasped.
