Rumours: The One-Night Heirs: The Innocent's Secret Baby (Billionaires & One-Night Heirs) / Bound by the Sultan's Baby (Billionaires & One-Night Heirs) / Sicilian's Baby of Shame (Billionaires & One-Night Heirs)

As stunning as they all were, for Lydia they didn’t quite live up to the lovers’ statue. Perhaps it was because she had witnessed it being made, Lydia mused as they stepped back out into the street.

It was disorientating.

Lydia went to head left, but Raul took her hand and they went right and he led her back to the speedboat.

The driver had gone, on Raul’s instruction, and it was he who drove them to San Marco.

Raul took great pride in showing her around this most seductive of cities.

They wandered through ghostly back streets and over bridges.

‘It’s so wonderful to be here,’ Lydia said. ‘It was all so rushed last time, and it felt as if we were just ticking things off a list.’

‘And the obligatory gondola ride?’ Raul said, but her response surprised him.

‘No.’ Lydia shook her head. ‘Some of the girls did, but…’ She stopped.

‘But?’

‘Sitting on the bus with the teacher was bad enough. I think a gondola ride with her would have been worse somehow.’

She tried to keep it light, as Raul had managed to when they had been talking about her lonely school trip in Rome. She didn’t quite manage it, though.

Raul, who had been starting to think about their dinner reservation, steered her towards the canal.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You cannot do Venice without a gondola ride.’

Till this point Raul had, though.

Raul’s usual mode of transport was a speedboat.

But there was nothing like Venice at sunset from a gondola, as both found out together.

The low boat sliced gently through the water and the Grand Canal blushed pink as the sun dipped down. He looked over as she sighed, and saw Lydia smiling softly as she drank it all in.

‘You don’t take photos?’ Raul observed.

‘My phone’s flat,’ Lydia said, but then admitted more. ‘I’m not one for taking photos.’

‘Why not?’

He was ever-curious about her—something Raul had never really been before.

‘Because when it’s gone it’s gone,’ Lydia said. ‘Best to move on.’

The gondolier took them through the interior canals that were so atmospheric that silence was the best option.

It was cool on the water, and there were blankets they could put over their knees, but she accepted Raul’s jacket.

The silk was warm from him, and as she put it on he helped her. The only reason he had not kissed her before was because he’d thought it might prove impossible to stop.

But Raul was beyond common sense thinking now—and so was she.

He took her face in his hands and he looked at her mouth—the lipstick was long gone.

‘I want you,’ he told her.

‘And you know I want you.’

Lydia did.

His mouth told her just how much he wanted her. She watched his eyelids shutter, and then he tasted her. Lydia did the same. She felt the soft weight of him and her mouth opened just a little as they flirted with their tongues. There was tenderness, promise and building passion in every stroke and beat. Yet even as they kissed she cared for the view, and now and then opened her eyes just for a glimpse, because it was like spinning circles in a blazing sky.

His hand slipped inside the jacket. First just the pad of his thumb caressed her breast, and then—she had been right—the dress drew his attention down.

His hand was on her stomach, just lingering, and Lydia felt his warm palm through the fabric. Her breathing stilled and he felt the change and pulled her closer, to taste and feel more.

They sailed under ancient bridges and he kissed her knowingly. So attuned were they no one would guess they weren’t lovers yet.

There was just the sound of the gondolier’s paddle and the taste of passion.

She was on fire, and yet he made her shiver.

Soon Raul knew the gondolier would turn them around, for the canal ended soon. They were about to pass under the Bridge of Sighs and the bells of St Mark’s Campanile were tolling.

Which meant, according to legend, that if they kissed they would be granted eternal love and bliss.

Which Raul did not want.

But their mouths made a fever—a fever neither wanted to break—and anyway he didn’t believe in legends.

They pulled their mouths apart as the gondolier turned them around, but their foreheads were still touching.

Lydia was breathless and flushed, and though Raul had made so many plans for her perfect Venetian night he could wait no more.

They should be stopping soon for champagne, and then a canalside dinner at his favourite restaurant. Except his hand was back between them, stroking her nipple through velvet, and her tongue was more knowing.

His best-laid plans were fading.

Lydia pulled her mouth back, but he kissed her cheek and moved his lips towards her ear, and his jaw was rough and delicious, and his hand on her breast had her suddenly desperate.

‘Raul…’ Lydia said.

Oh, she said his name so easily now.

And he knew her so much more, because there was a slight plea in her voice and it matched the way he felt.

He pulled back his own mouth, only enough to deliver the gondolier an instruction.

The sky was darker as they kissed through the night, and soon they were gliding back towards the Grand Canal, and now Raul wished for an engine and the speed of his own boat.

The gondolier came to a stop at a water door and said something. It took a moment for Lydia to register that they had stopped and so had the kiss. Realising that she was being spoken to, she looked around breathlessly, staring up at yet another palazzo and trying to take in her surroundings.

‘It’s beautiful!’ Lydia said, trying to be a good tourist while wishing they could get back to kissing.

Raul smiled at her attempt to be polite when she was throbbing between the legs.

‘It’s even more beautiful inside,’ Raul told her. ‘This is my home.’

Lydia almost wept in relief.

He got out first and took her by the hand, and then pushed open the dark door.

She entered his home an innocent.

Lydia would not be leaving it the same.

CHAPTER NINE

THROUGH THE ENTRANCE and into an internal elevator they went, but Lydia prayed there would be no fire in the night, for she did not take in her surroundings at all—their kisses were frantic and urgent now.

His body was hard against hers, and his hands were a little rough as Raul fought with himself not to hitch up her dress.

The jolt of the old elevator was barely noted—there was just relief that they could get out.

They almost ran.

Raul took her hand and led her with haste through a long corridor lined with ancient mirrors and lit with white pillar candles.

And at the end, as if she were looking through a keyhole, there was the reward of open wooden doors that revealed a vast bed.

She would wake up soon, Lydia was sure.

She would wake up from this sensual dream.

Yet she did not.

There were colours that rained on the walls and the bed, yet she was too into Raul to look for their source.

And was she scared?

No.

Shy?

Not a bit.

Raul stripped, and then no words were needed, no instruction required, as naked, erect, he dealt with her dress.

Lydia held up her hair as he unzipped her.

She shook as he removed the dress, then her bra.

And she moaned as he knelt to remove first her shoes and then the final garment between them.

Raul slid the silk down and probed her with his tongue. Lydia stood and knotted her fingers in his hair, and as Raul gently eased in two fingers, though it hurt, it was bliss.

She parted her legs as he licked and stretched her, and ensured she was oiled at the same time.

He turned away from her then, reaching for the bedside table.

‘You’re on the Pill?’

Lydia nodded, a touch frantic. She wanted no pause for she needed him inside her.

Lydia had the rest of her life to be sensible and behave.

Just this night.

He took her to his bed and they knelt upon it, kissing and caressing each other. Gliding their hands over each other’s body. His muscled and taut…hers softer. They recreated the scene from earlier, at the glassblower’s, because it had felt at the time as if they were watching themselves.

‘Since we met…’ Raul said, and kissed her arched neck.

And her breasts ached for him, but not as much as between her legs.

His erection was pressed against her stomach, nudging, promising, and he wanted to take her kneeling but was aware that it was her first time, and he had felt how tight she was with his fingers.

Raul tried to kiss her into lying down so that he could take things slowly.

She resisted.

And he was glad that she did.

He raised her higher, hooked her leg around him and held himself. And she rested her arms over his shoulders and then lowered herself.

A little.

It hurt, but it was the best hurt.

Raul’s eyes were open, and they were both barely breathing, just focused on the bliss they felt.

‘Since we met…’ he said again, and his voice was low, rich and smoky.

And she lowered herself a little more, and he felt her, tight and hot.

She wanted him so badly but could not see that last bit through. ‘Raul…’

There was a plea in her voice again, and he heeded it and took control and thrust hard.

Lydia sobbed as he seared into her. Everything went black, and not just because she’d screwed her eyes closed. She thought she might faint, but he took her hips and held her still and waited as best he could for her to open her eyes.

They opened, and she thought she would never get used to it—ever—but then her breathing evened. And when she opened her eyes again, as she had on the canal, this time they met his.

Raul’s hand went to the very base of her spine. His touch was sensual and she moved a little, slowly, acclimatising to the feel of him within her.

She was sweaty and hot as his hands moved to her buttocks and he started to thrust.

‘Raul…’

She wanted him to slow down, yet he was moving slowly.

And then Lydia wanted him never to stop.

Pain had left and in its place was a craving, an intense desire for more of what built within.

His hands had guided her into rhythm, but now she found her own. And it was slower than they could account for, for their bodies were frantic, but they relished the intense pleasure. Raul felt the oiled and yet tight grip of her, and each thrust brought him deeper into the mire, to savour or release. Lydia was lost to sensation. His breath in her ear was like music as it combined with the energies concentrated within her.

Her calf ached, but she did not have the will to move it, and then her inner thighs tensed as she parted around him.

The centre of her felt pulled so tight it was almost a spasm, and then she was lost for control and he held her still. And then, when she had thought he could fill her no more, Raul swelled and thrust—rapid and fast.

Lydia screamed, just a little, but it was a sound she had never made before and it came from a place she had never been.

Her legs coiled tight around him, her body hot and pulsing as he filled her.

‘Since we met,’ he said as she rested her head on his shoulder and felt the last flickers of their union fade, ‘I’ve wanted you.’

‘And I you,’ Lydia said, for it was the truth.

And then he kissed her down from what felt like the ceiling.

‘Res…’ Raul said, and then halted and changed what he had been about to say. ‘Rest.’

And she lay there in his arms, silent.

Lydia knew there could be no going back from what had just taken place.

And it had nothing to do with innocence lost.

How the hell did she go back to her life without him?

CHAPTER TEN

A GORGEOUS CHANDELIER, creating prisms of light in every shade of spring, was the first thing Lydia saw when she awoke.

There was a long peal of bells ringing out in the distance, but it was a closer, more occasional, deep, sonorous chime that held her attention. It rang low, soft and yet clear, till the sound slowly faded. When it struck again she remembered gliding underneath the Bridge of Sighs with his kiss.

Lydia knew the legend.

She had stood by the bridge with one of her school friends and struck it from her study sheet.

Eternal love and bliss had not applied to her then and it could not now, Lydia knew.

And so she stared up instead and remembered her vow to not show the hurt when it ended.

Pinks, lemons and minty greens dotted the ceiling, and she saw that the beads were actually flowers that threw little prisms of light across the room.

He was awake.

Stretching languorously beside her.

Lydia relished the moment.

His hand slid to her hips and pulled her closer, and rather than ponder over the fact that soon she would be gone, Lydia chose to keep things light.

‘I never pictured you as a man who might have a chandelier in the bedroom.’

Raul gave a low laugh.

He was a mystery, but not hers to solve, and so she did her best to maintain a stiff upper lip.

‘A floral chandelier at that,’ Lydia added. Her eyes could not stop following the beams of light. ‘Though I have to say it’s amazing.’

‘It drives me crazy,’ Raul admitted. ‘When I first moved in I considered having it taken down, or changing the master bedroom, but the view of the canal is the best from here.’

‘Oh, you can’t have it taken down,’ Lydia said.

‘Easy for you to say. I feel like I am having laser surgery on my eyes some mornings.’

Lydia smiled and carried on watching the light show.

She never wanted to move.

Or rather she did, but only to the beat of their lovemaking.

His hand was making circles on her stomach and he was hard against her thigh.

Lydia didn’t want to check the time just to find out how little time they had left.

‘I love your home.’

‘You haven’t really seen it.’

And she was about to throw him a line about how she could live in just his bedroom for ever, but it would come out wrong, she knew.

He watched the lips he had been about to kiss press together.

Raul saw that.

Then he thought of what he’d been about to say last night.

Restare.

Stay.

He should be congratulating himself for not making such a foolish mistake by uttering that word last night.

Yet the feeling was still there.

And so Raul, far safer than making love to her, as he wanted to, told her how he had come by his home.

‘There is a café nearby that I go to. I sometimes see Silvio there, and we chat. On one occasion he told me that this palazzo had come on the market. He was not interested in purchasing it but had been to view it as some of his early work was inside.’

I don’t care, Lydia wanted to say. I want to be kissed.

Yet she did care.

And she did want to know about his home and how he had come by it.

She wanted more information to add to the file marked ‘Raul Di Savo’ that her heart would soon have to close.

And his voice was as deep as that occasional bell and it resonated in every cell of her body.

She wanted to turn her mouth to feel his, but she lay listening instead.

‘Half a century ago it underwent major refurbishment. Silvio made all the internal door handles with his grandfather. But it was the chandelier in the master bedroom that he really wanted to see.’

And now they both lay bathed in the dancing sunbeams of the chandelier as he told its tale.

‘It was created by three generations of Silvio’s family, long before he was born. I knew that I had to see it, so I called Allegra to arrange a viewing, and then, when I saw it, I had to own it.’

‘I can see why.’ Lydia sighed. ‘I’m back in love with Venice.’

And then she said it.

‘I never want to leave.’

It was just what people said at the end of a good trip, Raul knew, but silence hung in the air now, the bells were quiet, and it felt as if even the sky awaited his response.

He needed to think—away from Lydia. For the temptation was still there to say it, to roll into her and make love to her and ask her to remain.

It was unfamiliar and confusing enough for Raul to deal with, let alone her. And so he tried to dismiss the thought in his head that refused to leave.

And Raul knew that Lydia needed her heart that was starting to soar to be reined in.

‘People love their holidays,’ Raul said. ‘I know that. I study it a lot in my line of work. But there is one thing I have consistently found—no matter how luxurious the surroundings, or how fine the cognac, no matter how much my staff do everything they can to ensure the very best stay…’ he could see tears sparkle in her eyes and he had never once seen her even close to crying before ‘…at the end of even the most perfect stay most are ready to go back to their lives.’

‘Not always.’ Lydia fought him just a little.

And they both fought to keep the conversation from getting too heavy, but they were not discussing holidays—they both knew that.

‘I know,’ Lydia persisted, ‘that when I’ve had a really good holiday I want more of it…even just a few more days…’ She lied, and they both knew it, because Lydia had never had a really good holiday, but he kept to the theme.

‘Then that means it was an exceptional trip—a once-in-a-lifetime experience. A guest should always leave wanting more.’

He saw her lips turn white at this relegation and tempered it just a little as he told her they could never be. ‘I’ll tell you something else I have found—if people do return to that treasured memory it is never quite the same.’

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