by Kate Walker
‘Lucia…’
He thought that he moved first but they met so fast, so short a way down the silent corridor that she must have come towards him. They collided with a hungry force, each of them with arms coming out to enfold the other, haul them close while their mouths met, clamped, fused in burning need. The strength of the impact slammed them against the wall, Ricardo’s body covering Lucy’s, his hips cradled in her pelvis, the pressure of her warmth and softness against the hard ache of need he had for her.
His hands were in her hair, twisting in the long golden strands, pulling her face towards him, angling her head just so, so that he could deepen the kiss, plunder her mouth, tangle his tongue with hers. His own breathing was raw in his ears, and hers was every bit as ragged and uneven. Her arms were up around his neck, holding him close, her fingers clenching in the soft short hair at the base of his skull. She was not just being kissed but kissing him back with equal wild enthusiasm.
‘Lucia…’ he managed in a gasping mutter when the need to snatch in a breath or surrender to unconsciousness forced him to reluctantly release her mouth for a moment. ‘I have wanted this—needed this…’
Her soft, uneven little laugh was a sound of acquiescence and agreement, part excitement, part embarrassment. Totally beguiling. But his pulse stilled when she shook her head as it rested against his, her gaze downcast, not looking him in the eyes.
‘But you…’ The words failed her and she swallowed hard. ‘I thought you didn’t want a proper marriage.’
Her eyes came up on the last two words, long lashes sweeping the air as blue gaze locked with opaque black. And, with her looking straight into his eyes as she did, what could he say but the truth?
‘I lied.’
It was an effort to get the words from a throat that was so raw and thick with need that it seemed it might close up completely but he needed her to hear this. Resting his forehead against hers, looking deep into those clear, beautiful eyes, he tried again.
‘Ho mentito, angelo mio, I lied.’
I lied…
It was all that Lucy needed to hear. Knowing that Ricardo had not been able to reject her totally, as she had first believed, sent a rush of heat through her veins, making her pulse throb even more than before. He wanted her as much as she wanted him and, for now, that was enough.
Enough to put an extra urgency into the hungry kiss she pressed on his beautiful mouth. Enough to make her stir against him as the need that throbbed in every nerve became more and more demanding, turning pleasure into something so intense it was close to pain.
Her hands clenched over his strong shoulders, digging into taut muscle in an attempt to get even closer and at the same time keep herself upright as her legs threatened to give way, bones seeming to melt in the blaze of desire that took her by storm. If it wasn’t for his powerful support, she felt that she would be sliding down the wall, to land in a molten heap on the floor at his feet.
Ricardo’s touch seemed to be every where on her body. Hard palms curving over the shape of her buttocks, drawing her even more onto the heat and hardness of his erection, then drifting upwards to tug the pink top free at her waistband, the burn of his fingertips against her bared flesh making her jolt and moan in sharp response.
His lips were on her throat now, making her arch her neck so that his hot mouth could move lower, lingering on the frantic pulse that beat at the base of her neck. And in the same moment he was walking her sideways, along that wall, moving inexorably towards his room where the door had swung open again. He had obviously not stopped to shut it properly in the moment that she had looked up and seen Ricardo in the corridor coming towards her—coming for her.
Her hands were hungry for the feel of him now, needing the warm satin of his skin against them. She pulled his shirt loose, slipped her hands underneath and felt his hot breath catch against her throat as he registered her touch. Whirling away from the support of the wall, he took her with him down the corridor, blundering from one side to another, slamming into each wall with such force that she almost feared they might wake the household, have someone come to find out what was happening.
But then at last they were in the sanctuary of the room, the door kicked to behind them. Ricardo swung her up into his arms, his lips still welded to hers as he carried her across to the bed, dropping her onto the softly quilted surface and coming down hard and fast beside her. Her clothes were no obstacle to his impatient, hungry hands, or his to hers, and soon everything—shirts, skirt, jeans, underwear—lay in a tangled heap on the floor, as intimately entwined as their now naked limbs on the bed.
‘I lied,’ Ricardo muttered, rough and raw, as first his hands and then his demanding mouth made contact with her shivering skin. ‘Madre de Dio, but I lied…How could I not want this…?’
His kiss on her breast made her convulse with a shaken cry, the pleasure so stunning that it blanked her mind for a moment, surrendering totally to delight.
‘Or this…’
Strong hands smoothed their way down her slender frame, over the cluster of curls at the core of her body, caressing fingers sliding knowingly against the tiny focus of her need, stoking the fire with each touch, building it higher and higher.
It had never been like this before. Not even in the beginning when they had first come together, when the mindblowing passion had taken all thought, all sense away from them, leaving them with only hunger and need. But then everything had been new, a fresh and exciting exploration of each other’s bodies, each other’s senses. Now they knew what that passion was like, the intensity of pleasure it could bring, but they had been without it for long, long months, time and distance sharpening hunger, increasing sensation, putting an edge on need.
Then Lucy had been innocent, a touch afraid, unsure of where all this was leading. She had wanted Ricardo so much but at the same time she had been unsure whether he would stay, doubting that she could offer him more than a passing fling and soon he would be on his way again, looking for pastures new. But now, with that deep spoken, heartfelt admission that he had lied about not wanting her still sounding over and over inside her head, she felt newly strong, deeply aware of her feminine power over him. A power revealed in the racing thud of his heart, the streak of burning heat across his hard carved cheekbones, the ragged breathing that he clearly could not pull back under control.
And control was not what she wanted from him. What she wanted was…
‘Rico…please…bring us together…make us one.’
‘Do you have to ask?’ was Ricardo’s shaken response.
And then it was as if all his English deserted him, burned up in the heat of the inferno they had built between them and, as he separated her legs, pushing them apart with one long powerful thigh, he resorted to his native Italian to mutter roughly, ‘Lucia…sei bella…quanta ti voglio. Madre de Dio…quanto ti voglio.’
His ardent litany of need was all that registered in Lucy’s mind; the rest of her was totally lost in the sensual assault that was swamping every inch of her body. Her head was spinning, every nerve awake and throbbing, and she was lost and adrift on heated waves of pleasure. Waves that grew higher and higher with each forceful move of Ricardo’s powerful possession, taking her with him further and further until at last they broke on one final wildest, soaring crest of passion, throwing her out, his name just a cry on her lips, into the tumbling oblivion of the most devastating orgasm she had ever known.
It was a long long time before she came back to any sort of consciousness and then it was only to a drifting, half in and half out form of reality that held her safe and warm, cushioned in a hazy oblivion. She was curled up, lax and sated, against the hard heat of Ricardo’s powerful form, enclosed in his arms, hearing his thudding heart slowly ease into calm under her head, his breathing even out as, like her, he drifted towards sleep.
‘You are mine now,’ he muttered, his breath hot against her neck, his lips pressing kisses on her skin with every word. ‘Mine. No one else will ever have you…�
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There is no one else…never has been since the day I met you.
The words were there inside Lucy’s head, needing to be said. But, before she could summon up the energy to even form them, the dark clouds of exhaustion from the day had rolled over her, taking her mind and her consciousness with her and dragging her down into the mindlessness of sleep.
Down so deep into the darkness that she should have known. Should have recognised the mindless, almost comatose state that always took her over just before the dreams began. The bleak, lonely dreams filled with terrifying images and sounds.
The dreams that had once driven her out of this house and away from the man she loved. Away from her child.
Disaster was coming. She could feel it, see it on the horizon. She had to get away…
‘No…’
She was going to have to run all over again. It was much too dangerous to stay…
…But something was holding her back. Something had hold of her arm, restraining her, and no matter how she tugged…
‘Lucy…’
‘No…no…’
She couldn’t stay. It was too dangerous. Much, much too…
‘Lucia, tesoro…Listen to me…I’m here…angelo mio…’
Suddenly there was a faint light in her eyes. And in that faint light a darker shape. A strength and solidity that stood out from the shadows, making her blink in shock and confusion.
‘Lucia…’ the voice said softly again.
Warm arms came round her, holding her softly, comforting, protecting, not restraining. Where was she? Who was with her?
What the devil was happening here? Ricardo asked himself as he tried to keep his hold on Lucy careful and soft. Never wake a sleepwalker, everyone said. But then everyone had not been confronted by the sight of their wife heading for the stairs, totally naked and with her eyes so blank that it was obvious she wasn’t seeing anything in reality.
He’d been woken by her restlessness. The tossing and turning in her sleep that had made it plain that, whatever was happening in her dreams, it was far from pleasant. The dawn had just been breaking when she had first actually sat up, throwing back the bedclothes and swinging her feet to the ground.
‘What is it? Where are you going?’ he’d asked but she hadn’t replied. Instead she’d ignored him completely, standing up and heading for the door. In the end, realising that she was walking in her sleep, he had been left with no choice but to follow her, snatching up the robe that lay across the bed as he went, knowing she was going to need that, whatever happened.
He’d followed her down the corridor, stunned to see she found her way without any hesitation even though her eyes were wide and unfocused, staring straight at nothing.
But when she’d headed for the top of the stairs, that had been a different matter. In spite of everything he’d heard, he couldn’t just stand back and watch. He’d taken her hand very gently, holding her back without a word. But now she had stopped and had turned away from the danger. She was looking at him—looking but not seeing with those wide unfocused eyes.
‘Where are you going, cara?’ he asked again.
‘I…I was looking for Marco. My baby.’
‘He’s fine…’ Ricardo began reassuringly but Lucy just talked across him as if he hadn’t spoken, her voice rising sharply in evident distress.
‘I have to find him. But I mustn’t touch him—I mustn’t harm him!’
Harm? The word sounded shocking, appalling in Ricardo’s thoughts. How could she even think that she might harm the baby? Anyone who had ever seen her with him would know that that was an impossibility. That was why he had been so shocked when she had run out on their child. His thoughts went back to the way that Lucy has described her illness earlier that day. She had explained, but it seemed that she hadn’t told him everything that had happened. Hadn’t told him everything she had been through.
‘You won’t harm Marco, tesoro. He’s quite safe.’
He kept his voice quiet, steady, and she seemed to respond to it. The wide-eyed stare was just a little less wild and her slender body perhaps not quite so tense. She was shivering though, whether from nerves or the cool of the pre-dawn, he didn’t know, but he slipped the robe around her as gently as he could and knew an almost shocking sense of satisfaction to see her respond and huddle herself into it, drawing it closer round her.
‘I have to keep Marco safe,’ she said again and he was relieved to hear that some of the frantic note had left her voice too.
‘He’s safe. I promise you he is. He’s completely safe.’
And then she said the words that stunned him completely, hitting him like a punch in the gut so that he almost doubled up from it.
‘He will be,’ she said. ‘He’ll be safe when I’m gone.’
Just what could he say to answer that? There was nothing. He could think of nothing and, besides, you couldn’t argue or even discuss something with a woman who, for all she was walking and talking, was still actually sound asleep.
‘He’ll be fine,’ he managed, knowing he had to say something. ‘And so will you. You’ll see him in the morning. But you should get some sleep first—come back to bed.’
To his relief, she didn’t resist, letting him lead her carefully away from the danger of the wide, curving staircase, back down the corridor. She followed him, placid as an exhausted child, only slowing, then resisting as they neared his bedroom door.
‘Not this way…my husband…Ricardo…mustn’t know. He’ll hate me.’
Hate?
Lucy was obviously fading now and, needing to make sure she didn’t collapse, on he hastily led her past the half-closed door and took her to her own room instead. Once inside she seemed to relax, losing all the tension that gripped her and slumping back against the wall in obvious exhaustion. Swinging her up into his arms, Ricardo carried her to the bed and laid her on it carefully, pulling the covers up around her. Lucy sighed softly, already drifting away back into sleep.
‘Stay…’ she whispered, tightening the fingers that were still entwined with his. ‘Stay.’
‘Of course.’
As he slid in beside her she turned, snuggling closer, resting her head against his shoulder, the fine strands of her hair lying like silk against his chest. Ricardo folded his arms around her, holding her so that he felt her slim body relax into sleep, the nightmare or whatever it had been forgotten in the oblivion of unconsciousness.
But he could not forget. And as she slept so deeply beside him he lay wide awake, staring with unseeing eyes up at the ceiling, remembering and thinking.
And later, when he was sure that he would not disturb her, he slipped from the bed, moving as silently as he could, heading out of the room and down the long corridor towards his office.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT WAS the sense of something being wrong that dragged Lucy from her sleep the next morning. A feeling that something had changed forcing her into unwilling wakefulness, making her stir in the comfort of the bed.
And that was when a feeling of loss slid into her mind so that she frowned uncertainly, still keeping her eyes closed.
Something wasn’t right here. The bed felt too big, too empty. She had fallen asleep feeling safe, secure for the first time in months, had slept soundly, dreamlessly, but now it felt as if something was missing.
She opened her eyes slowly, slowly, reluctantly. She felt as if she had been dragged from the depths of a dark pit, surfacing unwillingly into the living world. It almost seemed as if she had a hangover, except that she knew she hadn’t had a single drink the night before.
And then memory returned. Hazy images of being out of bed, in the corridor outside surfacing in her mind. She knew what this feeling meant. It was one that she had experienced so often before, in the darkest days of her illness. When the staff at the hospital would tell her the next morning what had happened in the night.
She had been sleepwalking again.
But why? In the past such episodes h
ad been linked to stress. To the fears and miseries she’d endured after leaving the villa. She had thought—had hoped that they were over for good. But it seemed that she’d been wrong. The realisation made her turn her face into the pillow, groaning aloud at the thought.
‘Buon giorno, Lucia.’
The voice came from near the window, bringing her eyes open in a rush to stare straight into Ricardo’s watchful face as other memories flooded her thoughts, making them reel.
That final confrontation; the cold-blooded declaration he had made that she should act as his wife and yet not be his wife, that was a source enough for the stress that had triggered the attack. And not just that…
Heat ran through every inch of her body as she recalled that the evening had not ended with Ricardo’s declaration. She had tried to stay in her room, determined, for now, to work with what she had. At least Ricardo had agreed to let her stay. At least she could be a mother to Marco. Just forty-eight hours before, she would have settled for that and been thankful for it. But here, now, she knew there was no way she could do so.
So she had left her room, going back to talk to Ricardo…
And she had met him in the corridor, coming to find her.
As she struggled to sit up, the realisation that she wore a black towelling robe, gaping at the front, brought other memories flooding back in a rush. Memories that made her skin burn with remembered heat. The molten passion that had brought them together had seared her right to her soul, leaving her stunned and shattered, not knowing what this meant for the future of their relationship, if they had one. It was no wonder that her old fears had resurfaced, driving her out of her bed and into wandering the house while still asleep.
And there had been one other thing, one final straw that had truly broken her back, emotionally at least. It had been there, in her mind, as she fell asleep and it had obviously filled her thoughts, disturbed her dreams.
There is no one else…never has been since the day I met you.
In the twilight place between waking and sleeping, her mind had broken free of the restraints she had tried to impose on it. In that half-and-half world, she had been unable to pretend to herself any more, as the need, the yearning—the love she still felt had forced its way into her unshielded mind.
