by Sara Craven
Gasping, Dana became aware of an odd stirring deep inside her as if a coiled spring was tightening endlessly.
She felt as if she was tottering on the edge of an abyss. That her entire inner self was gathering, preparing itself in some impossible way for a leap into the unknown.
She wanted to scream at him to stop because she couldn’t bear it—knowing that if he did stop she would die...
And at that moment the abyss took her and, as she fell, she felt her body implode into the first throbbing, rapturous convulsions of release. Heard herself cry out as the pleasure reached an almost agonised crescendo, then found herself drifting, sighing and weightless, back to earth.
Where she found Zac watching her, propped on one elbow, his faint smile tender rather than triumphant, and reflective—even, she thought out of her own welter of emotional confusion, tinged with something like regret.
He said softly, ‘Carissima,’ and she looked back at him, eyes widening as she absorbed every bronze inch of him, finally allowing her gaze to linger on the powerful, rigid shaft springing up from his loins. Aware, to her own astonishment, that her womanhood was already tightening in what could only be anticipation, and renewed desire.
Telling her that the delight he’d given her was only a beginning.
As, she told herself, she would now demonstrate...
She sat up, holding his gaze, and slowly pulled her crumpled nightgown over her head, tossing it aside, before lying back naked, her whole body an invitation under the sudden flare of his dark eyes.
She saw a muscle move in his throat, then he came to join her, kneeling between her legs as he bent to kiss her, and she reached up to caress his shoulders and upper arms, feeling his hard muscles clench at her touch.
His mouth took hers without haste, his hands slow and careful as they travelled over her, outlining her slenderness almost as if he was learning her by heart, adoring her breasts as they lifted eagerly to his lips, outlining the hollows of her pelvis, skimming the concavity of her belly, running his fingertips down the slim length of her legs.
And she touched him too, her hands sweeping down the length of his back to the firm buttocks, revelling in this newfound freedom. Watching the heat burn along his cheekbones and hearing the harsh rasp of his breathing when her fingers at last closed round the hardness of him, sliding from the base to the moist tip. Glorying in his soft groan of pleasure as the stroke of her hand became more daring. And more demanding.
And when he positioned himself over her, she spread herself beneath him.
Telling him without words that she was ready and so much more than willing.
Yet his possession of her was as unhurried as his previous caresses, giving an impression of passion firmly controlled as he eased his way into her pliant body, watching her face for any sign of discomfort.
But if there was pain it was fleeting, and anyway overwhelmed by the need to have Zac sheathing himself in her, filling her with total completion. Making her his woman at last.
For a moment he remained still, looking down into her unclouded eyes, then he began to move inside her, and she lifted her hands to clasp his shoulders, rising and falling with him as she echoed each long, slow thrust, taking him ever more deeply into her, tightening around him as her body quickened to every new and powerful sensation that he was evoking.
In answer, Zac began to move faster, even urgently as if some culmination was approaching, and Dana, gasping, felt once again that first elusive curl of exquisite tension twist inside her, driving her on too, forcing her to reach for it, her breath sobbing almost in desperation.
Only for Zac’s hand to slip down between their joined bodies to find her tiny erect pinnacle, and stroke it. And, even as he touched her, she was lost, crying out in ecstasy as her body splintered into wild pulsating abandonment.
Hearing him call her name, his voice hoarse and anguished, and feeling deep within her the spurting heat of his own climax.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AFTERWARDS THERE WAS SILENCE. Zac lifted himself away from her and turned on his back, an arm flung across his eyes as he fought to control his breathing.
Dana remained still. She knew it must still be early but even so the room seemed to be bathed in sunlight. She felt totally boneless—too languid even to lift a finger, but at the same time suffused with wellbeing. Her skin was tingling as if every pore was charged with some magical form of electricity.
She turned her head slowly and looked at Zac. She wanted to say something—express how she felt—how he had made her feel during this entire glorious initiation—but she was lost for words.
‘Thank you’ seemed inappropriate, even ludicrous, while ‘I love you’ was out of the question.
Besides, she was hoping he would be the one to speak.
Eventually, she reached out and touched his sweat-dampened shoulder. ‘Zac? Shouldn’t we—talk?’
Oh, God, she thought. That sounded such a cliché at what should be a pivotal moment in their lives.
He didn’t reply immediately and she wondered if he was asleep. Then: ‘Later,’ he said. ‘Now we both need to rest. We both have a busy day ahead of us.’
It was not the response she’d hoped for but she wasn’t going to argue. She waited, wondering if he would take her in his arms, hoping that he might, but he simply turned on his side away from her, and after a disappointed pause, Dana did the same.
I can wait, she told herself. Until later.
And burrowing her cheek into her pillow, she smiled.
She’d not really expected to sleep. After all, she had too much to think about, too much to plan, yet eventually she did.
And awoke with a start, wondering what had disturbed her.
It was certainly not Zac, because she was alone in the big bed. And that surprise was followed by another when she discovered she was once again wearing her nightdress which, presumably, he had replaced at some point.
My God, she thought, stretching. I must have been dead to the world.
And then she heard the discreet tap on the door and Mrs Harris’s voice saying, ‘Your tea, madam,’ and realised what had woken her, a glance at the bedside clock informing her it was nearly 10:00 a.m.
She sat up quickly, straightening the covers and called an embarrassed, ‘Come in.’
Mrs Harris also seemed flustered as she placed the folding tray across Dana’s lap and went to draw the curtains, filling the room with sunshine.
A beautiful day, thought Dana, just as she’d expected. However, one glance showed her that the little white porcelain teapot, the cup, saucer and milk jug were intended for single use.
‘Is my—my husband having coffee?’ she asked.
‘Mr Belisandro breakfasted some time ago, madam.’ She added with slight constraint, ‘His driver and one of the gardeners are taking his luggage down to the car.’
‘Already?’ Alarmed, Dana lifted the tray aside and threw back the covers. ‘But I need to talk to him.’
Tell him that he’ll have to take a later flight because I’m going to Europe with him, even if it is a working honeymoon.
That, she thought, had been her last conscious resolve before sleep claimed her and it was still the plan.
Barefoot, she flew across to his dressing room only to find it deserted, the closet doors standing wide, the drawers left open, revealing emptiness.
Good God, she thought helplessly. He’s taking everything. No wonder he needed two of them to carry it all.
She turned back to the housekeeper. ‘Can you get my robe and slippers, please? Is Mr Belisandro still in the dining room?’
The older woman hesitated awkwardly. ‘I believe he’s occupied in the book room, madam.’
Tying the sash of her white satin robe, Dana hurried downstairs. The front door was open, an
d she could see the chauffeur loading suitcases into the boot of the car.
What the hell is going on? she asked herself, as she reached the book room and marched in.
Zac was standing at the surprisingly bare desk, checking the contents of his briefcase. At her entry, he glanced up, his mouth tightening.
Dana closed the door behind her and leaned against it, trying to hide the fact that she’d begun to feel oddly nervous.
‘You said we’d talk, she reminded him quietly. ‘This seems more like the last minute than later.’
‘I decided it would be best.’ He picked up a large manila envelope and held it out to her. ‘I have a wedding gift for you.’
Dana remained where she was, fighting a strange compulsion to put her hands behind her back and keep them there.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I think. What is it, please?’
‘The deeds of this house,’ he said. ‘Transferred into your sole name, with a letter to tell you that Mannion now belongs to you alone.’ He paused. ‘So, at last we both possess what we most desired and our bargain is completed, leaving us free to get on with our separate lives.’
‘Separate,’ Dana repeated. The room was warm but she suddenly felt very cold. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Yet it is not difficult. You wanted this house. I wanted you.’ He shrugged. ‘The deal is done—certainly to my satisfaction and I hope to yours also,’ he added, glancing down at the envelope. ‘This travesty of a marriage has fulfilled its purpose and there is no need for us to continue with it any further. When my European trip is ended, I shall find other accommodation.’ His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘I am sure you will find this a relief.’
She was glad of the door’s support, or she might have collapsed on to the floor.
Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, ‘You mean you’re—not coming back?’ She tried to think of some convincing reason for her concern. ‘But what about all the work being done on the house?’
‘You need no one else to make your dream for Mannion come true,’ he said after a pause. ‘And there are funds available for that, as I made clear last night.’
‘But surely you want to see how it turns out. How your money has been spent.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It is of no great interest to me. This is your dream, cara mia, not mine.’ He paused again. ‘I have also made provision for your personal maintenance. If you find it inadequate in any way, please contact my lawyers.’
‘But you can’t just go.’ She tried to sound reasonable—rational when she was screaming inside. ‘What will people think?’
‘It will be assumed we married in haste, and our repentance was almost instantaneous,’ he said, his mouth curling. ‘Besides, we have both had what we wanted, so the opinions of others do not matter.’
‘But—Nicola’s wedding...’
‘Naturally, I shall return for that. But you need not fear,’ he added with swift harshness as her eyes flew to his face. ‘My stay will be brief, and I shall use the single bed in the dressing room.’
She said huskily, ‘Then last night meant—nothing...’
‘On the contrary,’ Zac drawled. ‘What do you want me to say, mia bella? That you were enchanting—a ravishing delight as you fulfilled our agreement? I admit it. I had not expected such generosity from you. Particularly when it was to be our first and last time together.’
‘No,’ she said in a voice she did not recognise. ‘But then I could hardly expect that either.’ It was her turn to pause. ‘And the legal end to our—deal. Divorce. When will that take place?’
‘As soon as it can be arranged, although it is unlikely to be immediate. There are rules to be followed.’
‘Yes,’ she said, dry-mouthed. ‘I’m sure there are.’ She stood away from the door, lifting her chin. ‘Well—there seems little more to be said.’
Except that wasn’t true. There was so very much more—like begging ‘Don’t leave me. Don’t go. Take me with you’ as she clung to him.
Except he might still walk away, and she would simply have set herself up for more misery. More humiliation.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It seems not.’ He fastened his briefcase. ‘Then—addio, Dana mia. Allow me to hope that Mannion proves to be everything you have hoped for over so many long years.’
He put the envelope with the deeds on the desk, and with a swift, impersonal smile walked past her into the hall.
Moments later, she heard the car start and drive away.
And Dana stood, her arms wrapped round her body, listening with bleak intensity until the last note of the engine had died away and she knew that he was gone.
* * *
Work was the thing. That was what she told herself before she tried to sleep each night and when she woke exhausted in the morning. Work would get her through this nightmare. Because, with an army of painters and decorators in the house, there was little opportunity to give way to her feelings.
To crawl into some dark place and weep until there were no tears left.
Instead, she had to liaise with Bella Dixon, the designer who’d created the bedroom Dana could now hardly bear to look at, discussing colour schemes, fabrics and patterns for the rest of the house.
My dream come true, just like Zac said, she thought with irony, and I’m living with it. Dying with it by inches as I watch it all taking shape, like an observer admiring the work without elation or any sense of possession.
At the same time, she had to keep up a front with Nicola, who was growing happier and more excited all the time as the big day approached.
And, which was far worse, fending off her questions about how Zac’s European trip was going and when he’d be returning.
Throughout that entire first day, she’d lived in a kind of suspended disbelief, waiting and hoping that by some miracle he would change his mind and return.
And even though she’d eventually and painfully forced herself to accept that Adam’s cruel and jeering warning had been no more than the truth and that, having had her, Zac was no longer interested in even a repeat performance, let alone any real relationship, she’d anticipated at least some contact, however minimal—a phone call—a text—an email in the endless, agonising days that followed.
And how could she confide in Nicola—or anyone? Confess how—or why—her marriage had so suddenly become this overwhelming disaster.
From the start she’d blamed Zac for having her sent away seven years earlier, and yet hadn’t she too been at fault in trying to further her aims by that foolish, headlong pursuit of Adam? And, knowing Adam as he clearly did, perhaps Zac’d had good reason to think she and Mannion were better apart.
But it had given her an excuse ever since to regard her ongoing preoccupation with Zac as dislike and resentment, closing her eyes and her heart to any other possibility. Telling herself her shock at seeing him again was born from anger, not desire. Focusing with icy determination on claiming her right to Mannion by whatever means became necessary, ‘Be careful what you wish for’ had been one of Aunt Joss’s admonishments. ‘Because you might get it.’
But I ignored that, she acknowledged with a pang. Just as I wouldn’t listen to Zac’s warning about greed. And now the substance of my life has gone for ever, and I’m left with the shadow.
And I’m even fooling myself about that. Because Zac was never going to be mine to have and to hold, along with all the other promises in the Marriage Service. And maybe I should be thankful that he never realised how I truly felt. Because that would have left me with even more shame—more trauma to contend with when he walked out.
Is there a guardian angel for idiots too blind and stupid to understand their own hearts? Surely there must be.
Yet, she thought, maybe there was something to be salvaged from the wreckage. A way to justify what she’d
done and the decisions she’d made.
When the wedding was over, she could heal the scars of her mother’s rejection by the Latimers and end her exile in Spain by offering her the permanent home she should always have had—at Mannion.
And maybe she could herself find comfort in building this new relationship with a woman she hardly knew. Take satisfaction in someone else’s dream coming true at last.
She sat down that evening and wrote a letter to Linda, filling her invitation with warmth and encouragement and even a shy attempt at affection.
Telling herself that surely her mother would respond this time. Making a silent promise that, if not, she would go to Spain to this—Roberto’s Bar and persuade her face to face to accompany her back to England.
And that she would totally refuse to take no for an answer.
Some good has to emerge from all this, she thought. It must. Because it’s all I have left to believe in.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THERE WAS A feeling of autumn in the air, Dana thought ruefully as she drove down the hill towards Mannion. Or was it just her imagination telling her that she had nothing ahead of her but a long, cold winter?
On the other hand the cooler, showery weather of the past week was supposed to revert to sunshine again in time for the wedding.
Her visits to the caterers and the florist in the nearby town had reassured her that everything was proceeding as planned, as she would tell Nicola, who was beginning to show signs of bridal nerves.
Dana was nervous too, shaking inside at the prospect of seeing Zac again, and sick at heart at the pretence of married bliss she would have to keep up until the wedding was over and everyone was gone.
Everyone, she repeated silently, her throat tightening.
But she couldn’t allow herself to think like that. Instead, she had to concentrate on practicalities.
Like telling Nic that her cake is beautiful, she thought, and that the Vicar’s wife is personally supervising the white and gold floral decorations in the church in case old Mrs Wilmot tries to smother the pews in pink spray carnations.
