Hiring Cupid

by Jane Beckenham

  But Carly refused to listen to the inner warnings.

  Just then a flock of birds flew overhead, their cawing startling her and she slipped, tumbling off balance, her feet sliding out from beneath her. Marco made a grab at her, but she slipped beneath the surface, swallowing a mouthful as she went, her head and arms scraping painfully across the muddy bottom.

  In one swift movement he pulled her, choking and spluttering to the surface. Mud and silt rained down her face, stinging her eyes. Brushing her hair aside, something warm oozed across her hand and trickled between her fingers.

  "Dio mio.” Marco scooped her up without another word and carried her to the side of the rock pool. Gently he sat her down on the edge. He held her arm out to inspect it. “Hold still,” he instructed, frowning deeply as he examined the damage through the rivulets of blood trailing down her arm.

  Carly frowned at his closeness. “Don't fuss Marco, it's just a scratch."

  "Hardly. There's a jagged cut."

  She stared down at her arm. A long, purplish graze littered with shards of ground rock mixed with blood covered the entire length of her arm. A surge of shock and delayed pain ripped through her at that very moment and she squeezed her eyes shut trying to block it out.

  "It hurts?"

  "Course it damn well hurts,” she snapped and blinked back unshed tears.

  Marco's lips pursed with concern. “This needs attention."

  "Just get me back to the cabin, it'll be all right."

  "It needs cleaning."

  "Yes, yes. Marco, take me back to the cabin. Please.” Carly wasn't sure she could keep her emotions buckled much longer. Her arm hurt—a lot. Actually, more than a lot. For a second, she concentrated on her breathing—slow and deep, garnering the strength to subdue the still threatening tears. Marco swept her back into his arms

  "What the heck are you doing?"

  "Taking you home, cara mia."

  "I can walk,” she protested.

  "Not if I can carry you."

  "But..."

  Marco interrupted. “Woman, are you going to argue till you bleed to death?"

  "It's not that bad,” she whimpered, knowing her protests were feeble. But goodness, how could she cope with this? The man was naked as the day he was born.

  "It's not good either,” Marco reiterated. “You have a large graze and you're bleeding."

  "At least it's red and not blue blood like royals,” she tried to joke.

  Marco didn't laugh and as another bout of pain ripped through her, she squeezed her eyes closed.

  "You have to do something first, Mr. Genie,” Carly whispered, wishing she were anywhere but in his arms right now.

  "Your wish is my command,” he affirmed.

  Carly battled to douse the flush of heat that stained her cheeks. Okay, she could do this. “Well, do you think you could actually put some clothes on?"

  "Oh ... is that all?"

  That all? Wasn't it enough he stood there butt naked, holding her?

  But without saying a word, Marco propped her against a rocky outcrop. Her eyes fluttered open, but she refused to let her gaze drop. Oh, no siree. She wouldn't look.

  Much as you'd like to Carly Mason!

  She squeezed them shut again.

  They say hearing is the last thing to go, and boy oh boy, she could hear. She heard Marco slide his jeans on, heard his grunt as he pulled the taut fabric up over obviously still damp skin, and heard the zip slide up.

  Then he was at her side again, lifting her into his arms. “Now do me a favor, cara mia. Be quiet, lie still. We'll be home in no time."

  Suitably chastised, Carly did as she was told and lay still in his arms, her head resting against his chest. She said nothing, but neither did Marco, though nothing could drown out the roaring thump of his heart as it beat in rapid unison with hers.

  * * * *

  Never had she been so glad to be back at their cabin. It had taken a lot longer than she expected, but Marco never complained, and carried her the entire way.

  "Stay there,” he instructed, depositing her on her bed and retreating to the bathroom. She heard him opening the cupboards and a few minutes later returned carrying antiseptic cream, a bandage, and a bowl of warm water.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Play doctor."

  Carly's eyes widened. “Now wait a minute, what do you know about first aid?

  "Enough. You want your arm to get infected?"

  "Of course not, but...” Carly's words trailed off as she looked down at the vicious laceration. It wasn't that she didn't want him treating her, but even now uncertainty ran deep. Only a short time ago she had been in his arms, kissing him, drugged by his touch.

  She should have known better, should have resisted temptation. Never before had she thought being wounded would be her savior.

  "It's stopped bleeding, but won't take much to set it off. It looks like something out of a horror movie."

  Carly grimaced. “Thanks a bunch. So what am I, Lilly Munster?"

  "I don't think it's very deep. Lots of bleeding, like a head wound."

  As a grim faced Marco cleaned away the embedded blood and grime she bit down on her tongue, holding back tears as waves of pain washed over her.

  But like a knight in shining armor, Marco treated her like his queen, bandaging her wound, then carrying her to the bathroom so she could clean herself up.

  Now, as he put away the last of the evening meal, Carly watched him work in silence.

  "You're some guy, Marco Valente,” she admitted out loud.

  He cocked an eyebrow, smiling slightly, but said nothing and continued cleaning the kitchen.

  "Cook, nursemaid, doctoring, Tarzan. Although your tree climbing skills need a bit of a shake-up,” she teased.

  "Thanks very much. Next time we need a bunch of bananas from the tallest tree this side of the island, I'll let you climb."

  "Not a problem. I was a regular tomboy as a child. The first to climb to the top of the jungle gym."

  "I'll bet."

  "You don't believe me?"

  "Oh si, I believe you to be the best of all challengers."

  Challenge.

  Carly's mind filled with memories of his kisses, his touch, and her throat dried up. Deciding it best to divert her attention, and hopefully Marco's, she gazed out the French doors. Night had arrived. Day two was almost over. Suddenly, Carly was hit by an overwhelming wave of tiredness. It inched through her, limb by limb, encasing her in a desperate need to sleep. Her eyes fluttered closed and her head lolled to one side and within minutes her breathing was regular.

  * * * *

  Glued to the chair, Marco was unable to drag his eyes away from a sleeping Carly. Guilt, oppressive and weighty, coiled in impenetrable knots in his gut. He'd made another quick call to the office. All was well, but it hadn't lightened his mood which was deathly black.

  Okay, so things were going smoothly on the mainland. He should be ecstatic. The deal was sealed and going ahead as scheduled. In several months CV Hotels would be starting the next phase of their expansion to include the boutique hotel market. Why the hell then did he not feel content?

  A whispered snuffle escaped Carly's lips and she stirred, drawing Marco out of his self-censure. She turned onto her side and the quilt he'd draped over her fell to the ground.

  Pushing himself out of his chair, he stooped and picked it up. About to put it back over her, he hesitated and brought it to his face. He inhaled. He could smell her fragrance, heady and pungent.

  Lavender.

  A perfume tangled with memories of his childhood, of Italy, of his mother, his stepfathers...

  His eyes shuttered and an overwhelming sense of loss ripped through him, a pain so physical, yet it was merely his mind reeling with past hurts. He dropped back into the chair and his shoulders sagged. He cradled his head in his hands and took a deep, steadying breath

  He used to hate the smell of lavender.

  Used to.

/>   But now ... His gaze dropped to the woman in front of him, so at peace in her sleepy world. Now, the scent meant only one thing.

  Carly.

  He watched her, ensconced in her tranquil sleep-filled oblivion. He had promised her four days. He would keep his promise.

  Outside, in the distance, the clash of a summer storm rumbled ever closer. Lightening streaked across the horizon and lit up the sky, quickly followed by several boisterous claps of thunder

  Carly bolted upright. “What?"

  Stark terror spread across her face and fear-filled eyes darted around the dimly lit room.

  Marco was at her side instantly and crouched beside the sofa. “It's a storm over the ocean. Not too close,” he tried for reassurance.

  But her face paled as a second and then a third jagged bolt of lightening cracked overhead. Rolls of thunder reverberated around them with an increasing viciousness and made their small cabin shake with each fresh burst.

  "Not close?” Carly whimpered. Her disbelief was real. “Could have fooled me. It's loud enough."

  "Si.” But it wasn't as loud as his heartbeat. To his ears, that thundered a thousand times louder. Marco swallowed hard as her now familiar fragrance mingled with the tangled web of his thoughts. “You are afraid?"

  "Don't laugh."

  "You see me laughing?” he replied somberly. “It's time for bed.” Bracing himself against the sofa, he bent and picked her up.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Carrying you to bed."

  "Bed.” It was a croak and her eyes widened.

  "Perhaps you would prefer to sleep on the sofa?"

  He held her tightly. So tight he could feel the erratic throb of her heartbeat against his. Her fear of storms was obvious with each burst of thunder, but it was the subtle looks that passed from her to him, the way her heated gaze focused on him, his throat, rising to rest on his mouth, that told Marco Carly Mason was as excited and aroused as he was.

  "I hate storms,” she reiterated as her gaze swiveled to the window.

  "Nature's revenge on us mere mortals,” he agreed.

  "It's as if the whole world is angry."

  "Only fleeting though. The sun will shine another day. I think you need to get some rest. It's been an eventful day."

  He carried her over the threshold to her room and laid her gently on the bed at the precise moment lightening flashed, haloing the room in an eerie electric blue glow.

  Carly squeezed her eyes shut again, counting aloud. “It's a game, you see,” she said, still counting. “You count from the lightening to the thunder, then you're meant to know how far away it is. Or close."

  "A children's game?"

  Carly simply nodded, because right at that moment nature didn't disappoint, as one thunderous roll after another clapped overhead until the cabin seemingly would rock off its foundations.

  Marco watched her with increasing concern. “You'll be okay?” he questioned.

  She squeezed her eyes tighter, nodding, her lips moving as she silently continued to count.

  "Good night, sweet dreams."

  Her eyes burst open. “You're going?"

  "I must go, cara. Otherwise..."

  "Otherwise what?"

  "Otherwise I might want to stay."

  "You don't want to?"

  "No, cara, I want to, and that is the problem."

  "Please stay, Marco. Just for a while."

  A while? A smile tugged the corners of his mouth, and he sat down beside her.

  Fear-filled eyes looked up at him. “Thank you. I know it's irrational, but I hate to be alone in a storm."

  "I will stay.” And with that, Marco stretched out beside her, his length shadowing hers. He pulled her to him, cradling her from her fears and felt her exhale, long and slow. Her heartbeat that had moments ago echoed the deafening heavens above when he'd carried her in his arms, slowed too.

  "When I was a child there was a storm,” she began.

  "A bad one?"

  "Yes. It was the storm of the decade they said. Mum had gone out, leaving me to baby sit the younger ones."

  "You were alone?"

  "Yes."

  "And that happened often?"

  "More than it should. But it was my life. I didn't know any different."

  "And you were alone in the storm?"

  Carly turned away from the thrashing storm outside. “Windows broke, the rain lashed the house, inside and out. I didn't know what to do. Then the power went out. I went outside to try and board up the windows, but I was only ten, Marco. Ten years old and trying to be an adult.” Tears gathered in her eyes.

  "Too hard for a child,” he acknowledged. He held her hand, fingers lacing with hers, wishing he could have protected her then, and wanting to protect her now, to ease her pain. “Shush, don't cry."

  Turning her to him, he brushed his fingers down her cheek, wiping away her tears. Her breath stilled as his thumb caressed the outline of her mouth and his eyes held hers. Soulful and full of promise.

  "Please don't leave me tonight, Marco. I don't want to be alone."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Si,” she teased, her accent exaggerated.

  "I can see I have to give you a few Italian lessons."

  "There's a lot I'd like to learn."

  "Amore mio, I would teach you everything."

  "I was hoping you'd say that."

  * * * *

  Marco's touch set Carly on fire. It was sublime, everything she thought it would be, and more.

  As she lay on the bed, she watched him strip, clothes falling where he dropped them. He was a magnificent man and she couldn't take her eyes off him. Broad shoulders tapered to slim hips, the smattering of jet-black chest hair beckoning her fingers. Carly lowered her gaze, suddenly filled with a raging hungering need to explore his glorious body and any residual calm she thought she possessed shattered as he eased his long, taut body next to hers.

  He reached for her and her length grazed his, chest to chest, hip to hip, the hard sensual thrust of his arousal a potent reminder that Marco was all male. Slowly his eyes darkened to a blue-black, holding hers in a powerful force. His lips sought her mouth, arousing her with a whisper soft touch. Carly groaned and her body yielded, arching against his. Marco's breathing came in short, sharp intakes and the pulse in the base of his throat throbbed. She ran a finger over it, felt it skip an erratic dance. She couldn't help but smile, enjoying his reaction to her.

  "Lesson one,” he whispered in her ear.

  Carly braced herself, waiting with excited expectation, her eyes closing the moment before he dropped soft shivery kisses on her eyelids, then her earlobes and continuing down to her throat.

  Her skin burned with desire, her body consumed by a basic need. She wound her arms around his neck, holding on, praying it wasn't a dream and like a genie, he would vanish. With the tip of her fingers sliding through his silky hair, the texture a sensual play against her own soft skin, she tilted his head down to her breast and arched up to meet him.

  "You taste delicious,” he groaned as he suckled on one pebble hard nub.

  Hearing his whispered ecstasy, she smiled, satisfied. Nothing else mattered. “I'm learning,” she managed to speak between the teasing kisses he dotted across her lips, her eyes, her face.

  "You're a good student,” he agreed and sought solace from her other breast. “Your body is so responsive, cara mia."

  "I...” Carly couldn't think clearly, her mind fragmented. She could only feel, touch, and taste. All thought beyond the now was gone.

  Reacting with a compulsion and desire so strong she arched her hips to his. The hard masculine length of him pulsed against her stomach and he began to explore her intimately, teasing her to even greater heights than she thought possible. Brazened, she slipped her hand between them and clasped him, smiling as Marco exhaled a harsh, ragged gasp.

  "Lesson number two."

  "I try to please,” she smiled.

  "You do. Very much."<
br />
  Lost in a sensory world, Carly's mind went blank. Only Marco touching her, urging her with his fingers as they flickered over her slickness was important. She gloried in the sensations whirling through her veins, the rhythm of his heightened touch. Finally, as she reached for some intangible goal, allowing her body to surrender completely, the night was pierced by her cry of pleasure as Marco brought her to heart-wrenching, joyous fulfillment.

  Nothing had prepared Carly for this. Nothing. She lay dazed in utter contentment, savoring the spine-tingling moment, too happy to breathe, too fulfilled to think.

  As every wonderful sensation washed over her in a gentle ebbing caress, she let out a shuddering sigh of total release and contentment. “That was beautiful."

  "Beauty for the beautiful, amore.” Marco grinned and trailed a finger down the side of her cheek. “Lesson number three, cara. A man makes sure his woman is pleased,” he whispered into the soft fall of her hair and again began dotting butterfly soft kisses down the curve of her throat. It sent goosebumps shimmying up and down her spine, an instant heat pulsing between her thighs.

  Breathless, Carly felt the combined erratic thump of their hearts. As if joined together, they beat as one. “You have pleased me. I've never...” Her voice trailed off and an embarrassed heat rushed to her cheeks.

  But Marco pulled back and the tip of his finger lifted her chin up. Her gaze met his.

  "Pleasure, Marco. That was the pinnacle of pleasure. I feel complete.” And she was. It echoed through her body in a continuous salve of pure joy and made her heart sing. “You've made me come alive. I don't want to even breathe in case it disappears,” she giggled. “I never want to lose this feeling. To lose..."

  "Shush. That is impossible. We have all night.” Dark, teasing glints flickered in Marco's passion-filled eyes.

  "All night. Sounds perfect.” Reaching up, Carly trailed a path over the rough sandpaper stubble of his chin. “Everything I touch is so heightened, so erogenous, and arousing,” she whispered. “Are our lessons finished?"

  One dark eyebrow arched humorously. “Life is one long lesson, cara mia."

  Carly curved a hand round his still blatantly aroused penis, stroking the thick shaft. She arched back, her legs parting. “Then hadn't we better get on with the lesson,” she said with a wicked smile.