Unexpected Pleasures

by Penny Jordan

  Once he had collected the capital and interest on her debt to him, once he had reversed the past and forced her into a position where he would be the one to walk away from her—for nothing else would salve his pride—then he would make it plain that there was no place for her in the new lives of her sons, and certainly not in his. Gabriel did not envisage any real problems. He knew Sasha. She was a hedonist and a sensualist, driven by sexual and financial greed. He was not foolish enough to think that he could simply trick her into doing what he wanted. The minute she guessed what he was planning she would cling to the boys, determined not to let go of her passport to his wealth. He would have to be subtle and thorough.

  And ultimately, if she refused to relinquish her claim to her sons...?

  If she was foolish enough to do that then she would soon realise her mistake.

  ‘No, but they meant a great deal to Carlo.’ Gabriel answered Sasha’s question coolly. ‘And my word means a great deal to me. Since I have given him my word that I will act in all ways towards them as though they were my own, that is exactly what I intend to do.’

  ‘What?’ His own? The shock of what Gabriel had said rocked Sasha back on her heels. Why hadn’t she anticipated this? She knew how much Carlo had loved the boys, but she knew too how deep his Sardinian roots went, and how important his family and its honour were to him. If only Carlo had told her what he was planning she could have done something, anything—whatever it would have taken. Pleaded, begged, demanded that he didn’t do this to her. He had known how Gabriel felt about her, how much he despised her. And he had known too...

  She took a deep breath. She hadn’t thought about any of this in years. She hadn’t allowed herself to—not once since she had slipped from Gabriel’s bed in the pale light of a false dawn while Gabriel slept, unaware of her intentions. She had taken nothing with her when she left the yacht—not the expensive clothes he had bought her, nor the jewellery—only her passport. And enough money to get the hotel where Carlo was staying, to give herself and her future into his keeping. She had been eighteen then, and Carlo had been in his mid-sixties. Small wonder that a month later, when he had married her, the officials had thought he was her elderly father. She had not cared, though. All she had cared about was that now she was safe.

  She could see Gabriel looking at the boys, and she reacted immediately to what her maternal instincts translated as a threat, reaching for his arm, wanting to stop him from going to them. But before she could touch him Gabriel swung around, his own grip on her wrist making her wince. His body was tensed like that of a hunter, a predator, waiting for her to try to escape so that he could punish her. A shudder of recognition ripped through her belly as she was subjected to the once-familiar signs of her own body’s arousal. How could this be happening? It was over ten years since Gabriel had last touched her. The twins’ birth had flooded her senses and emotions with an intensity of a different kind of love that had obliterated all she had once felt for Gabriel. Or so she had told herself.

  How could one touch do this to her? How could he make her feel like this—her lower belly hollow with anticipation, her legs trembling, sweat springing up along her hair line and adrenalin forcing its way along her veins? It was a trick of her own imagination, that was all, she tried to reassure herself. She did not want or desire him. How could she? But the ache of longing inside her was intensifying and drowning out rational thought. Arousal and anger, desire and dislike, all the sweet, savage sexual alchemy of their shared past swept back over her.

  She had, she remembered, felt like this the first time she had seen him. Only then the liquid heat erupting inside her body had not been shadowed by either pain or knowledge. The physical ache of her longing for him had seduced her before he had even touched her, and when he had touched her... She closed her eyes, not wanting to remember but it was too late. Inside her head she could hear her own voice as she cried out to him, caught up in the grip of her own unbearable pleasure, her eyes wide open with the awed shock of it while he leaned over her in the shadowy coolness of the yacht’s main cabin, watching her as the expert touch of his fingers brought her to orgasm. Her first orgasm. He had waited until its shuddering hold on her body had eased before giving her the look of hooded triumph that would become so familiar to her and saying laconically, ‘Perhaps now would be a good time to tell me your name?’

  She opened her eyes abruptly. Her face burned now at the memory of her own behaviour then. She had only been seventeen, she reminded herself shakily. A child whose head had been stuffed with daydreams. Still, she had felt she knew all there was to know. She was now twenty-eight, a woman who knew enough to realize how dangerous her past had been, and how lucky she was to have escaped from it, and from Gabriel. She was free of that now. Of that and of him, and of all that he had made her feel and want.

  She could feel Gabriel looking at her, focusing on her, the intensity of his concentrated gaze making her tremble. He couldn’t guess what she had been thinking, what she had been reliving. She was far too mature now to betray herself to him. Nevertheless, the dull ache inside her was refusing to subside and, as though she had no control over it whatsoever, she could feel her gaze being drawn to his body, to his throat, and the vee of sun-warmed flesh exposed by the neck of his polo shirt. Beneath it his torso would be ridged with muscle, the darkness of his body hair arrowing downwards over the tautness of his belly. Her gaze followed the downward arrowing of her thoughts, coming to rest where her hand and her lips had once rested so intimately and so pleasurably. She could still remember the hard sleekness of male flesh over rigid muscle, its smooth supple movement beneath her eager touch...

  What was she doing? Frantically she pushed back the memories. She wanted badly to swallow, to wet the nervous dryness of her lips, but she was afraid of doing so in case...in case what? In case Gabriel guessed what she had been remembering and subjected her to the kind of savagely sexual possession she had once found so exciting? Here, with her sons less than ten yards away?

  ‘Let go of me,’ she breathed, trying to pull her wrist free.

  ‘Are you sure that is what you really want? Once you begged me for my touch. Remember?’

  She couldn’t help it. She shuddered violently.

  ‘Ah, yes. I see that you do,’ he taunted her as he released her. Her flesh felt cold without his next to it. Cold and bereft. She mustn’t let herself think like that.

  ‘Let me warn you, Sasha, just in case you have forgotten. I know exactly what you are.’ He studied her body with a contemptuous and knowing sexual inspection that made her want to hit him.

  ‘I am the twins’ mother, and that is the only way you will ever know me from now on, Gabriel,’ she fired back at him. Were those words for his benefit, or for her own? He released her arm so quickly she almost lost her balance. She looked at him. His back was turned towards her. She shuddered. How could she ever have been so foolish as to have loved him? But she had. Desperately, wholly and completely, hungering for him to return her feelings, believing that she could trade sex for love. What a fool she had been. But she wasn’t that fool any longer.

  CHAPTER THREE

  STILL GRIPPED BY shock, Sasha watched Gabriel turn towards the boys. She couldn’t get her head around the enormity of what Carlo had done. But they were different from other men, these Sardinian men. They lived by a different code; theirs was a paternalistic society, and the belief in their right to order the lives of their families absolute.

  When Carlo had told her about Gabriel’s mother she had seen that he did not share her shock that Gabriel’s father should seek to force his daughter into a marriage of his choosing.

  ‘No wonder she ran away,’ she had commented.

  Carlo had frowned at her and shaken his head. ‘She was fortunate that her father forgave her and that he was powerful enough to persuade Luigi to marry her despite the humiliation she had forced on him.’<
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  ‘But to make her marry a man she did not love—’

  ‘It was his right as her father.’

  ‘And forcing her to abandon Gabriel, her baby? You can’t believe that was right, Carlo.’

  ‘Not right, no, but Giorgio was a proud man and the head of our family. The purity of the Calbrini bloodline was a matter of honour to him, and to accept as his grandson a child whose blood—’

  ‘But in the end he had to accept Gabriel, didn’t he?’

  Carlo had inclined his head, as though in acceptance of her argument, but Sasha had known that in his heart he was as old-fashioned and traditional as Gabriel’s grandfather. She suspected that he had only told her the story of Gabriel’s birth because, despite what Gabriel had done to her, Carlo had still felt he had a duty to stand by his second cousin. He might have offered her the protection of his money and his name, but he had still been a Calbrini. And so were her sons. Carlo had never forgotten that, and neither must she—although for very different reasons.

  Gabriel was still watching her sons.

  ‘There isn’t any point in me introducing you to them. After all, you are hardly likely to be playing a hands-on role in their lives, are you?’ she challenged him.

  ‘On the contrary. I intend to make my duties as their guardian a priority—which is why I am here. Who knows how badly they may have been damaged by the circumstances of their life?’

  He had answered without even looking at her.

  ‘They miss Carlo, but his death has not damaged them...’

  Gabriel swung round to face her.

  ‘The damage to which I refer is not that caused by the death of their father but rather by the life of their mother.’

  A terrible cold stillness had her in its grip.

  ‘You have no right to say that.’

  ‘I have every right. They are my wards. It is my moral and legal duty to protect them.’

  ‘From me? I am their mother!’ Her hands were curled so tightly her nails bit into her flesh.

  He turned slowly to face her, the golden eagle eyes as flat as polished stones.

  ‘You may be their mother, but you are also a woman who craves the lifestyle only a very rich man can provide. When such a man pays you for the use of your body he will not want his enjoyment of that body to be interrupted by the needs of a pair of nine-year-old boys. In the eyes of most courts such a mother would be considered derelict in her maternal duty and not worthy of the name.’

  She could almost feel the acid burn of his bitterness.

  ‘Just because your own mother abandoned you—’

  ‘You will not speak of her.’

  Sasha had never felt more angry, nor more afraid.

  ‘I have decided that it is in the best interests of my wards that they remain here, on the island that was their father’s home, while I consider what is best for their future.’

  ‘That is not your right.’

  Sasha was afraid, and fighting hard not to show it, Gabriel recognised. The pulse in her throat was fluttering like a trapped bird struggling to be free. He could almost feel the waves of panic and fear beating up through her body. He could certainly see the shocked outrage in her eyes.

  ‘They are my sons,’ Sasha insisted fiercely. ‘My sons.’

  ‘And my legal wards now, under traditional Sardinian law. This is a patriarchal society, as you well know.’

  Sasha was shaking her head. ‘You can’t do this. I won’t let you.’

  ‘You can’t stop me.’ He gave her a cold smile. ‘You cannot afford to go to court. You have no money. Carlo is dead, and you need to find another man to support you. A man who, like Carlo, is blind to the reality of what you are. Don’t bother denying it,’ he told her harshly before she could protest. ‘After all, we both know, don’t we, that you are accustomed to selling yourself to whichever man will pay the most? After all, that is why you came to me...and why you left me. Isn’t it?’

  He had tossed the question at her almost casually, but Sasha wasn’t deceived. Nothing Gabriel ever did was done casually or without purpose. Even knowing that, she couldn’t stop herself from betraying her own agitation as she told him quickly, ‘That was all a mistake.’

  ‘Yes—your mistake,’ he agreed.

  ‘No, that wasn’t...’ she began, and then stopped. ‘It was a long time ago.’ What was she doing? She had no need to explain herself to him, and every need to protect herself from the contempt he had always felt for her. Gabriel was dangerous, he always had been and he always would be, and she now had the two best reasons in the world not to re-enact her own past like a moth drawn to the flame that would ultimately destroy it.

  ‘Not that long ago. It’s only just over ten years ago since I picked you up off the street where your previous lover had left you. Remember? You told me that you’d been offered the starring role in a porno movie mogul’s latest skinflick, but you’d star in a private one for me instead. Your words, not mine!’ He was walking away from her now and heading for her sons. ‘The she-leopard does not change her spots.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ she demanded frantically, even though she already knew the answer. The smile he gave her made her bite down hard into her bottom lip to stop herself from shuddering in open dread.

  ‘I am going to introduce myself to my wards,’ Gabriel answered her softly.

  For several precious seconds Sasha was too caught up in her own emotions and the past Gabriel had evoked to move, but somehow she managed to break free of them to run after him, calling out fiercely, ‘Leave them alone! Don’t you dare touch my children.’

  Entering a new decade had added to her beauty rather than taken from it, Gabriel admitted reluctantly as he watched her speed towards him. Her breasts were rising and falling with emotion and exertion beneath the thin covering of her dress when she finally reached him. It caught him off guard to look at her and feel the familiar hunger grip his body. She had always had good breasts—firm-fleshed and erotically real, warm and pliable to the touch, the skin tasting of woman and sunshine and sex, her dark brown nipples always greedily eager for the attention of his fingers and his lips. In his mind’s eye he could still see her, virtually naked on the private deck of his yacht, her head thrown back so that the sea breeze could tousle her hair, her lips curved into a smile of wanton, intensely sensual pleasure as she offered herself up to him.

  Now, as then—although for different reasons—she was standing immediately in front of him, between him and her children in fact, so that it was impossible for him not to look directly at her. Motherhood had given her breasts a softer fullness that suited her, but it didn’t seem to have taken away the narrowness of her waist, nor the sensuality of a body that was made for sexual pleasure. A body he had once known as intimately as he knew his own—perhaps more so. As a lover Sasha had had an incomparable blend of fierce sexual passion and a feminine ability to lose herself and give herself so completely in the act of sex that it had felt as if she was handing every bit of herself over to him for their mutual pleasure. But of course he had been far from the only man to enjoy Sasha’s sexuality, and he certainly hadn’t been the first to pay for it—if not in money, then certainly in kind, with the lifestyle of a rich man’s mistress. She had as good as admitted that to him the night he had picked her up, if not actually out of the gutter, then certainly heading towards it.

  He frowned darkly, angered by the power she still had to occupy his thoughts, even though he assured himself it was no longer with the white-hot overwhelming desire for her that had once burned inside his brain as well as his body. She had got under his skin and left an ache he could still feel ten years later, even if the savage heat of the need that had once threatened to consume him had ultimately burned out. Burned itself out, or been ruthlessly stamped out by him? What did it matter which? He had known from the first t
ime he had taken her to bed that the intensity of his hunger for her was not something he wanted in his life. If he had aided in its destruction then he had acted wisely, out of self preservation. What he was feeling now was simply an echo of a long-dead feeling.

  But not so dead that the embers didn’t smoulder with the heat of his desire for compensation. It had been bad enough that she had walked out on him for Carlo. But the fact that Carlo had fathered two sons on her and taken pride in them had struck painfully at the carefully guarded wound left by the misery of Gabriel’s own childhood.

  For him—a man who had received neither love, compassion nor kindness—to be given the responsibility of protecting the childhood of these children was either an act of great foolhardiness or great trust. It had certainly been an act of moral desperation. Not that Gabriel would ever punish two innocent young lives for the sins of their mother—not after the way he himself had suffered.

  He had received word that Carlo had died a matter of hours after he had seen him. Alone, without Sasha at his side, because she had been shopping.

  Sasha. He didn’t want to think about the past they had shared, but it refused to be thrust away. Inside his head he could see her clearly as she had been the night he had first seen her. Her hair longer than it was now, inexpertly streaked and slightly tangled in the warm evening breeze. She had been wearing a cheap short skirt and a top that had revealed more of her breasts than it concealed, making her look every inch exactly what she was as she stood on the roadside in St Tropez. He wouldn’t even have contemplated stopping if she hadn’t virtually thrown herself in front of his car. Pretty, available, hungry girls like Sasha were ten a penny in St Tropez in the season, going from lover to lover, climbing upwards while they could towards their ultimate trophy of a man foolish enough and rich enough to offer them more than a night’s sex in return for a thick wad of euros. Sasha, he remembered, had been carrying a large straw basket which, she had told him with a small shrug, contained all her belongings.