by Lynne Graham
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Flora could feel her face assuming a more and more wooden lack of expression. ‘Angelo’s the only male single parent I’ve ever met.’
‘He’s been positively swamped with offers of assistance. But then women have always found Angelo irresistible!’ Bregitta pronounced with a rather pitying giggle. ‘My husband used to tell me stories about when he and Angelo were boys together and even then Angelo was a total babe magnet!’
Suddenly Flora’s tension ebbed and she began to smile. ‘Your husband and Angelo are close friends?’
‘The very best of friends … until Henk died last year,’ Bregitta replied with a slight grimace.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know,’ Flora responded, scolding herself for instantly wondering if the lovely outspoken blonde was of the merry widow variety.
‘Henk was ill for a long time. Angelo was a wonderful friend to both of us.’
Relieved to establish that Bregitta was a friend rather than a more intimate connection, Flora nodded her understanding.
‘Angelo said that you had been ill and needed rest and recuperation. How are you feeling? ‘ Bregitta enquired with a sharply assessing appraisal.
‘I’m feeling fine now.’
Unable to conceal her curiosity, Bregitta continued to study Flora closely. ‘I hope it was nothing serious. Looking after a young child is very hard work.’
It dawned on Flora that, while Bregitta might have known about Mariska’s inheritance, she was not aware that Flora was pregnant by Angelo. Her cheeks colouring again in a hot rush at that awareness, Flora shrugged off the comment and said nothing more while she wondered why she would have preferred to hear that Angelo had been more open about her condition. Was she afraid that his silence on that score meant that she was an embarrassment to him? Or that her moving in with him was such a casual arrangement on his terms that he had seen no reason to mention it to his acquaintances?
Shortly after Bregitta’s departure, Angelo phoned Flora.
After asking her how she was settling in, his dark drawl sending little tingles of awareness down her taut spinal cord, he said casually, ‘At this time of year I usually spend weekends at my country house. I’ll understand if you prefer to remain in Amsterdam though because you’ve only just arrived.’
‘I would love to see the house,’ Flora broke in impulsively.
‘Good. I’ll make the arrangements and I’ll join you there for dinner. I did intend to meet you at the airport but I’m afraid a crisis arose at one of the plants in India.’
Minutes later he had rung off, and Flora lifted Mariska and went off to pack a weekend bag. Anke packed for Mariska with the ease of long practice and mentioned how much she enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere at Huis van Zaal. In turn Flora wryly recalled her late sister’s vehement complaints about how bored she had been when Willem had insisted that they visit his brother’s country home the previous summer. Of course, Julie, she reflected wryly, had always been very much a city girl.
Flora enjoyed the drive out into the pretty countryside where herds of black and white Friesian cows grazed the meadows and windmills presided over the ever-present stretches of water. Her first view of Angelo’s red-brick country seat through a line of espaliered lime trees took her breath away, for, in spite of its name, Huis van Zaal was a small castle complete with a pair of enchanting turrets and a wide moat studded with water lilies.
‘I didn’t realise that it was a castle!’ Flora commented in surprise.
‘It has been in the van Zaal family for over two hundred years,’ Anke told her. ‘My parents farm nearby.’
It was not a huge building and was less a fortress than a home, for, although it might have battlements, it also had shutters on the windows and sat in a lush green oasis of lawns and box-edged borders.
Skipper raced out of the car and had to be sternly recalled before his investigations took him for a dip in the moat. Greeted by a smiling older man called Franz, Flora was shown upstairs to a light-filled bedroom furnished with a magnificent four-poster bed rejoicing in sunflower-yellow damask drapes. Her face warmed as she wondered if she would be sharing the room with Angelo, but she soon discovered that there was no male apparel stored in the antique furniture. By the time she had applied a little make-up and put on a leaf-green dress that swirled round her knees, Anke had Mariska in the old-fashioned bath adjoining the nursery at the end of the corridor.
Flora was finishing off Mariska’s bedtime story when Angelo arrived and as her niece vented a little shriek of excitement Flora fell silent at the sight of the tall, darkly handsome male in the doorway. His brilliant smile lit up his lean dark features and made her heart thunder in her ears. She watched him lift Mariska out of her cot and saw the delight on the little girl’s face, recognising the bonds that had already formed between Angelo and her niece.
But while Mariska’s attention was all for Angelo, his sapphire-blue eyes immediately sought out Flora. She was smiling, her vivid colouring and blooming silhouette accentuated by the backdrop of the pale curtains. She could not drag her attention from his tall, powerful physique. Angelo looked amazing in a dark, wellcut suit and a blue tie that picked up the stunning hue of his eyes. He really was gorgeous, she savoured helplessly, in thrall to the wicked hormones rampaging through her body in a floodtide of reaction.
‘I’m afraid I’m much later than I hoped to be,’ he confided in his husky, sexy drawl before bending his head to address Mariska in Dutch for a couple of minutes. Then he turned back to give Flora his full attention. ‘I’m glad you’re here. Very often I only see Mariska first thing in the morning and last thing at night.’
‘Yet, even though I had much more time to offer her you were still determined to adopt her,’ Flora could not resist reminding him.
His brilliant gaze cooled and his handsome mouth tightened. ‘Now she has both of us and hopefully the best of what we can both offer her,’ he countered smoothly.
Made to feel mean for having made her less than gracious reminder, Flora reddened uncomfortably. But she could not forget that, even though in terms of time and attention she had much more to offer Mariska, Angelo had demonstrated very strong resolve in continuing to battle to become Mariska’s sole legal guardian. For the first time she wondered if that resolve had been driven purely by his fondness for Willem’s daughter. Or by the conviction that he, rather than Flora, would make the better parent. A pang of hurt cut through Flora at the thought that she might have been tried and found wanting by him without ever being aware of the fact and she hastily suppressed the feeling, irritated that she was so sensitive where Angelo was concerned. Why hadn’t he made her aware that her niece was to inherit her father’s substantial trust fund? That mysterious oversight on his part niggled at her, for she could think of no good reason for his silence on that issue.
While Angelo excused himself to go for a shower, Flora descended the gracious carved staircase alone. Franz showed her into an elegant drawing room and offered her a drink, which she refused. She stood at the French windows, which overlooked the charmingly picturesque gardens.
‘What do you think of Huis van Zaal?’ Angelo asked as he came through the door to join her.
‘It’s got wonderful warmth and character,’ Flora responded and her voice shook a little when she focused on his tall, well-built figure. With his black hair damp and spiky, and clean-shaven, he had the sleek bronzed face of a fallen angel and the level of his charisma just took her breath away.
‘I’m glad you like it here. It’s my childhood home and I’m very attached to it.’ His dazzlingly blue eyes flared, his handsome mouth tautening as her attention lingered on him. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’
Warm colour swam into Flora’s cheeks but still she couldn’t look away from him and the heat of desire simmered in the pit of her stomach like a taunt, because she had believed that she was stronger than that, stronger and fully in control. Only now was she learning her mistake. ‘Why not?’
; ‘It ties me in knots and I’m struggling to be a civilised host and follow the accepted script,’ Angelo murmured huskily. ‘And we’re about to have dinner to celebrate your arrival.’
‘I’m not hungry right now,’ she heard herself object, as she was infinitely more eager for physical contact and the strength of her own longing shook her.
’Dios mio, you’re tempting me, enamorada mia.’ To drive home that point, Angelo crossed the room in a couple of strides and reached out to haul her unresisting body up against his lean, hard physique.
Behind her breastbone her heart started to crash like cymbals being banged together and a dark insidious excitement began to build, along with a wild sense of anticipation. Without further ado, he brought his mouth down hungrily on hers and her hands closed over his wide shoulders to keep her upright. That first kiss was nothing short of glorious. His raw masculine passion smashed down her barriers and desire sweet and painful and all pervasive engulfed her in a floodtide of reaction. But she wanted more, much more, and it was terrifying and exhilarating at one and the same time.
‘You use a lot of Spanish in your speech,’ she mumbled abstractedly when he finally released her reddened lips and allowed her to breathe again.
‘It was my first language.’
‘Not Dutch? ‘ she queried, surprised by the information.
‘My Spanish mother never learned to speak Dutch fluently, which was why we used her language within the family,’ Angelo told her before returning to pry her lips apart with the seeking thrust of his tongue and then delve deep when she opened to him, with a raw groan of appreciation rasping low in his throat.
And that was the magical moment when she discovered that even a second kiss from Angelo could make her tremble and yearn with a force of desire she had not known possible. Every kiss set her on fire for the next so that she squirmed against him, desperate with the driving need for closer contact.
‘Feel what you do to me, querida mía’ Angelo husked, a hand on her hip crushing her to him so that she could feel the urgency of his erection even through their clothes. ‘I want you so much it hurts to exercise restraint.’
‘Don’t be restrained—why should you be?’ Flora broke in helplessly, loving the way he shuddered against her with an arousal he could neither hide nor deny, for in that field at least it seemed that they were equals.
His bright eyes had the crystalline glitter of diamonds. ‘I need you,’ he growled.
And that admission was like the magic talisman that unlocked the gate to the treasure house of trust inside Flora. The word ‘need’ meant so much more than mere wanting to her. It had depth, hinted at staying power, suggested closeness on other levels, in short was everything she had dreamt of receiving from a man. She found his wide, sensual mouth again for herself and revelled in his unashamed passion for her.
Angelo bent down and swept her up into his arms to carry her out to the stairs.
‘We can’t!’ Flora gasped, torn between horror and laughter at his single-minded audacity.
‘We can do whatever we want to do, enamorada mia. There are no restrictions and there is no right or wrong way for us to be together.’ As he spoke his carnal mouth nudged against the sensitive cord of her slender neck and followed it down. She quivered helplessly as he teased and nuzzled the nerve endings below her smooth skin. He knew things about her body that she didn’t know and she rejoiced in his carnal skill and confidence.
He laid her down on the four-poster bed in her room and slipped off her shoes.
‘You know I’m not made of glass,’ Flora told him awkwardly, conscious that he was holding back. ‘I won’t crack or break.’
‘I know.’ Angelo flung her a hooded look of dark sexual promise, his jewelled eyes a bright gleam behind the thick black frosting of his lashes. ‘But going slow is sexier and I’ve waited a long time to get you back. I want to enjoy you and I want you to enjoy me, querida
mia.’
Suddenly Flora was breathless and wreathed in blushes as self-consciousness threatened to eat her alive. That day on the houseboat there had been little time to think about what they were doing; they had succumbed to a mad, impetuous bout of passion. It was a little different from lying back on a bed watching Angelo unbutton his shirt. The edges parted on the corrugated muscularity of his washboard-flat stomach and just as quickly watching became a sweet seductive pleasure. He strolled back to the bedside and gently turned her to access the zip on her dress, stringing a line of kisses across her shoulders as he eased the dress down to her waist.
I’ve waited a long time to get you back. She tasted that admission afresh, loving it, for it suggested she was special and that he would have wanted her even though she had not fallen pregnant. She was stunned by how much that idea meant to her and finally appreciated that by some insidious means Angelo had long since succeeded in getting below her skin. For the first time in a very long time the prospect of caring for a man didn’t frighten her.
Angelo lowered her to the pillows and removed the dress, pausing to run boldly appreciative eyes over her full breasts cupped in a pretty white and blue polka dot bra. Before the packing was done, she had binned her sensible pregnancy bras with the thick straps and popped out to go shopping for new lingerie. From his reaction, it appeared to have paid off handsome dividends. But within the space of a minute the bra was gone and the ample bounty of her curves was spilling into his hands instead. A startled gasp parted her lips as he stroked the soft mounds and rolled the distended pink nipples between his fingers before lowering his handsome dark head to suckle the stiff crests. She was so sensitive there that she moaned helplessly, her breathing shallow and erratic as the pulse of heat between her thighs burned hotter than ever.
He peeled off her remaining garments and touched her where she could almost not bear to be touched. He teased the exquisitely tender flesh with erotic skill and she shuddered in his embrace, so hot and wet and eager she couldn’t find words for the intensity of the hunger that possessed her. He tugged her to the side of the bed so that her legs dangled free. He spread her thighs and she felt shockingly exposed and she shivered, fingers knotting nervously into the silk spread below her hands.
‘You shouldn’t,’ she told him shakily between gritting teeth, for every natural instinct and modest fibre was urging her to push him away and reject such intimacy.
Angelo surveyed her with fierce intensity and it was a look that brimmed with ravenous desire. ‘I must,’ he contradicted. ‘I love your body, querida mia.’
He slid upright and dispensed with his trousers and boxers in one impatient movement. The hard thick contours of his erect manhood bore witness to his declaration and at the sight of his arousal Flora felt absolutely weak. He came back to her, pushing her knees to her chest to explore the slick damp pink folds she would have hidden from him, had she not been limp with the desire he had already awakened. He slid a finger into her tight passage while he used his tongue on the little pearl at the heart of her. As the sweet, tormenting pleasure began to build, she moaned out loud and jerked, her hips giving way to a feverish twisting motion. She had never reached such a high of sensation and when she could no longer withstand that sensual assault she went spinning over the edge of it with a keening cry and fell into the depths of writhing ecstasy, her every fantasy fulfilled.
‘Oh … Angelo.’ Struggling even to speak, Flora gasped as Angelo kissed her and rearranged her limp body on the bed before returning to her with urgent intent.
His bold shaft nudged at her damp entrance and then sank deep. He groaned out loud in satisfaction. ‘You’re so tight, querida mia.so wonderfully tight.’
‘I’ve not had a lot of practice at this,’ she admitted, exulting in the sensation of her inner muscles stretching to accommodate him while wondering if it was humanly possible to die from an overload of pleasure.
Briefly, Angelo frowned down at her as if he was seeking her meaning, but her eyes had closed and at that instant she was in the mood to sa
y no more. Her head rolled back as he gripped her hips to surge deeper into her tender channel, answering her need with the long sure strokes of his urgent possession. Quivering with delirious delight, she arched up to him, catching his rhythm and ready to reach for the stars again.
The sensations were getting sharper, the fiery ache in her pelvis stronger, and then her body jerked and flew into orgasm and she was crying out and shaking in receipt of the indescribably intense waves of devouring pleasure. For a minute or two she lay with her skin hot and damp with perspiration, cradled in the warmth of his embrace.
‘You were more than worth waiting for, querida mia,’ Angelo declared, smoothing her hair back from her flushed face with gentle fingers.
Her lashes lifted and she focused dreamily on the lean, darkly handsome face so near to hers. She shifted closer still and hugged him, all the deep affection of her nature surging to the fore in the aftermath of that powerful physical release. She wondered when it had happened, when exactly she had fallen head over heels in love with a guy she had continually told herself she felt nothing for. That day on the houseboat? The weeks afterwards when she had denied herself even the pleasure of speaking to him on the phone for longer than thirty seconds? The afternoon she had learned she was pregnant and he had responded with laudable cool and the immediate offer of his support? In truth Flora didn’t know when or even how she had fallen for Angelo van Zaal, only that just then it felt good to have taken that leap of faith and for once not to expect the worst from a man.
‘You said I was worth waiting for. How long is it since you’ve had someone else in your life?’ Flora asked boldly, already seeking to establish boundaries and know where she stood.
