She had waited all her life for this man, this moment, and, her customary caution deserting her, she surrendered herself, loving the feel of his mouth moving against hers and his hands travelling over her slender curves.
As though he couldn’t get enough of her, while his hands learned about her body, he kissed her forehead and temples, her closed eyelids and cheeks, her jawline and neck, the warm hollow at the base of her throat and the smooth skin of her shoulders, before returning to her lips.
Drugged by the sweetness of his kisses, lost in a world of sensual delight, she lay quietly, pliantly against him, content to drift on a warm tide of joy and happiness.
It wasn’t until his skilful, experienced hands began to caress her breasts, stroking and squeezing, teasing the sensitive nipples that, desire running like molten lava through her veins, she began to gasp and shudder.
After a moment his hands grew still and he drew back a little. She opened heavy lids to find he was looking down at her assessingly.
His eyes were dark with desire and, caught up now by the rising excitement, needing more than kisses, she put her hands flat-palmed against his chest and pressed the lower half of her body against his.
With a little smile of satisfaction and triumph, he slid aside the thin straps of her dress and low-cut bra and began to ease them down her arms.
Then, bending his fair head, his lips traced the upper curves of her breasts and found the shadowy hollow between them. When they closed around one firm nipple, feeling the damp warmth of his mouth through the thin, lacy material of her bra, she started to shudder afresh.
She had almost reached the point of no return when, at the back of her mind, an alarm bell sounded, awakening common sense.
What was she doing?
He couldn’t possibly know how strongly she felt about him. As far as he was concerned, they had only met a few days ago. If she was weak enough to go to bed with him so soon, what would he think of her?
He would think she was cheap, easy, any man’s for the taking.
As well as losing her heart, she had come perilously close to losing her head and, along with it, her pride and self-respect.
The realization was like a douche of cold water.
She jerked herself free and, pulling up the straps of her bra and dress, stammered, ‘I-I’m sorry…Really sorry…But I can’t go to bed with you…’
‘You mean…?’
Incurably honest, she answered without considering the consequences. ‘No, it’s not that. I…’
His grey eyes narrowed. ‘Then why can’t you? You told me there was no other man in your life.’
‘There isn’t.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
The problem was she had suddenly found herself in too deep. If she had been thinking, she would never have let things go so far. But she hadn’t been thinking, only feeling.
Reaching out, he pulled her close and, holding her fast, lifted her face up to his.
‘Don’t kiss me again…’ she cried.
He kissed her lightly, teasingly, and his lips lingering at the corner of her mouth, asked, ‘Why shouldn’t I kiss you?’
‘Because I don’t want you to,’ she croaked.
‘Liar. You do want me to kiss you.’ His voice dropping to a whisper, he went on, ‘Don’t try to tell me that this attraction isn’t mutual.
‘You want the same things that I do. To go to bed and make long, delectable love, then sleep in my arms until we waken and make love again.’
‘Please, Stephen…’ she begged huskily, terrified of weakening.
‘Tell me the truth,’ he insisted.
She took a deep shaky breath and pulled herself free. ‘I don’t want to sleep with you.’
‘Yet seconds ago you pressed yourself against me, wanting nothing more than my kisses?’
‘No. I mean yes, I was but…’ She started to get flustered, unsure how to answer him.
‘Tell me why you’ve changed your mind.’
Miserably, she blurted out, ‘We don’t really know one another.’
‘I know all I need to know. In any case, wouldn’t you call sleeping together getting to know one another? At least in the biblical sense.’
‘I don’t want to sleep with you,’ she repeated jerkily.
His jaw tightened, but his voice was quiet and even as he asked, ‘Sophie, tell me why not…’
Wanting to back away, she somehow stood her ground. She had led him on and if he was angry she could hardly blame him.
‘It’s too soon,’ she said helplessly.
‘So what is the standard probationary period that your conquests have to serve?’ he questioned ruthlessly.
Flushing, she denied, ‘I haven’t had a string of conquests, or lovers. I’m not that kind of woman. I’ve never…’
For a moment she considered trying to make him understand. Then, giving up, she turned and fled into her own suite.
Closing the door behind her, she stood in the dark with her back to the panels, churned up and wretched, shaking all over.
She’d done the right thing, of course she had.
Then why did she feel so bitterly unhappy?
Who was she trying to kid? She knew quite well why. Because she wanted to be with him. Wanted to be in his arms, in his bed.
He was the only man she had ever really loved, would ever love, and even if his interest was short-lived she wanted that time with him. Wanted the memories to keep and to cherish.
But now it was too late. For the sake of her pride, and that was all it amounted to, she had rejected him, angered him, run away.
He was hardly likely to forgive her. From now on, no doubt he would be cool and distant. Their relationship would be purely business.
If only she had taken things more slowly, it could have been so different. Her first day in Venice could have ended happily, with sweet dreams, tomorrow to look forward to and high hopes for the future…
Instead it had ended badly, with anger and misery and frustration, any hopes she might have cherished dashed to the ground.
She wanted to cry.
But what was the use of crying? It would solve absolutely nothing.
Making an effort to pull herself together, she felt for the light switch and pressed it. There was a click, but no lights came on.
Frowning a little, she flicked it on and off.
Still nothing.
Though there were deep shadows, the night wasn’t entirely black and she was able to find her way safely across the room and through the archway into her bedroom.
But, once again, when she pressed the switch, the lights refused to work.
There had been lights on in other parts of the Palazzo, so perhaps this suite was on a different circuit and a fuse had blown?
But, after what had happened, there was no way she could go back to ask for Stephen’s help.
Trying to quell a growing feeling of unease, she told herself firmly that tomorrow she would mention it to the housekeeper, but in the meantime she would manage somehow.
Leaving the bathroom door open to let in what faint light there was she creamed off her make-up, cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair before pulling on her ivory satin nightdress.
She was about to get into bed when, realizing she was still wearing her earrings, she lifted the lid of her case and felt for her jewellery box.
It was a shock to find that it was no longer there, and surely she hadn’t left her things in such disorder? No, of course she hadn’t.
Someone must have searched through her case and stolen her box. But, even as the frantic thought crossed her mind, her fingers came into contact with the solid domed lid and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Though the box wasn’t where she had left it, it was still there, thank the Lord, partially buried under the rest of her belongings.
Whoever had searched though her case must have been disturbed, leaving everything in such a muddle.
But who could it have been?
Not a thief. Nothing had been taken.
A nosy servant, perhaps?
It seemed unlikely. But what other explanation could there possibly be?
A new thought occurred to her and she wondered—was it possible that this was in anyway connected with her semi-conviction that someone had searched through her flat?
No! The notion was ludicrous. A London flat and a Venetian Palazzo were worlds apart. And the bare idea that she might have something someone wanted badly enough to follow her to Venice for took the whole thing into the realms of fantasy.
With a sigh, she put her earrings in the box and replaced it. Then, climbing into the four-poster, she pulled up the lightweight duvet and closed her eyes.
Chapter 6
But while her body was comfortable, her mind wasn’t, and after a minute or so, unable to sleep for the unhappy thoughts that kept churning round and round in her brain, she opened her eyes again and lay staring blindly into the darkness.
What was that? Somewhere in the deep shadows of the far corner, close to the oriental screen, she sensed, rather than saw, a movement.
A chill of fear ran through her. Sitting bolt upright, she demanded sharply, ‘Who’s there?’
There was no response, just utter stillness.
Though what had she expected?
Of course there was no one there. Just because she was upset, she was letting her nerves get the better of her, acting like a complete idiot.
She was about to lie down again when she became convinced that—almost blending into the silence but not quite—she could hear the faint, rasping whisper of someone breathing.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose and her skin goosefleshed.
Unconsciously holding her breath, she listened.
Not a sound.
She was just tired and tense, and obviously getting paranoid, she told herself crossly.
All the same, before she could make any further attempt to sleep, she would have to get up and check, if only to set her mind at rest.
Gritting her teeth, she swung her feet to the floor and started for the corner. She had only taken a few steps when a man’s dark shape detached itself from the surrounding darkness and lunged at her.
Shock tore a scream from her throat.
He pushed her roughly aside, catching her shoulder a glancing blow that sent her sprawling, momentarily winding her.
As she struggled for breath she heard the sound of a door being thrown open and Stephen came through the archway.
Striding over, he crouched by her side and, an arm beneath her shoulders, helped her to sit up. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked urgently. ‘Were you hurt?’
Though some light was shining in through the door he’d left open, it was still too dark to see the expression on his face but she could tell he was deeply concerned.
‘No…I’m all right,’ she managed.
‘Sure?’
‘Quite sure…Just a bit winded.’
He helped her up and, steering her to the nearest chair, ordered, ‘Stay there a minute,’ and vanished into the gloom.
By the time he returned, shock had set in and she was cold inside and shaking like a leaf.
With a muttered, ‘Hell!’ he gathered her into his arms and, carrying her through to his living-room, put her down on the couch and settled some cushions behind her.
Looking down at her, he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. Her face was innocent of make-up and slightly shiny and, with her dark silky hair tumbling round her shoulders and her green-gold eyes too big for her pale face, she looked defenceless, vulnerable.
Noticing how she was having to bite her bottom lip to stop it trembling, he said remorsefully, ‘I’m a fool. I should never have left you.’
‘I’m all right, really I am,’ she assured him shakily.
He took her hand and, finding it icy cold, commented grimly, ‘You’re as white as a ghost and your hands are like ice.’
He disappeared into his bedroom to return almost immediately with a soft lightweight rug, which he tucked around her.
Then, from the oak sideboard, he collected a decanter of brandy and two goblets and, putting them on the coffee table, proceeded to pour a generous measure of the amber liquid into one of the glasses.
Passing it to her carefully, he instructed, ‘Sip that slowly.’
She was still shaking so much that the glass clinked against her teeth and at first she was forced to use both hands to hold it steady before she could manage to drink.
As she sipped, shuddering from time to time as the strong spirit hit the back of her throat, her inward coldness eased and the trembling gradually ceased.
Noting the change, he took her free hand and observed approvingly, ‘That’s better…Your hands are warmer and your colour’s coming back…’
For the first time she registered fully that he was barefoot and wearing a short navy-blue silk dressing gown belted around his lean waist.
His fair hair was rumpled and still slightly damp, as though he had just stepped from the shower before he’d responded to her cry…
At that instant there was a knock at the door and she jumped.
‘It’s all right,’ he said reassuringly. ‘It’ll be Roberto to report on what they found.’
Letting go of her hand, he padded to the door and opened it, then stood for a while in low-toned conversation, before saying, ‘Va bene…Grazie, Roberto…’ Then, ‘Yes, two should be enough…No, there’s no need. The rest of you can get back to bed. Buona notte.’
Returning to the hearth, he took her glass and, adding another dash of brandy, told her firmly, ‘Before you think of protesting, it’s strictly for medicinal purposes.’
She accepted it meekly and watched as he poured a measure for himself.
Cradling his own goblet between his palms, he sat down again and observed carefully, ‘Now, as you’ve suffered a bad fright, and I think it’s preferable to get this kind of thing out of one’s system, I suggest you tell me exactly what happened after you left me.’
Dragging her eyes away from the tanned column of his throat and the smooth expanse of chest revealed by the gaping revers of his dressing gown, she obeyed. ‘I found the lights in my living-room wouldn’t come on and, when I went through, the bedroom lights wouldn’t work either…
‘I thought there must be a fuse gone, so I started to get ready for bed. When I wanted to put my earrings away I discovered that my jewellery box had been moved and someone had searched through my case—’
‘Was anything missing?’ he asked quickly.
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
His legs, she noticed, were straight and muscular, lightly sprinkled with golden hair, his bare feet long and well-shaped, with neat toes…
‘You must have been alarmed at that point?’
Lassoing her straying attention, she agreed, ‘I was, a little…But I thought perhaps some—’ she hesitated, then went on ‘—some servant had looked through it.’
He frowned. ‘Then what did you do?’
‘I got into bed, but I couldn’t settle…I thought I saw a movement in the far corner by the screen, then I heard a faint sound, like someone with asthma trying to breathe quietly.
‘I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I’d made sure no one was there, so I—’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’ he demanded. Then, quickly, ‘Silly question…Go on.’
Looking anywhere but at him, she continued, ‘I got out of bed and was going towards the corner when this figure suddenly made a lunge at me and pushed me out of the way…’ Her voice grew jerky and, shuddering, she stopped speaking.
Stephen stretched out a hand and covered hers.
That brief but reassuring touch steadied her and, after a moment she went on, ‘All I could see was a dark shape, not even a glimmer of a face. But I’m sure it was a man, and I think he must have had something black over his head.’
‘You’re right on both count
s. As I came in response to your cry, I caught just a glimpse of him slipping out through the French windows.’ Shaking his head in frustration, Stephen went on.
‘By the time I’d made sure you weren’t hurt he’d made his escape. I got the servants up to search the garden.
‘Roberto’s just reported that there was no sign of any intruder, but they found a torch that had been dropped and broken, and the gate into the campo wasn’t properly closed. Presumably whoever it was left in too much of a hurry to notice…’
Watching his mouth as he spoke, the slight gleam of his white, even teeth, the way his lips moved, she recalled how those beautiful sensuous lips had coaxed and teased hers…How they had traced the curves of her breasts and closed around an eager nipple…Her stomach clenched at the memory.
To distract herself from these erotic thoughts, she asked a shade raggedly, ‘Is there much crime in Venice?’
‘Comparatively little, and there’s hardly any street crime. Unlike some cities, Venice is a safe place to walk around at night.’
‘But I suppose if a gate were accidentally left open and a would-be thief saw an opportunity—’
Stephen shook his head. ‘I don’t think it’s as simple as that. Roberto assured me that when he did his nightly rounds before going to bed, all the gates were securely fastened. So this was more than opportunism. I believe it was premeditated.’
Sophia’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Premeditated?’
He nodded. ‘Our intruder almost certainly came in the same way he went out—through the French windows of your sitting-room.
‘As you may have noticed, we have an electronic security system and, as he managed to gain entrance to the garden and the house without setting off any alarms, I’m inclined to think that he had keys to both the gate and the French windows.’
Sophia’s voice still trembled. ‘Do you think he came in that way presuming the suite would be empty?’
‘It’s possible. On the other hand, it could have been his target. He might have been looking for something in particular, something he hoped would be there, when he heard you coming.’
After a thoughtful silence, Sophia remarked, ‘But if he was looking for something in particular, rather than just being there to steal, why did he bother going through my case?’
The Padova Perals Page 9
