The Count's Blackmail Bargain (20 page)

I must have been mad, she thought, fighting back a dry sob. What part of ‘no’ did I not understand?

But that was history now. It had to be, whatever inner pain she was suffering. She would deal with that—somehow—when she was safely back in England.

There could not be long to wait. She would be on her way just as soon as a path to accommodate the Jeep was cleared through the debris. He’d told her that.

Now all that remained to her was to behave with as much dignity as she could still muster for the final hours of her stay at the villa.

And maybe Alessio would be merciful too, she thought unhappily, and leave her to her own devices.

Her packing was almost completed by first light. All that remained to go in the case were the robe she was still wearing and her toiletries.

It was going to be another very hot day, so she decided again to travel in the cream cotton dress, once more immaculately laundered by Emilia.

It’s as well I’m leaving, she told herself, trying to wring some humour out of the situation. I could get thoroughly spoiled.

She opened the shutters and stepped out into the courtyard. The storm might never have happened, she thought, viewing the unclouded sky. Yet its aftermath still lingered in all kinds of ways.

It was still very early, and she doubted whether anyone else in the house was even stirring.

In the distance, coming to her through the clear air, she thought she could hear the sound of heavy machinery, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking. A longing to be able to leave the past behind and escape.

Except it might already be too late for that.

She felt suddenly very tired—and strangely defeated. She went slowly back into her room and lay down on top of the bed, stretching with a sigh.

After all, she told herself, she needed a sanctuary, and this was as good as any other. Alessio had no reason to come to this part of the house, and would certainly not be seeking her out deliberately, so she could feel relatively safe.

Presently, she would get showered and dressed, she thought, but not yet. Already the warmth of the sun spilling into the room was making her feel drowsy, and perhaps in sleep she might even find the peace that would be denied her in her waking hours.

So, almost gratefully, Laura closed her eyes, and allowed herself to drift away. But before she had taken more than three steps into the golden landscape before her, she became aware of a voice saying,

‘Signorina!’

She opened reluctant eyes to find Emilia bending over her. She sat up slowly. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘No—no,’ Emilia assured her. ‘But it is time to eat, signorina.

Come.’

‘I’m fine—really. I—I don’t want any breakfast.’

‘Breakfast?’ The other woman’s brows rose almost comically. ‘But it is the seconda colazione that awaits you, signorina.’

‘Lunch?’ Laura queried in disbelief. This implied she’d been asleep for hours, when she knew she’d only just closed her eyes.

She peered at her watch, and gulped. ‘My God, is it really that time already?’

‘Sì—sì.’ Emilia nodded vigorously, her face firm. ‘The signore ordered that we should not disturb you from your rest, but you cannot sleep all day. You also need food.’

Laura hesitated. ‘I—I have to get dressed first.’

‘No need, signorina.’ Emilia allowed herself a conspiratorial twinkle. ‘No one here but you,’ she added. ‘The signore is at the frana speaking to engineers about how to make the road safe. He told me he will not come back until late, so you may eat in your vestaglia.’

‘I see.’ Laura got up from the bed, shaking out the crumpled skirts of her robe. He was doing her a kindness, she thought, and she should feel thankful, not sick and empty. Or so lonely that she wanted to weep.

If she’d expected some kind of scratch meal because the master of the house was absent, she was soon proved wrong.

A rich chicken broth was followed by pasta, grilled fish, and a thick meaty stew with herbs and beans, and, after the cheese, there was a creamy pudding tasting of blackcurrant.

I won’t want another meal for a week, thought Laura, reflecting wryly that Emilia must have heard about airline food.

She guessed that as soon as Alessio returned she would be leaving, and she wanted to be ready. So she used the siesta time to shower and wash her hair. Emilia, beaming, had told her that the electricity had been restored, but Laura still chose to dry her hair in the sun, sitting on the bench in the courtyard. Last time she’d done this, Caio had been here, she thought idly, then stiffened.

Paolo, she thought. Paolo and his awful mother down at Lake Trasimeno. She hadn’t given them a single thought. But then she doubted whether either of them had spared much time to consider her plight either.

Whatever, she would have to leave a message with some excuse to explain her abrupt departure alone. Paolo would probably not be pleased, but that couldn’t be helped. And she’d probably done enough to convince his mother that the Manzone marriage was a non-starter, so some good might come out of the bleak misery of this ill-starred visit after all.

But three long hours later she was still waiting. She tried to occupy some time at the piano, but was too irritated by her own lack of concentration to continue, so she put the music away, and closed the lid gently. Another goodbye.

She wandered restlessly round the heated stillness of the garden, trying not to look at her watch too often, and failing. She still had no idea what flight she’d be able to catch. Maybe there wouldn’t be one until the next day, now, and she would have to spend the night at the airport, but even that could be endured.

Anywhere, she thought with sudden passion. Please, God,

anywhere but here. I can’t be with him for another night. I can’t…

The sun was setting when she at last heard the sound of the Jeep.

She’d been curled up in the corner of the sofa, but now she stiffened, sitting upright, her eyes fixed painfully on the open doorway. She heard his footsteps, his voice in a brief exchange with Guillermo.

Then he came into the room and stood looking at her, in silence, a strange intensity in his dark gaze that parched her mouth and made her tremble inwardly.

She found words from somewhere in a voice she barely recognised as hers. ‘The road—is it ready now? Can we go?’

‘Sì,’ he said quietly. ‘It is open.’

She touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips. ‘Then—I’d better get—my things.’

He said something soft and violent under his breath, then came to her, his long stride swallowing the distance between them. He took her wrists, pulling her to her feet in one swift, almost angry movement.

Then he bent his head, and kissed her on the mouth with a searing, passionate yearning that made her whole body shake.

‘Forgive me.’ The words were forced from him hoarsely as he looked deeply, hungrily into her eyes. ‘Laura, forgive me, but I cannot live one more hour without you.’

She should stop this now, a small sane voice in her head kept repeating as Alessio kissed her again. Stop it, and step back, out of harm’s way. Anything else was madness.

Madness, she thought as coherent thought spun out of control, leaving nothing but this terrifying frenzy in her blood that demanded to be appeased.

Madness, she told herself on a small sobbing breath as she slid her arms round his neck, and let him carry her out of the room.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE whole villa seemed hushed, its only sound his footsteps as he strode swiftly with her along the shadowed corridor to his bedroom.

Alessio kicked the door shut behind him, then crossed the vast room, putting Laura down on the canopied bed. For a long moment he looked down at her, then he bent and quite deliberately took the neckline of her dress in both hands, tearing the thin cotton apart like paper.

She gasped, her eyes dilating in sudden uncertainty, and saw his swift, crooked smile.

He said softly, ‘Do not be frightened, carissima. I have wanted for so long to do that, but now I will be gentle, I promise.’

He released her from the tangle of fabric, tossing it to the floor behind him, before stripping off his own clothing with unhurried purpose. Then, at last, he lay down beside her, framing her face in his hands as he kissed the lingering doubt from her wide startled eyes, then moved down to her mouth, his lips moving almost languorously on hers until he felt the tension leave her, and her slender body relax trustingly into his arms.

He let the kiss deepen, opening her mouth so that his tongue could seek the moist heat of hers, while his fingertips stroked her face and throat, and the vulnerable angles of her slender shoulders, his touch light and almost undemanding. Almost—but not quite.

He felt the growing tumult of her breathing as he began gently to caress her small, eager breasts.

Her rosy nipples were already hard with desire when he freed them from their lace cups, and bent to adore them with his lips and tongue. She gave a tiny whimper, her head moving restlessly from side to side, colour flaring along her cheekbones.

Her shaking hands went to his body, seeking his hardness, driven by the harsh flowering of her own need, but Alessio stopped her, clasping her fingers, and raising them swiftly to his lips.

‘Not yet, my sweet one,’ he whispered. ‘It is too soon for us to enjoy each other as lovers should. This time, mia cara, these first moments must be for you alone.’

His hands traced a slow golden path down her body, brushing away her last covering as if it had been a cobweb. And where his hands touched, his lips followed, warm and beguiling. Luring her on.

Telling her—promising her that, this time, there would be no turning back. That the passionate covenant of his nakedness against hers would be fulfilled.

Laura’s breathing rasped fiercely in her throat as her aroused senses responded with renewed delight to his caresses, to the physical fact of his nearness, and the warmth of his bare skin brushing hers.

His mouth returned to her breasts, suckling them tenderly as his hand slid between her thighs. She gasped a little in mingled excitement and apprehension, remembering that first time, but discovered at once there was to be nothing painful or threatening in this delicate exploration of her most intimate self.

She found herself sinking into a state of almost languid relaxation, aware of nothing but his fingertips moving on her softly and rhythmically at first, then increasing the pressure into a pattern of deliciously intense sensations. His thumb was stroking her tiny silken mound, coaxing it to heated tumescence, while, at the same time, the long, skilful fingers eased their way slowly into her moist inner heat, forcing the breath from her lungs in a sigh of totally voluptuous pleasure.

His lips moved back to hers, kissing her unhurriedly, his tongue stroking hers, thrusting softly into her mouth, mirroring the frankly sensual play of his hands.

Her earlier languor had fled. There were small flames dancing now behind her tightly closed eyelids. She could not hear, or make a sound, her whole being concentrated on this relentless, exquisite build of pleasure that he was creating for her.

Her body was writhing against his touch, begging mutely for some surcease from this incredible, unbearable spiral of delight that had become almost an agony.

She heard a voice she barely recognised as hers crying out hoarsely as he brought her at last to the peak of consummation, and held her there for an endless moment, before releasing her, and allowing the first uncontrollable spasms of rapture to shudder fiercely through her body, devastating her innocence for ever as she confronted, for the first time, her own sexuality, and his power to arouse it.

And as the first harsh glory of her climax softened into quiet ripples of satiation, there were tears on her face.

Alessio kissed the salt drops away, holding her close, soothing her, murmuring endearments in his own language.

At last she murmured huskily, ‘You should have warned me.’

‘Warned you of what, carissima?’

‘How you were going to make me feel.’

She felt him quiver with laughter. ‘You do not think, mia bella, that might have sounded both conceited and presumptuous?’

She buried her own smile in his shoulder. ‘Well—maybe—a little.’

She hesitated. ‘But I don’t expect you’ve had many failures,’ she added with a touch of wistfulness.

There was a silence, then he said gently, ‘Shall we agree, mi amore, to allow the past to remain where it belongs?’ He paused, altering his position slightly but significantly, making her gasp soundlessly. ‘The immediate future should concern us more.’ He slid his hands under her, lifting her slightly towards him. ‘Or I think so—don’t you?’

His dark eyes were questioning, his faint smile almost quizzical as he looked down at her, and she felt the hardness of him between her thighs, pressing at the entrance to her newly receptive body.

Laura was suddenly aware of a pang of physical desire so strong—

so incredible—that she nearly cried out. Suddenly, she knew that she could not allow herself time to think—to become afraid. To doubt her own capacity to absorb all that male size and strength, and return the pleasure he’d gifted to her only moments before.

Instead, she found herself reaching for him, forgetting her instinctive shyness as she caressed the powerfully rigid shaft with fingers that shook a little, making him groan softly, pleadingly.

And then, with a total certainty she barely understood, guiding him into her. Surging almost wildly against the initial restraint of his first thrust to welcome him deeply—endlessly. To defy once and for always any discomfort that might still linger for her in this complete union of their bodies.

But this time there was no pain, only the heated, silken glide of him possessing her—filling her completely over and over again.

Making her realise, with shock, as she clung to his sweat-dampened shoulders, her slim hips echoing his own driving rhythm, that her body had not yet finished with its delight.

That his urgency had captured her too, lifting her, all unaware, to some other unguessed-at plane with heart-stopping speed, showing her that the pinnacle of rapture was there, waiting for her if only—