The Dark Side of Desire (12 page)

She turned at that. Her expression was stricken, and Leon immediately felt bad that he’d made such a remark.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘that was crass of me.’ There was a sincerity in her voice that was not there just for politeness.

He would have responded, but one of the hotel staff was approaching, enquiring if they would care to take their table yet.

Their table was by the French windows and gave a full view of the setting sun, its rays gilding the ornate room and glinting on the polished silverware. Menus were presented, their flutes refilled, and whether it was the champagne or the air of the countryside, Flavia suddenly felt hungry. When she
gave her order, Leon looked mildly surprised at her choices. They were definitely more hearty than they had been the night before.

‘It all sounds so appetising,’ she said by way of explanation.

When the food arrived, superbly presented and even more superbly prepared, she found she was eating with real enjoyment.

Something was changing, she knew. It wasn’t just the champagne, or even the exquisite food, or the beautiful room they were dining in—all painted Adam ceiling and gilded pillars, opening out on to the terrace and the view beyond. It was more than that.

Her gaze went to Leon.

For a long, long moment her eyes rested on him, taking him in, drinking him in. She felt an aching longing welling inside her. And knew she must answer a question she could no longer avoid, no longer hide from.

If I were free—totally free, without any consideration for anyone but myself—where would I be?

She had fled from Leon once, overwhelmed by him, by the feelings he could arouse in her, seeing only the impossibility of it all, scared and overcome by it. She had fled back home to her responsibilities, to the grandmother who depended on her. Leon Maranz was not for her—he could not be. The inescapable circumstances of her life made it impossible.

But now she had been forced to go to him. Forced to do her father’s foul bidding. She resented and hated it. Yet for all that the question came again, refusing to be silenced.

If I were totally free—if I could choose for myself—where would I be?

And the answer came clear, with no possibility of denial.

I would be here. Here with Leon
.

Because there has never been anyone like him before in my life and being with him is all I want!

It was a truth she could no longer deny. Yet even as she accepted it she felt the cry come from deep within her.

If only … If only I were here with him without anything to do with my father! Without the hideous pressure he is putting on me! If only I were here with Leon and the threat to Harford, to my grandmother, never existed! If only my father had not tainted and befouled what I want so much! This time with Leon … this precious time!

Because if that were so … If that were so, she knew, with deep, absolute certainty, that she would be here willingly, joyously. With absolute conviction in what she was doing. Giving in to the overpowering need to succumb to what he had lit within her like a flame.

There has never been anyone like him—never been anything like the response he evokes in me! Never before—and never again …

Why it had happened she could not tell. Why this man she did not know. She knew only that it was so—that it had happened—and she could no more deny it or defy it than cease to breathe. The truth of it was as radiant as the sun setting in liquid fire, its last rays streaming all around her, turning the world to gold.

Anguish clutched at her. That what she felt for Leon, this extraordinary flame of burning desire, should be so sullied by what her father was doing to her was unbearable—unbearable that her father should be soiling it with his foul demands and threats! Making something shameful of what should have been so wonderful!

And then, as she gazed at him, her anguish in her face, his eyes met hers. Blazed with sudden desire impossible to veil. And in that moment, as she met the full charge, she felt something shift and change and resolve in her.

So what if her father was trying to exploit her for his own ends? Trying to manipulate her, threatening and blackmailing her, making her feel soiled and ashamed? She was doing what he wanted for her grandmother’s sake—and the knowledge
seared within her that it was what
she
wanted, too! What she wanted with all her being.

Words formed in her head. Strong—resolute. From the inner core of her.

What is happening is happening. I will not let what my father is doing poison and destroy it. I will not let it taint and sully it
.

She would put everything aside but her own feelings for Leon. Nothing her father could do could poison
them!
She would not allow it—would not permit it! She would put aside everything her father had said, and threatened, and insinuated, and manipulated. Because one shining truth was blazing within her, as golden and glorious as the setting sun bathing the world in beauty: she was here, now, because she
wanted
to be, because she would of her own free choice be nowhere else but here, with Leon. Going forward with him to wherever he would take her, on a journey she had never taken before—on a journey into the heart of desire and its burning, incandescent fulfilment.

She would give herself to him and let nothing taint this time
—nothing
!

Like light and warmth, the resolution streamed through her, blazed from her eyes. Her gaze hung on Leon’s, and in his dark, beautiful eyes she saw suddenly, like a fire kindling, an answering blaze. For one endless moment it was there—a moment of intensity she had never known before. Then, as if it was overwhelming her, like breathing pure oxygen or gazing into the heart of the too-bright sun, she dropped her gaze, breathless with sudden, extraordinary happiness.

Across the table Leon felt his senses reeling. Triumph—more than triumph!—coursed through him. For the first time he had seen in Flavia what he had so long ached to see: the fire of her response to him acknowledged, admitted—accepted. Relief filled him, deep and profound. The knowledge that finally he had broken through that endless guard she’d held up to him, keeping him at bay, holding him off. Gratitude welled
within him, and resolve—resolve that her new-found trust in him would never be betrayed. He would take her only where she herself wanted to go, on the journey that awaited them into the heart of desire—desire fulfilled …

Emotion moved within him, making him pause. A sense of wonder filled him—a sense of gratitude that this beautiful, beautiful woman, as wary as a doe, had been granted to him.

I will not hurt her or let her down. I will be worthy of her. I will not betray her trust in me, so valued because it was so hard-won …

But he must still proceed slowly, carefully, he knew. She must not be rushed or overhwhelmed lest she take fright again, hide once more behind that frigid wall surrounding her. He cast about for something easy to talk about—some unpressured, uncontentious topic that would help to draw her out, set her yet more at her ease, build on the fragile trust that had put forth its precious green shoots this evening.

Ironically, he knew that what he wanted was to find out much more about her. There was so little he knew—even where she lived. Well, it was no matter. Gradually, as they got to know each other fully, they would talk more about themselves, have no secrets from each other. Already, the previous evening, he had found himself telling her about his work to help others living as he once had himself—a subject he did not usually dwell on in company. There were those in the world he moved in now who found the thought of such dire poverty uncomfortable, unsettling.

Flavia hadn’t seemed to, though—and it had been the sincerity of her sympathy, briefly expressed as it had been, that had shown him she was not the shallow, venal, pampered princess he’d feared she might be, given her wealthy background and given, he thought, with an inward frown, her father’s utter lack of sensibility about the plight of others in the world! But Flavia was clearly cut from a different cloth from her father—he trusted that instinctively.

As if catching his thoughts, she spoke, pre-empting his mental search for a safe, neutral topic to converse on with her.

‘You mentioned last night you’d set up projects to help those trapped in poverty in the Third World?’ she ventured. ‘What sort of enterprises are most effective?’

There was genuine interest in her enquiry. Even so, she was conscious that she was seeking a subject that would give him the role of talking the most. Her own thoughts and emotions were in freefall, and she needed time—precious time—to let them settle. Letting him talk would give her that time—time to come to terms with the momentous resolution she had made.

Time, too, to do what she so wanted to do—just sit there and drink him in. Drink in the strong, magnetic features, sit quietly and watch the lean perfection of his body, look at the dark feathered sable of his hair, the quick indentation of his lips, hear the deep accented tones of his voice. All a sensuous, breath-catching delight to her!

A sense of release filled her. As if a hideous burden had been lifted from her, freeing her from the corruptive taint of her father’s venal machinations.

Now, finally, she could accept that, whatever the cause of her being here with Leon,
this
was where she wanted to be. And accept freely that it was what
she
wanted, too—to have this time with Leon, come what may.

As he started to answer her she sat, listening to him as they dined. He elaborated on the work he was doing—giving back the fruits of his own hard, long endeavours to drag himself out of the same poverty—and she set her senses free, her passions free. She would give herself joyously, willingly to Leon, to his desire for her—her desire for him.

And she would let nothing taint it, poison it.

She would not allow it.

On wings of liberation she felt her spirits soar, and happiness, relief, anticipation and joy filled her being.

‘S
HALL
I extinguish the candle? You would see the stars more clearly then.’

Flavia shook her head. ‘No, I think the garden lights will still make it impossible to see them well.’

They were taking coffee at the far end of the terrace, where it opened into a stone-paved parterre edged with box into which were inset small footlights. Other guests were dotted around at low tables, seated in wickerwork chairs, taking coffee and liqueurs.

‘The best stars I’ve seen,’ Leon was musing, ‘are on Santera. Like gold discs cut out of black velvet. One day I’ll buy a telescope—though I’ll need to hire an astronomer as well, to show me what I’m looking at,’ he added ruefully.

She smiled. ‘I’m sure it would be a popular job,’ she said.

She let her shoulders relax back into the chair, lifting her cup of coffee. Despite the liberating ease with which she now found she could converse with Leon, at the same time she could feel a sensation like a trickle of electricity rippling through her, just below the level of her skin. It was setting her heartbeat just a little more rapid, and her pulse was a little more tangible, her breath a little more uneven.

Her eyes went to the man sitting back in the wicker chair opposite her, and it seemed to her that the trickle of electricity flickering beneath her skin gave a little surge of voltage. Her gaze hung on his face—so darkly planed, so compelling
to look at. His whole strong, dominating physical presence was waiting for her.

Waiting for her to be ready.

And I am—finally. That is what has happened. I am no longer fighting what I first recognised in that very first moment of seeing him. At last—despite everything my father has done, despite all my fears for my poor grandmother—this is something that I want … with all my being
.

The shadow of her father, his malign presence in her life, his threatening power to destroy the last months of her grandmother’s life, still hung there like a lowering cloud, but she set it aside. She would not let it poison this time that had come upon her, which finally she would accept.

Willingly, joyously, desiringly …

Her eyes met Leon’s.

He knows—he knows I am ready now
.

She thought he might smile, might look with satisfaction upon her, seeing her acquiescence, her acceptance, in every line of her body, the melting of her eyes. But he did not smile, and she was glad. Touched.

This was no triumph, no conquest, no victory over her doubts and resistance.

This was a mutual desiring—a shared acknowledgement of something flaring between them that both of them welcomed.

Embraced.

He got to his feet. Held out a hand to her. She took it silently and let him draw her to her feet.

They walked hand in hand, and it seemed right, and real, and welcome. Strolling beside him, no words were necessary as she walked down to the far end of the terrace, where it was quiet, unpopulated by guests, unlit by floor lamps. Only the stars above glinted and gleamed in their crystal orbs.

He paused and turned, took her other hand. Gazed down into her eyes in the dim, diffused starlight.

‘My Flavia,’ he said.

And that was all. All she heard—all she wanted to hear.
Needed to hear. She lifted her face, let herself gaze at him, let the warmth of his hands holding hers be all the reassurance she needed.

Why this man?

She did not know. It did not matter. This moment now was all. The reasons she was here were unnecessary. Irrelevant.

‘Leon …’ Her voice was a breath, an exhalation, a sigh. Accepting everything he offered her. Offering him everything he craved.

He took her mouth as a flower, as the sweetest fruit. The most delicate flavour. The gentlest touch.

He was holding himself in absolute control. He knew it. Knew that this moment was precious, that it was of absolute importance that he not get it wrong this time. That this was the moment that could win him Flavia—or lose her for ever.

There would be no second chance. Not if he screwed it up now. Not if he rushed her too fast, allowed his needs to overwhelm hers.

Besides, he wanted this exquisite moment to last—to stand here beneath the stars and have her warm and pliant in his arms, as tender as the summer’s night that webbed about them. Just her and him—as if alone in all the world together.

Gently, delicately, tenderly, he explored the beauty of her mouth with his, has hands cradling her head, fingertips whispering through her hair. She was leaning into him, and he felt the soft wand of her body against his, felt himself responding.

He drew away a little, released her mouth, still cradling her upturned face. There was a dazed look in her eyes, and he found himself lowering his lips to graze each fluttering eyelid.

Then, with a breath, he let his fingers slip from her completely, standing away from her.

There was a puzzled look in her starlit eyes.

‘I got it wrong with you once before,’ he said, his voice low, his eyes searching hers. ‘I made assumptions—rushed you. This time—’ he took another scissoring breath ‘—I won’t do
that. This time …’ He paused, making sure he got it right this time. ‘I don’t want you running from me.’ He paused again. ‘So I ask you now: if you would like to go back to London, back to your father’s apartment, I will escort you there and no further. But if you would like to stay here, at this hotel, in a room of your own, then that is what will happen. It will be exactly and only as you wish, Flavia.’

It had cost him to say what he had—but he knew he’d had to say it. Had to give her the space, the time she needed. For himself, all he ached to do was take her back in his arms, take her to a room, a bed, and finally possess her.

But this night had to be
her
choice, her choice alone, uninfluenced by him or anything else. Her free, untrammelled choice.

He let his eyes rest on her as she stood, swaying very slightly, as if being released from his hold on her had left her unsupported. He stood still—stock still. It was for her to make the next move—only her, not him. Even though it was taking every last ounce of self-control her possessed.

The expression in her eyes changed. She lifted her hand. Let her fingers graze the edge of his jaw. He had shaved before he had met her, early in the evening, but now, at this midnight hour, he could feel her fingertips encountering the slight roughness of regrowth. Her touch was electric, and he could feel every muscle in his body tense.

She gazed up at him.

‘I don’t know why this is,’ she said, and her voice was still soft, still murmuring, but with a plaintive note in it, as though bemusement was infusing it. ‘I don’t know why—I only know that it is so. I only know …’ Now her fingertips were tracing, with the lightest touch, the line of his lips, and his jaw tensed with the effort not to do what every sensual instinct was pounding at him to do—to catch her with his mouth, fold her into him, his hands spanning her narrow waste, and with his lips lave the slowly questing tip of her slender finger.
‘I only know that I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here with you.’

His hand snaked to her wrist, drawing her hand slightly away from his face. ‘Are you sure—are you truly sure?’ There was an intensity in his voice, in his expression, that he could not mask. Would not mask. He would hide nothing from her—as she was hiding nothing from him. He was seeing the truth of her now. He knew absolutely. This was the woman he wanted—and she wanted him. No more masks, no more ice maiden, no more chilling reserve or holding him at bay with every word she spoke. This was the woman he wanted—here, now …

‘Yes …’ Her voice was a breath, an exhalation.

A promise.

He lowered his head to hers, kissing her mouth lightly, sweetly. Then he tucked her hand into his, never relinquishing it for a moment, and drew her against his side.

‘You’ll stay with me tonight?’ Leon’s voice was husked. He needed to be sure—absolutely sure.

Her answer was to lean into him, brushing her cheek against his shoulder. ‘Do you think,’ she mused, starlight glinting in the eyes uplifted to his, ‘a place like this might run to a four-poster bed?’

His mouth tugged in a smile that made Flavia’s already strong beating heart catch. He dropped a lingering kiss on her mouth.

‘Let’s go and find out,’ he said.

Hand in hand, they headed indoors.

The hotel did, indeed, have a double room with a four-poster bed. A huge one, draped in blue damask.

‘It’s beautiful!’ Flavia exclaimed, gazing around, taking in the panelled walls, the ornamental plastered ceiling, the thick carpets and the antique furniture, all dominated by the richly hung four-poster.

‘And so are you.’

The timbre of Leon’s voice sent a thrumming of electricity through her and she turned to face him. Emotion swelled through her. In the low-lit room his face was strongly featured, and she could see, blazing like a dark light in his eyes, the message of his desire for her.

‘Leon—’

She breathed his name, came towards him, came into his arms.

They kissed, their mouths entwining, their arms around each other, and longing quickened within her, making her breathless and amazed. When he drew away from her she felt a loss, a parting she did not want, and reached for him again.

But he smiled down at her, a slanting smile rich with promise, his eyes devouring her. ‘My beautiful Flavia.’

He said her name low and resonant, and she could only gaze at him, her pulse strong and insistent in her veins.

His eyes held hers and slowly, carefully, he reached his arms around her slender back, slipping off the loose, soft jacket, feeling for the zip at the top of her dress, sliding it slowly, oh-so-slowly, down her trembling body.

As the almost bare lines of her figure were revealed by the lowering dress, his breath caught.

She was so beautiful! So slender and so poised and so perfect …

The dark shift pooled at her feet and she stepped out of it. Then, of her own volition, she raised her hands to her spine and slipped the clasp of her bra, letting it fall. She heard the rasp in Leon’s voice and rejoiced in it, sliding her panties to the floor as well. It was right, it was good, it was perfect. It was what she wanted to do and it was a joyous, blessed offering to him. For a moment she just stood there, letting him feast upon her. Then, with a little smile, she lifted her hands once more to the nape of her neck and loosened her hair from its chignon.

It fell in a sensual cloud around her shoulders, and this time
Leon was no longer motionless. He caught it with his fists and lowered his head to her, drawing her naked body against his.

His mouth seared hers like a living flame, and her body was a flame in his arms. Desire surged through him, arousing, quickening his flesh. His clothes were an impediment, and with a groan he held her momentarily away from him whilst he divested himself of them. His hands were like wood, his movements clumsy in his haste and urgency, but he didn’t care. He only knew that this was not a time for posed sophistication, for studied seduction. This was about the naked, blazing desire between them, the clean flame burning with the purest fuel.

As he flung his clothes aside on the nearest armchair he clasped her to him again. She gasped, knowing the strength of his desire for her. Her eyes widened in recognition. In shared arousal.

He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the waiting bed, yanking back the coverlet to lay her tenderly upon the pristine sheet. For one endless moment he simply stood and gazed down on her—on her beauteous body, bared and waiting for him, on her lustrous hair spread like a flag across the pillows, on her face, on her eyes gazing up at him with everything in that gaze that he could want.

Her desire for him—her perfect, perfect desire …

He said her name again, emotion working in his face. She lifted her arms to him, welcoming him to her, and he came down on her with all the ardour in the world, clasping her to him.

In the soft light from the low-lit bedside lamp, in the wide expanse of the bed, beneath the silken awning above them, he kissed her. He kissed her mouth and her fluttering eyes, the line of her jaw, the arch of her throat, the hollow at its base. He kissed with softly trailing lips, tender and arousing, possessing the valley between her breasts. He kissed and laved and teased and worshipped the soft ripening mounds and then their cresting coral peaks, questing ever further, down
over the silken expanse of her abdomen, his hands shaping the sculpture of her hips to graze with tantalising arousal the line of the dark vee below.

He heard her gasp and felt her hands clutching at his shoulders. He lifted his head and saw hers lifting, too. He slid his strong, empowered body upwards over hers again, so that his thighs pressed down on hers, slid one limb between hers, parting her for him. His mouth sought hers, his hand cupping the nape of her neck, lifting and shaping her head to him.

His arousal was absolute, but her needs must come first. He moved to slip one hand down her breast, her flank, down to the parting of her thighs. But she caught his hand with hers.

‘No—’

She gazed up at him, urgency in her eyes, and with a blaze of understanding Leon knew that she was as ready as he—that she wanted exactly what he wanted now.

‘You’re sure?’

His question hung only for a moment, and it was her eyes, her questing mouth seeking his afresh, that told him the answer.

And her fevered breath.

And his.

He plunged into her, deep and lifting, and she arched to meet him, her spine bowing upwards, thighs quivering beneath his as she took him into her. She cried out and he clasped her to him, his hands around her spine, supporting her. It was glorious—glorious and perfect and wondrously fulfilling as their bodies merged and fused.

He moved within her. He had to move. Could do nothing else. He was overpowered by the burning of his desire, the intensity of his arousal. And as he moved, her face was transfigured.

‘Flavia!’

He saw the ecstasy take her, felt it in her body, felt it around him, pulsing like a beacon, convulsing her body. He clung to her, arms wrapped around her, held her against him as surge
after surge swept through her, and he could feel the shaking of her body clasped so tight against his.