Mistress Material. Sharon Kendrick
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shadows onto his face. He looked like someone who had stepped out of a painting; someone from another age, she thought fleetingly.
‘Come downstairs and get warm,’ he said, and she followed him downstairs, watching while he built a fire and fetched two brandies, which he placed on a small table in front of the roaring blaze.
He’d changed, she noticed. Gone was the sodden suit, replaced by a black cashmere sweater and black jeans. On his feet he wore nothing, and she couldn’t help noticing how beautifully shaped his toes were. Imagine even finding someone’s feet attractive! She really was in a bad way! Her mouth dried and her heart thundered as he looked up from the logs and answered her shy smile almost reluctantly.
‘Brandy?’ he asked coolly.
She remembered him policing her at lunchtime and allowing her only half a glass of wine, and perhaps he remembered it too, because he laughed.
‘It’s purely for medicinal purposes. You look white and shocked to me. This has been quite a day for you, Suzanna.’
It would sound extremely naïve to say she’d never tried brandy before, wouldn’t it? she thought. Besides which, his words were accurate enough, and she felt shocked. ‘I’d love some,’ she agreed, and sat on the rug, holding her hands out towards the blaze.
The brandy was hot and bitter-sweet in her throat, but she felt its effect stealing over her immediately, and she wriggled her toes as the warmth invaded her.
‘Feeling better now?’ he asked.
‘Mmm! Much!’ She briefly closed her eyes and gave a blissful smile and when she opened them again it was to find him staring at her intently, something unfathomable written on his face, and, quite suddenly, he got to his feet.
‘Bedtime,’ he said abruptly, in a firm voice. ‘It’s late. I’ll tidy up down here—you go on up. Here, take this candle, but don’t leave it lit.’
But Suzanna couldn’t sleep. Outside the storm raged, but inside her own storm was raging. She recalled the feel of his arms as he’d carried her upstairs from the pool. The feel of those firm hands freeing her breasts, removing the bikini.
Restlessly, she tossed and turned, until she gave up the whole idea of trying to sleep. She decided to go in search of some matches to light the candle and read her book.
She pulled on her silken wrap and silently made her way downstairs to the kitchen, and after a bit of hunting around she found the matches she was after.
She was just creeping back along the corridor towards her bedroom when a dark figure loomed up in front of her and she almost collided with Pasquale.
He wore black silk pyjama trousers and nothing else. She found her eyes drawn to the beautiful breadth of his hair-roughened chest. His dark hair was ruffled and his chin shadowed in the strange yellow light of the storm.
‘What are you doing creeping around the house?’ he demanded in a voice which managed to sound both dangerous and soft, his eyes briefly flicking to the rise and fall of her breasts beneath their thin layer of silk. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’
He made it sound as if she’d been committing some sort of crime. ‘Because I couldn’t sleep,’ she told him defensively.
There was a moment’s silence, broken only by the harsh sound of his breathing. ‘Neither could I,’ he said eventually, and then his voice softened. ‘Does the sound of the storm frighten you?’
She nodded. ‘A little.’
‘There is nothing to be frightened of,’ he said, and with his hand in the small of her back he propelled her along to her bedroom door. ‘Don’t you know that it’s simply the gods clapping their hands? Didn’t they tell you that when you were a little girl?’
But at that moment an enormous clap of thunder seemed to rock the very foundations of the house, and Suzanna jumped in fright.
‘Get into bed,’ he told her brusquely.
She did as he asked, but her eyes were huge in her face as she stared up at him in mute appeal.
He shook his head. ‘No, Suzanna. No. You don’t know what it is you’re asking,’ he told her obliquely.
She hadn’t really been aware that she was asking anything, but now it dawned on her that she wanted him to stay. She wanted him to shield her from the elements which raged outside.
And those within? she wondered briefly.
She heard his reluctant sigh.
‘Very well—I’ll sit here until you fall asleep,’ he said in an oddly resigned kind of voice.
Suzanna slithered down beneath the duvet, hearing the slow, steady thump of her heart beating loudly in her ears.
Pasquale sat on the edge of the bed, as far away from her as possible. ‘Now sleep,’ he urged softly. ‘Nothing can hurt you while I am here.’
She awoke to find herself wrapped tightly in his arms beneath the duvet, her head resting on his shoulder while he slept. She heard the comforting steadiness of his breathing, and, acting purely on the instincts of one who was only halfawake, she nestled even closer into his embrace. He tightened his arms around her, and she had never felt so cosseted or so safe in her whole life. She let her head drift down so that her cheek lay on his bare chest and she could hear his heart beating loud and steady as a drum.
She couldn’t resist it; she simply couldn’t help herself. Lifting her mouth, she kissed his neck, and he sighed and stirred, his hand moving lazily from her waist to cup her breast over the thin silk of her nightdress, finding its tip and inciting it into immediate tingling life, stroke by glorious stroke.
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