The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen
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gentle tactile exploration that unfurled a capricious sexuality and became raw with hunger … for him, only him.
He branded her with his mouth, the edges of his teeth in a coupling that was explosive, primitive as he demanded her compliance and made her his own.
It said much as she lost herself in him and became greedy, meeting him with each thrust as she urged him almost to a point of savagery, and she held on, soaring with him to unbelievable heights in a sexual climax more pagan than any they’d previously shared.
Afterwards he simply rested his cheek against her temple as their breathing slowed, and the water cascaded over their bodies slick with sexual sweat.
He said something in Spanish beneath his breath, then trailed his mouth down to capture hers in a kiss so incredibly gentle, her eyes shimmered with emotive tears.
With care, he took the soap and smoothed it over her body, his eyes dark and impossibly slumberous as he caught the faint pink smudges marking her tender flesh.
When he was done, she took the soap from his hand and returned the favour, exulting in the hard musculature, olive skin darker than her own, and the inherent masculinity that was intensely male and his alone.
It took a while before they pulled on towelling robes and emerged into the bedroom.
Her cellphone beeped intermittently, alerting a text message, and a slight frown creased her forehead as she read the text.
‘Anything urgent?’ Marcello queried as he discarded the robe and slid naked between the bedcovers.
‘It’s John,’ she relayed slowly, meeting his gaze. ‘He wants to know when he can expect me back.’
His eyes darkened, and he went completely still. ‘You won’t be returning to Perth.’
Shannay opened her mouth, then closed it again. ‘Marcello, my job, my life, everything is there.’
‘It was never there from the moment I discovered Nicki’s existence.’
Oh, dear lord. ‘You don’t understand,’ she protested, feeling sick and slightly stricken as she took in his hardened features.
‘Make me understand,’ Marcello began in a dangerously silky tone. ‘How you can lose yourself in my arms night after night … and yet still want to leave.’
He had her there, and she felt suddenly bereft of words. Too ashamed to admit he held the power to render her wanton and solely his. To need him as a flower in the desert craved water in order to survive.
That without him, she simply existed.
‘You asked me to stay longer for Ramon’s sake, and I have.’
Say it, she begged silently. Say you care. Tell me I mean something to you.
‘Leaving isn’t an option.’ The reiteration held an adamant non-negotiation hardness that chilled her to the bone.
There was only one thing she could do, and she tightened the belt on her robe and moved to the door.
‘I’ll sleep in another room.’
It killed her to walk through the door and close it quietly behind her.
Stupid tears gathered and rolled slowly down each cheek as she traversed the gallery to the suite she’d occupied during the initial few days after her arrival.
For some reason she needed to check on Nicki, to see her sweet face in sleep, and try to quantify her wayward emotions.
The dim night-light revealed a child at peace, silently trusting, and so much a part of her just the thought brought an ache to her throat.
Nicki was happy here … and hadn’t that been the object of this excursion?
A visit, to help Nicki adjust to spending time with her father. Thinly disguised custody posing as holidays.
Preparation for what the future would involve.
Shannay had never in her wildest imagination expected the visit to be anything else.
Yet she hadn’t counted on being so acutely vulnerable to the father of her child. Or to remember so vividly what they’d shared.
She’d been a fool. Incredibly naive not to foresee maintaining a formal relationship couldn’t last long.
Had he knowingly plotted just this outcome? Planned to seduce her and force her to stay?
Even get her pregnant?
It was a long time before she fell into an uneasy sleep, and late next morning when she woke.
Nicki was happily ensconsed in the kitchen beneath Maria’s care, and relayed Marcello had left early for the city.
There was a need to do something constructive with the day, preferably away from the house.
Shopping held no appeal but, recalling how much Nicki had loved the children’s section of the Parque de Attracciones, Shannay thought it would be great to enjoy a return visit.
With Carlo in attendance, of course.
It was relatively easy to arrange, and they set off with a delighted little girl whose excitement became infectious as the day progressed.
The rides, the people, the other children and the carnival-like atmosphere helped diminish Shannay rehashing the fallout from John’s text message.
How could she remain in Madrid when there were unresolved issues?
Worse, how could she bear to stay in a marriage simply because of convenience? Even more disturbing … consider adding another child?
It wasn’t enough to pretend. To attempt to believe the marriage was alive and healthy simply because the sex was good.
Oh, tell it like it is, why don’t you? It’s fantastic … off the Richter scale.
She’d been there, suffered, and thrown in the towel.
Why put herself through it again?
Except you’re already in over your head.
Admit it.
Something … instinct, maternal or otherwise, alerted her attention.
Nicki. Where was Nicki?
Fear, panic, both meshed into something incredibly frightening as she consciously searched for the red top and cropped jeans Nicki was wearing, the bright red bow in her hair … felt her heart leap when she thought she caught a glimpse of red, only to have her hopes dashed seconds later.
Carlo? Where in hell was Carlo?
How could they both be missing?
‘Please, have you seen a little girl …’ She began frantically questioning one stranger after another, some of the children … in a mixture of English and Spanish as she described Nicki and her clothing … to which she received visual concern, the shake of a head, nothing.
Oh, dear God. She prayed, made deals with the deity, and in a moment of common sense extracted her cellphone and rang Marcello’s private number on speed dial.
He picked up on the second tone, listened to her garbled explanation and issued an icily calm directive.
‘Stay where you are. I’m on my way.’
He immediately excused himself from an important meeting, made a personal call to the chief of police, issued orders to various staff as he had his car brought kerb-side in front of the building’s main entrance, and he attempted to make contact with Carlo.
By the time he arrived at the parque, he’d gathered an overview of the situation … and Carlo’s cellphone had been switched off.
So too had the personal tracking device he carried at all times when leaving the house.
Two factors