She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, feeling the rhythm begin to steal down inside her. It was more mellow than the vibrating wall of sound in the nightclub, but no less insistent for that. All around her people were swaying, together or alone, their eyes closed, their voices muted, totally relaxed.
With a thud of misery Anna knew she didn’t fit in here either. She had told Fliss this was where she belonged, but looking around at the peaceful, carefree faces in the firelight she knew that wasn’t true. Maybe it was all that talk of karma and chi, but these people had an inner peace, a deep-down conviction that Anna completely lacked. They had a passion for their cause.
She had passion. Passion that before now she had never imagined. The difference was that hers wasn’t going to be satisfied by saving the nesting sites of a few woodpeckers.
Her throaty moan was lost beneath the music. Snaking her arms above her, she let her head fall backwards and circled her hips as all the pent-up tension of the last few hours seeped out of her and the music took over.
Anna knew plenty of people who had sought the solution to their problems in drink and drugs, and had seen the fallout that followed. The cure for the frantic beating of her heart and the tingling adrenalin that was surging through her veins was not to be found in the bottom of a bottle or the contents of a syringe, but in music.
When she was dancing she forgot everything. The past blurred into insignificance beside the rhythmic immediacy of now. It was the closest she ever came to being simply herself.
Above her the sky was vast and dark indigo, studded with stars. Underfoot the sand was soft and caressing, and around her the low murmur of conversation gradually faded as everyone lost themselves in the dancing.
No one noticed that they were being watched.
Angelo got out of his chauffeur-driven car and leaned against it, looking down over the beach.
A slight breath of wind caught his hair, lifting it off his forehead, and carrying to him the salt tang of the sea and, beneath it, the more earthy scent of woodsmoke from the fire.
There were more of them than he’d thought. But he could still pick out Felicity Hanson-Brooks without even having to try. It would have been much harder to ignore her presence, as his eyes seemed to be irresistibly drawn to her as she swayed and writhed to the hypnotic beat of the music.
So his instinct had been right and his private bet had been a winner. She was a spoiled little society princess who stayed in one of the best rooms at the Paradis and came down here to play at eco-warriors between social engagements. The smile that curved his lips in the darkness was one of triumph mixed with disdain.
Her money and status no doubt made her more of a dangerous adversary, but in many ways it made his position much simpler. So much easier to bring her to heel now he had lost all respect for her.
Swiftly he bent and unlaced his shoes, then took them off and tossed them into the back of the car. His socks followed, joining the dinner jacket and black silk tie he had discarded on the journey here, as he had followed the taxi.
‘You want me to wait, sir?’ The chauffeur’s voice was entirely expressionless. ‘Will you be going back to the hotel tonight?’
Angelo considered for a moment. ‘No. Ask Paulo to prepare the yacht and send the tender down to the far end of the beach in—’ he glanced at his watch, calculating ‘—half an hour.’
‘The far end of the beach, sir?’
‘Yes. Down there, where the forest slopes down to the water.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Slamming the door, Angelo rolled up his exquisitely tailored trousers and set off at a run.
The music was loud, pulsing, good.
Anna scooped her hair up from her hot neck and held it loosely on the top of her head while the breeze cooled her skin. She was hot, she was tired, but she didn’t want to stop dancing. As long as she kept moving she could deal with the torrent of emotions that raged within her. The torrent of desire.
It hadn’t subsided. If anything, the music had intensified it, so that with every flick of her hips, every snaky undulation of her spine she could almost feel invisible hands upon her, holding her as she longed to be held. Every so often one of the boys would sway against her and the sheer nearness of another human being was like a spark on the dry tinder of her longing. But none of them even came close to providing what she needed.
She felt as if she were burning from the inside, and threw her head back to gasp for air. The music slowed, seguing seamlessly into Nina Simone, singing ‘I Put a Spell on You'.
Anna shuddered with need and frustration and longing, sliding her hands through the tangle of her hair and arching backwards as two hands slid around her waist.
Strong hands, slipping down to her hips. She felt them writhe sinuously beneath their touch. Eyes closed, she leaned back against him as an image of Angelo Emiliani’s beautiful hands swam into her head. Helplessly she found herself imagining that the hands that were now resting on the flat of her belly were his hands, that it was his strong thumb which was slowly caressing her quivering flesh.
A shot of pure molten desire shuddered through her.
With a low groan of anguish she wrenched herself away, but those hands pulled her back. Her eyes flew open and for a second she found herself staring into the narrow gleaming eyes that had haunted her all evening.
Her overwhelming feeling was of relief. He had found her. He had picked up the desperate signals her body had been sending out to his and responded. Thank God. Thank God. He was here. There was nothing more to do than give in to it. This was her passion. The white-heat generated by the friction between their bodies as they danced, his chest hard against her shoulders, his hands moving across her midriff, spanning her ribs, cupping her breasts—that was what she lived for.
She couldn’t have said how long they danced like that, his body curved around hers in a way that was simultaneously passionate and protective and possessive. It was everything she wanted, but at the same time it wasn’t enough. Her hands were raised above her head, knotted around his neck, her fingers exploring the hardness at its nape and the little dip at the base of his skull, then matting themselves into his hair. She loved the feel of him, but she needed more. She needed to see him.
To taste him.
With a smooth flick of her hips, she spun round so she was facing him, her eyes level with the hollow at the base of his throat. Her hands were still locked loosely around his neck and despite the pain in her ankle she found herself rising up on her tiptoes so that her pelvis was level with his. For long moments they swayed together like that—their hips meeting and grinding together in mutual hunger as the music wrapped itself around them in the darkness. Their eyes met, and held. It was like looking into a furnace.
His hands were on her waist now, their warmth and strength radiating through the thin fabric of the dress. His fingers slid downwards and for a second she registered the question in his eyes as they encountered the heavy denim top of her tiny shorts, low on her hips.
Slowly, without taking her eyes off his face, she crossed her arms and, taking hold of the hem of the dress, peeled it upwards over her head. Tossing it aside, she looked defiantly up at him.
Angelo let his gaze travel slowly over her.
Madre di dio, she was glorious, he thought grimly as his eyes swept downwards over the perfect breasts, barely concealed beneath a small white bikini top, and flat, narrow stomach, in the centre of which glittered a diamond piercing.
He felt liquid fire lick through his veins.
In a split second she was transformed from high-maintenance It-girl to rebellious grunge-chick but, Gesù, he liked it. Reaching out, he trailed a finger