She looked up at him, and he could see she was torn. ‘You really think so?’
‘I know so.’
Her teeth found her lip—swollen and bruised from yesterday’s stresses he realised—and he put a thumb to her lip if only to stop her injuring herself further. ‘You’ve hurt yourself. Don’t do that.’ And even as he brushed her lips apart with his finger she looked up at him with those wide cat’s eye. Even though he knew it was folly, even though he knew it could lead nowhere good, he could not resist. So he dipped his mouth to hers, tentatively, whisperingly soft, no more than a brush of skin against skin.
Yet she shuddered against him like the world had quaked beneath her feet.
My doing, he thought with a touch of satisfaction as he tasted her lips and felt the foundations of his own soul shift and stir and bring him reluctantly to awareness—where he had no intention of going.
He returned the finger to her lips, pushing himself away, reminding himself why he was doing this. He would have to kiss her, he told himself, if this was to work. It meant nothing. And then, once she was safe, he could let her go. She would be free to find someone worthy of her, someone who could offer her a future filled with life and love.
She looked up at him, all blinking eyes and breathlessness, her lips parted as if she could not draw in enough air any other way, as if waiting for him to kiss her again.
Later, he thought, knowing he shouldn’t rush her, knowing he should take his time. Because he had no choice, even though it was the wrong choice. He couldn’t leave her here.
Because, like it or not, Umberto had been right all the time.
There was no other way.
VENICE enchanted her. From the moment she first caught sight of their destination as their plane came into land at Marco Polo airport, Gabriella was struck by the soft beauty of this ageing city perched upon the sea. From the air it had looked like a fantasy land, seemingly floating atop the waters of the lagoon, the tell-tale S of the grand canal slicing through its many islands.
From the vaporetto as they approached the city, it appeared even more magical. She sighed with pleasure, soaking up the soft sun on her bare arms, the breeze dancing through her hair. It felt like for ever since she’d felt the sun’s kiss on her skin or the whispering breeze in her hair and she tossed her head back, letting her hair flick and dance on the warm air.
There was something exotic and timeless about approaching the city by water. She could almost imagine herself as a mediaeval princess being ferried across the sea to meet her new husband, a wealthy Venetian merchant, mesmerised by the sight of such beautifully decorated buildings jostling shoulder to shoulder for space. Some were topped with intricate domes, others with towers pointing upwards as if in the search for space, while the water lapped at their feet. There were palaces, churches and rows of gondolas tied to candy-striped posts bobbing on the water. It was all utterly unreal. Utterly magical.
‘Happy?’ Raoul asked alongside her, his blue-black hair pulled into a short ponytail, his eyes covered with sun-glasses that only added to his dark appeal. Her eyes drank him in. Already he looked different, as if he’d lost some of the tension that had lined his features just yesterday. His shirt softly draped in the breeze, sculpting against his broad chest, while the unbuttoned collar revealed a tantalising vee of olive skin at his neck with a sprinkling of dark hair.
A sizzling heat zipped its way up Gabriella’s spine and momentarily struck her dumb. If the mediaeval princess was lucky enough to have someone like this man waiting for her, she would be one very lucky woman indeed.
But, no—this man was more likely the pirate who came to retrieve his bride from the clutches of the wealthy merchant.
He tilted his head and smiled. ‘You certainly look happy.’
Happy didn’t come close. She was arriving here in Venice, in a magical city with a man who took her breath away every time she looked at him. How had she ever imagined there was anything sinister about him when she had felt that sliver of apprehension yesterday in the cemetery? For his was a dark beauty that erred on the side of danger but erred deliciously, so that every glance was like a guilty pleasure to be sinfully enjoyed.
Would the fair princess stay with the rich Venetian merchant? she wondered. Or would she let herself be taken by the pirate?
No contest.
Exhilarated beyond measure, feeling suddenly more alive than she had in months, she laughed into the wind, letting the sound get taken away over the water. ‘I love it. I’d forgotten how beautiful Venice is. This is just like seeing it for the first time.’
‘How long has it been?’
‘Years. I think I was only ten or eleven and on a school trip. I don’t remember much beyond feeding the pigeons in St Mark’s Square.’ She shook her head, smiling as she remembered the chaos she and her class mates had caused. ‘Twenty squealing girls. Those poor pigeons.’
He looked at her. ‘I remember now. You told us that first night we were in the mountains while we sat around the fireplace. Everyone was laughing. I had forgotten …’
It was no wonder he had forgotten, she thought, quietly reflective for a moment. That time in the mountains had been their last holiday together. She could remember little of those first few days, either. All that stuck in her mind was the helicopter ride over the glaciers she’d been so looking forward to, and the night of illness that had put paid to any chances of her going. It was Raoul who had generously offered to stay back and look after her so their parents could go together and not miss out. Gabriella had spent the day dozing and sipping lemonade, listening to Raoul read her story after story. And they had thought nothing of it when the day had begun to darken and the night closed in. Not until the police had come calling …
‘You’re biting your lip again, Bella,’ he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. We are here together now and I promise to save you from any pigeons with long-term memories.’
She laughed and turned towards him, turning away from the buildings, the water and the ladylike beauty of the city to his intensely masculine face. She was grateful that he had turned the mood around, grateful just to be here with him in this beautiful city. ‘Thank you so much for allowing me to come,’ she said, and reached up on tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. She sighed as she relished the warm, clean scent of man, the brush of his blue-black whiskers against her lips and the feel of her body pressed length-to-length with his.
He took her arms, easing them away from his neck. She wondered if once again she had overstepped some unseen line, but he surprised her by turning her around in front of him and linking his hands at her waist where they sat, snug and disturbingly comfortable.
‘We are nearly there, Bella. Look,’ he said as the water taxi turned off into a smaller canal and then into another set, like a canyon amidst the tall buildings. Flowers spilled from flowerpots under arched windows; quaint bridges appeared from a wall and forded the canal, disappearing into the buildings on the other side like secret tunnels.
With Raoul’s warm body at her back, his arms around her waist, she never wanted this journey to end. She was acutely aware of the constriction of his arms every time she drew breath; she was achingly aware of the proximity of them to her breasts. And then there were his hands, crossed and perched so low across her belly; she knew if he just stretched out the fingers of one hand he could touch her there …
It was so deliciously close it was almost impossible