The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHINЧитать онлайн книгу.
urging him on as he lifted her into his arms, then swept aside the bedcovers and tossed her onto the sheets, shielding her body from his weight as he followed her down.
With one hard, long thrust he entered her, felt the customary tightness as she closed like smooth silk around him, taking him in with a series of tiny gasps at his size.
Never before had he resorted to quite this degree of unbridled savagery. Her gaze clung to his, mesmerised by the primitive hunger that sculpted his features into something wild and untamed. His head was flung back, his neck muscles corded, his jaw clenched.
Then he began to move, slowly at first, almost withdrawing before plunging in, again and again, faster and faster, in a rhythm as old as time.
She became caught up in it, swept along on a roaring tide that crashed, then receded, only to gather force and crash again.
There was only the man, the electrifying primeval emotion, and need.
The control he inevitably maintained was gone, and in its place was something incredibly primitive. A hunger so intense it surpassed passion and became raw desire. Brazen, mesmeric, libidinous.
It was as if she was possessed, held captive by a driven overwhelming need, and she abandoned herself to it, to him, allowing him to take her wherever he chose to lead, exulting in the journey.
She had wondered what it would be like to have him lose all semblance of constraint, to be caught up in his total abandonment. A tiny smile curved the swollen fullness of her mouth. Wild, she reflected silently. Incredibly, inexplicably wild.
There was a sense of bewitching satisfaction at having the power to cause a man to lose control so completely in her arms.
Hannah sensed the moment he regained a measure of control, felt the heave of his chest as he dragged in air and steadied his breathing, heard it catch in his throat as his body shuddered in emotive reaction, and she simply held him as he uttered a stream of self-castigating words in whispered Spanish.
She wanted to reassure him, to somehow convey for the first time she truly felt a woman’s sensual power, and that she was completely swept away by it.
With a tentative touch, she stroked her fingers lightly over his back, felt the tautened muscles and tense sinew beneath her tactile caress, and attempted to soothe them. Gently she traversed his waist, and traced the rigid outline of his buttocks, squeezing them slightly before trailing slowly up over his ribcage to rest on his shoulders, then capturing his head and bringing his mouth down to hers.
It was she who kissed him, savouring his lips, his mouth, sweeping her tongue in an evocative dance with his, encouraging, beguiling in a brazen invitation.
Afterwards he held her close, his arms a protective cage as he cradled her, and she felt his lips on her hair, at the edge of her cheek, caressing her temple, then nuzzling the soft hollow at the curve of her neck.
‘Madre de Dios,’ Miguel breathed tautly. ‘Did I hurt you?’
Hannah pressed her mouth to his throat. ‘No.’
It had been passion at its most elemental, for both of them.
His lips found hers, in a kiss that was so incredibly gentle it almost brought her to tears.
‘Rest, amada,’ he bade gently.
She felt the beat of his heart beneath her cheek, and in the security of his arms she simply closed her eyes and drifted into a dreamless somnolence.
At some stage during the early pre-dawn hours she stirred, felt the lack of human warmth and reached for him, only to find the bed empty. Cautiously she lifted her head and searched the shadowy room. It was then she saw him, silhouetted against the partly drawn curtains, looking out over the shadowed garden.
Slowly she slid from the bed and crossed to stand behind him, aware from his slight movement that he had heard the rustle of the sheets, the almost silent pad of her feet.
Hannah linked her arms around his waist and leaned in against him, holding him close. Long minutes later he gathered her into his arms and carried her into the en suite. There, he filled the spa-bath, switched on the jets, then he stepped in and lowered her down in front of him.
She simply closed her eyes and let the pulsing warm water provide a soothing relaxation. It would be so easy just to drift to sleep, and she almost did, only to open her eyes wide when Miguel scooped her out and wrapped her in a huge bath-towel.
Dry, they returned to the bedroom, and she made no protest when he drew her down onto the bed. With exquisite care he began an erotic tasting that took her to the edge of sensual nirvana, then tipped her over.
Would it always be like this? Hannah wondered on the edge of sleep.
Beautiful, glorious, heart-wrenching sex. Affection, fondness, respect. But not love.
She, who had sworn never to become emotionally involved with another man, had no choice.
Her heart belonged to Miguel. It always had, always would, whether he wanted it or not.
‘WONDERFUL,’ Elise murmured as she relaxed beneath the canopied section of the comfortable cruiser Miguel had hired for the day.
Hannah adjusted her sunglasses and smiled as Elise pulled the brim of her hat down to shade her face from the sun’s strong rays.
Together they’d driven down to Williamstown at ten this morning, where Miguel had organised to hire a luxury cruiser and captain to cruise the sparkling waters, then return mid-afternoon.
‘It’s nice to get away somewhere quiet,’ Elise said appreciatively. ‘No phones, no visitors, no one-hundred-and-one things to do.’
And no way a certain very persistent Frenchwoman could intrude, Hannah added silently, unable to prevent herself from wondering what Camille’s next move might be.
Miguel and Alejandro were seated at the stern, both casually attired in pale chinos and a polo shirt. Both wore sunglasses and baseball caps, and resembled, Hannah decided, two businessmen relaxing on a rare day off.
All she had to do was look at Miguel to feel her insides begin to melt. Traitorous desire flared, and spread stealthily through her body, heating her blood and sensitising every nerve-end into pulsing life.
It was impossible not to relive the cataclysmic passion they’d shared less than twelve hours before, and, as crazy as it seemed, she was willing to swear she could still feel him inside her. Sensitive tissues throbbed a little from his possession, and there was a part of her that ached for his touch.
At that moment he turned and cast her a long measured glance, and for an instant she could almost imagine he’d read her mind. Then his mouth curved into a slow, infinitely sensual smile that tore her composure to shreds.
‘Lunch,’ Elise stated with evident relish, ‘might be a good idea.’
‘Junior is hungry?’ Hannah queried musingly, and found herself laughing at Elise’s expression.
‘Little missy has very definite ideas on when and what I should eat.’ She stood to her feet and smoothed her hands over her barely perceptible bulge. ‘Today, I have a craving for ham, mayonnaise, gherkins and pineapple.’
Fortunately Sofia had packed a wide selection into a picnic hamper, together with crunchy bread rolls, salmon, chicken, and a variety of salads.
Hannah went inside the cabin and retrieved the hamper, then with Elise’s help she set it out on the table, added bottled water, soft drinks and wine, and called the men to eat.
The fresh air, the faint breeze, made for a very pleasant few hours, and they disembarked and then took the coastal road down to the Port Phillip before returning to Toorak.
A seafood barbecue as the