The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
felt it swell beneath his touch, the peak tautening in sensitive arousal, then his mouth assumed a wry humorous twist as he lifted both hands to frame her face.
‘Television, or would you prefer to read?’
It took considerable effort to summon a faint smile as she allowed him to lead her towards the bed. ‘Television,’ she declared unevenly. ‘Providing I get to choose the programme.’
‘Brave words, querida,’ he teased lightly. ‘You will probably be asleep by the time I have shaved and showered.’
She was unable to still the faint fluttering of butterfly wings inside her stomach, and her gaze became pensive as he stripped down to his briefs, then crossed to the en suite bathroom.
He was an enigma, Elise decided thoughtfully as she endeavoured to concentrate on the images flickering across the screen.
Darkly intense, almost frightening. Yet he could be gentle and considerate. A difficult mixture to comprehend, she accepted silently, wondering if there had ever been a time when she had understood him.
Thinking about it made her tired, and her lashes drifted down as she lapsed into dreamless oblivion.
THE days ran one into the other, each following a similar pattern to the one preceding it. They rose early, dressed, and went for a walk along the deserted beach, then returned to eat a simple breakfast out on the covered terrace, after which Alejandro would disappear into the study for an hour.
It was his only concession to maintaining a check on business interests, and although there was a phone in the car, and a mobile cellular unit tucked into the pocket of his shorts whenever they moved away from the house, only once did either ring. His instructions on each occasion had been chillingly brief.
Occasionally he would pack a picnic lunch and drive to one of the neighbouring beaches, or a designated park. Sometimes they stayed at home and watched videos. Late each afternoon they embarked on a leisurely walk along the beach.
With every passing day the pain in Elise’s hand lessened, the bruising faded, and she was soon able to don and shed her clothes without help, something she considered to be a milestone.
Alejandro appeared to be attuned to her every mood, watchful that she didn’t become tired, and able to coax her into laughter with very little effort at all, until gradually she began to relax and regard him with hesitant affection.
She became accustomed to the light brush of his fingers across her skin, the touch of his hand on her arm, cupping her shoulder, resting at the small of her back or curved round her waist. The light touch of his mouth against her own was something else, and more than once she was barely able to suppress a tide of sensation as he instigated a teasing kiss. At night she no longer felt uneasy when he joined her in bed, nor did she attempt to pull her hand away when he threaded his fingers through her own.
Yet all the time she was aware of his restraint, the latent passion just beneath the surface of his control. Occasionally she glimpsed evidence of it in the darkening of his eyes, felt it in the sudden quickening of his pulse.
The knowledge made her nervous, tugging at something hidden deep inside her. It generated a waiting expectancy that sent tiny flares of fire surging through her veins, set her fine body-hair on edge, and curled insidiously at the core of her femininity.
The weekend came and went, with a series of scattered showers which kept them indoors. Monday dawned fresh and clear, with not a cloud in sight.
‘I thought we’d pack some food in the car and head north,’ Alejandro declared as she cleared the last of their breakfast dishes and watched as he rinsed and slotted them into the dishwasher.
‘What time do you want to leave?’ Elise queried with an alacrity that curved his mouth into a slow teasing smile.
‘Allow me an hour in the study. Around ten.’
It was a glorious day, the sun high in an azure sky, with a soft breeze tempering the midsummer heat.
Alejandro brought the car to a halt and switched off the engine. The view out over the park was one of tranquillity, with several large trees lining the grassed verge. Bleached white sand bordered the eastern boundary, and the surface of the lazy outgoing ocean tide shimmered in the early afternoon heat.
‘Hungry?’
Elise turned towards him and offered an easy smile. ‘Ravenous.’
The park was almost empty, and Alejandro slid from behind the wheel and walked to the rear of the vehicle to retrieve a rug, cushions and a picnic hamper from the capacious boot, choosing a smooth patch of grass beneath a nearby tree.
Minutes later Elise sank to her knees and watched as he began apportioning food on to two plates.
Cold chicken and salad, with crusty bread rolls and fresh fruit, presented a veritable feast, and she picked up a chicken leg and bit into it with relish.
‘Your appetite is improving,’ Alejandro commented in approval, and she wrinkled her nose at him.
He sat stretched out beside her, his powerfully muscled legs tanned by the sun. His feet, like hers, were shod in Reeboks.
Looking the antithesis of a wheeling, dealing multinational corporate leader, he had ignored designer leisurewear in favour of cut-off jeans and a loose cotton shirt. The effect was devastating, she conceded as she allowed herself a circumspect appraisal, all too aware of the effect he had on her equilibrium as she admired his chiselled jaw, the firm sensual mouth, then slowly raised her eyes to meet the dark intentness of his gaze.
There was a latent indolence apparent, a studied watchfulness that was wholly sexual. She could sense his potent chemistry, like a magnetic force field, and something stirred deep within, pulsing through the tracery of veins, triggering nerve-ends until her whole body became caught up in the thrall of physical awareness.
‘A sip of wine?’
‘It will make me sleepy,’ she protested as he extended the patterned flute to her lips. There was something incredibly intimate about placing her mouth to the rim where his had been only seconds before, and she savoured a small quantity of the excellent Chardonnay, letting it slip slowly down her throat, then followed it with several long swallows of iced water.
‘Would that be such a bad thing?’
She sensed the faint humour in his voice and her eyes widened slightly. It would be so easy to reach out and touch him, to place fingers against that hard jaw and explore the vertical crease slashing each cheek. She wanted to, badly.
Almost as much as she wanted to feel his mouth against her own, his hand shaping her breast. A long, slow prelude to a passionate overture. Except that she wasn’t sure if she was ready for the finale.
Such wayward thoughts were infinitely dangerous to her peace of mind. In an effort to shut them out she turned her attention to the horizon, aware of his deft movements as he extracted a fresh peach and began peeling it.
What was he like as a lover? Passionate, primitive, shameless. Dear Lord in heaven, could there be any doubt?
‘Elise?’
She turned at the sound of his voice, and her fingers shook slightly as she took a segment of fruit from his outstretched hand. ‘Thanks.’
It was deliciously cool and juicy, and she followed it with a glass of chilled mineral water.
If she lay back and closed her eyes, maybe it would stem this inner restlessness. She hadn’t taken into account the soft sea breeze, the sun’s warmth, or their midday meal. Together they had a soporific effect, and it took only minutes for her to slip into a light doze.
Elise woke slowly, passing through the threshold of sleep