A Price Worth Paying(56)

No more than a touch of flesh against flesh, and then another, just as brief, but she sighed at the contact, sighing at the memories it stirred inside her, whispers of past kisses like the tendrils on the vines, catching and tugging at her senses.

Oh, how she’d missed his mouth.

How she would miss it when she was gone.

How she would miss him.

She blinked into the darkness, and the darkness didn’t matter because it was as if she could see. Suddenly she was aware of the press of her body against his, aware of every place their bodies touched, aware of the stroke of his long-fingered hand over her skin.

Suddenly she was aware of the tension in his body, as if he was holding himself rigid to protect her, so that he could comfort her.

And numbness turned to life as comfort turned to need.

Tomorrow she would have to make plans. There was a funeral to be arranged. There would have to be papers signed and transferred. She would have to make arrangements to return home.

But that was tomorrow.

First, there was tonight.

Maybe their last night?

‘Alesander?’ she whispered, her toes brushing his shin, her breasts tight and aching in her bra and a pooling heat growing in her belly.

‘Yes?’

She tilted her head higher, found his lips with hers and whispered over them the words, ‘Kiss me again.’

He made a sound, strangled and thick in the back of his throat, even as he pulled her closer to him. ‘If I do—’

‘I know,’ she said, smoothing her hand down the long gentle slide of his back, to the small of his back and the curve of his behind, memorizing him through her skin. ‘I need it. I need to feel alive.’

She didn’t have to ask him twice. His mouth took hers, warm and real and alive, and she drank in his taste and his heat, as welcoming as the mattress beneath her, while his hands tangled in her hair or swept down the length of her, his touch so sweet—so missed—it made her cry into his mouth.

Then he lifted his head. ‘Are you sure it’s all right?’ he asked, and she thought how sweet he was to ask, as if finally she mattered, not just the sex.

‘It’s perfect.’

He did not rush. It was not like that heated encounter in the vineyard. He took his time reacquainting himself with her body, noticing the places where her flesh dipped lower or her hip bones jutted higher. She’d lost weight while she’d looked after Felipe, he could tell. He would see that she ate from now on. She would have to eat.

He slipped off her bra and her sigh sounded like thanks. He cupped her perfect breast in his hand and she whimpered with need.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he told her as he lifted himself over her, not knowing how he could have let her alone for so long; promising himself he never would again, knowing he would never have to.

She opened herself to him and his fingers found her slick and wet for him. She cried out as his thumb teased her sensitive nub, arching on the bed. He should linger there, he knew. He should take his time and pleasure her properly and he would.

Next time.

This time he knew what she wanted.

He didn’t reach for a condom. He didn’t need one. She was pregnant already, with his child in her belly.

He stroked the flat of his hand over her mound, over that belly, over one perfect breast that would feed his child, while he steadied his swaying erection with the other, finding her centre, finding her hot and slick and oh, so sweet.

And, oh God, he thought as he entered her in one long thrust, and she angled her hips to meet him, so welcoming.

He kissed her then, in that exquisite moment of joining, making love to her mouth while buried to the hilt inside her.

It was mind-shattering.

And then he moved and it got better.

He groaned. He would not last. It had been a long time. Too long. And her needy cries and hungry fingers on his skin told him she needed this as much as he did.

Maybe more.

She moved both with him and against him, tight and hot around him, and so perfect he wanted to control it and stay this way for ever.

His traitorous body wouldn’t let him, the slip and slide of flesh against flesh compelling and urgent and unable to be withstood.

And when she came apart around him, any last shred of control was blown away in the fallout.

With a cry he unleashed himself inside her, pumping into her perfect body as her muscles tightened around him and urged him on.

Spent, he rolled off her, tucking her close against him as ragged breathing eased and their bodies calmed. He kissed her hair and she nestled into him.