SLOANE glimpsed the faint fleeting shadows, determined their cause, and fought the urge to sweep Suzanne into his arms. The sex would be a wonderful release...for both of them. Wild, wanton, and uninhibited. He could almost smell the bloom of sensual heat on her skin, taste her exotic scent. The thought of sinking into her, hearing the soft purr in her voice change to something deep and driven, the cries of ecstasy as he took her with him...
‘It was a lovely wedding.’ She had the feeling she’d already said those words, and fought to keep the wistfulness out of her voice, the awkward hesitancy. Dammit, it must be the champagne’s eroding effect on her self-confidence. Warm and fuzzy wasn’t a feeling she wanted to cultivate. ‘Georgia looked radiant.’
‘Yes, she did.’
‘And Trenton—’
‘Wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to interfere with their plans,’ Sloane interceded. He was silent for a few long seconds, and when he spoke his voice held an inflexible edge. ‘Any more than I will.’
There was something in his eyes, the powerful set of his features that triggered alarm bells in her brain.
She regarded him carefully, apprehension uppermost as it merged with sickening knowledge. ‘You’ve discovered who she is, haven’t you?’
His expression hardened, muscles sculpting broad facial bones into a daunting mask. ‘Yes. I had the answer I needed this morning.’
Suzanne didn’t have to ask how. He had the power and the contacts to elicit any information he wanted. It was impossible to believe that he wouldn’t take action. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘It’s already done. Zoe’s father is now aware of the facts. And extremely grateful we’ve chosen not to prosecute. He will personally ensure she seeks professional help.’
Her eyes searched his, and she almost died at the ruthlessness apparent. There was something else she couldn’t define, and it frightened her.
‘No one,’ Sloane intoned with brutal mercilessness, ‘threatens me. Directly, or indirectly.’ He kept his anger under tight rein. The e-mail report had listed extensive repairs to her car. He could only imagine the verbal assault.
Suzanne saw his clenched fists, evidenced the cold fury in those dark eyes, and placed her partly empty flute onto a nearby pedestal.
She needed to get out of this room, away from him, even if it was only briefly. ‘I’m going for a walk.’
‘Not alone.’
She tilted her head to look at him, uncaring that the conversation had taken a dangerous shift. ‘Don’t play the heavy, Sloane.’ She walked across the room to the door, her anger so intense she knew she’d hit him if he tried to stop her.
Outside the darkness seemed like a shroud, and she followed the lit path down to the beach. When she reached the sand she stepped out of her heeled shoes and bent to collect them in one hand.
Sloane was a short distance behind her, and it was all she could do not to throw something at him. If he wanted to follow her, he could. But she was damned if she’d allow him to dictate her actions, or when she’d return to the villa. If she returned, she decided darkly. There were plenty of beach loungers that would make an adequate place to rest for what remained of the night.
The moonlight bathed the beach with an eerie glow, and she trod the crunchy sand to the water’s edge, then followed its curve towards the outcrop of rocks.
The tide eddied and flowed at her feet, and on impulse she paused, shed her clothes and dropped them onto dry sand, then turned and walked into the sea.
The water felt silky and wonderfully cool against her skin, and when it reached her waist she eased into a lazy breast-stroke parallel to the shore. Then she turned onto her back and floated, idly counting the sprinkle of stars.
A faint splash alerted her bare seconds before Sloane’s dark head appeared less than a metre away.
He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to, and she moved away from him and rose to her feet. If he was intent on invading her space, then she’d simply shift it somewhere else!
She had only taken two steps towards the shore when hard hands grasped hold of her shoulders and turned her back to face him. ‘Let me—’
Anything else she might have said remained locked in her throat as his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that possessed...mind, body and soul.
She tried to struggle, and got nowhere. Dear Lord, he was strong, If she could only bite him...but his jaw had possession of her own, dictating its movements as he ravaged the inner tissues with his tongue, his teeth, in a deliberate assault on her senses.
One hand curved down to cup her bottom, while the other held fast her head. She pummelled his back with her fists, and attempted to kick his shin...with totally ineffectual results.
Just when she thought she couldn’t bear any more, he loosened his hold, only to change it as he hefted her over one shoulder and walked out of the sea onto the sand.
‘What in hell do you think you’re doing?’
He bent down and she automatically clutched the back of his waist. And found no purchase.
‘Collecting our clothes.’
‘Put me down!’
He stood upright, adjusted his hold of her, then calmly strode towards the path. ‘No.’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ Suzanne hissed. ‘Someone might see us.’
‘I don’t give a damn.’
‘At least give me your shirt.’ The request came out as a hollow groan.
‘I happen to be holding it in front of a vulnerable part of my anatomy,’ he responded drily.
‘You’d better pray we make it undetected,’ she threatened direly. ‘Or I’ll never forgive you.’
The path to their villa was reasonably short, but Suzanne was conscious of every step Sloane took until they were safely indoors.
‘You fiend! How dare you?’ She pummelled his back with her fists, and attempted to kick him. ‘Put me down.’
He kept walking, ascended the steps to the bedroom, paused long enough to toss their clothes onto the bed, then he crossed into the en suite and turned on the shower.
‘What in sweet hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Precisely what it looks like.’ He stepped into the shower stall and closed the glass sliding door. Then he pulled her down to stand in front of him.
Without thought she lifted a hand and slapped his jaw. Anger, sheer helpless rage, exuded from every pore, and when she lifted her hand a second time he caught it mid-air in a punishing grip.
‘You want to fight, Suzanne?’
‘Yes, damn you!’
‘Then go ahead.’ He released her hand and stood still, his arms folded across his chest.
His eyes gleamed darkly, silently daring her to thwart him, and she lashed out, both fists flailing as she connected with his chest, his shoulders, anywhere she could land a punch.
He took each and every one, and only grunted once.
Hot, angry tears filled her eyes, then spilled to run in twin rivulets down to her chin. Her knuckles hurt from where she’d struck strong muscle and sinew. And bone. He didn’t move, and her arms slowed, then dropped to her sides.
‘Are you done?’
The water lashed his shoulders and coursed down his back, and she turned blindly towards the glass door, only to halt as he prevented her escape.
Without a word he pulled her into his arms, effectively stilling any further struggle.
‘Let me go.’ To stay like this was madness.
Fingers splayed across the base of her spine began a subtle movement, sufficient to make her breath catch, and she tried to pull away from him without success.
The hand that held her nape slid to capture her head, tilting it so she had no defence against his descending mouth.
She expected a devastating invasion, and was unprepared for the soft slide of his tongue against her own. Teasing, tantalising, he made it a sensual assault as he explored and caressed, encouraging her response in a manner that soon left her weak-willed and malleable.
Uncaring of the consequences, she lifted her arms and twined them round his neck, melting into him as she kissed him back. Slowly, tentatively, then with an increasing urgency that left both of them labouring for breath.
‘Please.’ Now. She didn’t think she could wait a second longer, and an exultant laugh broke free from her throat as he parted her thighs and lifted her high to straddle his waist.
With one supple action he buried himself inside her, and she gloried in the hard, deep thrust that stretched silken tissues to a level where she gasped at his degree of penetration.
For several seconds he remained still, then he began to move, slowly at first, each thrust deeper than the last as he increased the pace until their actions became a synchronised match leading to an explosive climax.
Suzanne had thought she’d experienced every facet of his lovemaking, but this had held a wild quality, almost unbridled, as if he was barely retaining a hold on his emotions.
She could only bury her head against his neck as he cradled her close, his lips warm and evocative as they traced a path across one exposed cheek.
How long they stood like that, she had no idea. Long seconds, minutes maybe. Eventually her breathing steadied, and with infinite care he set her down onto her feet.
Then he reached for the soap and slowly lathered every inch of her body before turning his attention to his own.
Suzanne felt as if she wasn’t capable of moving, much less uttering a single word, and when he switched off the water she stepped out from the shower stall and caught up a towel, only to have him take it from her to blot their skin free of moisture.
Not once did his eyes leave hers, and she became lost in the darkness, every cell flaring brilliantly alive in the knowledge of what would follow.
She wanted him. Dear heaven, so much. But what about afterwards? How could she board the launch on Monday and return to Sydney, her own apartment, and attempt to get on with her life as if this weekend had never happened?
It would be a living nightmare of unfulfilled needing, wanting...empty. She doubted if she could survive.
‘Sloane—’ She couldn’t say the words, and she lifted a hand then let it fall helplessly down to her side.
He brushed gentle fingers against her cheek, then let them drift to trace the pulsing cord at her neck.
She was melting inside, subsiding into a state of sensual inertia where all she wanted was for him to continue until the slow warmth heated to white-hot fire.
He knew. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch as his hand slid to her breast and caressed the soft contours before wreaking havoc with the sensitive peak.
His head lowered and his mouth closed over hers in a deep evocative kiss that tore what little defences she had left to shreds. His mouth left hers and followed a sensual path to her breast, savouring, suckling on the tender nub as she arched her neck in silent invitation.
One night, she groaned silently. Just one night.
Her hands reached for him, the movement compulsive as she began exploring tight muscle and sinew, touching, tasting, and wanting more. So much more.
The blood flowed through her veins like quicksilver, feeding every nerve-cell until her whole body ached with need. Sensual heat at its zenith.
Sloane carried her into the bedroom and sank down with her onto the bed. She looked magnificent, her eyes deep blue crystalline, her soft mouth slightly swollen and parted from his kiss. There was a faint sheen on her skin, and her hair hung in tousled disarray.
She leaned forward and initiated a deep kiss, enjoying the feeling of power as he allowed her free rein. Then in one smooth movement she arched her body and took him deep inside, gasping faintly as she felt inner tissues stretch to accommodate him.
Dear God, he felt good. This was so good, the feeling of completeness, the joining of two bodies in perfect accord. Sensation spiralled, and she began to move, creating a deep penetrating rhythm as old as time.
His hands reached for her waist, and he joined in the ride, taking her higher and higher until she cried out her release.
Slowly she raised her head and looked down at him, met the dark, slumberous depths and defined the degree of passion evident.
Extending a hand, she touched a gentle finger to his lower lip and traced its outline, then slid it down his chin to his throat, trailing a central line past his chest, his stomach, to where they were still joined, before travelling a similar path to her own mouth.
Slow, sweet warmth swirled deep within, heating her body, and she gave a soft laugh as his hands reached up to bring her head down to his.
This time there was no gentleness in his kiss. It became a foray that was claim-staking, possession at its most damnable as she met and matched the dramatic primitiveness that lay deep within him.
It transcended mere sexual gratification. It was much more than sensual satiation.
A faint groan emerged from her throat as he shifted position and rolled so that she lay on her back.
The control was his, and she wrapped her legs round his hips and pulled him down to her, glorying in his strength.
Afterwards she could only lie still, unable to move as he let his fingers drift idly over the softness of her skin.
She must have slept, for she came awake to the touch of his lips exploring the delicate contours of her body, tasting the spent bloom on her skin as he trailed lower to savour the intimate heart of her.
A banked flame flared into pulsating life, licking through her veins, igniting nerve-ends as she came achingly alive. Consummate skill took her high and tipped her over the edge, and she cried out as she fell.
Afterwards she pleasured him, exulting in the faint sheen of sweat that heated his skin, the quivering muscles of his stomach, the way his breath caught in his throat.
For much of what remained of the night, they indulged in lovemaking, creating a sensual ecstasy that was alternately wild and untamed and slow and evocative.
Suzanne didn’t want the magic to end. With the dawn came sleep, and afterwards a long, lingering loving that was so incredibly gentle it made her want to weep.
‘We should shower and go down to breakfast,’ she said reluctantly as she swept a glance to the digital radio clock.
Sloane’s eyes held a mocking gleam that didn’t fool her in the slightest. ‘Should we?’
‘I think so.’
He touched her mouth with his own, savoured its inner sweetness, then trailed soft kisses along the softly swollen contours of her lower lip. ‘Why is that?’
Assertiveness was the key. Definitely. For to stay here any longer would be a madness she could ill afford. ‘Because I’m hungry.’ His eyes became dark and slumberous. ‘For food. Sustenance,’ she elaborated with an impish grin. ‘And I’d almost kill for a cup of strong coffee.’ She slid to her feet, stretched her arms high...and felt the pull of muscles. ‘I’ll hit the shower first.’ She directed him a faintly wry glance. ‘Alone. Otherwise we’ll never get out of here.’
He reached out a hand and pulled her back down to him for a brief, hard kiss, then he let her go. ‘Five minutes, then I join you.’
It was almost nine when they entered the restaurant, and Suzanne chose a table on the terrace, ordered coffee, then helped herself to a selection of fresh fruit and cereal from the smorgasbord.
‘You’re looking rather fragile this morning, darling. Had a hard night?’
She turned and met Bettina’s deliberately guileless smile, and proffered one of her own. ‘Surely that’s rather a personal question?’
‘Why pretend? I have my eye on a magnificent emerald and diamond ring.’ Her eyes glittered acquisitively. ‘Frank needs a little persuasion to buy it for me.’
‘Which you have every intention of providing.’
‘Why, of course. Women have traded sexual favours for gifts since—forever.’ Bettina’s lashes swept wide. ‘Aren’t you working hard to persuade Sloane to buy you a Porsche Carrera?’
‘Repaying me will become a lifetime commitment.’
Suzanne turned at the sound of Sloane’s drawling voice, caught his faintly wry, musing smile, glimpsed the dark gleam in his eyes, and opted to respond in kind.
‘Not necessarily. My tastes are simple.’
‘So are mine,’ he said solemnly. ‘You.’
Her pulse tripped and raced to a faster beat. He saw the evidence of it in the hollow at the base of her throat, the dilation of those sapphire depths, the soft parting of her lips.
‘The Porsche was meant to be a joke,’ she said as she carried her plate back to their table.
‘I know.’
‘If you gave me one,’ she declared fiercely, ‘I’d hand it straight back.’
Sloane sank into his chair and ordered fresh coffee. ‘I do believe you would.’
‘Sloane—’
‘You think I don’t know Bettina enjoys making mischief?’ His dry, mocking tone was matched by a hardness in his eyes.
She was all too aware of the tensile steel beneath the sophisticated veneer. Only a fool would believe he wasn’t aware of every angle, and adept in determining the foibles of human nature.
‘She has her eye on you.’
His soft laughter brought a fiery sparkle to her eyes. ‘Bettina needs confirmation of her attraction to the opposite sex. Her choice of clothes, make-up, jewellery is a blatant attempt at attention-seeking.’ His expression assumed a degree of cynicism. ‘Any man will do.’
‘I disagree,’ Suzanne declared as she reached for her coffee. ‘That should amend to any well-connected, wealthy man.’ She lifted her cup, took an appreciative sip, then replaced it back on its saucer and cast him a wry look. ‘And you’re more sought after than most.’
‘But spoken for,’ Sloane asserted tolerantly.
“‘A hunk” were her exact words,’ she continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
‘Really?’
He was amused, damn him. ‘Definitely mistress material.’
‘Now why,’ he drawled lazily, ‘would I covet a mistress, when I have you?’
Suzanne took the time to spear a segment of fresh fruit, which she savoured, then slowly chewed and swallowed, before voicing a response. She chose her words with care, and tempered them with a faint smile. ‘You don’t have me.’
He placed his fork down carefully on his plate, then leant back in his chair, looking, she decided, indolently relaxed and not poised to deliver a verbal sally. ‘I retain a particularly vivid memory of how we spent the night.’ His dark brown eyes held gleaming humour. ‘And the early dawn hours.’
So did she. So much so that it was all she could do to contain the stain of colour spreading high on each cheek. ‘I don’t think that’s entirely relevant.’
She saw one eyebrow lift to form a mocking arch. ‘No? I beg to disagree.’
‘It was just sex.’ Albeit very good sex, she acknowledged silently. And knew she lied. Sex didn’t even begin to describe what they’d shared.
‘I think I should take you back to bed,’ Sloane drawled with musing mockery. ‘It’s the one place where we’re in perfect accord.’
She captured another portion of fruit with her fork. ‘Our absence would be noticed.’
His regard was warm and infinitely sensual. ‘I fail to see that as a problem.’
‘You possess a one-track mind,’ she admonished him, and reached for her coffee once more.
‘Three weeks’ abstinence tends to have that effect on a man.’
Not only a man. Even thinking about what they’d shared through much of the night was enough to flood her veins with telling warmth.
The damnable thing was that he knew. The knowledge was apparent in the way his eyes lingered on her mouth, then slid slowly to the heavily beating pulse at the edge of her neck, the slight thrust of each breast.
‘I think,’ she began, hating the faint raggedness in her voice, ‘I’ve had enough to eat.’
‘Georgia and Trenton have just arrived,’ Sloane advised quietly, ‘and indicated they’ll join us.’
The meal became a leisurely affair with the connotation of a champagne brunch as the champagne flowed and staff provided a selection of finger food.
‘Tennis this afternoon, definitely,’ Georgia declared as she sipped a second cup of black coffee. ‘And I think I’ll just have fruit for lunch, or forgo it altogether.’
‘Likewise.’ Followed by a swim, and a nap on the beach, Suzanne decided. A lazily spent afternoon was just what she needed. After last night.
An arrow of pain pierced her body. What of tonight? Would Sloane...? Yes, a silent voice taunted. Of course he will. How would she survive another night of loving without breaking into a thousand pieces? Perhaps if she explained, maybe pleaded with him...
She spared him a quick glance, and then wished she hadn’t. His gaze was focused on her features, reading each and every fleeting expression... with damning accuracy, unless she was mistaken.
Did anyone else guess she was a mass of nervous tension beneath the composed exterior? After last night the boundaries she’d imposed had been moved, and she was unsure of their position.
What would happen when she returned to Sydney? No, don’t think about it, she told herself. Thinking wasn’t a good idea, for there were just two scenarios. Neither of which she wanted to explore right now.
Her stomach executed a series of painful somersaults, and she forcibly controlled her breathing into a steady, regulated rise and fall. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, and she was sure her contribution to the conversation sounded terribly inane.
In a way it was a relief to circulate among the guests, to lose herself, even briefly, in a social exchange with women whose main topics of conversation seemed to be whose hairdresser was the best, which fashion designer would take out the annual award, and whose parties on the social circuit were de rigueur for the remainder of the winter season.
Sloane seemed similarly immersed with Trenton’s, and doubtless his own, associates. Twice she glanced in his direction only to have him meet her gaze.
‘No hint of a date yet, Suzanne?’ one woman asked, while another ventured,
‘Paul and I have a very tight schedule until Christmas. Get those invitations out early, darling.’
‘You must visit Stefano; he’ll do wonders with your hair,’ an elegant brunette assured Suzanne, and a glossy dark-haired sylph advised,
‘Marie-Louise is without equal for the nails.’
‘Gianfranco,’ the stylish redhead insisted. ‘You must see him about your dress, darling. Tell him Claudia sent you.’
‘Of course, there is only O’Neil for the flowers.’
‘Frank spent almost a million on my reception,’ Bettina offered, and didn’t notice the electric silence that followed her announcement.
Suzanne sensed their momentary withdrawal, and their disapproval. Any mention of actual amounts of money among the upper social echelon was de trop. One could mention the yacht, the villa in France, the apartment in Venice, Rome or Milan. The Swiss chalet, the New York Fifth Avenue apartment, the London Knightsbridge town house or the mansion in Surrey. Anything, except how much it cost. Unless it was an outrageous bargain. Delusions of grandeur were not entertained among society’s élite,
It was almost eleven when the guests departed to board the launch that would transfer them to Dunk Island to connect with their flight south.
Suzanne and Sloane joined Georgia and Trenton on the jetty to see them off.