Birds chirping and fighting on the ivy outside the window was the first thing Vicky was aware of: then the rays of bright sunshine filtering through the partly opened curtains.
It was obviously morning, and as she sat up, she knew beyond any shadow of doubt that, despite the presence of a tightness of her skin, she was feeling very much better.
Sleepily, she found her watch.
Seven-thirty. It was still early.
She got out of bed and tentatively tried a few steps towards the dressing table, and although she felt weak there was no dizziness or pain.
She slid off her nightdress, allowing it to fall to the floor and half turned, straining to see her back in the mirror. It was nothing like so angry in appearance, but the creams she had applied made her feel greasy, and her hair had taken on a decidedly lack-lustre dullness.
She turned on the shower, and placed a foot gingerly, underneath the cascading water. The swelling was gone, and there was no discomfort as the water rained down to soothe her skin.
Soon, under its full shower, she soaped her body all over, and reached for the shampoo.
In ten minutes she felt so much better that she considered dressing – then decided against it. If there had been a social gathering to welcome the Contessa and John McKinley the previous evening, they would all still be asleep.
But at long last she was going to meet John McKinley.
It might, she reasoned, be better to stay in bed for a while, and so she wrapped the towel around herself and padded back into the bedroom.
She realised that she had not got a fresh nightdress, and the discarded one was far too crumpled to wear again.
On inspiration, she found a very light silky slip that she had thought might be nice under one of her summer dresses.
Letting the towel fall to the floor, she slipped her hands through the straps, stretched and let the fine nylon slip fall down around her.
Ten minutes or so were spent in combing her hair. Satisfied with the result as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she finally climbed back into bed.
She suddenly felt hungry and decided to ring for some tea and toast, and stretched over onto her tummy, reaching for the bell-rope.
She was like that, idly thumbing through a magazine when a discreet tap sounded on the door.
“Come in,” she said, without looking up. “I’m feeling terribly thirsty. Is it possible to have some tea and” - she looked round over her shoulder – “Oh!”
Standing at the bedside was Carl, staring down with his piercing blue eyes, raking her body.
“Vicky” he said, his voice strangely tense, “are you feeling better?”
She gulped, too flustered to think straight. And then a sort of animal cunning took over. Without any conscious thought she heard herself saying in a weak voice.
“Yes – but I’m still very sore.”
Somehow, tears welled up in her eyes. Was she unable to control her own deceit? Was her body in on it, too?
She started to turn over to face him, at the same time feebly attempting – and failing – to pull the sheet up higher.
“I’ve had too much sun,” she admitted, “that’s all,”
Carl’s hand reached out to her shoulder, slowly pushing her back, then with surprising gentleness, drawing his fingers slowly along her skin, “You’re still hot.”
A sensation penetrated her body – a sensation that made her shiver with a deeper fire, and drew a groan from her parted lips. She guessed he would think it was with the soreness.
“I shall be all right,” she whispered huskily. “I...”
His hand closed around the nape of her neck, held her gently, but firmly, face down on the pillow, as his other hand reached for one of the shoulder straps, and began to slip it down over her arm.
“Let me see,” he said quietly.
“No, really,” she began to protest. “I’m ....”
Her feeble attempts were brushed aside. She knew she should be protesting more, otherwise he might think she was blatantly offering herself to him.
But, as he slowly uncovered more of her, she felt an over-powering lassitude, lying quiet and still, not unlike a rebellious mare that knows its master’s hand.
Against his vastly superior strength, communicated to her by his long and supple fingers that felt like a ring of steel around the nape of her neck, she was powerless.
He bared one shoulder, then the other, drawing the flimsy slip steadily down to the small of her back.
She shivered and swallowed, lying utterly motionless, aware that her breasts, buried deep in the bed, were now hard peaks of desire.
He left the cloud of nylon at the small of her back.
“My God, Vicky,” he exclaimed, “didn’t you think about taking the sun in excess with your fine skin and fair complexion? And at the time of the year when the air is so clear?”
She shook her head, and mumbled through the fist pressed tight against her teeth, as she fought against the frightening urges that were building up within her.
Her mind was in a turmoil, finding it impossible to think straight, but some innate cunning made her play the innocent and not blame Anna.
“I thought the sun was weak at this time of the year.”
Carl shook his head and released his hand from her neck.
“Stay like that. The doctor left some cream in the refrigerator for you. I’ll get it and apply it to your back.”
At the thought her heart seemed to shake almost free within her chest.
“No, really, Carl,” she began to protest. “I’ll ....”
She half turned, and then remembered her nakedness, but even as she realized it he pushed her gently but firmly back onto her stomach.
“I said stay where you are.”
His voice was almost harsh, brooked no argument, only obedience.
It was a command.
It felt as if she had been struck by a poisonous snake, her whole body numb and incapable of moment.
Even if she had wanted to.
And she did not.
He left the bedroom.
Lying naked from the waist upwards, she felt dizzy with the thought of what was happening. He was gone for minutes, and then footsteps sounded in the hall outside.
“Here we are,” he said, His voice sounded different. She heard a click as he unscrewed the top of the jar.
The bed creaked and the mattress was weighed down to one side as he sat alongside her.
She stopped breathing as she heard the ointment squelch as he scooped some onto his fingers. Her skin was alive with an awareness – like an exposed nerve – as she waited. It was as if time itself stood still.
What was he doing?
But she found that she was unable to turn and look, even though he was not holding her by the nape of her neck. She just couldn’t, overcome as she was by a feeling of helplessness. Vicky knew she was trembling, and hoped he could not detect it.
When his fingers, cold with the ointment, lightly touched the base of her spine, and worked their way slowly upward, she flinched.
“I’m sorry,” he said, misunderstanding her reaction. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can.”
She couldn’t see anything as his fingers, light and delicate, continued to anoint her body.
She lay still, acquiescent as his hand moved in gentle caressing circles, punctuated by pauses for more ointment, all the time moving further up her back, until it reached the nape of her neck.
His other hand moved aside her hair, the long, supple fingers now playing along the top of her shoulder, before moving over to the front of her neck, to just beneath her chin.
Her whole body was weak to his touch, totally in the grip of a malaise the like of which she had never before experienced. It was as if this man was draining from her all her energy, all her sense of control, and making her but a compliant weaker vassal extension of his own dominant mind and body.
She groaned, hearing it as though it was someone else.
“Are you sure I’m not hurting you?” he asked, his voice husky.
She half turned, looked up at him, and smiled, slightly parting her lips.
He seemed to stop breathing, his blue eyes darkening – eyes that never left hers – as he bent slowly forward, until his lips found her shoulder.
It was like the touch of fire. The smouldering arousal erupted without warning.
He seized her, effortlessly lifting her up and around and setting her down on his lap. His hard lips found hers, forcing them apart, thrusting his burning heat physically into her.
Her hands ran through the back of his hair as a mindless hunger arched her body in an effort to be as near to him as possible.
Suddenly, he pulled his mouth free, lips moving across her cheeks to her ear, his hot breath playing down its entrance.
“I want you,” he whispered.
Unable to say anything she just nodded her head in agreement.
His lips began to track down the side of her neck, then her throat, his teeth just touching the skin, tantalisingly. She willed him to sink them into her – to draw blood – and take away the fire that seemed to be on the point of consuming her.
His mouth moved on, downwards, as he raised her further.
Her eyes flew open, hands tightening on his broad shoulders as his searching tongue found one taut nipple. Confused, she whimpered, as his attentions inflamed the nipple even further.
Her hands released their grip on his shoulders, to run down over the hard, muscled body of this man who was teaching her the very meaning of what it was to be a woman.
She revelled in the taut, bunched muscles of his upper arms, and the touch of the cotton shirt covering his wide chest.
She began to tear at the buttons, hungry for the feel of the flesh beneath.
A button ripped free as she thrust her hand in and ran it down to the leanly covered ribs to the flat, solid muscle above his waistband.
In that same moment she was aware of a thrusting swollen hardness beneath her that could, if given rein, fuse them into one flesh – one being. The fire within her exploded, her hand finding the cold metal zip of his pants began to move it down.
He picked her up then, placing her back down on to the bed, a new weakness overcoming her as she was made aware once again of his sheer physical strength. One hand found her knee, moving on to the soft velvetness of its inner skin, with the other she heard him pull the zip down.
She gasped, stunned at the new wave of expectancy that convulsed her body, threatening to make her scream out.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the bedroom.
“Carl,” it was Anna’s voice. “Where are you?”
Roughly, he pulled away from her, and stood up re-arranging himself while she scrambled to get the sheet back over her.
Anna came into the room, and questioningly looked from Carl to Vicky. There was no mistaking the look of suspicion in her eyes. But Carl stared back at her coldly.
“How are you this morning, Vicky,” she asked.
“Much better, thank you.”
“Good,” she said, curtly, and turned to face Carl, attempting a smile and a light-heartedness she visibly didn’t feel.
“I hadn’t thought of you as a ministering angel,” she said, pointedly.
“Hadn’t you?” He raised an eyebrow, then turned to Vicky. “If you feel up to it, my father and mother would be delighted to meet you for lunch.”
“Yes, of course,” she nodded in acceptance. “I’ll look forward to it very much.”
He smiled, briefly, then nodded before he brushed past Anna and made for the door. He paused.
“Doctor Pietro is very good. If he guarantees that the ointment will work, you can bet on it. I’ll have some breakfast sent up to you.”
Without another word, Carl left Vicky and Anna alone. The silence was unbearable.
“The cards are on the table now,” Anna said menacingly. “My advice to you is to leave Italy as soon as you can. In any event, stay away from Carl. He’s mine!”
Defiantly, Vicky’s chin came up.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Good heavens, no,” Anna countered in mock innocence. “I mean to say, was it my fault that you ended up looking like a boiled lobster?”
Vicky’s lips tightened.
“I think that was despicable of you.”
“Do you now?” Anna’s eyes glittered with madness. “Let me tell you that it will be nothing compared to what I will do if you don’t back off. And go. I want you out of the villa, and on a plane home tomorrow.”
Vicky’s lip curled up, anger coursing fiercely through her arteries. She sat up.
“Mr McKinley may have other ideas about that.”
Anna smiled.
But there could be no doubting the malice in her eyes.
Vicky knew in a flash that the woman standing before her could become dangerously unbalanced by her jealousy.
“I’ve warned you,” Anna said at last, “what you can expect from Latin men. Be assured that their women are also capable of an equal violent reaction.”
Anna slowly made her way to the door, then turned to face her, pointing a menacing finger.
“You have been warned. Ciao.”
When she had gone, Vicky flopped back onto the bed, feeling utterly drained. After the headiness of the moments before, it was devastating to have to face up to Anna’s malicious remarks.
She turned on to her side once more, choking back the tears. Why had fate been so cruel as to send her here? Left alone back in London she would never have met Carl – or anyone like him. Never have known the difference in men. Never have known the full passion of her own being. Knew with a shiver, there was more to find out – a darker side to her nature that she had ever suspected.
But it was too late now. She was, she knew, in emotional and physical terms, a prisoner of Carl. He had only to touch her and she would be unable to control her feelings.
On impulse, she got up off the bed and crossed the room to the large wall mirror, and turned her back to it. She looked over her shoulder, and pulled off her straps to allow the slip to fall to the ground.
She examined herself, anxious to see what he had seen, to be assured that he would have been pleased.
She returned to the bed and lay down again, rubbing at her aching tummy. Any form of upset or emotional stress reacted upon her in this way.
As she lay there she alternated between fear – of Anna and her threats, and the tingling expectancy of where – and when Carl would touch her again. She couldn’t stay away from him. That, she conceded, was impossible.
Weirdly she was hopelessly unsure whether she actually liked him or not; and for that matter, that his interest in her was no more than a lustful, masculine urge that he could quite easily forget.
But to be with him again, to be near him physically, was an unreasoning compulsion. Vicky acknowledged once more that she was, indeed, his to do what he pleased with – in the spirit as well as the flesh.
She shivered again at the thought of those long, supple hands touching her – punishing her?
Her body became imbued with a fire that swept all else from her mind.