As he started to answer her she sat, listening to him as they dined. He elaborated on the work he was doing—giving back the fruits of his own hard, long endeavours to drag himself out of the same poverty—and she set her senses free, her passions free. She would give herself joyously, willingly to Leon, to his desire for her—her desire for him.
And she would let nothing taint it, poison it.
She would not allow it.
On wings of liberation she felt her spirits soar, and happiness, relief, anticipation and joy filled her being.
CHAPTER NINE
‘SHALL I extinguish the candle? You would see the stars more clearly then.’
Flavia shook her head. ‘No, I think the garden lights will still make it impossible to see them well.’
They were taking coffee at the far end of the terrace, where it opened into a stone-paved parterre edged with box into which were inset small footlights. Other guests were dotted around at low tables, seated in wickerwork chairs, taking coffee and liqueurs.
‘The best stars I’ve seen,’ Leon was musing, ‘are on Santera. Like gold discs cut out of black velvet. One day I’ll buy a telescope—though I’ll need to hire an astronomer as well, to show me what I’m looking at,’ he added ruefully.
She smiled. ‘I’m sure it would be a popular job,’ she said.
She let her shoulders relax back into the chair, lifting her cup of coffee. Despite the liberating ease with which she now found she could converse with Leon, at the same time she could feel a sensation like a trickle of electricity rippling through her, just below the level of her skin. It was setting her heartbeat just a little more rapid, and her pulse was a little more tangible, her breath a little more uneven.
Her eyes went to the man sitting back in the wicker chair opposite her, and it seemed to her that the trickle of electricity flickering beneath her skin gave a little surge of voltage. Her gaze hung on his face—so darkly planed, so compelling to look at. His whole strong, dominating physical presence was waiting for her.
Waiting for her to be ready.
And I am—finally. That is what has happened. I am no longer fighting what I first recognised in that very first moment of seeing him. At last—despite everything my father has done, despite all my fears for my poor grandmother—this is something that I want … with all my being.
The shadow of her father, his malign presence in her life, his threatening power to destroy the last months of her grandmother’s life, still hung there like a lowering cloud, but she set it aside. She would not let it poison this time that had come upon her, which finally she would accept.
Willingly, joyously, desiringly …
Her eyes met Leon’s.
He knows—he knows I am ready now.
She thought he might smile, might look with satisfaction upon her, seeing her acquiescence, her acceptance, in every line of her body, the melting of her eyes. But he did not smile, and she was glad. Touched.
This was no triumph, no conquest, no victory over her doubts and resistance.
This was a mutual desiring—a shared acknowledgement of something flaring between them that both of them welcomed.
Embraced.
He got to his feet. Held out a hand to her. She took it silently and let him draw her to her feet.
They walked hand in hand, and it seemed right, and real, and welcome. Strolling beside him, no words were necessary as she walked down to the far end of the terrace, where it was quiet, unpopulated by guests, unlit by floor lamps. Only the stars above glinted and gleamed in their crystal orbs.
He paused and turned, took her other hand. Gazed down into her eyes in the dim, diffused starlight.
‘My Flavia,’ he said.
And that was all. All she heard—all she wanted to hear. Needed to hear. She lifted her face, let herself gaze at him, let the warmth of his hands holding hers be all the reassurance she needed.
Why this man?
She did not know. It did not matter. This moment now was all. The reasons she was here were unnecessary. Irrelevant.
‘Leon …’ Her voice was a breath, an exhalation, a sigh. Accepting everything he offered her. Offering him everything he craved.