The expression in his eyes made it totally clear what he would like to do—he’d sated his hunger for food, and now he wanted to sate a quite different hunger.
Across from him, Sarah felt her pulse give a kick—when Bastiaan looked at her like that it was hard to respond in any other way. Lunch had been idyllic. Simple charcuterie and fromage, with huge scarlet tomatoes and more of the luscious peaches they’d had the other day. It had felt a little odd to be here again, receiving such intimacy from Bastiaan.
Has it really happened? Am I really here with Bastiaan, and are we lovers?
But it was true—it really was—and for the rest of this glorious week it could go on being true.
A rich, sensuous languor swept through her as his gaze twined with hers. A wicked sparkle glinted in her own.
‘The pool looks irresistible...’ she murmured provocatively.
She almost heard him growl with frustration, but gallantly he nodded. ‘It does indeed—especially with you in it.’ His eyes glinted too. ‘Do you want me to guide you back to the room you changed in last time? Or—’ and now there was even more of a wickedly intimate glint in his eyes ‘—shall we dispense with swimsuits altogether?’
She laughed in answer, and disappeared off to change. Maybe they could go skinny-dipping at night, under the stars...?
The water was wonderfully refreshing, and so was Bastiaan’s company. There was a lot of playful frolicking, and from her more covert—and not so covert—appreciation of his strong, muscled physique. A thrill went through her. For now—for this brief, precious time—he was hers. How wonderful was that?
Very wonderful—and more than wonderful: incredible.
It was incredible when, on retiring to the bedroom in the villa to shower in the en-suite bathroom, she discovered Bastiaan could wait no longer.
He stepped inside the shower, hands slicking down her wet, tingling body. She gasped in shock and then in arousal as skilfully, urgently and devastatingly he took possession of her. As her legs wrapped around him and he lifted her up her head fell back in ecstasy, and it seemed to her that she had been transformed into a different person. A person who was neither the sultry Sabine nor the soprano Sarah, but someone whose only existence was to meld herself with this incredible, sensual male, to fuse her body with his, to burn with him in an explosion of physical pleasure and delight.
Afterwards, as they stood exhausted, with the cooling water streaming over them, her breath coming in hectic pants, he cut the shower, reached for huge fleecy towels and wrapped her up as if she were a precious parcel.
He let his hands rest over her damp shoulders, his eyes pouring down into hers. ‘What do you do to me?’ he asked. There was a strange quality in his voice, a strange expression in his dark eyes.
She let her forehead rest on his chest, the huge lassitude of the aftermath of passion consuming her now. She could not answer him for it was a question that was in her own being too.
He swung her up into his arms, carried her through into the bedroom, lowering her down upon the cool cotton coverlet, coming down beside her. He drew her into his sheltering embrace, kissed her nape with soft, velvet kisses. And then exhausted, sated, complete, they slept.
When they awoke they made love again, slowly and softly, taking their time—all the time in the world—in the shuttered late-afternoon light of the cool room. And this time Bastiaan brought her to a different kind of ecstasy—a slow, blissful release that flowed through her body like sweet water after drought.
Afterwards they lay a little while in each other’s loose embrace, and then Bastiaan lifted his head from the pillow.
‘I know,’ he told her, ‘a great way to watch the sunset.’
It was indeed, Sarah discovered, a wonderful way to watch the sunset.
He took her out to sea in a fast, sleek motor launch that they boarded from the little quay at the rocky shore below the villa. Exhilaration filled her as Bastiaan carved a foaming wake in the darkening cobalt water, the sun low on the surface, turning the Mediterranean to gold as it kissed the swell.
He cut the engine, letting the silence settle around them, and she sat next to him, his arm casually around her shoulder, his body warm against hers. She could feel the gentle bob of the waves beneath the hull, feel the warmth of the sun on her face as she lifted it to its lingering rays. It was as if they were the only people in the world. Here out on the water, with Bastiaan’s arm around her, she felt as if all that lay beyond had ceased to be.
Here there were no complications.
Here there was only Bastiaan.
What is happening to me?
The question wound in her mind between the circuits of her thoughts, seeking an answer she was not ready to find. It was far easier simply to go on sitting there, with the warm air like an embrace, the hugeness of the sea all around them, the rich gold of the setting sun illuminating them. This—now—was good. This was all she wanted. This was her contentment.
They headed back to shore in the gathering dusk.
‘Would you like to eat out or at the villa?’ Bastiaan asked.
‘Oh, don’t go out,’ she said immediately. Then frowned. ‘But I’m not very good at cooking, and
I don’t want you to have to...’ she said uncertainly. Could a man like Bastiaan Karavalas really cook a meal?