And nothing did—that was the bliss of it. Cocooned with her at the villa, he made love to her by day and by night—and every time it took him by storm. A storm not only of the senses but of something more.
What is it you do to me?
That was the question that came every time she lay cradled in his arms, her head on his chest, her arm like a silken bond around his waist, her body warm and flushed with passion spent.
The question had no answer—and soon he did not seek an answer. Soon he was content simply to let the hours pass with her. Time came and went, the sun rose and set, the stars wheeled in the clear sky each night as they lay out on the pool loungers, gazing upwards, hand in hand, the cool midnight breeze whispering over their bodies, the moon rising to cast its silver light upon them.
Who was this woman? Bastiaan asked of himself, thinking of all that he knew of her. It no longer seemed to matter. Not any more.
Sometimes he caught fragments of her life—a passing mention of the garden at a house in Normandy where, so he surmised, she must have grown up. The climate and the terrain so different from this sun-baked southern shore. Once he tried to draw her out about her singing, but she only shook her head and changed the subject with a smile, a kiss.
Nor did she talk to him about his life—only asked him about Greece. How it was to live there, with so much history, the history of millennia, pressing all around him. Of how he made his money, his wealth, she never spoke. She seemed quite oblivious to it. She did not ask to leave the villa—was content to spend each day within its confining beauty.
Meals were delivered, or concocted by them both—simple, hearty food, from salads and charcuterie to pasta and barbecues, prepared with much laughter and consumed with appetite. An appetite that afterwards turned to passion for each other.
I didn’t know it would be like this—having Sabine with me. I didn’t think it would be this...this good.
He tried to think back to a time when it had not been like this—when Sabine had not been with him, when all he’d had were his fears for Philip, his suspicions of her. But it seemed very far away—blurring in his head. Fading more and more with each hour. All that mattered to him now was being as they were now, lying side by side beneath the stars, hand in hand.
He felt her thumb move sensuously, lightly over his as their clasped hands hung loosely between them. He turned his head towards her, away from the moon above. She was gazing across at him, her face dim in the moonlight, her eyes resting on him. There was a softness in her face, in her eyes...
‘Bastiaan...’ Her voice was low, a sweet caress.
His eyes found hers. Desire reached into his veins. He drew her to her feet and wound his fingers into hers. Speared his hand into her hair, let his mouth find hers.
Passion, strong and sweet and true, flared at his touch. Drove them indoors to find each other, again, and yet again, in this perfect, blissful time they had together.
CHAPTER NINE
‘MY PENSION IS just there,’ Sarah said, pointing to the corner of the street. ‘I won’t be five minutes.’
Bastiaan pulled the car over to the kerb and she dashed inside. She wanted to change into something pretty for the day. They were finally emerging from the villa, and Bastiaan was set on taking her to a place he was amazed she hadn’t seen yet.
The picturesque little town of St Paul de Vence, up in the hills behind the coastline, was famous as a place frequented by artists. She was happy enough to go there—happy enough to be anywhere in the world right now, providing Bastiaan was with her and she with him.
Bastiaan. Oh, the name soared in her head, echoed deep inside her. She was seizing all that he was holding out t
o her so that there was nothing else except being with him, day after precious day, night after searing night.
It’s as if I were asleep and he has woken me. Woken my senses, set them alight.
In her head, in her heart, emotion hovered like a fragile bubble, iridescent and glistening with light and colour. A bubble she longed to seize but dared not—not now, not yet. But it filled her being, made her breathless with delight, with joy. Joy that brought a smile to her face now, as she ran into the pension, eager to be as quick as possible so she could re-join Bastiaan without delay.
Five minutes later she was running down the stairs again, pausing only to snatch at the mail in her room’s pigeonhole, dropping the envelopes into her handbag before emerging out onto the roadway. She jumped into the car and off they set.
Bastiaan’s gaze was warm upon her before he focussed on the way ahead.
She’s changed her image yet again, he found himself thinking. This one he liked particularly, he decided. Her hair was in a long plait, her make-up no more than a touch of mascara and lip gloss, and her skin had been warmed by the sun of the past few days to a golden honey. Her outfit was a pretty floral calf-length sundress in pale blue and yellow. She looked fresh and summery and beautiful.
And his. Oh, most definitely, definitely his!
Emotion surged within him. What it was, he didn’t know—and didn’t care. Knew only that it felt good—so good...
The route out of the ville took them past the nightclub where she sang. As they drove by he saw her throw it a sideways glance, almost looking at it askance, before turning swiftly away. He was glad to have passed it too—did not want to think about it. It jarred with everything that was filling him now.
He shook his head, as if to clear it of unwelcome thoughts. At the villa, safe in its cocoon, the outside world had seemed far, far away. All that belonged in it far, far away.
Well, he would not think of it. He would think only of the day ahead of them. A day to be spent in togetherness, on an excursion, with lunch in a beautiful place, a scenic drive through the hinterland behind the coast.