When his lips met hers, as they were always going to, she opened beneath them, pulled him to her as he sought to bring her to him, the thrust of his tongue claiming her in a way so primal, so pure, she knew she would never be the same again.
The feel of him, the taste of him, she imprinted them on her mind, on her heart, even as she was saying goodbye. She allowed herself that moment to absorb the heat and passion that pressed against her, her mind lost to all but sensations, wants and needs.
Until finally their kiss drew to a close and, without looking back, Sia collected her bags and left.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SEBASTIAN RUBBED THE centre of his chest, where a dull ache had taken up residence the moment Sia left his estate in Siena. There was nothing dull about the pounding in his head though, which at this point either required extreme numbers of painkillers or simply more alcohol. He was leaning towards the latter.
At least the latter partly managed to limit the fragments of conversations with Sia which ran on a loop in his mind. The way that sometimes he would turn his head to the seat beside him, expecting her to be there, laughing at him in that way she did.
It was as if without her in his life there was suddenly very little to it. She’d made him see that he’d spent far too long actively indulging in his desires like a child throwing a tantrum. Yes, he’d had to work hard to protect his family, Maria...but, he finally acknowledged, he wasn’t forced into that position. He simply took it. And would do it all over again.
But in the last three or so years, Sia had been the only person to challenge him, to make him look at what he was doing and want to be better, do better. He’d needed to impress her, he realised now. So dramatically different to the women who had graced his bed before, almost desperate in their attempts to impress him. Oh, he wasn’t naïve enough not to realise that for the most part they were either after his money or his prowess, both of which were considerably well known.
But not Sia. She had wanted him against her natural inclination. And, in doing so, had made him look at himself through her eyes, had pulled him out of his selfish hedonism and reminded him that there was more to life. That there was her.
The woman he loved.
‘Did you really punch Montcour?’ Theo Tersi demanded as he stalked towards where Sebastian was sitting in the garden.
‘I might have done. It’s a bit hazy,’ Sebastian replied without surprise at his friend’s appearance, his hand lifting to gesture towards the bottle of whisky on the table.
Theo came to stand before him, hands on his hips, looking both disappointed and angry at the same time. ‘And you didn’t let me know so that at the very least I could be here to see it?’ he demanded. ‘Do you regret it?’
Sebastian reared back in offence. ‘He broke my sister’s heart. Of course not. Even if they have now made up and are back in Switzerland.’
‘And Montcour?’
‘Will get over it. If I’m honest,’ Sebastian said, rubbing his stubbled jaw with his thumb at the memory, ‘I think he let me.’
‘Punch him?’ Theo asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Fair.’ He nodded, shrugging a single shoulder as if in agreement with how things had played out.
‘I think so,’ Sebastian said, pouring whisky into the glass, passing it to Theo and holding the bottle to his lips. ‘Drink. You’ve got some catching-up to do.’
Theo took a decent mouthful of his drink. ‘Before we get to the point where neither of us are able to focus, can I see it?’
‘Yes,’ Sebastian replied half reluctantly, hauling himself from the chair and leading the way into the living room, where he had placed the painting on the mantelpiece above the fire.
Theo came to stand beside him and they both studied the Durrántez in silence.
‘So that it’s it then.’
‘Yes.’
‘Christos, she looked like Maria.’
‘Yes.’
‘Very beautiful women in your family,’ Theo observed.
Seb turned on him, and Theo raised his hands in surrender.
‘Hey, I’m a happily married man, don’t look at me like that,’ he said, turning back to the painting. ‘So. Was it worth it?’