Without a word she leaned down, put her hands on his head and sealed her mouth to his. She kissed him hard and long, her pulse pounding and desire throbbing deep inside her. He clamped one big, strong hand on her hip and the other at the back of her neck, his palms like a brand on her heated skin.
Tearing her mouth from his, her chest heaving and her breath coming in pants, she dott
ed a trail of tiny kisses down the column of his throat, the hard-muscled expanse of his chest, her heart thumping as she took extra care with his scars, and then lower, over the ridges of his abdomen, shimmying down his body until she reached his long, hard erection, steel encased in velvet.
She could feel the tremors gripping his large frame and when she wrapped her fingers round the base of him and her lips around the tip the groan that tore from his mouth sent reciprocal shivers shooting up and down her spine. She took him deeper into her mouth and his hands moved to her head, threading through her hair, holding her when he needed her, guiding her yet giving her the freedom to use her hands, her mouth and her tongue to drive him to the point where his hips were jerking and his breathing was harsh, his control clearly unravelling.
And then he was lifting her off him and rolling her over, applying a condom and sliding into her with one long, hard, smooth thrust, lodging deep inside her, and staring into her eyes as if trying to see into her soul.
She clung on to him, her gaze locked with his as he began to move, slowly, steadily, driving into her, pushing her higher and higher each time, making her shatter once, white lights flashing in her head, and then again, and again, before with a great groan he buried himself hard and deep and poured into her.
She was wrung out physically and emotionally and her last drowsy thought before she finally fell asleep was, I could stay here with him for ever.
* * *
At the helm of his boat, with Carla sitting in the stern, Rico was feeling lighter than he had in years yet at the same time oddly uneasy, as if the world had been broken up and put back together with the pieces in the wrong place.
Something had shifted inside him last night, he thought, the frown that he felt he’d been wearing all morning deepening as he increased the throttle and they sped off in the direction of the island of Murano. With her insight and understanding Carla had sliced through his long-held doubts and shone a light on his darkest fears. She’d somehow given him permission to let go of the shame and the guilt he’d carried around for so long—even if he didn’t think he could let it go just yet—and he had the strange sensation that tiny droplets of light might slowly be beginning to drip into the great well of nothingness inside him.
But he’d sensed something change in her too and that was the source of his discomfort. The shimmering emotion he’d seen in her gaze when he’d found her on the balcony, before she’d subsequently blown his mind, wasn’t something he’d needed to witness. He didn’t want her pity or her sympathy. He didn’t want anything more with her than what he already had.
But it was what she might want that was his concern. He’d assumed she was on board with the temporary nature of their arrangement, but what if for some reason what they had now became not enough for her? What if she wound up wanting more? Under no circumstances could he allow that to happen. He’d never be able to give her more, no matter how much talking they did. He’d been on his own for so long it simply wasn’t in him. But he would never want to hurt Carla, so he had to prevent such a situation arising at all costs and nip things in the bud before they got out of control.
And not only for her benefit, he forced himself to acknowledge.
Yesterday while he’d been showing her the sights he’d started to see his city through her eyes and it had been illuminating. He’d noticed less of the grey and the grime and more of the glitter and shine. Colours had seemed strangely brighter, sounds sharper, smells more intense. Even the heat, which he was well used to and had not changed, felt fiercer.
This shifting of the sands over unstable ground couldn’t continue. A stronger-willed man would send Carla home now, and retreat to rebuild his walls, but he wasn’t a stronger-willed man. He was a man who wanted her in his bed for as long as they had left. He just had to keep reminding himself that great sex was all it was.
* * *
The island of Murano, famed for its glass and a stone’s throw from Venice, was amazing. Far less busy than its much bigger neighbour, it had colourful low-rise houses, wide, tranquil canals and a laid-back vibe that made Carla want to stop and linger along the walkways so she might have time to take it all in.
Vibrant glass sculptures stood in piazzas, glinting and sparkling in the midday sun. Rico had taken her to a workshop off the beaten track where she’d spent a good half an hour watching a glassblower creating a vase. She’d even picked up a bauble of her own.
The only minor awkward moment came when, while strolling down a walkway beside him, she’d suddenly been overwhelmed by the romance of it all, giddy with the effect this man had on her, and had reached for his hand, only to feel him jerk it away when her fingers brushed his.
‘After all this,’ said Carla, hiding her mortification behind a bright smile and determinedly reminding herself that she didn’t, ever, do romance and, more importantly, neither did he. ‘London’s going to feel very pedestrian.’
‘But it’s your home.’
‘It is and it’s great,’ she said, thinking that she really did love it with all its energy and buzz and variety, and she really was looking forward to getting back to it. ‘But this is beautiful and Venice is stunning. Everywhere you turn there’s another incredible piece of architecture and it’s such... I don’t know...an effervescent city.’
‘And unfortunately,’ he said drily, ‘sinking.’
‘So I’ve read. Why’s that happening?’
‘Early settlers drained the lagoon, dug canals and shored up banks by piling tree trunks into the silt. They laid great wooden platforms on top of the piles and stone on top of that and started building from there. But increased traffic in the canals—not to mention the cruise ships—has started churning up the water and the silt and the trunks are being exposed to oxygen that’s making them rot. There’s a campaign to ban everything but gondolas and small boats and it has my full backing.’
She knew how Venice felt, she thought dreamily, wondering for a moment what it would be like to be fought for like that. She too had been fine for years and then stirred up and exposed. She too had the sensation she was slowly sinking into deeper waters than felt safe, only in her case there was no one there to save her.
‘You care,’ she said, focusing on the topic of conversation and not the sliver of worry that slid through her at the thought that even though she’d done her best to prevent it she might be getting involved.
‘It’s complicated.’
‘It’s your home.’
‘It was also my prison.’