Slowly, deliberately, with nothing whatsoever else in his mind, everything wiped out by the vision in front of him, he walked towards her.
Lana stirred. She’d been dozing on and off, conscious dimly of the sun’s rays, stronger here than this time of year in England, and knowing that she must not overdo her first tanning session. But after the non-stop week in Rome simply lying here, lazy and resting, in this quiet, peaceful spot, with nothing more than birdsong and cicadas to accompany her, the faint hum of the water filter lapping the water gently, was just so blissful she simply didn’t want to move.
Yet something had roused her. Had it been footsteps? Perhaps one of the maids who had earlier brought her out some iced juice and then water at her request, as well as rich, fragrant coffee, had returned to remove the empties.
She lifted her face slightly to see.
And froze.
It was not a servant. It was Salvatore. Standing a handful of metres away from her and looking straight at her.
She knew exactly what he was seeing. Just about every square inch of her! And if she moved in the slightest, let alone sat up or turned over, he would see even more.
And he was enjoying the view of what he was already seeing, she thought, with a hollowing of her insides. Enjoying it a lot.
He didn’t have sunglasses on, and his gaze was working over her slowly and deliberately. Though she was used to being looked at, it was usually for the sake of what she was wearing. Not for what she was not wearing...
Salvatore’s lingering inspection was like a slow, burning flame licking over her body, heating it from the inside out, liquefying her...
Time seemed to stop, and her heart-rate began to thud within her, her blood quickening in her veins. Then, abruptly, he stopped looking. She could see it happen in his face, his eyes veiling. He resumed walking, raising a hand to her, but heading now for the pool house.
‘I’m sorry for disturbing you,’ he said casually, as he walked past her. ‘I’m just going to change for a swim. You keep on sunbathing.’
Lana dropped her face again, still feeling the quickening of her blood. Willing it to subside. Conscious, with a silent gasp, that, even crushed as they were by her body weight on the lounger, her breasts had engorged, her nipples were cresting...
Oh, dear God—no! No, no and no!
She couldn’t allow this. She mustn’t! It was essential she didn’t allow it! She buried her face in the towel and kept it resolutely there as she heard footsteps again, a heavy splash of pool water, then steady, rhythmic quieter splashing as Salvatore thrashed up and down the length of the pool. Eventually she heard him get out of the water, pat himself dry with a towel, and then bare feet approached her and a tall shadow fell over her.
‘I really ought to put some after-sun cream on you,’ he said, hunkering down beside her. ‘Hold still.’
As he spoke, a dollop of cream, cold to her heated skin, was deposited between Lana’s shoulder blades. A hand descended to anoint her.
‘Relax,’ Salvatore’s deep voice admonished her.
It was an impossible command for Lana to obey—how could she possibly relax when the firm, smooth glide of his fingertips was working between her shoulder blades, down over the smooth expanse of her back? The cooling cream was soothing—but the stroke of his hands was the very opposite. A million nerve-endings fired simultaneously. She felt her hands claw into the towel, seeking self-control, willing herself not to react.
A moment later his hand was lifted from her, and he was straightening.
‘All done,’ he said. There was the slightest ragged edge to his voice. Then he was speaking again. ‘I’ll go and change in the pool house. You might want to turn over to protect your back.’
Now she fancied his voice was dry, not ragged. She heard him pad away, the pool house door open and shut. Instantly, her heart thudding hectically, she twisted her hands around her back to refasten the ties of her bikini top, then levered herself up to a sitting position, grabbing her wrap to tug it over her as quickly as she could. Before Salvatore emerged again.
When he did so, five minutes later, she was sitting up on the lounger, the back raised, demurely covered in the wrap, legs slanting sideways, dark glasses safely over her eyes, hair restrained by a ribboned tie. She was apparently absorbed in her paperback, reaching for her iced water. The image of cool, calm and collected.
A complete lie.
But one she had to hold to.
He paused by her lounger. ‘Don’t stay out too much longer,’ he advised. ‘There’s still some heat in the sun.’
She gave an abstracted nod and he headed off. The moment he was gone she set down her book, swallowing hard. Staring helplessly out over the azure waters of the pool.
Heart still thudding.
Salvatore headed indoors. It had been sheer self-indulgence to put cream on her back as he had. But he didn’t regret it. Why should he?
I know what I want of her.