Lucy Gordon - The Italian's Passionate Revenge

The atmosphere between them now was amiable, but still wary. They knew they were standing at a crossroads, but the lanes stretched out of sight. Both were waiting for something to happen. As time passed her figure had regained its shape, her strength had returned and she had become more and more aware of how long it had been since they had made love.

She could use the term love-making to herself now. The love had always been there, and perhaps was still there, but it wouldn’t easily be tempted out of hiding.

Often she caught him watching her silently, as though reminding her of the closeness they had shared at the birth, and asking where it would lead. At any moment, she was sure, he would let her know that he wanted her in his bed. But nothing happened. If he met her eyes he’d turn his own away. The door to her room was unlocked, but these days he never tried it.

She shivered at the thought that perhaps he was content with this situation, that he no longer wanted her.

There was a long mirror beside the bath and, as she stepped out, it showed her whole length. She paused and looked herself over, recalling another occasion when she’d studied herself. On the day of her arrival in Rome she’d showered and considered her own nakedness because she had wanted to see herself through Vincente’s eyes.

She’d wanted him so badly. The weeks of lonely denial in England hadn’t altered the fact that her thoughts had been in Italy, with him, and all that mattered had been to make him desire her.

Then her figure had been elegant, almost boyish. Now the birth had left her more rounded, almost voluptuous, in a way that she instinctively knew that Vincente would like.

‘The perfect woman,’ he’d told her once, long ago, ‘is always changing, so there’s always something new to relish.’ His eyes had glimmered as he’d teased her. ‘And then he can have a new experience without the boring inconvenience of being unfaithful.’

She’d laughed and slapped him lightly. The next moment she’d been flat on her back on the bed while he lay on top of her.

‘Rough stuff, eh?’ he’d observed. ‘Two can play at that game.’

He’d then treated her to the most vigorous sex they had ever enjoyed, but when it was over it was he who had the scratch marks and she who had been apologetic.

Remembering it now, Elise smiled, then suppressed the smile as soon as she saw it reflected. Happy memories only led to more melancholy.

He’d joked about infidelity, but had he been faithful to her recently? She cast her mind back, trying to recall any unexplained absences, but there were none. He was always home early. It meant nothing, she told herself, almost determined not to think well of him. He could have done anything during the day, and she would never know.

But somehow that picture did not convince her. He was waiting, just as she was.

She was about to reach for the big towel when the bathroom door opened behind her. She whirled and saw him there, thunderstruck as he took in the full glory of her nakedness. For a moment they looked at each other without moving.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a harsh voice. ‘I didn’t know you were in here.’

Vincente backed out quickly and slammed the door.

It was all over in seconds but the effect was shattering. There in his face was everything she’d wanted to see-longing, loneliness, above all a desire so fierce that he’d been on the verge of taking her there and then.

But he’d conquered it, because by proving himself stronger than temptation he sent her a message of finality. She might be the most beautiful, sexually devastating woman in the world, but he would resist her because that was what he had decided to do. And his decisions were final.

Elise had no choice but to accept that, and confront him with the same. Their trial of strength had moved into a new phase, but it hadn’t come to an end.

Now she resented him for the way her body was thrumming with the thoughts and feelings he’d put there but refused to satisfy. For four years she’d lived untouched by Ben or any other man, had cared nothing, but this was a new woman, the one Vincente had brought to life, and her flesh screamed for his intimate caresses.

After a while she wrapped the towel around herself and returned to her room, moving quietly, not to alert him.

Vincente opened wide the windows of his bedroom, drawing back the curtains so that he could look out at the huge grounds, and let the faint breeze touch him. It wasn’t enough to cool him down. Nothing could do that.

With the lamp turned out there was only a faint hint of moonlight, casting a glimmer on a small part of the room and throwing the rest into black shadows. Throwing aside his clothes, he dropped on to the huge bed and lay on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling.

The click of the door was so soft that at first he wasn’t sure he’d heard it. But then there came another click as the door closed, and he turned his head slowly on the pillow.

A naked woman stood in the darkness. He could only just make out her shape, but he would have known her anywhere and lay, transfixed, as Elise approached noiselessly until she could stand looking down at him.

She paused for a long time while he wondered what was holding her back. She could have no doubts about her welcome. His arousal was fierce and hard, and just visible in the faintest moonlight, but she seemed to want to make sure because she reached out a gentle finger, caressing its whole length lightly and giving a faint sigh that might have been satisfaction.

‘Don’t start this if you don’t mean it,’ he said hoarsely.

She made no sound, but dropped on to the bed beside him, letting her hand drift here and there, following its own sweet will. He tried to reach up and pull her closer, but she prevented him, and he just made out a shake of her head.

Then he felt her finger placed lightly over his mouth and he understood. Whatever happened tonight was for her to say. If he disobeyed, she might vanish for ever, leaving behind only the respectable wife and mother that he’d made of her, when he wanted more-much, much more. He wanted the mischievous genie that lurked inside her, and he wanted to possess it completely-or at least until it vanished, to make him wait for the next time.

That was his last coherent thought. From then on thoughts and sensations swam into each other. Her hand continued to tease him, but absent-mindedly, as though she had other matters to think of. She pulled back again until she was in an upright position. He could see her hair hanging down, but her face was in darkness, except for an occasional gleam from her eyes.

‘Don’t make me wait,’ he groaned.

For answer she swung a leg over him and settled down so that he was enclosed inside her, not by his will but by hers. He waited for her to lean down against him, but she sat there, high up, proud and haughty, regarding his subjection with lofty enjoyment.

Now he could just make out her mouth, and the wicked smile that curved it-a smile that said, You’re mine and I’m going to make sure you know it.

Her hips were working powerfully, rising and falling, showing no mercy. A long groan broke from him. He arched his back, throwing his head backwards, and then she was stretched out on him, claiming his mouth with her own, still in control but finally offering the rest of her body to his embrace-the generosity of the victor.

Let her be the winner, then. Let her have anything she wanted as long as she could bring his heart and body alive as no other woman had ever done.

She seemed possessed of inhuman stamina, taking them both to the heights twice, three times. When she slid softly on to the bed beside him he tried to embrace her, but she was suddenly insubstantial and slipped from his grasp.