HELEN BIANCHIN - The Marriage Bed - An Ideal Marriage? / The Marriage Campaign / The Bridal Bed

She offered him a wide smile that reached her eyes and lit them as vividly as the blue of the ocean in the distance. ‘Why, both, of course. It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun on my own.’

He curled a hand beneath her nape and brought his mouth down over hers in an evocative kiss that teased, tantalised and stopped just short of total possession.

‘Witch,’ he murmured a few moments later against her temple. ‘Do you want to stay here, or explore the mountain further?’

She pressed a kiss to the hollow at the base of his throat and savoured the faint taste that was his alone—male heat mingled with cleanliness and exclusive cologne.

‘We’re close to a public road, it’s a public park, and we wouldn’t want to shock anyone passing by,’ she teased, using the edge of her teeth to nip his skin. ‘Besides, there’s a plane waiting to take us back to the rat race.’

‘Tomorrow morning. Dawn.’

They had the night. ‘We shouldn’t waste a moment,’ Gabbi said with mock reverence, and gave his chest a gentle push. ‘When we reach the coast we’ll get some prawns and Moreton Bay bugs which you can cook on the barbecue while I get a salad together. We’ll open a bottle of wine, eat, and watch the sun go down.’

He let her go, watched as she rose lithely to her feet, then took her outstretched hand and levered himself upright in one fluid movement.

It was after five when they entered the house, and by tacit agreement they took a long walk over the damp, packed sand of an outgoing tide, then reluctantly turned and retraced their steps.

Her hand was held lightly clasped in his, and a faint breeze tugged her blouse and teased loose tendrils free from the careless knot of her hair. Her skin glowed from its exposure to the fresh sea air, and her eyes held a mystic depth that owed much to the pleasure of the day, and the anticipation of the night.

After preparing the meal there was time to change into swimwear and swim several lengths of the pool before emerging to dry the excess water from their skin.

The aroma of barbecued seafood heightened their appetite, and, seated out on the terrace, Gabbi reached for a prawn with her fingers, declared it ambrosia, then reached for another as she dug her fork into a delectable portion of salad.

‘You’ve got prawn juice on your chin,’ Benedict said lazily, and she directed a dazzling smile at him.

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