The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection. Кейт Хьюит

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       CHAPTER FIVE

      SANDRO LEANED BACK in the chair by the fire and gazed moodily at the flames flickering in the huge hearth. Resentment warred with guilt inside him as he listened to Liana move in the bathroom, turning on taps. Taking off her clothes. Would she be able to get that slinky dress off by herself? He knew she wouldn’t ask for help.

      Ever since they’d entered this room with all of its sensual expectation she’d become icier than ever. It angered him, her purposeful coldness, as if she couldn’t stand even to be near him and wanted him to know it, but he still couldn’t keep a small stab of pity from piercing his resentment. She was a virgin; even if she would never admit it, she had to be a little nervous. He needed to make allowances.

      The desire he’d felt for her still coiled low in his belly but even so he didn’t relish the prospect of making love to his wife. Of course there would be no love about it, which was neither new nor a surprise. He shouldn’t even want it, not when he knew what kind of woman Liana really was.

      He had no illusions about how she would handle their wedding night. Lie stiff and straight as a board on that sumptuous bed, scrunch her eyes tight, and think of her marital duty. Just the thought of it—of her like that—was enough to turn his flickering desire into ash.

      Distantly Sandro realised the sounds from the bathroom had stopped, and he knew she must be stuck in that dress. He rose from the chair, dressed only in his trousers, and rapped on the bathroom door.

      ‘Liana? Do you need help getting out of your gown?’ Silence. He almost smiled, imagining how she was wrestling with admitting she did, and yet not wanting to accept anything from him. Certainly not wanting him to unzip her. ‘I’ll close my eyes,’ he said dryly, half joking, ‘if you want me to help you unzip it.’

      ‘It’s not a zipper.’ Her voice sounded muffled, subdued. ‘It’s about a hundred tiny buttons.’

      And before he could stop himself, Sandro was envisioning all those little buttons following the elegant length of her spine, picturing his fingers popping them open one by one and revealing the ivory skin of her back underneath. Desire leapt to life once more.

      ‘Then you most certainly need help,’ he said, and after a second’s pause he heard the sound of the door unlocking and she opened it, her head bowed, a few tendrils of hair falling forward and hiding her face.

      Wordlessly she turned around and presented him with her narrow, rigid back, the buttons going from her neck to her tailbone, each one a tiny pearl.

      Sandro didn’t speak as he started at the top and began to unbutton the gown. The buttons were tiny, and it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t a matter of a moment either, and he didn’t close his eyes as he undid each one, the tender skin of her neck and shoulders appearing slowly underneath his fingers as the silk fell away in a sensual slide.

      His fingers brushed her skin—she felt both icy and soft—and he felt her give a tiny shudder, although whether she was reacting out of desire or disgust he didn’t know. He sensed she felt both, that she was as conflicted as he was—probably more—about wanting him. The realisation sent a sudden shaft of sympathy through him and he stilled, his fingers splayed on her bared back. He felt her stiffen beneath him.

      ‘If you’d rather,’ he said softly, ‘we can wait.’

      ‘Wait?’ Her voice was no more than a breath, her back still rigid, her head bowed.

      ‘To consummate our marriage.’

      ‘Until when?’

      ‘Until we’re both more comfortable with each other.’

      She let out a little huff of laughter, the sound as cynical as anything he’d ever heard. ‘And when will that be, do you think, Your Highness? I’d rather just get it over with.’

      What a delightful turn of phrase, he thought sardonically. Her skin had warmed under his palm but when he spread his fingers a little wider he felt how cold she still was. Cold all the way through. ‘You’re right, of course,’ he answered flatly. ‘We might as well get it over with.’

      She didn’t answer, and he finished unbuttoning the dress in silence. She held her hands up to her front to keep it in place, and Sandro could see the top curve of her bottom, encased enticingly in sheer tights, as she stepped back into the bathroom. She closed the door, and with a grim smile he listened to her lock it once more.

      * * *

      Liana lay in the bath until the water grew cold and the insistent throb of her body’s response to Sandro started to subside—except it didn’t.

      She’d never been touched so intimately as when he’d unbuttoned her dress. She realised this probably made her seem pathetic to a man like him, a man who was so sensual and passionate, who had probably had a dozen—a hundred—lovers. As for her? She’d had so little physical affection in her life that even a casual brush of a hand had everything in her jolting with shocked awareness.

      And now the feeling of his fingers on her back, the whisper of skin on skin, so intimate, so tender, an assault so much softer and gentler than that life-altering kiss they’d had six weeks ago and yet still so unbearably powerful, had made that awakened need inside her blaze hotter, harder, its demand one she was afraid she could not ignore.

      The water was chilly now, and reluctantly she rose from the tub, and swathed herself in the robe that covered her just as Sandro had promised but which she knew he could peel away in seconds.

      She took time brushing and blow-drying her hair, stared at her pale face and wide eyes, and then pinched her cheeks for colour. No more reasons to stay in here, to stall.

      Taking a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door.

      Sandro СКАЧАТЬ