The Venetian's Proposal

The thought of sitting in Piazza San Marco holding hands with Dominic sent little shivers of excitement running through her.

Seeing that slight movement, he asked, ‘Getting cold?’ Before she could find her voice, he signalled the waiter, adding, ‘I suppose it’s time we were making a move. We’ve both got a fair drive tomorrow, and I could do with an early start.’

The bill paid, he rose to his feet and, with what she was beginning to recognise as his habitual courtesy, pulled out her chair.

Sorry that what had proved to be a magical evening was over, she allowed herself to be escorted back down the long, worn flight of steps, through the dining room and hall, and out into the flare-lit courtyard.

Dominic’s car had been brought to the door, and, feeling the chill of the night air, she was grateful that the hood was now up.

Cupping a hand beneath her bare elbow, making her pulses leap, Dominic settled her into her seat, then slid behind the wheel just as the Baron appeared and stood beneath the huge metal lantern to wave them off.

They both returned his wave, and a moment later they were through the archway and following the mountain road down to the valley.

Dominic drove with silent concentration as, their lights sweeping a path through the darkness, he negotiated the steep bends.

Nicola, very aware of his potent sex-appeal, thought only of him, and what tomorrow might hold when they reached Venice.

Feeling a thrill of expectation, she wondered whether he’d ask where she was staying, or suggest seeing her next morning before they each started their journey.

It would be lovely if he proposed having breakfast together…

She was still enjoying the glow of excitement and anticipation as they drew into the car park at the Bregenzerwald.

He helped her out and, a hand at her waist, accompanied her to the lift and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

When they reached her room she felt in her bag for the key and, having found it, fumbled to fit it into the lock.

She was starting to feel a little light-headed. Perhaps, as she wasn’t used to drinking, she shouldn’t have had a brandy with her coffee. But it was too late now.

‘Allow me.’ He took the key from her, and, having opened the door, handed it back with a smile.

‘Thank you…’

She took a step into the room, and reached to put the key and her bag on the small table just inside the door. Then, with a sudden fear that he might just walk away, turned quickly to say, ‘And thank you for a lovely evening. I’ve really enjoyed it.’

The sudden movement made her head spin, and, momentarily off balance, she swayed towards him and put her hands flat-palmed against his chest to steady herself. She could feel the warmth of his body through the fine lawn of his evening shirt.

Becoming aware that he had stiffened and was standing absolutely motionless, she backed away a step, saying huskily, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s really no need to be sorry… And I’m pleased you enjoyed the evening.’

Though the words were easy enough, there was a tautness about him, a look on his face that seemed to suggest a conflict of emotions, amongst them a touch of…censure?

It was gone in an instant, the smile back in place, convincing her that she must have imagined it.

A little awkwardly, she said, ‘Well, goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Nicola.’

It was the first time he’d used her name.

Fascinated, she watched his mouth frame the syllables, and knew she wanted him to kiss her. Needed him to kiss her.

As though in answer to that unspoken need his hands closed around her upper arms and, drawing her towards him, he covered her mouth with his.

Though there was nothing diffident about it, his kiss was light, almost experimental, as though he was holding back to calculate her reaction before he decided exactly how to continue.

But once again her knees turned to water and her very bones seemed to melt, so that she was forced to lean against him for support.

His arms went around her, and as her lips parted helplessly beneath his he deepened the kiss.

It was like a brilliant flash of light, showing up both past and future, a revelation that was followed by a deep, black velvet darkness.

When he took her hand and led her into her room, closing the door behind them, she made not the slightest protest, conscious only of him and the need he had aroused.

Setting her back to the panels, one hand on the warmth of her nape, he bent to kiss her again while his free hand began to smooth over her slender figure: the small waist, the flare of her hip, the curve of her buttocks.

After a while the silk chiffon became an unwelcome barrier and, unzipping her dress, he eased it off her shoulders, allowing it to fall at her feet. Then his lips left hers to sensuously explore the line of her collarbone and the smooth skin of her shoulder.

When they reached the tender junction where neck and shoulder met, his kisses changed to little nibbling bites that made her stomach clench and her toes curl.

His mouth returning to hers, he unclipped her strapless bra and, cupping one of her small, firm breasts, brushed his thumb over the nipple.

While she was still struggling to cope with the sensations he was provoking, he bent his head and, having laved the other erect nipple, took it into his mouth and suckled sweetly.

She was suddenly into sensual overload, the pleasure so intense that she gave a little moan and, running her fingers into his dark hair, held his head away from her breast.

A moment later she was swept up in his arms and carried to the bed. The only light was from the street outside, but in the gloom she saw the gleam of his eyes as he laid her carefully on top of the covers and sat down beside her to take off what remained of her clothing.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS so long since she had been tenderly held and made love to, so long since she had felt the warmth of being needed, that far from objecting, half choked by eagerness, she would have helped him had it been necessary.

But his hands were both gentle and deft, and though he didn’t linger, neither did he show the slightest sign of haste.

When she was totally naked, he said with a kind of urgency, ‘Let your hair loose,’ and, as she lifted her hands to obey, began to strip off his own clothes.

As her hair came tumbling around her shoulders, he sat on the edge of the bed and, running his fingers into the thick silky mass, began to kiss her again.

When he finally joined her on the bed, her arms were ready to welcome him, but stretching out beside her, he propped himself on one elbow, taking time to pleasure her, while he enjoyed a body that, he told her softly, was the loveliest he’d ever seen.

As he stroked and touched and tasted, she clenched and unclenched her hands, lost and mindless, caught up and engulfed by the kind of suffocating hunger and excitement she had never experienced in her life before.

Everything he was doing now only served to suck her deeper into a black and spinning whirlpool of desire, and by the time he made them one she was a quivering mass of sensations and desperate for the release that only he could provide.

Nicola floated to the surface to find it was broad daylight. The curtains hadn’t been pulled to, and the early-morning sun was pouring in.

For a little while she lay half-asleep and half-awake, gazing up at the white ceiling, where a reflected sunbeam danced. She felt relaxed and contented in a way she hadn’t felt for years.