a need of her own, and her fingers sought the dark whorls of hair on his chest, tugging a little as she trailed his midriff and followed the narrowed line of hair to his navel, caressing it before tracing a path to tangle in the soft curling triangle of hair at his groin.
His reaction was immediate as he swelled deep within her, and she touched where they joined, feather-light, tantalising, and heard his groan as he lowered her down onto the mattress.
This time he took it slowly. Building the intensity with loving care as he sought the highly sensitised nub and stroked until the pleasure mounted and her soft, throaty murmurs begged him to ease the ache deep within.
Then she did cry out as he shifted, leaving her bereft, only to settle his mouth over her navel and trail slowly down to gift her the most intimate kiss of all.
Could you die and go to heaven, and still be mortal? she thought. At what point did pain become pleasure? And vice versa?
Katrina didn’t know. She was aware that it could be both. A pleasure so intense it hovered close to pain and the need for fulfilment. The sense that she could never know its equal, the acuteness so erotically evocative she wanted it go on and never stop.
Was it she who cried out? She, who begged, pleaded with the man whose skilled touch came close to destroying her?
When he entered her, it was almost a relief, and she welcomed him, willing the intensity to lessen, only to have it rebuild and escalate as he took her to the heights, and beyond.
This time she wasn’t alone, and she heard his exultant groan as he reached his own climax, and she savoured the moment, loving his passion and the joy of sharing it.
Afterwards she might analyse and dissect, but for now she was content to live for the moment.
And that was Nicos. Held in his arms, her cheek buried against the curve of his shoulder, she heard the strong, steady beat of his heart, felt the strength of his large muscled body, and savoured the comforting warmth of his breath as it stirred her hair. A stray hand skimmed lightly over her waist and settled possessively on her hip.
She loved his scent, the faint muskiness of his skin. The flex of muscle and sinew beneath the satin smoothness of its olive texture. The subtle tang of his exclusive cologne that always seemed to linger, the result of layering the same expensive brand with matching soap and deodorant.
There was something in the way he cupped his hand…beneath her elbow, her chin, curving over her shoulder. A light possessive touch that claimed her as his own.
And the simmering passion evident in his dark eyes. The look that made mere words fade into inadequate comprehension.
Once, in the beginning, she had only to meet his gaze to know. To nurture that need, to be aware when they were alone the night really began…a long night of loving, pleasuring each other until sleep claimed them and they woke to a new day’s dawn.
Could it ever be that way again?
Complete and utter trust. Total fidelity. Because together, they were twin halves of a whole. Two hearts beating together. One soul, one love.
At the time, she’d thought nothing could come between them. No one could ever tear what they had asunder.
Yet someone had, and the spectre that was Georgia remained.
‘RISE and shine.’
Katrina heard the words, lifted her head and groaned, then rolled onto her stomach and buried her head beneath the pillow.
‘It’s the middle of the night,’ she protested in a muffled voice.
‘Nine o’clock,’ Nicos informed her with amusement. ‘You get to have breakfast in bed, then we’re driving into the Blue Mountains for a picnic.’
She wasn’t sure which surprised her the most…breakfast in bed, or— ‘A picnic?’ she queried as she removed the pillow and turned to look at him. ‘Are you mad?’ It might be spring, but it was still cool. And several degrees cooler in the mountains comprising the Great Dividing Range.
The mattress depressed as he sank into it, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, toast, and…was that bacon?
Orange juice, too. She levered her body into a sitting position and bunched a pillow behind her back.
‘This is decadent,’ Katrina began as she plucked a glass of juice from the tray and took half the contents in one long swallow. She cast him a suspicious glance. ‘What do you want?’
He swung long legs onto the bed, copied her action with the pillow, then began to do justice to a plate of eggs, bacon and toast. ‘I couldn’t prepare breakfast and serve it in bed out of the goodness of my heart?’
He had already showered and dressed, and she silently cursed him for appearing so refreshed and vital at this hour of the morning, while she felt like something the cat had dragged in. Hair a riotous tumble, naked, and needing, she admitted silently, at least another hour’s sleep.
‘No,’ Katrina declared with stunning succinctness.
‘You malign me. I remember a few occasions when I brought you breakfast in bed.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Except you were contriving to keep me in bed, not persuade me to get out of it.’
‘I thought we could get away for the day, take in the scenery, pick up some lunch, and have a break.’
She finished the juice, and forked some bacon into her mouth. Was it possible to maintain light-hearted camaraderie? To cast aside lingering animosity and—uppermost—attempt to dismiss Georgia for a day?
‘No phones, no interruptions, no pressures,’ he continued.
‘We each have a cellphone,’ she reminded him cynically.
‘So, we have any calls go to message-bank.’
‘It’ll be cold in the mountains.’
‘I could be persuaded to change my mind if you prefer to stay in bed.’
‘A picnic sounds great,’ she capitulated with alacrity, and heard his amused chuckle.
What was the alternative? A repeat of last Sunday? Or did she contact a friend and organise time spent exploring The Rocks with its many craft shops and food stalls? Maybe arrange time on the court at a private tennis club? Or did she bury herself in work on the laptop?
There were many choices, none of which held much appeal.
Besides, an entire day spent in Nicos’s company could help put their enforced relationship in perspective.
What perspective? Katrina mentally derided as she showered, then dressed in jeans and a rib-knit top.
It was nine days since she’d moved back into his home, and already she was sharing the same room, the same bed. Despite her voiced avowal to the contrary.
