attention to each dusky peak.
His hands slid down her ribcage, over her waist to slip beneath her briefs, carrying them down over her hips with effortless ease before transferring his attention as he removed his own clothes.
Then he reached for her, both hands framing her face as he lowered his head.
His mouth was an erotic instrument, and she welcomed his kiss without reserve, exulting in the liquid warmth coursing through her veins. Her whole body seemed alive with acute sensation, and she moved close against him, needing the physical contact. Most of all she wanted to be swept away by primitive desire, to become so lost in the rapture of his lovemaking that Savannah and her hateful words would be pushed beyond the periphery of rational thought.
It was almost as if he knew, and a low groan of delighted anticipation emerged from her throat as he drew her down on to the bed and began conducting a leisurely tasting of every sensual pleasure-spot.
She exulted in the degree of eroticism he skilfully bestowed, the depth of emotion she experienced beneath his touch, so that when he finally took her it was all she could do not to cry out with joy.
Afterwards she lay curled into the curve of his body, delightfully sated and on the verge of sleep.
Elise woke later to find that Alejandro had already left for the city, and she indulged in a leisurely stretch before sliding from the bed. So far she had been very fortunate, for, although she occasionally experienced a slight queasiness on waking, it had not developed into morning sickness.
After a refreshing shower she dressed in shorts and a top, then ran lightly downstairs to the kitchen.
‘Morning, Ana. Isn’t it a beautiful day?’
‘Sí,’ the older woman answered with a warm smile. ‘I will get your breakfast.’
‘I’ll do it.’ Cereal, fruit and toast, with orange juice and tea, were simple enough to assemble. Besides, she’d looked after herself for years, and valued a degree of independence.
Elise enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, browsing through the morning papers, then when she had finished she moved outside for a walk round the gardens.
The flowers were beautiful, grown in colour co-ordinated borders that were a visual delight: delicate pinks and whites, brilliant reds and yellows, then carefully clipped shrubs. There were a number of urns gracing the steps leading down from the terrace, and a splendid concrete tiered bird-bath was the central feature of a square expanse of manicured lawn.
Beyond that lay the swimming-pool with an adjacent cabana which housed a bar and changingrooms.
It was a magnificent property, the architecture and landscaping in perfect harmony. Its location and beautiful views out over the harbour indicated a value she was hesitant to calculate.
Was it any wonder that Savannah coveted the man who owned it? His position in the city’s social scene was unquestionable, and there were few women who were not fascinated by rich and powerful men. Some even sold themselves in a quest for fame and fortune.
As she had. Although not for fame or fortune. Her father…Dammit, such introspection was dangerous. It led nowhere, and achieved nothing except to highlight her own insecurities.
Love was a mixture of heaven and hell. Especially when you were not loved in return. The physicalities of lovemaking were there, but not the emotional commitment.
Would it ever be any different? Could it be? Sadly, she didn’t think so.
Elise wandered down to the swimming-pool and sat in one of the chairs positioned beneath a wide sun-umbrella. The sun felt warm against her bare skin, and she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
‘Elise? It is ten-fifteen.’
She came sharply awake at the sound of Ana’s voice, amazed that she could have lapsed into a light doze.
Her hand had swollen slightly and was beginning to show signs of bruising. There was also a degree of pain when the physiotherapist supervised her exercises, a fact which he noted, adding an admonition to be more careful. There didn’t seem much point in assuring him that it was not self-inflicted.
At home she ate the chicken salad Ana had prepared for lunch, then she changed into a bikini, selected a book, and wandered out to sit beneath a shade-umbrella by the pool.
It was almost six when Alejandro arrived home, and Elise cast him a warm smile as he entered the lounge.
‘How was your day?’ she asked lightly, and was unprepared for his brief hard kiss.
‘A series of meetings, appointments.’ His tone was dry, his eyes dark and inscrutable. ‘I’ll change. Then we’ll have a drink before dinner.’
‘I’ll go and check with Ana.’
The table was already set, and there was a delicious aroma emanating from the kitchen.
‘Vegetable soup,’ Ana informed her as she stirred the contents of a saucepan. ‘Paella, with fresh fruit to finish.’
‘Sounds wonderful. Can I help with anything?’
‘It is all under control,’ the older woman beamed companionably. ‘I will serve in fifteen minutes.’
Elise wandered towards the lounge, and was busy watching the televised news when Alejandro entered the room.
He looked vaguely satanic in casual dark trousers and a polo shirt which highlighted the olive tint of his skin and emphasised his length and breadth. ‘A cool drink?’
She glanced towards him and her breath caught in her throat as she glimpsed the hard demeanour just beneath the surface of his control. ‘Please,’ she managed evenly, returning her attention to the television.
She turned as he reached her side, and instead of handing her a glass he placed both down on a nearby pedestal.
‘Let me see your hand.’
He knew. How? The physiotherapist? There was no one else who could have told him, she reasoned silently.
‘It’s a bit stiff,’ she admitted with a helpless shrug, unwilling to extend it for his inspection.
‘Some bruising, pain and reduced mobility,’ Alejandro stated with dangerous softness, ‘consistent with the hand being compressed.’ He reached forward and carefully caught hold of her arm. His intent examination filled her with a peculiar sense of dread, and she almost died at the savagery apparent as he seared her features. ‘Savannah?’
She swallowed nervously. ‘What if I accidentally knocked my hand?’
His expression became inscrutable, and his voice contained dangerous indolence. ‘Did you?’
Evasion of the truth was hardly wise, for there was already visible evidence of bruising. ‘No.’
He said something vicious beneath his breath in Spanish, then lifted a hand to cup her jaw. His finger traced a gentle pattern over her lower lip, probing slightly before moving to caress her cheek. His eyes became dark, their depths unfathomable as he searched
