take exception to the fact I want to make love with you?’ he queried silkily. Lifting a hand, he slid it beneath the curtain of her hair.
‘I didn’t expect a clichéd announcement of your intention,’ she threw at him angrily, gasping as he cupped her nape and angled his head down to hers. ‘Don’t.’
The plea went unheeded as his mouth closed over hers, and she strained against the strength of his arm as it curved down her back and held her to him.
Slowly, insidiously, warmth coursed through her veins until her whole body was one aching mass, craving his touch, and she opened her mouth to accept the possession of his own.
Passion replaced anger, and a tiny part of her brain registered the transition and wondered at the traitorous dictates of her own heart.
It wasn’t fair that he should have quite this effect on her, or that she should have so little control. Sex motivated by lust wasn’t undesired, but love was the ultimate prize.
She wanted to protest when he swept an arm beneath her knees and lifted her against his chest. She knew she should as he climbed the stairs to the upper floor. And when he entered their bedroom and let her slip down to her feet she stood, quiescent, as he gently removed her beaded jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair.
The soft light from twin lamps reflected against the mirror and she caught a momentary glimpse of two figures—one tall and dark, the other slender in red, then she became lost in the heat of Benedict’s impassioned gaze, her fingers as dexterous as his in their quest to remove each layer of clothing.
Yet there was care apparent, almost a teasing quality as they each dealt with buttons and zip-fastenings, the slide of his hands on her exposed flesh increasing the steady spiral of excitement.
He wasn’t unmoved by her ministrations either, and she exulted in the feel of tightening sinews as she caressed his muscled chest, the taut waist and the thrust of his powerful thighs.
His heartbeat quickened in tempo with her own as he pulled her down onto the bed and she rose up above him, every nerve, every cell alive with anticipation. She sought to give as much pleasure as she knew she’d receive, taking the path to climactic nirvana with deliberate slowness, enjoying and enhancing each step of the emotional journey until there was no sense of the individual, only the merging of two souls so in tune with each other that they became one.
And afterwards they lay, arms and legs entwined, exchanging the soft caress of fingers against warm flesh, the light, lingering brush of lips, in an after-play that held great tenderness and care, until sleep claimed them both.
THE sun’s rays were hot after the controlled coolness of the building’s air-conditioning, and Gabbi felt the heat come up from the pavement combined with the jostle of midday city staff anxious to make the most of their lunch hour, elderly matrons en route from one shopping mall to another and mothers with young children in tow.
Sydney was a vibrant city alive with people from different cultures, and Gabbi witnessed a vivid kaleidoscope of couture and grunge as she walked the block and a half to meet Francesca.
The restaurant was filled with patrons, but she’d rung ahead for a reservation, and the maître d’ offered an effusive greeting and ushered her to a table.
There was barely time to order iced water before Francesca slid into the opposite seat in a soft cloud of Hermes Calèche perfume.
‘The traffic was every bit as bad as I expected,’ Francesca commented as she ordered the same drink as Gabbi. ‘And securing a parking space was worse.’
Gabbi smiled in commiseration. ‘City commuting is the pits.’ She picked up the menu. ‘Shall we order?’
‘Good idea. I’m starving,’ Francesca admitted with relish, selecting the soupe du jour followed by a Greek salad and fresh fruit.
Gabbi also selected her friend’s choice, but opted for linguini instead of soup as a starter.
‘How long will you be Sydney-based?’ Her smile was warm, her interest genuine.
Ice-cubes chinked as Francesca picked up her glass. ‘Not long. A few weeks, then I’ll head back to Europe.’
True friendship was rare, and with it came the benefit of dispensing with the niceties of idle conversation. ‘So, tell me about Rome.’
Francesca’s expression became pensive. ‘Mario’s mother was diagnosed with inoperable cancer.’
Gabbi’s heart constricted with pain, and she reached out and covered her friend’s hand with her own. ‘Francesca, I’m so sorry.’
‘We had a few short weeks together before she was hospitalised, and after that it was only a matter of days.’ Francesca’s eyes darkened with repressed emotion. ‘She bequeathed me everything.’
‘Mario was her only child,’ Gabbi reminded her gently.
‘Nevertheless, it was—’ she paused fractionally ‘—unexpected.’
The waiter’s appearance with their starters provided an interruption.
‘What’s new with the family?’ Francesca asked as soon as he was out of earshot.
‘Not a thing.’
‘Benedict is to die for, Monique superficially gracious, Annaliese a bitch and James remains oblivious?’
The assessment was so accurate, Gabbi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Selectively oblivious,’ she qualified.
‘A clever man, your father.’
‘And yours, Francesca?’
‘Consumed with business in order to keep my dear stepmama in the incredible style she insists is important.’ She managed a tight smile. ‘While Mother continues to flit from one man to the next with time out in between for the requisite nip and tuck.’
They finished the starters and began on the salads.
‘Dominic Andrea,’ Francesca ventured speculatively. ‘Greek?’
‘Second generation. His mother is Australian.’
‘Irritating man.’
Dominic was many things, but irritating wasn’t one of them. ‘Do you think so?’
‘And arrogant.’
Perhaps. Although Gabbi would have substituted self-assured. ‘You want to opt out of dinner tonight?’
Francesca forked the last mouthful of salad, took her time with it, then replaced the utensil onto her plate. ‘No,’ she said thoughtfully, her gaze startlingly direct. ‘Why deny myself an interesting evening?’
Gabbi’s mouth curved with humour. ‘A clash between two Titans?’
Francesca’s eyes
