felt a sense of relief when it came time to be seated for the third and final act.
Marcello enclosed her hand in his throughout, and his fingers merely tightened whenever she tried to withdraw.
Once he lifted their joined hands to his lips, brushed hers lightly, then rested them on his lap, and her heart jumped and refused to settle for what seemed an age.
His arousal beneath the conventional clothing was a potent hidden force, and it took considerable effort to focus on the players on the stage as the act progressed towards its conclusion.
She didn’t move, could barely bear to breathe, and she was never more glad of the theatre’s darkened interior.
Dear heaven, did his aunt notice?
She sincerely hoped not, and refused to glance in Penè’s direction.
It was a tremendous relief when the curtain came down, then rose again to applause, and the lights came on.
Exiting the auditorium became a slow process, noisy with audience chatter against muted background recorded music, and there was the obligatory pause or ten when they reached the foyer and moved towards the main entrance.
Penè bade them goodnight as her car and driver pulled into the kerb, followed minutes later as Carlo eased their own car to a halt.
They were scarcely seated when Marcello reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through her own.
Shannay attempted to free them without success, and she looked at him in silent askance.
What was he doing?
They had no audience, no one to impress with their pretended togetherness.
Twice she endeavoured to pull free during the drive to La Moraleja, and he refused to allow her to succeed.
When they reached the mansion he drew her indoors, then he simply lifted her over one shoulder and made for the stairs.
‘What in hell are you playing at?’
‘Taking you to bed.’
‘I can walk,’ she assured his back in scandalous tones, and heard his husky laughter.
‘Humour me.’
‘Aren’t you in the least wary I might kick you where it hurts?’
‘Don’t try it, querida. You’ll spoil the fun, and I can promise you won’t like my retaliation.’
‘Fun? You think it’s fun being hauled around like a sack of potatoes?’
They reached the gallery and, at its end, the master suite, where he slid her down to her feet.
Without a word he caught her close and kissed her … gently at first, savouring the taste and texture of her lips, her mouth. Then with a sensual intensity that reached right down and took hold of her soul.
She was helpless, mindless, and barely aware of his fingers releasing the zip fastening on her dress … until it slithered to the floor in a silken heap. Her bra came next, followed by the satin briefs, and she gasped as he cupped her breast and lowered his mouth to suckle its peak.
A hand slid down over her stomach and sought the moist warmth at the apex of her thighs, and the breath hitched in her throat.
‘Undress me.’
He helped her dispense with his clothes, his shoes, as she slid out of stilettos, then he lifted her onto the bed and moved down beside her.
The trail of his lips followed the same path as his fingers as he brought her to climax again and again, until she cried out, begging for the release only he could give.
It was then he sought the moist heat with his fully engorged penis and thrust in to the hilt in one forceful movement, waited until she caught her breath, and sought the familiar rhythm that sent them both soaring to unbelievable heights, held them there in a spectacular climax, then tipped them over the brink in a slow, sensual free-fall.
Later, much later, she gifted him a tasting that left the breath hissing through his clenched teeth, and tested his control to the limit.
It was her turn to cry out as he pulled her on top of him and took her for the ride of her life.
TWO DAYS LATER Ramon slipped into a coma, from which he never recovered, and his funeral was a private family occasion, followed by a memorial service attended by close friends, family and captains of industry.
It was an infinitely sad time for them all, especially Penè who went into a decline and cancelled everything on her social calendar for an unspecified time.
Ramon’s will distributed his considerable personal fortune equally between Penè, Marcello, Sandro … and Nicki.
Marcello and Shannay were named as Nicki’s trustees, and the inheritance made their daughter a very rich little girl.
Marcello’s presence was required in the city on frequent occasions during the ensuing week. Days when he left early and returned late, sometimes long after Nicki had fallen asleep.
To compensate he rang and spoke to his daughter through the day and again before she went to bed.
Shannay filled the days as best she could, supervising Nicki with her swimming, reading, finger-painting and constructing models with play-dough.
She also offered to assist Penè in any way possible, without success.
‘Leave her grieve,’ Marcello advised when she broached it one evening after he arrived home late. ‘She needs to come to terms with Ramon’s death in her own time, in her own way.’
She looked at him carefully, noting the lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes seemed more pronounced, the grooves slashing his cheeks a little deeper.
‘And you, Marcello?’
‘Concerned for me, querida?’
‘Perhaps. A little.’
He discarded his suit jacket, loosened his tie, toed off his shoes, then he reached for her, pulling her close to kiss her deeply, taking his time before he lifted his mouth from her own.
‘Come share my shower.’
She tilted her head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘That could be dangerous.’
His eyes gleamed and he gave a husky chuckle. ‘So take the risk and live a little.’
‘In the shower?’
His fingers slid to the hem of her singlet top and pulled it free from the waistband of her jeans, stripped her of it in one easy movement, then he undid the clip on her bra.
‘Since
