* * *
She certainly wasn’t going to risk having another bath after what had happened earlier, Lucy decided as she locked her suite door and stepped out of her sandals. Instead she would make do with a shower. She yawned sleepily.
After last night, and then Marcus walking in on her and almost finding her touching herself, she should have been on edge all evening, but instead she had actually felt very relaxed—so relaxed, in fact, that on a couple of occasions she had even laughed. Marcus had proved to be an unexpectedly entertaining and interesting dinner companion, and she had been sorry when the evening had come to an end—and not just because, given the choice, she would have so much preferred to end it in Marcus’s arms, in Marcus’s bed.
She undressed quickly and pulled on the complimentary bathrobe before tidying away her clothes and heading for the shower.
She had just stepped out of it and towelled herself her dry when she heard a knock on her patio window. She realised that Marcus was standing outside, beckoning to her. Like her, he too was wearing a bathrobe, but whereas on her it fell to the floor and trailed behind her, on Marcus it only just covered his knees. The sight of the bare tanned flesh of his legs made the muscles in her lower body clench in unmistakable need.
Fighting down her reaction, she went to open the door, pulling her own robe protectively around her as she did so. Marcus had obviously walked across from his own suite, she recognised, and she realised that they actually shared the terrace, which ran the full length of both suites.
‘Marcus, I was just about to go to bed,’ she protested.
He ignored her, taking hold of her arm and commanding, ‘Come and look at this,’ as he drew her towards the stone parapet that edged the terrace.
‘Look at what?’ she demanded, and then stood still, a soft ‘Oh!’ of pleasure escaping from her lips as down below their hotel, at one of the villas, fireworks exploded in a burst of scarlet stars.
‘Fireworks,’ she whispered, entranced.
‘I remembered how much you like them.’ Marcus smiled.
‘They’re magical—like champagne in the sky,’ Lucy responded softly. ‘Someone must be celebrating something.’
As he wanted to celebrate her, Marcus thought. But in a far more private and intimate way. He would gladly create sexual fireworks for her if she would just allow him.
Another burst of stars followed the first one, this time a shower of sparkling silver and white against the night dark sky.
She looked as excited and enthralled as a small child, Marcus reflected, as she hung onto the stone balustrade and watched. But she wasn’t a child.
Lucy could feel Marcus standing behind her, the warmth of his body taking the chill of the evening breeze from hers and making her want to lean back against him...skin to skin...whilst the fireworks lit the sky and her own desire exploded inside her. She looked down. Marcus was leaning forward to get a better view of the fireworks, his hands either side of her own, so that she was enclosed between his body and the parapet.
A burst of gold and crimson exploded into the darkness before falling back to earth...
‘Oh, Marcus...’ Without thinking, she turned round. He was so close to her. So very close.
‘Marcus...’ She looked up at his mouth and swallowed.
Oh, God, but she wanted him.
‘They’ve finished now. I’d better go in,’ she told him jerkily, almost pushing him out of her way in her desperate need to get away from him before she did something even more stupid than she had done already.
She was in so much of a rush that she didn’t realise he had followed her inside her suite and was closing the patio door until it was too late.
She couldn’t even move when he began to walk towards her, her mouth suddenly too dry for her to speak and her legs too weak for her to move.
In complete silence he took hold of her hand and drew her with him toward the bath and then past it, until they were standing in front of the mirror. Just where she had been standing earlier, when he had...
The colour came and went in her face as he took her in his arms and started to kiss her, holding her face in his hands whilst he brushed her trembling lips over and over again with his own, until she had forgotten everything but her own need to have his mouth on her now, longer and harder. Her own hands rose to cover his shoulders, her fingers digging deep into the muscles as she shuddered fiercely beneath the sudden thrusting possession of his tongue. She felt his hands on her body, pushing the robe off her shoulders, and immediately she dropped her arms so that she could step out of it.
Very slowly Marcus turned her round and drew her back against himself, so that she was facing the mirror and he was standing behind her. His hands skimmed her body, stroking her skin, cupping her breasts, whilst her nipples pushed eagerly against his touch and his mouth teased the sensitive pleasure spot just behind her ear.
Her whole body arched as the breath left her lungs in a sob of erotic longing. Helplessly Lucy closed her eyes—half shocked by the sight of her own naked arousal and the erotic movement of Marcus’s hands over her body, and half so aroused by it that she wanted him to take her there and then. To bend her forward until she could rest her hands against the mirror, whilst her hair tumbled round her face and Marcus spread open her thighs, sliding his hands up to her hips whilst he plunged into the female heart of her in a position that was so sensually, shockingly, eternally primitive and immediate.
She was wet, so very wet, and hot and aching, her muscles quivering in anticipation of the pleasure and satisfaction her body craved.
‘Open your eyes, Lucy, and look in the mirror.’
Very slowly, she did so.
Marcus caressed her naked shoulders, his hands sliding down to cup her breasts whilst he kissed her throat. The sensation of the slightly rough pads of his fingertips against the exquisite sensitivity of her tight nipples made her cry out and arch her back, to bring her breasts closer to his caress while she pressed her buttocks back against him in eager, urgent movement.
‘Is that good?’
His voice sounded thicker, deeper, sending a message to her own senses like a note running along a wire. He was plucking erotically at her nipples, his tanned skin a contrast to her own pale softness and the dark hot flush of her engorged flesh.
His hands moved lower down, over her ribcage, lower... Lucy sighed and squirmed, closing her eyes in anticipation of the pleasure to come.
‘No...open your eyes and watch me,’ Marcus insisted thickly.
He was stroking her sex. Lucy couldn’t remove her aroused gaze from the movement of his hands. Her heart started to hammer against the wall of her chest as slowly and deliberately he folded back the soft flesh—just as she herself had done earlier. She looked into the mirror and saw in his eyes that he had seen her, had known what she was thinking. What she had been wanting. What she had been on the verge of doing....
‘Isn’t this better?’ he demanded softly. ‘Why pleasure yourself, Lucy, when I can do it for you?’
His mouth caressed the magic spot just below her ear and her whole body convulsed.
‘Did you know that the nerve-endings in this spot here are directly connected to your nerve-endings right here?’ she heard him whisper in her ear, as he kissed her skin again and stroked his fingers over the eager, dark pink wetness of her sex, rubbed his thumb-tip slowly over her clitoris.
Once. Twice. And then faster. Until she was breathing frantically fast and her whole body was shuddering in the grip of orgasm.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even stand. She felt boneless, weightless...and pleasured. Pleasured, but not satisfied, she knew, as Marcus swung her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.
Only when he had placed her on it and removed his own robe, only when her reckless longing had directed her fingers to reach out and stroke the length of his erection and back again, and she had allowed herself to enjoy the delicious pleasure touching him had relayed via her fingertips to each and every one of her senses, did she think to say uncertainly, ‘Marcus, I don’t think we should be doing this...’
‘Why ever not? You enjoyed it last night, didn’t you?’
Enjoyed it? Of course she’d enjoyed it. But that wasn’t the issue, or the point she was trying to make.
And yet she was murmuring dizzily, ‘Oh, yes, I did.’
‘And so did I. So there’s no problem, is there?’
‘No, I don’t suppose there is,’ Lucy agreed weakly.
How could there be any kind of problem when Marcus was touching her like this? Kissing her like this? ‘Mmm,’ she sighed happily against his mouth, and she reached up and wrapped her arms tightly around him.
CHAPTER SIX
L
UCY
looked at the pillow next to her own. It was still squashed from having Marcus’s sleeping head lying on it. She reached out and tenderly traced the indentation, a smile of soft happiness curving her mouth. Last night had been so wonderful—and what had made it even more wonderful had been falling asleep cuddled up next to Marcus, free to snuggle in against him and breathe in the scent of him. She had woken up several times during the night, just for the pleasure of reassuring herself that he was still there.
But he wasn’t always going to be ‘still there’, was he? She had no idea what had prompted Marcus to indulge in this brief and unexpected sexual adventure with her, but she knew already how much it was going to hurt when he grew tired of it—and of her. She didn’t want Marcus for a brief fling. She wanted him for life. Despair swamped her earlier euphoria.
‘Come on, sleepyhead, wake up. I’ve ordered breakfast, and it will be here any minute.’
Marcus! Lucy shot upright in the bed, and then blushed and reached for the protection of the duvet to cover her bare beasts, all too aware of the amused and quizzical look in Marcus’s eyes. He sat down beside her, firmly removed her ‘protection’, and bent his head to kiss first one nipple and then the other. Then he murmured appreciatively, ‘Maybe I should phone Room Service and tell them to delay breakfast.’
‘Mmm,’ Lucy agreed weakly, and then grabbed for the duvet again when there was a knock on the door.
‘I’ll get them to take our breakfast through my suite onto the terrace,’ Marcus offered, leaving the bed to go and close the shutters for her. ‘But don’t you dare go back to sleep.’
Sleep! That was the last thing she felt like doing, Lucy thought as she headed for the shower.
‘I was just about to come and make sure you hadn’t gone back to sleep,’ Marcus told her ten minutes later, when she opened the shutters and walked through the patio doors onto the terrace.
‘I’ve ordered coffee for you,’ he continued. ‘And fruit juice, and poached eggs with tomatoes and mushrooms. There’s some toast as well.’
‘A cooked breakfast? Yuck.’ Lucy shuddered as she sat down and immediately looked longingly at the coffee pot.
Marcus was already pouring coffee for her, and she breathed in its rich aroma whilst her tastebuds prepared themselves for their morning surge of caffeine. Marcus, she noticed, was drinking green tea.
‘The body needs protein in the morning,’ Marcus told her firmly, as he removed the cover from his own breakfast. ‘It can’t function properly without it.’
‘Oh, thank you, Dr Atkins,’ Lucy retorted sourly as she reached for her coffee. But the eggs did look appetising. She reached out and pinched a mushroom from Marcus’s plate.
‘Eat,’ Marcus commanded, handing her her own breakfast. ‘As soon as we’ve finished breakfast I’ll go and ring Beatrice and check what time she’s expecting to meet up with us,’ he added, as she tucked into her eggs and realised just how hungry she actually was. ‘But first there is something I want to discuss with you.’
Lucy had to put down her coffee cup because her hand had started to tremble. Here it was—the demand for an explanation she had been dreading so much.
‘If it’s about last night...and...and the day before...’ she began defensively.
‘It is,’ Marcus agreed. ‘It seems to me, Lucy, that it would be a very good idea if you and I were to get married.’
Had she head him correctly? Was he trying to make some kind of joke? ‘Married? You mean, as in to one another?’ she asked him cautiously.
‘Of course I mean as in to one another.’
‘But—but, Marcus...why? I mean, why would you—we—want to do that? I mean, you don’t even like me very much!’ Lucy blurted out, too shocked not to be honest.
‘I think that you and I would be very well suited to one another.’
Lucy reached for her coffee cup and took a deep gulp. He hadn’t said that he did like her, she noticed. And he certainly hadn’t said that he loved her.
‘We share a similar background, and I suspect a very similar outlook on life. We both, I think, want children, and, despite the ending of your marriage to Nick, I believe that, like me, you think of commitment made to another person via marriage as one that is made for life—for better or for worse, in a relationship to which one is totally committed. Because make no mistake—if we do marry, I shall be committed completely and totally to our marriage, and to you and to our children, and I shall expect the same commitment from you.’
Total and complete commitment from Marcus to her? Was she dreaming?
‘But—but...’
‘But what?’ Marcus demanded coolly. ‘As the last two days have proved, we are exceptionally sexually compatible.’
‘But people don’t get married just because they are having good sex together!’ Lucy protested. ‘You can’t want to marry me because of that, Marcus.’
‘There are other reasons,’ he agreed.
‘What other reasons?’
‘I’ll be thirty-five in December,’ Marcus told her calmly. ‘All the men in my family—my father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather and back beyond that—married before they were thirty-five. It’s a family tradition, and one I have no intention of breaking.’
Did he mean that if she refused him he would find someone else who wouldn’t?
She thought about how it would feel, being married to Marcus without being loved by him when she loved him so much. It would hurt—and very badly. Then she thought about how she would feel seeing Marcus married to someone else because he wanted to be married before his thirty-fifth birthday.
There just wasn’t any comparison. She could not bear the thought of seeing Marcus married to someone else when she could have been married to him herself.
‘And we have to be aware of the fact that, since you don’t take the Pill and I haven’t been using any form of contraception, you might already have conceived my child,’ Marcus reminded her. ‘I know how much you love children, Lucy, but I don’t think you’d want to be a single mother—and I certainly wouldn’t allow you to bring up my child without me being a part of its life. It would be far more practical for us to get married.’
Practical! She didn’t want practical. She wanted undying love, and promises that she would be showered with kisses day and night.
But Marcus didn’t love her, Lucy reminded herself sternly. Just as Nick hadn’t loved her—and look what had happened there.
She couldn’t marry him. And she couldn’t
not
marry him.
She hadn’t loved Nick, had she? But she did love Marcus—and besides, Marcus was a completely different man from Nick. Marcus had stated unequivocally that their marriage would be a permanent commitment, and that meant it would be exactly that. And she wanted that. She wanted it so very badly. She wanted to wake up every morning in a bed she shared with him, she wanted to conceive his children, and she wanted to grow old with him.
Love could grow, couldn’t it? And Marcus did want her. Unlike Nick, Marcus wanted to have sex with her. Unlike Nick, Marcus enjoyed having sex with her—he had said so.
‘Marcus,
if
we were to...to become a couple, don’t you think that people might think it rather odd and ask questions?’
‘Why should they? And if they do I shall simply tell them that I had always planned to marry you, and that since Blayne beat me to it first time round I’m making sure I don’t lose you to anyone else.’
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. If only that was the truth.
‘So, are you willing to accept my proposal? I promise you that I think a marriage between us will work very well, Lucy, and I shall certainly do everything within my power to ensure that it does.’
‘I don’t know. I’m so confused...’
Marcus sounded more as though he were chairing a business meeting than proposing to her. But then to him no doubt their marriage
was
a kind of business arrangement, she thought sadly.
‘Perhaps I should take you back to bed,’ Marcus murmured softly. ‘That might help make up your mind.’
Her insides melted, then somehow she was nodding her head, and Marcus was saying coolly, ‘Good, so it’s agreed, then. We won’t say anything official until I’ve had a chance to speak to your father—and besides, I’d prefer us to wait until we return to London to choose your ring. There is a family betrothal ring—so astoundingly ugly, according to my mother, that she threatened not to marry my father unless he allowed her to choose something for herself—but personally, I think that for an engaged couple to opt for a ring of their own choosing invests it with something more personal and shared than the passing-down of a family ring—’
‘I agree with you.’ Lucy stopped him dizzily. Was this really happening? Was she really sitting here over breakfast with Marcus, talking about their marriage and her engagement ring, having just spent a wonderful night in bed with him?
‘We’re virtually in October now,’ Marcus continued. ‘My birthday is in early December, so I’d like to be married before the end of November if possible. Just a small affair—if that’s all right with you?’
‘Oh, yes. Of course. A simple register office ceremony...’
‘No.’ Marcus shook his head, silencing her. ‘No, I’d prefer a church service, Lucy. After all, I think we’re both agreed that we are making a lifetime commitment to one another—I certainly view our marriage as a permanent commitment. Since you and Blayne didn’t marry in church, there is, in my opinion, no moral or legal reason why we should not do so. And even if the actual wedding has to be in a register office I’d like a church blessing, if possible. I imagine the Brompton Oratory would be the best choice. You’ll want to be married from your parents’ London home, and since that is in Knightsbridge...’
Lucy stared at him. The Oratory was
the
church of choice for lots of society brides and their mothers, and very grand.
Marcus was looking at his watch.
‘It’s nearly eleven now, and we’re meeting Beatrice at twelve-thirty in Palma to have lunch with her. So that only leaves us half an hour to get ready—besides which, I’d better give her a ring and remind her. She’s got possibly the worst memory of anyone I know.’
They both stood up, and then on some impulse she didn’t want to investigate too closely Lucy put her hand on Marcus’s arm and tugged at the sleeve of his robe, so that he bent his head towards her. Raising herself up on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his and kissed him softly.
She could feel the rigidity of his muscles, and her face burned as she released him and stepped back from him.
Marcus watched her through narrowed eyes. It was one thing for her to want him, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about the intensity with which he wanted her back. It would suit his purposes very nicely for her to lose control in his arms, but he certainly did not want his own self-control to be breached—and he didn’t like having to admit that it could be—especially not by Lucy.
Even so, he couldn’t afford to risk alienating her at this stage by appearing to reject her.
Lucy exhaled in shock as Marcus reached for her and drew her back into his arms.
How and when had Marcus’s hands slipped inside her robe to her naked skin? she wondered blissfully, when she suddenly realised that the sensation of his mouth on hers wasn’t the only sensual pleasure she was experiencing.
Instinctively she moved closer to him, and discovered to her delight that he was aroused and hard. She made a small sound of female pleasure and approval as she pressed even closer—and then reluctantly she remembered Beatrice.
‘You said we should get ready to meet your sister,’ she reminded him, the words semi-mumbled beneath the increasing passion of his kiss.
‘To hell with Beatrice,’ she heard him respond thickly, but he started to release her, giving her one last hard kiss as he did so, acknowledging, ‘Yes, you’re right. We’d better make a move.’
* * *
She was going to marry Marcus. She still couldn’t take it in.
They had arrived in Palma five minutes earlier, having been driven there by the hotel’s chauffeur service.
‘I thought we’d be going to Beatrice’s villa to discuss the party,’ Lucy commented.
‘Beatrice suggested we meet up for lunch instead,’ Marcus answered. ‘The restaurant’s just down here.’
Lucy knew Palma quite well, and the restaurant in front of them was one that was patronised by wealthy locals and visitors alike. Knowing how elegantly and expensively Marcus’s elder sister dressed, Lucy had decided to wear something a little bit more formal than she would normally have chosen—and now that she had seen where they were to have lunch she was glad of that fact. Her linen skirt with its row of pretty eyelet details just above the hem, teamed with a white strappy top worn under a crunchy cotton-linen asymmetrically styled cardigan-type jacket, had been a good choice; virtually every other woman in the restaurant seemed to be wearing a combination of very stylish linens and cottons, in that smart way that continental women seemed to be able to adopt so easily.
‘Beatrice obviously hasn’t arrived yet, but we may as well go straight to our table and wait for her there—unless you want a drink in the bar first?’ Marcus suggested.
‘No, let’s go straight to the table,’ Lucy told him. She didn’t want him thinking that she couldn’t get through half a day without an alcoholic drink, especially when it wasn’t true. Coffee, now—well, that was different.
They had been waiting for about five minutes when the restaurant door opened and Marcus’s sister came hurrying in. Tall and dark-haired, like Marcus, she was wearing black linen pants and an oatmeal-coloured cotton top, her hair drawn back off her face, her large Oliver’s People sunglasses perched on top of her head.
‘Marcus!’ she exclaimed as she hurried over and kissed him. ‘I am so sorry I’m late. And Lucy—how very kind of you to give up your time like this.’
‘We haven’t ordered anything yet, Bea. Would you like something to drink?’ Marcus asked, as the waiter drew out her chair for her.
‘Oh, yes—a spritzer, please. I’m driving. That’s why I was late. I couldn’t find anywhere to park. What’s the weather like at home? When I spoke to Mother the other day she said it was raining. I’m going to have to stay out here until half term, and the wretched plumber says now that he can’t get the tiles we ordered, which means that when Boffy and Izzy come out for their half term break we’ll only have one bathroom.’