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The firelight lit his muscular torso, the flickering flames turning the tanned skin to a burnished bronze and highlighting the sprinkle of dark hair which trailed through washboard abs. She flushed, remembering how she had reacted that night to seeing him naked. He was even more solid and overwhelming at twenty-eight than he had been at twenty-four—the scars she’d been so shocked by before somehow more pronounced. But then she noticed the blood seeping from a wound on his left arm.
And recalled the crunch of broken glass as he’d carried her into the house.
She shook her head, trying to snap out of the exhaustion. She had to stop the bleeding. She mopped the blood with his wet sweater, sighing with relief when she discovered it was a jagged wound but not too deep. The heat from the fire—and her juvenile reaction to seeing him virtually naked again—had sweat dripping into her eyes. She stripped off her undershirt—leaving her in nothing but her underwear, because the room had become much warmer, positively toasty. She ripped the cotton into strips and gently wrapped his arm.
When she had finished he had stopped shivering and seemed peaceful at last. His breathing was deep and even, the grimace relaxing.
Dragging a throw from the couch with the last vestiges of her strength, she wrapped it around them both and snuggled against his right side, placing her hand on his belly.
But as woozy fatigue began to overwhelm her, the soft murmur of his breathing, the salty scent of sweat and the hints of bergamot and cedar drew her back into dreams of a night long ago.
* * *
‘Shh… Here, let me touch you. Let me make it good.’
‘Oh, yes, please do,’ Mel had gasped as Rene’s thumb found the place where their bodies joined, teasing, tempting and tormenting her. ‘I think you’re missing the best bit,’ she offered.
Rene chuckled, but all she heard was husky approval, instead of the disgust she had panicked she might hear when he’d asked her if she was a virgin.
Thank goodness she had kept that a secret—even though that thick thrust had hurt a bit. He certainly wasn’t a small guy in any way, but the pain was fading fast now.
‘How about this?’ he murmured, and then his thumb swept across the perfect spot at last.
She bucked. ‘Oh… Oh… Yes. Right there.’
The coil of pleasure tightened sharply, her body clamouring for a release which felt just out of reach as he caressed that perfect spot. The full stretched feeling—where he was lodged so deeply inside her—felt so good now too.
This feels so perfect. But how does he know just where to touch me?
‘I can’t… It’s so much,’ she gasped, suddenly scared by the intensity of her feelings. The perfection of his touch.
‘Shh, Melody. I’ve got this… Just relax.’ He cupped her cheek, his gaze fierce in the darkened room—and her heart contracted in her chest.
How could this be the boy she remembered? The boy who had once made her feel like nothing, but had made her feel so special tonight. The man who had flirted with her and flattered her all evening, ever since she had confronted him in the Mayfair club. He had made her feel cherished and witty and important in front of her friends, before they’d sneaked back to her place together.
He groaned heavily, the taste of brandy on his breath delicious as he kissed her with fury and purpose. Then he grasped her hips in both hands. ‘I need to move.’
She lifted her knees, gripped his shoulders and nodded, giving him permission, eager to feel it all now.
He slid out of her, then thrust slowly, surely, but so carefully back in—filling her to bursting. But this time he nudged a spot so perfect her whole body quivered. She sobbed, the immense sensation rippling outwards.
He let out a harsh laugh. ‘Good?’ he asked.
She nodded furiously. ‘Yes, do that again.’
‘Your wish is my command,’ he teased, but the deep chuckle which followed felt even more validating, even more glorious, filling up all the inadequate places inside her.
The last of the discomfort disappeared as he held her firmly and stroked that perfect spot, over and over.
The pleasure swelled—soaring, bursting—until her sobs matched his grunts, their sweat slick bodies moving in furious unison.
Finally, she flew, the joy sweeping her body matched by the joy swooping into her heart. And as she sank into the bright, beautiful abyss he gathered her into his arms and kissed her forehead.
‘That was incredible, Melody,’ he murmured, his tone tinged with surprise as well as admiration.
And her heart whispered,Yes, yes, it was. Surely this makes Rene Gaultiere mine now, for ever.
CHAPTER SIX