Dark Fever

‘No, what?’ Gil asked against her parted mouth, and she groaned.

His tongue-tip slid along her lower lip and she moaned again. ‘I—I mustn’t,’ she stammered.

‘Why not?’ he asked, his tongue moving right inside her mouth as he spoke, and she trembled, clutching him to stop herself falling to pieces because the pleasure of tasting his mouth was so intense it was like dying; a piercing excitement had begun inside her, a bewildering mix of pain and delight.

‘Gil...no...’

‘Shh...’ he murmured, his voice husky, and then he was kissing her hotly and she shut her eyes, let her body yield to the pressure of his hand against her back, drawing her closer. This was what she had wanted from the first instant she saw him, almost naked in the sunlight, his beautiful body glittering with drops of water, his skin golden and smooth, his body riveting. As she remembered how he had looked that first morning, desire ran through her like a flame and she shuddered in his arms, kissing him back, her mouth meeting the insistent pressure of his with equal hunger.

She ran her hands up his chest, the warmth of his skin coming through his shirt and permeating her palms. The body under his shirt was firm and muscled; she felt her way upwards, slowly, touched his strong neck, felt the hot beat of his pulse under her fingertips. His blood ran there; she felt the race of excitement in his veins and an answering race in her own:

He wants me, she thought, shivering, and God knows I want him. I have ever since I first saw him. She knew that this could have happened then, that very first moment; her desire had been a primitive impulse over which her mind had no control; she had felt it beat up inside her as she’d looked at him, and if anything it was stronger now, more powerful.

The physical need of the past empty three years had grown into a force as devastating as a tidal wave. It was crashing now against the last frail restraints she had built up against it. She shuddered with the impact of that force.

Gil groaned, slowly ran his hand down from her throat and caressed her full, warm breasts. A deep gasp of pleasure broke from her, and then the hand behind her slid up inside her T-shirt and undid her bra. A second later she felt his hands cupping her naked breasts. His lips slid from her mouth to her neck, where his teeth grazed her; he opened his mouth on her flesh and her head fell back; she couldn’t stop groaning, shaking; she was so hot, she was on fire.

Suddenly he lifted her off the floor, half over his shoulder; he began walking with her. She was in a sensual trance, knowing what was going to happen and wanting it so much that she couldn’t make herself stop him. Why should she stop him? Why shouldn’t she take what she wanted, and to hell with the consequences?

He carried her into the shadowy bedroom and threw back the bedcover; he pulled off her sandals, laid her on the cool linen sheet; she heard him tearing off his clothes, dropping them on the floor as he had her sandals.

Hot and cold, flushed and shivering, Bianca tried to think, tried to make herself break out of her daze.

If Rob could see me he’d be so disgusted, she thought with a sudden sick pang. Am I really going to go to bed with a man I hardly know? I haven’t even known him a week yet. Some women may go in for quick holiday romances, leaping into bed without a second thought, but I’m not like that. Rob would despise me if he knew.

She sat up, white and sick, and tried to slide off the bed, but Gil was in her way, and he was naked now.

She froze, heart beating hard and fast, breathless and shaking. She couldn’t take her eyes off him; her mouth went dry.

He looked down at her; she felt his eyes piercing her, reading the hunger she couldn’t hide.

‘May I take your clothes off, or would you rather do it yourself?’ he whispered.

She sat there, all eyes. She couldn’t get a word out and couldn’t move, only stare at him, a deep, burning ache inside her, between her thighs.

He knelt on the bed and reached for her, and her nerves jumped.

‘No!’ she said, stiffening. ‘I can’t, Gil. Rob would hate me...’

His eyes flashed like lightning in the darkness of the room. ‘He’s dead. You aren’t. How much longer are you going to wait? What are you expecting—permission from the grave?’

She winced. ‘Don’t!’

He said more gently, ‘Three years is long enough, Bianca. You’re alive; you have a right to a full and meaningful life, a right to love and be loved, not exist in some half-life, like a nun in a convent. Rob couldn’t blame you for that—or was he petty and mean-minded?’

‘Rob was generous, a kind man, warm-hearted and loving!’

‘Then why would he want you to be unhappy for the rest of your life?’ Gil asked, and then he reached for her again and drew her T-shirt over her head.

He undressed her slowly and she no longer protested or tried to stop him. She felt his pleasure as he took her clothes off, was weak with her own pleasure at having his hands gently touch her, each movement as much an act of love as the act itself could be, a sensual ritual, her clothes discarded item by item until she was as naked as he was.

It was three years since a man had seen her totally naked, and she felt very self-conscious, exposed and defenceless.

He sat down on the bed beside her and looked at her— the room was full of a breathing, thick silence, and her eyes darkened under his stare.

Was this how she had been looking at him? Had he felt the way she felt now?

He leaned his face against her bare breasts, groaning, his lips pressed against her flesh.