A Spanish Inheritance

‘No,’ he said sternly when she clung to him, crying out with pleasure. ‘This is not enough for me, querida.’ And she reached down, exhaling fast as she fumbled with his buckle and then took him in her hands.

Parting her legs wide, she wrapped them around him, clutching him with her thighs, leaning back and offering, waiting until with a last searing glance he drove deep inside her and set up a seductive rhythm of long slow strokes. Their gazes locked, reflecting, intensifying each other’s pleasure, until with a last shuddering cry Annalisa felt him tip her over the edge of reason into a moment so intense, so violent and uncontrolled, he had to use all his strength to keep her beneath him. But then he moved as she wanted him to, and made sure that it was all over, and she lay trembling in his arms before surrendering to the thought-robbing pleasure of his own savage release.

When at last he lifted her down they stood entwined for a while in silent communication.

‘That was—’

He put his finger over her lips. ‘I want to stay here…I want to spend the night with you.’

She lifted her chin, but he cut off her questions with kisses that were tender now, tender and searching.

And when he broke away at last it was Annalisa’s turn to silence him. And, finding his hand, she linked her fingers through his, led him across the room and took him upstairs.

Maria Teresa had placed a terracotta bowl of country flowers in the hearth of the old stone fireplace and their subtle scent perfumed the air. The shutters had been left open a crack so that the bed was a haven of shade streaked with pale streamers of sunlight.

There was no rush now, just clothes pooling at their feet, eyes meeting, holding, trusting. Nothing existed beyond his warm touch and her eager responses. Lips brushing his chest, whispered sighs, sweet murmurings of love, one thought, one desire… The desire she felt only with him.

And then he was moulding her to him, and his hands grew firm as they explored her body. He found her breasts first with his lips and then his tongue, and now it was his turn to drag in a fast involuntary breath. Supporting her weight over one arm, he slipped his hand between her legs and, hearing her moan, carried her to the bed. Wrapping her legs around him, he made a seamless transition from one welcome invasion to another fuller and more complete assault.

Again their hunger overtook them, so that there was no finesse: none possible and none sought. They moved fiercely together, Annalisa held firm between thighs of steel as she called out his name and shuddered repeatedly in his arms while he kissed her slowly and deeply, brushing her hair back from her damp face with long, tender strokes.

As she faced herself in the bathroom mirror Annalisa saw a puzzled reflection staring back at her. She knew Ramon was still asleep, his long, sun-bronzed limbs sprawled in casual contentment across her bed. She was at a loss to identify exactly what had changed. There was no physical cause she could pin down, just a great and compelling stillness inside her that seemed to demand recognition.

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Ramon! You startled me.’ As his arms looped around her waist she rested back with an easy familiarity she had never found with him before.

‘You’ll catch cold,’ he murmured, reaching out one hand to grab her robe from its hook on the door. ‘What are you doing in here on your own?’

‘I’m not on my own,’ Annalisa pointed out, nestling into him.

‘Not now,’ he agreed, brushing away her thick curtain of hair to kiss her neck. ‘Nor ever again, querida. But you haven’t answered my question. And you know what that means…’

‘Do I?’ His kisses roused her senses so easily.

‘It means I have to make you tell me what’s troubling you,’ he murmured against her lips.

‘I can’t wait—’

‘No,’ he warned softly, pulling his head back. ‘I saw something in your face just now. There’s something wrong. And you must tell me what it is.’

How can I do that when I don’t know? Annalisa wondered.

‘Is it your father?’ Ramon suggested, wrapping a towel around his waist.

‘He meant a lot to you,’ she observed gently, relieved to have the chance to concentrate on something safer than the impenetrable sensations she had no key to unlock.

‘You only had to ask,’ he chided when he saw the sadness in her eyes.

‘I was wrong to misjudge him so badly. He sent money all those years—’

‘Don’t punish yourself. You weren’t to know.’

‘And my mother never spent a penny of it…and he left me the finca—’ She broke off and her voice was choked with emotion when she spoke again. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t trust him—’