The Millionaire Tycoon's English Rose

so intricately entangled, but they managed somehow, working through the layers, getting in each other’s way, laughing exultantly, getting it wrong, getting it right, trying to control the mounting pleasure long enough to reach their goal, and finally reaching it with long sighs of satisfaction.

‘Oh, yes,’ she murmured, half out of her mind with what she had wanted for so long and so hopelessly.

The feel of having him inside her again was so good that she wondered how she’d survived so long without it. She moved strongly against him, seeking to repeat the first, unrepeatable sensation. She wanted to touch him all over at the same time-his arms, his neck, his wide shoulders and muscular torso. Then she wanted to slide her hands down the length of him to the narrow hips and long muscular thighs. In their frenzy of action all she could manage was to wrap her own thighs around him, enclosing him, drawing him deep into her body as she wanted him deep in her heart.

They climaxed together almost at once, and continued without a pause, their desire barely touched, far from slaked. Other lovings had taught them that they could inspire each other for a long time before they were satisfied. But there had never been a loving like this.

As he lay over her afterwards, looking down into her face, Celia had one of her rare moments of wishing for sight. She longed to see his face and find in it the tenderness she’d felt in his touch. But then he kissed her gently, and she knew that she had all she needed. He moved off her while still holding her in his arms, so that she was pulled over against him, heart to heart.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked softly, as he had always done before.

Her answer was the same as then, a little sound of blissful content, for there were some emotions that no words could express. He responded by holding her closer and burying his face in her hair.

‘I was afraid I’d lost you for good,’ he said.

‘You couldn’t lose me,’ she murmured against his skin.

She went on whispering incoherent words, wondering how it was possible to be so happy.

Somewhere above her head he gave a brief laugh.

‘What is it?’ she asked at once.

‘I was remembering our first night together. I’d been trying to imagine what you wore underneath, and I’d decided it must be something practical, because you were so fiercely efficient.’

‘But it wasn’t practical at all, was it?’

‘No way. A satin thong that practically didn’t exist, and a satin and lace bra, all in brilliant scarlet.’

‘Did you disapprove?’

‘No, I loved it. I knew then that I’d underestimated you.’

‘You always did.’

‘And you’re wearing them again today.’

‘You mean, I was wearing them, don’t you?’ she teased.

‘Yes, I guess I do.’

She smiled to herself. She’d never told him that she’d bought the sexy underwear after their first evening together, when she’d spent that lonely week, longing for him to return, determined to be ready for anything if he did. And when she’d set out for Naples, determined to reclaim him, it was the first thing she’d packed.

For the moment she’d triumphed. Whatever their problems were they had faded to nothing. Perhaps she would remember them one day. Or perhaps not. It hardly seemed to matter.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘DO YOU know what we need now?’ Francesco asked sleepily.

‘What?’

‘Champagne. I don’t suppose you keep any?’

‘I might just have some,’ she said, carefully casual.

In fact, she’d laid in a store of that, too, but there was no need for him to know that.

They rose from the bed and stood for a moment leaning against each other, like two people who’d come to the end of a long and exhausting race and needed time to recover before enjoying the prize.

Afterwards she donned a satin robe, while he pulled on his trousers and followed her into the kitchen where she produced the champagne and two glasses. He poured them both a glass, and they clinked.

‘I’ve just discovered I’m tired,’ he said.

‘That’s a pity, because I’ve got plans for you later.’

‘Have mercy, woman.’

‘Slacker,’ she jeered.

‘Not at all. But let’s stretch out on the sofa first.’

They did so, with her sitting and him lying with his head on her leg.

‘I could stay like this for ever,’ he said blissfully.

‘Me, too.’

‘It’s how we used to be.’

‘And now we’ve got it back,’ she murmured. ‘How could we have been so careless?’

‘We never will be again. In future we’ll-’ he made a vague gesture ‘-discuss things rationally.’

She chuckled. ‘Shall I give you lessons in that?’

‘Oi, cheeky!’

‘Rationally!’ she mocked. ‘You wouldn’t recognise rational discussion if it bopped you on the nose.’

‘OK, you may have to give me a few lessons, but we’ll get there. I’m not going to lose you a second time just because-Oh, hell!’

The last remark was jerked from him by the ringing of the telephone.

‘If that’s Sandro, just let me speak to him for five seconds,’ Francesco begged.

‘It won’t be, I promise.’ Celia reached for the phone, which was on a small table at the end of the sofa. ‘Hallo? Ciao, Mario.’

Suddenly she sounded pleased, and Francesco’s head rose from her leg in query.

‘Journalist,’ she mouthed. ‘He was there this afternoon.’

‘Then he should have talked to you this afternoon.’

‘He did. Mario, it’s not a good time…oh, I see…when’s your deadline? All right, just five minutes, as long as you promise me a great story. And Sandro, of course…he had a great time, so he told me afterwards…oh, yes, green with envy…my turn soon. But I may jump from a helicopter, or a balloon. That way we cover the whole range…yes, you can say that. And there’s one other thing-’

After a few moments she hung up, aware that something had changed. It wasn’t just that Francesco’s head had vanished from her leg. The atmosphere was suddenly spiky and dangerous.

‘What is it?’ she asked, feeling for him.

‘You just said that to make a good story, right? About jumping? You’re not going to do that.’

After a brief silence she said, ‘Are you asking me or telling me?’ Her voice was quiet, but suddenly it had an edge.

‘Cara, please! Let’s not go into this again. We said it would be different this time. You’ve had your fun. You’ve turned me white haired with fear often enough-’

‘Had my fun?’ she echoed, aghast. ‘Is that how you see it?’

‘I’ve heard you call it fun.’

‘Among other things. Sure, it’s fun, but that’s not why I live as I do. It’s because I won’t be pigeonholed as “disabled”-by you or anyone else.’

‘All right,’ he said, making a belated attempt to stop the world disintegrating a second time. ‘But you’ve done those things, and I’ve put up with-accepted it. Surely it’s time to-that is, we’ve talked and I thought you understood-’

‘You mean, you thought I’d given in,’ she said slowly.

‘I thought you’d seen reason-No, I didn’t mean that-’

‘Why not? It’s honest. I don’t mind you saying things like that. What I mind is your assumption that if I dare to