Authors: Sara Craven
catalogues. She needed to get out of Rohan's orbit for a while — to
try and pull herself together, she thought almost frantically. She
was unnerved by her total awareness of him, and the
unaccustomed gnaw of longing deep within her. Even when she'd
been helping in the kitchen she'd found her eyes straying, as if
magnetised, in his direction. And knew that he knew it too.
It seemed impossible that she could have fallen in love so swiftly
and completely, especially when she'd managed to remain heart-
whole quite effortlessly all this time. No other man had ever been
able to arouse more than a tingle of interest in her. Now she felt
the full pulsation of desire throbbing through her body, the peaks
of her untrammelled breasts hardening involuntarily against the
sweet friction of her silky top.
Safely out of the sight and sound of him, she gazed raptly at glossy
brochures and debated the merits of sofa-beds over plain settees
with all the enthusiasm Marie-Christine could have wished. She
also had to parry some delighted but pointed questioning about
Rohan.
'I'm so happy for you—for both of you,' the other girl confided.
'I've known Rohan a long time, but I've never seen him this way
with a woman before, or with such immediacy. A veritable
coup
defoudre,
eh?'
Sabine laughed awkwardly. 'Well, yes. It's never happened to me
before either.' She hesitated. 'But you suggested that he had
Antoinette. . .'
Marie-Christine shrugged largely. 'Oh, well, as to that—it seemed
the sensible thing if Rohan wanted to be master of La Tour
Monchauzet. And naturally it was the wish of the
Baron
and
madame.
But neither he nor Antoinette are direct blood
descendants of Monsieur de Rochefort, so there would have been
heavy financial penalties attached to the inheritance.' She smiled
archly at Sabine. 'And now you have given his thoughts a different
direction anyway, so that solves everything.'
Did it? Sabine wondered as they returned downstairs. If Rohan
really wanted control of the vineyard, would he consider it well
lost for love once the first passion had cooled, as it inevitably
would? At some future time might he blame her for the loss of his
dream?
Then she saw him look across at her and smile, and all her
uncertainties vanished like morning mist before the sun. For good
or ill, she belonged to him, and the future would have to take care
of itself.
The sky was thick with stars as they walked down the track
towards Les Hiboux. Rohan's arm lay lightly across her shoulders,
filling her with a languorous and delicious warmth. When they
reached the house, he took the key from her and unlocked the
door. Her whole body trembled as he took her in his arms. Her lips
parted eagerly to receive his kiss, and she clung to his shoulders as
the world quavered and shook around her. He swung her up into
his arms and carried her over the threshold into the shadowy
interior and beyond to the shuttered darkness of the bedroom.
The bed received her softly. He did not join her immediately as
she'd half expected, but sat down beside her. He took her hand,
lifting it to his lips, brushing his mouth softly across the palm,
until her whole being shivered with the intimacy of the contact.
She wanted more, but was unsure how to tell him. Her lack of
experience, which had never concerned her before, seemed
suddenly grotesque. The ordinary communication of words was
inadequate to convey all she was feeling, all that she desired. She
was as tongue-tied and gauche as a schoolgirl on a first date.
Shyly, guided by instinct, she put her other hand on the front of his
shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin through the smooth, crisp
fabric, before releasing one button, then another. Her fingers slid
inside, rediscovering the hair-roughened wall of his chest,
touching the flat male nipples and feeling them harden beneath her
tentative exploration.
He said quietly and very gravely, 'Sabine —are you sure? Because,
after tonight, there can be no turning back for either of us.'
She whispered, 'I'm quite sure.'
'So be it, then.'
Sabine could hear the rustle of his clothes as he removed them.
Then he lay down beside her, and drew her gently into his arms.
For a moment, she was tense when she felt the strength and power
of his naked body against her own, but there was no pressure, no
instant demand in his embrace, and she soon relaxed again. He
began to touch her very lightly, his hand stroking her face, the
curve of her throat, and the cool skin exposed by the low neck of
her top.
He said softly, 'You looked very beautiful tonight. This —' his
fingers brushed the flimsy fabric where it stretched over her
breasts and lingered ' — this was a great success.'
'You—you have very good taste.' Her own voice was husky. 'It's
a—lovely outfit.'
'I hoped you would like it. But it would be a pity to allow it to
crease, don't you think?' He paused interrogatively. 'Well?'
'I —suppose so,' she managed at last, dry-mouthed.
Without fumbling or undue haste, Rohan freed her from the silky
folds. The night air felt suddenly cool on her uncovered body, and
she shivered. He lifted himself on to one elbow and looked down
at her. 'Is this the first time?'
'That I've let a man undress me?' Sabine prevaricated.
'Not just that.' Faint laughter stirred in his voice. 'Anything with a
man.'
'Is it so obvious?' she asked in a low voice. She hesitated. 'Are —
are you disappointed?'
'No,' he said. 'I am overwhelmed. I don't deserve such an exquisite
gift.'
The breath caught in her throat as his hands cupped her naked
breasts, his thumbs stroking the already erect nipples, making them
throb with a pleasure that was akin to anguish. She let her head fall
back on the pillow, her body arching in swift sensuousness,
inviting and inciting the continuation of his caresses.
He bent his head, letting his mouth take possession of first one
eager, engorged peak, then the other, suckling them gently and
luxuriously, making her gasp and writhe beneath him, her body
blooming with a faint film of perspiration. Her hands lifted to
cradle his head, and hold him against her, her fingers raking
through the crisp dark hair. She found herself savouring almost
frantically the strangeness, the Tightness of it all, felt the silent,
urgent clamour of her body as it pressed against his, wanting more
—always more. . .
'Patience,' he whispered against her skin. 'We have all night, my
heart, my beautiful one.'
He let the tip of his tongue traverse the valley between her breasts,
and continue down over the sensitive midriff to the taut hollow of
her belly. At the same time, his hand slid gently from her shoulder
to the curve of her hip, soothing her as if she was some young and
frightened animal —as perhaps she was — and paused, one finger
outlining, almost idly, the concealing lacy triangle of her briefs. A
new stark tension gripped her. She was rigid, every sense alerted,
waiting suddenly. . . His hand repeated the movement, coaxingly,
beguilingly.
Sabine realised she had almost stopped breathing.
His hand moved again, found her, touched her with a knowledge
older than the world, making her whole being convulse in sudden
startled pleasure. Her throat constricted in a soundless, wordless
moan, and he bent and touched his mouth to hers, the tip of his
tongue meeting hers lightly, teasingly, mirroring the silken play of
his fingers.
One incredible sensation seemed to pursue another through her
consciousness. She realised somehow that she was completely
naked now, every secret of her womanhood surrendered to the
honeyed eroticism of his caresses. For the first time in her life, she
was discovering exactly what level of response her untutored and
bewildered body might be capable of. Limbs pliant, reason
suspended, she lay in a universe where nothing mattered except
that he should not stop.
His lips travelled to her ear, probing the tiny sensitive whorls, then
took a leisurely path down her throat to her breasts, toying with her
ardently expectant nipples, before moving without haste down her
body. And down.
'Ah, God.' The sound was torn out of her. 'No — you can't. . .' But
even as she spoke her body was twisting, lifting almost of its own
volition, offering itself to this new intimacy in greedy delight.
Wave after wave of a pleasure bordering on exaltation raised her
gently to some peak, ebbed a little, then carried her up again, more
fiercely than before. She was the tide, and Rohan her inexorable
moon, beckoning her without mercy to some unknown strand.
When at last he allowed the wave to break, she broke with it, mind
and body shattering, fragmenting in rapture. She could hear herself
sobbing, experienced the scalding release of tears on her fevered
face. Rohan cradled her in his arms, murmuring to her, soothing
her, praising her. He made her close her eyes, rest for a while, her
head pillowed on his shoulder. She slept a little — perhaps he did
too —then woke once more to the warm arousal of his kiss, the
murmur of his voice against her ear, summoning her to another
feast of delight.
He encouraged her to explore his body to turn, to use the same
delicate, sensual curiosity he had shown her. She was shy at first,
scared of failing him, but his undisguised pleasure in her tentative
caresses made her gain confidence, and become bolder. He made
her sharply and joyously aware that he wanted her not as a
submissive toy, but as a full partner in their lovemaking, sharing
the same ardour, the same urgency. Her hands became eager,
demanding on his body, as the sweet, hot spiral of need began to
build in her again.
When, at last, he lifted himself over her, she was more than ready,
welcoming him into her with a little whimper of bliss. It was all so
simple, she found herself thinking, as coherent thought faded
before the renewed onslaught of sensation. All so wonderfully,
ecstatically simple. And complex. And complete.
She clung to him, their mouths drinking hectically from one
another, their harsh breathing mingled; moved with him, her slim
legs clamped round his waist, climbed with him higher and higher
into some fierce and unimagined realm of pleasure.
Suddenly, they were at the world's end, her body convulsing in
astonished and savage joy, as she heard him cry out hoarsely in his
own release. Afterwards, they lay quietly together, wrapped in
each other's arms, smiling a little, totally at peace.
She said, 'I didn't know it could be like that.'
'Nor I.' Gently Rohan smoothed the sweat-dampened hair back
from her forehead.
'But it wasn't—the first time—for you. It couldn't have been.'
Contemplating the others who might have shared this infinity of
delight with him was like probing an open wound.
'It was the first time with the woman I love.' He touched her mouth
softly with his own. 'That is all that matters. The past doesn't count
any more. There is only the future —our future.'
There was an odd vehemence in his tone. Sabine stared up at him.
'You really think it can be that easy?'
'I shall make it so,' he said with a touch of grimness. 'Trust me.' He
kissed her again. 'Now let's get some sleep.'
She felt hollow, light-headed with happy weariness, but sleep was
strangely elusive just the same. But it was good just to lie in the
darkness, curled against him, listening to his even breathing, and
know this was just the first night of the rest of their lives.
Somewhere in the stillness of the night an owl hooted—the first
one she'd heard since she came to live at Les Hiboux, Sabine
realised, surprised.
So much for the bird of ill-omen, she thought drowsily. With
Rohan's arms round her, nothing could harm her now.
* * *
In the distance, she could hear the splash of the shower, and the
fragrance of coffee hung tantalisingly in the air.
Sabine sat up, shivered a little in the cool of the early morning air,