Two Little Lies (16 page)

When he sensed the restlessness growing in her again, Quin eased his hand higher still, stroking one finger deep into the softness which he found there, and eliciting a small, weak cry of pleasure. Forcing himself to be gentle, he touched her in the way he remembered. The way she liked, the tip of his finger gently grazing her sweet feminine nub.

Viviana began to tremble a little. Her hands, light and warm, settled on his shoulders. “Come into the bed now,
caro mio.”
Her voice was husky now. “Give me your warmth and the hardness of your body.”

Quietly, he rose from the bed. He found it strange that he felt no need to rush. He had dreamt of this moment a thousand times. And always, it had been a dream which turned into a nightmare upon his awakening, for his bed was always empty. In the weak afternoon light which permeated the tiny room, he undressed. Viviana had never been shy, but this time, her eyes never left him. When at last his shirt had been dragged off over his head, and his hands went to the tie of his drawers, he saw her swallow hard. Quickly, he tore them away, half-fearing that the blatantly aroused state of his body might yet give her pause. Viviana’s eyes widened, and she moved to throw back the old wool coverlet and the heavy bedcovers beneath.

He went to the bed, and reached for her. A little desperately, he stripped away her chemise. The fabric breezed up, baring her breasts and teasing her nipples. Quin made a little growling sound in his throat. “Oh, holy God,” he whispered. “Oh, my God, Vivie.”

“I—I am not the same, Quin,” she answered. “I have aged.”

He leaned over her, and set his right hand on the turn of her waist, then slid it slowly up and over her ribs, until her breast was cradled in his hand. “No, you have ripened,” he whispered. “You are a lush, lovely woman, Vivie, instead of just a pretty girl.” Gently, he ran his thumb around her nipple. But Viviana wanted more. She moved restlessly in the bed, silently pleading for him. Quin felt suddenly humbled by it all. He pushed back the bedcovers and slid in beside her.

Viviana felt the heat radiating from Quin’s body and drew to it like a moth to flame. She wanted to lose herself in him, to be enfolded in his embrace until they were one—at least for a few sweet, perfect moments. She snuggled against him, pressing her body to his from chest to knees and trying not to question her own judgment.

She wanted, oh, how she wanted this man. Nothing had changed. He made her feel alive with her every fiber. He thought she was lush, and lovely. He was temptation in the flesh, and his touch sent a sweet, hot need spiraling through her, tugging her toward him. She yearned to be pressed down into the softness of bed by the weight of his body. She fought an urgent, wanton wish to be impaled by him. Her body craved the perfect pleasure which only Quin could arouse. Yes, long after leaving him, she had ached for this, until the need had been numbed by the years of bitterness. How quickly and how hotly it could spring to life again.

The old bed creaked more loudly as he pushed her onto her back and dragged his weight over hers. His heavy, dark hair fell forward to shadow his face as his mouth closed over her breast again. Her every tactile awareness came alive to him. His legs felt hard and rough splayed over hers. His beard softly abraded the tender flesh of her breast as he suckled her. The muscles of his arms and thighs weighed her down, held her tight, left her captive to his desire.

His tongue laved and circled her nipple, and the white-hot need twisted in her belly again. Viviana became dimly aware of his teeth closing over her nipple, biting and sucking until her desire was drawn taut. Impatient, she pushed him away. He lifted his head, smiled, and allowed her to push him onto his back.

Eagerly, she mounted him, then sat back on her knees to drink in the beauty of his body. Even before she had loved him, she had loved to look at him. And again, nothing had changed. Oh, he was bigger. Heavier. And broader, too. The light was beginning to fade ever so slightly, casting a beautiful warmth to his skin. Though she would not have believed it possible, he was more handsome as a man than a boy.

Gone were the dark, often accusing eyes. Instead they were warm, and slightly crinkled at the corners. There was no softness to his face now; it was all hard planes and angles. His arms were thicker, and taut with power. His chest was sculpted with muscle and dusted with dark hair—something else she did not remember. He really had been so very young, all those years ago.

She set her hands on his wide, hard chest, and leaned over him. “Ah,
caro mio,
you grow more beautiful with age.”

He smiled up at her. For the first time, it struck her that she was naked and astraddle him, her every shortcoming—well, save for that slight sag in her rear—fully exposed. It had not, however, lessened his interest. That was readily apparent. Impulsively, she took his erection in her hands, finding joy in the sleek, hard strength of him. His body pulsed with suppressed power and promised her pleasure well remembered.

She stroked both hands up the full length of him, and beneath her, Quin shuddered. “Oh, Vivie,” he half groaned, half laughed. “You always get right to the point, don’t you, love?”

She said nothing, but instead rose up on her knees, and slowly took him, inch by sweet, hot inch, until he was groaning in earnest. Then clenching her muscles tight, she rose onto her knees again. Twice. Three times. Over and over, until Quin set his hands on her hips, and urged her to move more slowly. She gentled her pace, but not the intensity.

“Oh, God!” he choked. “Minx. Wanton.
Stop.”
A little roughly, he literally lifted her up.

“Quin, no!”

“Come here,” he growled, more serious now. He urged her forward until her knees clasped his upper rib cage. “Quin,
caro,
what—?”

With his hands still set at her waist, he plunged his tongue deep into her most sensitive place. Her eyes opened wide and her breath seized. Oh, for so long she had yearned for this. Quin’s tongue touched and teased, sliding through her flesh until her breathing became audible. He stroked again, deeper, more intimately. Viviana gave a sharp cry of pleasure and reached out to grasp the rough wooden headboard.

He held her there, a prisoner to his ravening tongue, his hands firmly clasping her buttocks. It was wicked, almost embarrassing, to be touched so. But she had little time to consider it, for she was drowning in pleasure. She felt her climax teasing, inching nearer. Oh, too soon. Too fast.

Quin sensed it, and drew back a little, soothing her more gently until her breathing had calmed a little. Then, with a sound of impatience, he slid his hands around until his thumbs touched the folds of her flesh and urged them fully open. Then his tongue touched her again, a sweet, searching circle. With his strong hands, he urged her thighs apart until she was fully exposed to his mouth’s ravishing demands. At last, she came apart, shattering into slivers of crystalline pleasure as she clung to the bed and trembled.

When she returned to her senses, Quin was kissing her; kissing her curls, her belly, then nuzzling higher. She moved as if to sit back, and he caught her breast in his mouth, suckling her yet again, like a desperate man.

“Vivie,” he rasped. “I need you. On your back, love. The old-fashioned way.”

Viviana smiled inwardly and did as he commanded. She loved the feel of Quin atop her. He followed her, dragging himself fully over her, and the years fell away. He was again her beautiful boy, thrusting himself home on one awkward, enthusiastic stroke.

“Ah, Vivie!” he managed, as he began to move inside her. “Oh, so good.”

In response, Viviana tilted her hips to fully take him, and set her feet firmly against the mattress. It had been a long time, too long, since she had been taken with such joy, such raw, unbounded enthusiasm. She was oddly glad that Quin had not changed. Like a cat being stroked, she arched her back, lifting her hips to move with and against him.

It was just what he wanted. Indeed, she always knew what Quin wanted. In bed, they spoke without words. On a guttural sound, he thrust deeper. Viviana held herself perfectly against him, and he moved and thrust inside her.

“Ahhh, God almighty—!” she heard him moan, his mouth buried in her hair. “God. Viviana. Am I…hurting you?”

Softly, she laughed. It felt wonderful to be pinned beneath him, so thoroughly impaled by him. He lifted himself off ever so slightly, then his hand slid between them, down her belly, his fingers urgently seeking the swollen nub of her sex. It had been a long time, Viviana thought, since a lover had so concerned himself with her pleasure. Not since Quin. And nothing had changed.

With a practiced hand, he touched her, making her gasp. But she did not need his touch. Not that way. Already she was eager. She whispered in his ear, and told him so in very wicked words, a passionate mix of Italian and English, for she could no longer think straight.

He understood, and slid his hands around to cradle her hips, stilling her to his thrusts. His urgency was like a match strike, setting her afire, and soon she was sobbing and whimpering his name as she struggled for yet another release.

She could feel his chest, damp with perspiration. She could hear the raw hunger in each breath as the air bellowed in and out of his lungs. Suddenly, she cried out sharply. Quin buried his face in her neck and sank his teeth into the tender flesh of her throat, rocking and rocking his hips with that sweet, perfect rhythm until she was crying out his name and shaking beneath him.

For an instant, he drove harder and deeper. He fell against her, the warm heat of his seed pumping deep into her body as his erection pulsed again and again, then fell still.

“God, Viviana.” His hands tightened on her buttocks. “Oh, dear God. It will never be so good again. Never again, not as long as I live.”

She could find no words. She could only caress him, long, soothing strokes down the length of his back, now damp from exertion. After a long moment of silence, he lifted himself off her, his expression almost sheepish. She followed, rolling onto her side and tucking herself against him. Oh,
dio,
what a mistake this had been! A mistake to think she could ever forget him. And a mistake to think she could take mere comfort from his body.

It was more. So much more. She prayed it would be enough to sustain her through the lonely days to come. Weakly, she smiled. “Have I changed, Quinten?” she whispered. “Have I lost my touch?”

He made a sound, something between a laugh and a cry. “Honed it to a razor’s edge, more like,” he answered. “Lord, Vivie. There’s no one like you.”

She propped her head on one elbow. “Have we done it, then?” she asked. “Have we made a pleasant new memory? One good enough to push away some of the old and painful ones?”

He dragged one arm over his eyes, as if he meant to drowse. “I don’t remember any pain,” he murmured. “I remember only this.” And then, to her shock, he did indeed drift off to sleep.

Viviana knew it was unwise to linger, but she had neither the heart nor the will to wake him. Instead, she allowed him to doze for a time, and allowed herself the pure luxury of watching him do so.

He had missed her.
It was a rather pathetic notion to cling to, after all the anguish she had suffered. And yet, it did help to know that she had not been the only one left miserable. He had thought of her at least a little bit over the years. Oh, tomorrow, she would doubtless regret what she had done today. But it was not yet tomorrow, and in this small, sweet moment, she regretted nothing.

On impulse, she reached out and stroked his cheek, a gesture from the past. “Oh, I have missed you Quinten,” she whispered. “With all my heart.”

After a few moments, he roused, looking up at her with heavy, half-open eyes. “Vivie,” he whispered. “Come snuggle against me.”

She set her hand on his chest. “I should be away,” she said softly. “It is a long ride. The children—I am expected.”

He circled an arm about her waist, and half pulled her down anyway. She conceded defeat by tucking herself against him. “You love them very much, don’t you?” he murmured against her hair. “It was obvious when you spoke of them at Aunt Charlotte’s yesterday.”

“I love them very much,” she agreed. “They are my life now.”

“Cerelia is a beautiful girl,” he said. “I like her, Vivie. She reminds me of you.”

Viviana had stiffened in his arms. “Cerelia?”

Quin had set his lips to the turn of her shoulder. “I walked her home last night through the wood,” he murmured. “Did she not tell you?”

“N-No, she did not.” Viviana tried to still the sudden panic. “She should not have been there alone. I—I shall speak to her.”

“She wasn’t alone,” he answered. “She was with Chris and Lottie. She was fine, Vivie.”

“Yes, I am sure.” Viviana paused to swallow hard. She had been afraid, very afraid, that he was going to say something else altogether. Indeed, she was sometimes afraid of what Cerelia herself might say. Gianpiero had too often been cruel to the girl, and Cerelia was old enough now to start asking hard questions.

“What do the others look like?”

“Scusa?”
She turned to look at him.

He was smiling at her innocently. “The younger two,” he clarified. “Cerelia looks like you—except for that unusual hair of hers. Whom do the other two resemble?”

“Oh.” Viviana forced herself to relax. “Felise looks much like Cerelia, but darker. Like me. Nicolo…he looks like his father.”

“I see.” Quin rolled up onto one elbow, and began to toy with a strand of hair which had escaped its pin. “Vivie, may I…may I ask you something?”

“Si?”
She looked up at him expectantly.

He would not quite return the gaze. “Your husband,” he said. “Did you love him?”

She hesitated. “No. I did not.”

“Not…not even at the first?”

“No.” She spoke the word quietly. “Not even at the first. Now, you owe me a question,
caro.”

He gave her a weak, bemused smile. “Turnabout is fair play, I suppose.”

Her head was nestled deep in the pillow. Quin was still on his elbow, looking down at her a little apprehensively. “Why do you stay here, Quinten, in this little cottage?”