A tremor coursed through her, compounding her need and her confusion. He stroked her shoulder, trailing his fingers down her arms and she let fall her shawl to snake her arms around the back of his neck. He murmured something against her mouth. She couldn’t tell if he was protesting or asking for more, couldn’t tell if he spoke English or Italian. It didn’t matter. Their bodies were communicating with no words.
Hot blood engorged her lips, her breasts and the damp folds between her legs. Her nipples ached, begging for his touch. Her vagina yearned, crying tears, longing for him to thrust his long, hard cock deep inside. If there had been a stone to stand on, she would have raised herself on it, to wind her legs around his waist, to open herself, to impale herself on him.
Her arms rested lightly on his shoulders. Still she waited.
His breath mingled with hers and yet still he did not truly kiss her. She rubbed her belly against his hardness and tried to move so that his cock pressed between her legs. As if a dam had burst, he groaned and pressed hard on her mouth. As his mouth sank deeper over hers, she forgot to think. She forgot where she was, who he was, where he was taking her. She forgot she was supposed to be able to walk away from this kiss as she’d walked away from a hundred others, sure that she could happily exist without it for the rest of her life.
All she knew was the hot pressure of his lips on hers, the shape of his mouth that fit hers so perfectly, the taste of crushed flowers and leather that clung to him, inflaming her senses. His lips forced hers to part and his tongue thrust inside, stroking at first as if to test her readiness, then invading, probing. His mouth was all she had imagined. Soft, yet strong and masterful. The invasion of his flickering tongue mimicked the subtle pulsing of every nerve in her body. He pressed harder still, with a rising passion, and she gladly opened to him, sighing as he held her tight. Her breathing quickened as she met his kiss, and gave into her need.
Her hand eased under his jacket, resting against the softness of his skin, as her fingertips sensed his heartbeat. She broke the kiss, smiled up at him, and resting her head on his shoulder, listened to the pounding of his blood. She would have fallen in a boneless heap had he not held her tight against him.
At last she seized the back of his head with both hands and pulled him even tighter to her, so that his teeth bruised her lip. At the same time his hands moved to her waist, sliding up her ribs, until his thumbs met the swell of the underside of her breast. He stroked the curve, pressing the rough fabric against her, tracing the line up to her nipples.
A sudden shout from below made them move apart. The rear guard came into sight, looking up. One of the mule drivers appeared above them, waving. Marco waved back and lifted the water skin in the air, shouting a reply. Emma guessed he was saying they had paused for a drink.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the tingle where his lips had been. She pulled her shawl around her, taking long, slow breaths to calm her racing heart. “It doesn’t sound as if we need to keep silent any longer,” she said.
“No, we are safe for the moment. I will not gag you. That way I can look at your mouth and imagine what I would like to do to it. Or what it could do to me.” He took the end of the rope that he had pushed aside when he’d lifted her tunic. “But I’ll keep you by my side.”
He let her drink and replaced the skin in its holder at his waist, then set off again up the slope, leading her beside him.
Marco felt the pull of the rope in his hand as he advanced to where his band was waiting, reminding him of the woman he led once again as if on a leash. The tightness in his groin subsided slowly, but he knew it would take only a glance at her to make him hard again. He’d seen her barely clothed and he’d seen her in the shapeless peasant dress. It made no difference. The glimpse of a curve of her breast, a simple glance from her eyes were enough to set his blood racing and start up an ache in his balls.
He hadn’t been prepared for this. Since Claudia had died he hadn’t even looked at a woman. His soul had room for nothing but thoughts of revenge and hatred. Only to be ambushed by a spoiled, haughty English miss. He couldn’t have chosen worse if he’d tried. He cursed the fate that had brought her to that particular piece of beach at that particular time.
Merda. She was foreign, she was dangerous, she was arrogant, and all he wanted to do was throw her down and ram himself into her until she begged for more.
By the time they stopped to rest, the sun was high overhead. They’d climbed above the terraces and penetrated into the rocky hills. The lead drover halted under the shade of a scrawny tree and looped the reins over a branch.
Emma felt the tension go out of the rope as Marco let it drop. She stumbled into the sparse shade and sank to the ground. One of the men asked Marco a question and they all drew in a huddle to talk, leaving her unwatched for the first time, but she was too exhausted to think of flight. She eased her wooden shoes off her aching feet and rubbed her toes. How could anyone have made a shoe that was totally inflexible, yet registered every stone on the path?
A hand thrust a water gourd at her and she looked up to where Marco towered over her. She took the skin and put it to her lips. The water was warm and tasted stale, with a bitter tang. Her throat was so dry she didn’t care.
Marco sank down beside her and picked up one of her feet. The feel of his fingers on her ankle sent a shiver through her. He noticed the faint movement and paused, his eyes on her face. She grew even warmer under his gaze and felt her body soften, ready to fold against him.
Without a word, Marco took his bandana and tore it into strips. He bound her feet expertly and quickly. “There,” he said. “That will prevent the chafing.”
“Thank you. How much farther are you taking me?”
He took some bread and hard cheese from one of his men. “Another hour will bring us to the caves.” He waved his hand in the direction of a rocky outcrop much higher up. Emma shielded her eyes to follow his direction.
“Caves? Why are you going to caves? Who on earth are you people?”
“We have a settlement there. Tonight we will talk. When we are all safe.” He passed her a piece of bread and cheese. “Eat.”
Emma shook her head. She wouldn’t be able to eat a thing. What in God’s name were these people up to? She wondered if she’d ever see her home and her family again.
Chapter Three
The last hour of their trek into the mountains took them over even rougher terrain. The slope grew steeper, compelling the drivers to push and pull the pack animals along the winding track. Clouds blew up in the afternoon and covered the sun. Emma shivered and wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders.
At last they reached a flat area, walled in by a sheer rock face on two sides. The third side rimmed a steep drop down to the beginning of the terraces through which they’d labored. Far in the distance, where the sun still shone, the deep blue sea sparkled, and she could make out tiny boats moving like toys on the water.
But she had no interest in admiring the landscape. The muscles of her calves and thighs burned as if knives had sliced into them. Her dry throat made it difficult to swallow. And she was hungry. When Marco let go of the rope that led her, she sank down upon a rock and put her head in her hands, thinking of the food and drink that had gone to the bottom of the Mediterranean with the Lady Rose. Succulent steaks, delicious soups, ices and sparkling water-