The Echoes of Love (37 page)

His thumbs grazed over her taut nipples as his mouth explored the valley between the ripe mounds of her cream-fleshed breasts, before fastening on the pink swollen peaks. Venetia's hand ran down the length of his spine to press him still closer, every cell of her skin impatient, begging for the scorching contact of his desire.

And now his lips scrolled down over her flat stomach, running his tongue so slowly over her flushed skin, sending impatient messages to the core of her need. A torment of sweet sensation sent rippling, drugging waves through her trembling limbs.

‘Please, Paolo, love me,' she pleaded again, her eyes closed, abandoned in a haze of heated anticipation, but he was deliberately making her wait, she knew, so the release would be so much sweeter and more powerful.

Instinctively her hand moved down, tracing the long muscles of his thighs and the contour of his buttocks until she felt the extraordinary contraction of his muscled arousal beneath her fingertips. Paolo sucked in his breath and groaned as she fondled him, teasing and tantalising, stroking and caressing. Venetia watched as his eyes became pools of muted sapphire, swimming with surges of emotion that made them look darker from moment to moment, as his body pulsated under each stroke; he was almost beautiful. She sensed that Paolo had abandoned himself to her, enraptured by her caresses, revelling in her touch. In turn she was giving back some of the pleasure he had lavished on her, making him realise how much she loved and cherished every part of him; and the knowledge that she was pleasing him and stirring in him all the exquisite and sensual trembles of approaching climax fuelled her own excitement.

‘
Rallenta, amore mio
,' Paolo said thickly, his breathing quickening and she felt a shudder run through his length and saw his eyes glazing over. ‘You excite me more than any woman I have known,' he groaned again. ‘I need you, Venetia, take me inside you,
amore mio
!'

She could sense the straining tension of his body poised on the brink, the urgency of his desire that could not endure any more delaying, and so she gently guided him to where they both wanted him to be. She let him slide into the damp warmth of her, receiving him with all the love she had, allowing him to stretch her, enthralling her as he pushed deeper and deeper, faster and more urgent, an aching sweetness accompanying his invasion. And then suddenly Venetia felt his convulsions as if they were her own – they
were
her own – they were panting and groaning together as body owned body in an act of possession that was totally overpowering. Waves of release pulsed through them again and again, the echoes of their cries of ecstasy breaking from their throats, filling the air around them.

Paolo lay on top of Venetia, heaving, his face buried in her lush chestnut mane.

‘Your touch is so sensual,
amore mio
, so erotic…' he breathed softly, still trembling with the emotions she had provoked, ‘that I will never stop begging you for more. How do you do this to me? You have bewitched me, Venetia, body and soul.'

His words, more than all the voluptuous sensations she had suffered at his hands, flooded her with pride and pleasure. She had never thought any man could make her feel fulfilled as a woman ever again, but he had.

‘I love you, Paolo,' she murmured, cradling him and stroking his head with infinite tenderness. ‘You've given me back my soul, my ability to feel real emotion again.'

She kept her arms wrapped around him until finally he moved off her, releasing her of his weight. She let out a tiny startled sound as for a flash she felt cold and lost without the warmth and security of his body.

‘We must go,
tesoro mio
,' he told her as he helped her up and once again stroked her face with the back of his hand. ‘It'll soon be dusk and we still have some driving to do if we don't want to miss the procession.'

The spicy scent of stocks, of pinks, and of lean spikes of lavender came to them, deepened by the moisture of the afternoon haze. A wood pigeon began cooing in a nearby tree with that liquid note as though it came up through water. On one clump of scarlet wildflowers four butterflies were spread, the black of their wings like velvet on the sunny petals; they seemed to be quivering with joy and drawing up the stored sweetness from the heart of the blossom. Venetia gazed at them as if they were mirroring the overflowing joy inside her; at last she too was tasting the sweetness stored up for so long.

They lingered there a little, looking about them as they dressed, and then turned to walk back along the path by which they had ascended over an hour ago. Finally, they reached the side of the road where the car was parked and Paolo opened the door for Venetia, leaning forward to kiss her gently on the mouth. As she climbed into her seat, she noticed a bright red silk scarf caught on a thorny bush being whipped about in the breeze. It hadn't been there before when they had parked, she thought, as the car's engine revved up and they started off towards Castelsardo. Had someone been there? So close to where she and Paolo…? Not wanting to spoil the idyllic afternoon with such uneasy thoughts, she dismissed the idea.

Paolo threw her a glance and rested his hand on her knee. ‘
Cara
, you look a million miles away.'

‘Yes, I was. But now I'm back again.' Smiling up at him, she closed her hand around his and watched the road speed past.

* * *

The road to Castelsardo in the late afternoon was glowing with colour and light. The natural beauty of the scenery was breathtaking. For most of the way, vineyards and orchards covered the slopes from a height of about two hundred feet to a deep-blue sea that frothed on dark-red rocks, or lapped gently on the sands of small beaches. The hillsides were dotted with villa after villa, each one escorted by guardian pine trees and gardens brilliant with roses and semi-tropical creepers – a landscape unchanged in appearance since the nineteenth century. On the landward side, the dense
macchia
rose up, steeply broken here and there by masses of different copper-coloured rock.

The Ferrari snaked its way around the curving rocky slopes, heading across the top of the island to where the town of Castelsardo awaited them on the north coast. A green valley fell away from the road to their left and they passed only a few other cars and trucks. Glancing in the side-view mirror, Venetia caught sight of the American car she'd spotted at the airport a distance behind them. She was sure it had turned the opposite way out of the hire-car parking lot. Probably a lost American tourist, she thought.

Suddenly, as they turned a corner, her attention was instantly distracted. ‘Gosh, what's that?' she gasped. There, in the distance, on the edge of the road loomed the enormous jagged shape of a prehistoric elephant, its head and trunk turned towards the highway.

Paolo chuckled, slowed down and then stopped the car in a layby so Venetia could get a better view.

‘The legend has it that when Hannibal was crossing the Roman Empire with his army, he brought over one of his elephants but actually, it's a natural sculpture made out of the rock by the wind and rain. If you walk through Sardinia's woodlands, you'll find many granite boulders that the strange atmospheric phenomenon of this island has chiselled into a multitude of fantastic shapes, rusty natural relics that take you back to the prehistoric age.'

Venetia peered at the bizarre formation. ‘Have you come here before?'

‘Yes, over the years, I've travelled to all the Italian islands,' Paolo told her as he started the car again. ‘My favourite is Sardinia, not only because it was the first one I visited, but also because the sun here shines all year round. During this week, I'm looking forward to rediscovering it with you,
cara
.' He glanced at her, his eyes shining, as he pulled out on to the road again. ‘It's an earthly paradise, with a wealth of secluded places and open spaces to take your breath away, really. In between myth and history, there's the theory that Sardinia could be the lost Atlantis.'

Venetia laughed. ‘Any more legends that you haven't told me about?'

He raised his brows. ‘Plenty,
carina!
You must remind me to tell you about the
Janas.
'

‘The
Janas – 
what are they?'

‘They're the fairies and witches of Sardinian popular folklore.
Domus de Janas
means “House of the Fairies” in Sardinian. They're types of prehistoric chamber tombs resembling houses in their layout and were cut into the rocks by the Ozieri and Beaker cultures, dating back to the Copper and Bronze Age. The walls of the tombs and their corpses were painted a sort of ochre red and, like the pharaohs of Egypt, they were buried together with daily-life objects, like tools, food and jewels.'

‘Yes, I've been to Egypt – such a fascinating civilisation. But to bring us back to your
Janas
and your fairy stories, I want to know more about
them
.'

Paolo laughed. ‘You sound like a little girl pestering her parent.'

‘As I'm sure I've mentioned before, my nanny used to tell the most wonderful fairy stories. I could stay for hours listening to her, spellbound. She used to bribe me into doing my chores by beginning a tale and interrupting it just at the crucial moment with a promise to tell me the rest once I'd finished my work.'

‘Ah, you've revealed one of your weaknesses,
cara
.' He shot her a mischievous smile. ‘I can now bribe you with a story so you make love to me as you did earlier.'

Her cheeks heated at his boldness, shyness and desire pooling in her eyes. She was becoming more comfortable with his flirting, and her pulse fluttered, watching his sensual mouth twitch as she knew his own pulse was firing into overdrive.

‘You don't need to bribe me, Paolo. I would gladly make love to you at any time, as I did earlier, and more.'

Paolo gazed down at her, pleasure quirking his lips. ‘More?' The husky monosyllabic response held a flagrant indication that he was fully aroused again.

‘A great deal more,' she whispered as she felt a surge of desire so powerful throughout her body that it almost brought tears to her eyes.

‘If it wasn't that we are already late for the
Lunissanti
procession,
amore mio
, I would… I
will
take you to horizons of heaven that you've never imagined, even in your wildest erotic dreams – tonight.' Paolo fixed Venetia with a fiery stare for a few seconds and then, turning his eyes to the road, he took her hand and slid it very gently down to his lap. ‘This I shall be feeling all evening, waiting to touch you, wanting to do things to you, inventing ways of pleasing you.'

‘Paolo…' was all she could whisper as she felt his need expand under her fingers, powerfully loquacious, and her own soared to meet him. She shuddered, her arousal shockingly intense at the feel of him, so strong and so virile under her hands, the thought that he wanted her so much sending her blood singing. Without thinking, she began to stroke him and fumbled with the zip of his jeans.

‘Not now,
amore mio
, not now,' he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it. ‘I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, but I couldn't stop myself. As I'm driving, your touch would make me lose control. The waiting will make tonight even sweeter.'

‘I shall look forward to it in that case,' Venetia said quietly and the two of them exchanged a look, the air between them dancing with charged anticipation. She told herself that she must control her hormones and quickly changed the subject.

Raising an eyebrow playfully, she said, ‘Anyhow, you still haven't told me about the
Janas
.'

‘Oh, you're an obstinate woman,
cara
,' he chuckled. ‘Let me see…' He slowed down to go around a shepherd and his unruly flock of bleating animals, waving courteously, and then speeded up again. ‘The legends of Sardinia say that the
Janas
are tiny, white-skinned fairies who live in underground caves, in the
Domus de Janas
, or literally “fairy houses”.

‘Wrapped in purple-red cloaks, they only go out after midnight so that the sun doesn't burn their snow-white skin, which becomes luminous when they scurry about on moonless nights. Inside their tiny caves, on golden looms, the
Janas
weave the finest, most beautiful fabrics, embroidered with magic. While they work, it is said their sweet, melodic singing can sometimes be heard from far away if you're lucky.'

‘How delightful. And I suppose no one has ever seen these little people?'

Paolo shot her a mock-serious look. ‘Of course not! They're fairies,
cara
. They only make themselves known to children during the night, approaching their cradles to bestow good luck. And like all good fairies, they possess mountains of treasure.'

‘Of course, I'd be disappointed if they didn't.' Venetia smiled, looking out of the window at the slopes of the scrubby
macchia
.

Paolo grinned. ‘Some say their treasures of gold, silver, pearls and diamonds are guarded by fearsome, insect-like creatures. According to some tales, if the treasure of the 
Janas
 is stolen, it instantly transforms into coals and ashes in the hands of the thief. Other parts of the legend say similarly that if you hear someone call you three times during the night while you're sleeping, it is the
Janas,
and they will take you to look at their huge stash of treasure but if you try to touch it even once, everything will turn to dust.'

‘Mmm, I see. A sober little lesson against greed.'

‘Indeed,
cara
. The material world can be merely a trap and an obstacle to true happiness.' He smiled as he spoke but Venetia noticed something else flicker across his face.