A Stormy Spanish Summer by Penny Jordan

shudder violently with previously unknown pleasure. A pleasure that was so intense it was almost more than she could bear. She wanted to tear her dress from her body and hold Vidal’s mouth captive over her breast whilst he satisfied the growing tumultuous ache the fierce suckling movement of his mouth was creating—and at the same time she wanted to hide herself from him and what he was making her feel as fast as she could.
    A cord of sensation like forked lightning zig-zagged inside her, running from her breast to the heart of her sexuality, making her want to plant her hand over that part of herself to both hide and calm its frantic hungry beat.
    Scooping her up, Vidal pulled her tightly against him, so that she could feel his arousal, igniting another shaft of lightning within her as she responded to the sensual male message from his body.
    Above her she could see the blue sky. She could smell the hot scent of their bodies mingling with the heady perfume of the roses. If he were to lay her down now and cover her flesh with his own—if he were to take her and possess her … Fliss felt her heart lift inside her chest and thud like a trapped bird. Wasn’t this what she had wanted all those years ago when she had looked at Vidal and yearned for him?
    Shock coursed through her, filling her with revulsion for her own behaviour, making her demand emotionally, ‘Stop it—stop it! I don’t want this.’
    The frantic panic in her voice cut through Vidal’s own arousal, filling him with an appalled sense of self-disgust. What on earth had possessed him? He knew what she was. He had seen and heard it for himself.
    As soon as he had released her Vidal turned his back to her, sharply aware of his body’s hard arousal—an unwanted and unwarranted arousal as far as he was concerned. How could he have let that happen?
    Shaking, Fliss adjusted her clothing, the pink stain colouring her face and her chest not just caused by her embarrassment. Her nipples ached painfully—not only the one Vidal had been caressing but the other one as well. Even something as simple and as necessary as breathing was bringing an uncomfortable awareness of their heightened sensitivity. Her sex itself felt hot and swollen, pressing against the barrier of her briefs, its dampness shamefully evident to her. She couldn’t understand what had happened to her—how she could have gone from bitter anger to intense desire in the spaceof a handful of seconds just because Vidal had touched her. How
could
she feel like this?
    Fliss focused on Vidal’s disappearing back as he returned to the house. She wasn’t going to allow herself to trail in his wake, following him like an adoring puppy, like the girl she had been at sixteen. And besides, the reality was that she didn’t feel up to facing anyone else at the moment. Right now she preferred the privacy of the rose-covered arbour and its wrought-iron bench, where she could sit down and recover her composure.
    It was a good ten minutes before she felt able to start walking back to the house. Ten minutes was surely long enough to ensure that Vidal was nowhere in sight, even if it hadn’t been long enough for her heart to entirely resume its regular heartbeat. She was beginning to feel very afraid that that was never going to happen, and that she would be cursed for ever to bear the scars of the pain he had caused her.
    Engrossed in her own thoughts, Fliss had all but forgotten Vidal’s mother until she reached the patio area and saw that the Duchess was still seated there. It was too late for her to retreat. The Duchess had seen her and was smiling at her, and besides …
    Taking a deep breath, Fliss bravely stepped up to her, apologising with genuine remorse. ‘I’m sorry if my comments upset or offended you. That wasn’t my intention.’
    An elegant long-fingered hand—a feminine version of her son’s, surely?—clasped Fliss’s arm gently.
    ‘I suspect that I am the one who owes you an apology,