Witch's Harvest. Sara Craven

or not, Vasco’s eyes were travelling slowly over her, and she’d just realised the kind of spectacle she was presenting, barefoot, and clad in fragile bra and waist slip. She didn’t wait for his answer, but grabbed her robe from the chair where it was lying and fled to the bathroom on the other side of the landing which she shared with the two other girls on the same floor.

      When she returned with the aspirin, he was very much in charge of the situation, sitting up fully now against the pillows.

      He looked out of place, almost alien in the narrow bed with its charming frilled covers, like a tiger in a rose garden, and the breath caught in Abby’s throat as she made her way across the littered carpet.

      She said huskily, ‘Here you are,’ and held out the glass, which he accepted. She bent and retrieved her lamp, noting thankfully that it didn’t seem to be broken after all.

      He said softly, ‘Now, Abigail, where am I, and what am I doing here?’

      Abby began to pick up his clothes and put them on the chair.

      ‘You’d had too much to drink,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘I didn’t fancy trying to get you back into your apartment in that state, so I brought you here instead. End of story,’ she added with an insouciance she was far from feeling.

      ‘And do you expect me to be grateful for your attentions?’

      ‘No,’ she admitted wearily. ‘I think that would be unrealistic.’

      ‘I think that could describe the entire situation,’ drawled Vasco, looking at her through half-closed eyes. ‘Was it you who put me to bed?’

      She nodded. ‘As best I could.’

      ‘I am not complaining, you understand,’ he said. ‘It is merely a new experience for me.’

      ‘It’s not exactly run of the mill for me either,’ Abby retorted tartly. ‘Now perhaps we could try and get some more sleep. It’s very early.’

      ‘Presently,’ he said, almost idly. ‘For the moment, all desire for sleep seems to have left me.’

      ‘But not me.’ She faked a yawn. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to the couch.’

      Vasco leaned across and switched on the mistreated lamp. ‘Perhaps you would switch off the main light as you go,’ he suggested.

      ‘Yes, of course.’ Her hand flew to the switch. ‘Well—goodnight.’

      ‘Boa noite.’ His voice held thinly veiled amusement, as if he recognised her unease, and the reasons for it. ‘And perhaps you would also take the glass away. I find my surroundings a little cramped, and wish to avoid any more noisy accidents which might disturb you again. I seem to have caused enough inconvenience already tonight.’

      Abby trailed reluctantly back to the side of the bed and reached for the glass, but as she did so his fingers fastened like iron round her slender wrist, jerking her forward so that she fell in a tangle of robe on to the bed, and across his body.

      Winded and gasping, she stared up at him. ‘Are you mad? Let me go at once!’

      ‘Oh, spare me the conventional protests, little cousin,’ he drawled derisively. ‘Why else did you bring me here?’

      ‘Because I wanted to help,’ Abby said breathlessly. ‘You—seemed in a bad way, and I didn’t think you should be alone.’

      ‘How noble of you, querida,’ mocked Vasco. ‘I have no argument with that. I am quite ready to be consoled, as you see.’

      ‘No!’ Abby wailed. ‘You don’t understand …’

      ‘I understand quite well.’ The long fingers slid into the neck of her robe, pushing it off her shoulders. ‘Your solicitude for me is charming, especially when you are only half dressed. You have aroused my—er—curiosity, senhorita. I wish to see more of you.’ With cool insolence, he untied her sash so that the robe fell open completely. ‘Bela,’ he said in lazy approval.

      She said unevenly, ‘Please let me go. Whatever you may think, I didn’t intend this … I only wanted to help …’

      ‘And so you are, carinha, believe me.’ The dark eyes glittered down at her. With his fingertips he traced the creamy swell of her breasts above the scalloped edging of her bra, making it crazily difficult for her to breathe properly.

      She must be dreaming, she thought faintly.

      ‘You may not have intended this,’ Vasco continued, making no attempt to disguise the scepticism in his voice, ‘but can you look me in the face and tell me you do not want it?’

      It was an escape route, she realised dazedly. A way out of this emotional minefield that she desperately needed if she were to avoid making a total and abject fool of herself.

      She felt his hand release the clasp of her bra, and gasped.

      ‘Tell me quickly.’ His voice deepened in challenge. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

      Incredibly, shamingly, she was aware of her trembling mouth shaping, ‘No.’

      It was madness, and she knew it. In a few hours, Vasco would be gone from her life for ever. He was taking her because she was there, and because he thought cynically that she had thrown herself at him, and neither of those were good enough reasons for what she was contemplating. Her sense of decency and self-respect alone should be making her draw back, making her reject the sensuous, lingering hands so expertly ridding her of her remaining scraps of clothing, the warm mouth hovering tantalisingly mere inches from her own.

      But I love him, she thought feverishly, and at least I’ll have this to remember, when I’m alone again.

      ‘Touch me, little one.’ Vasco brushed his mouth across hers. ‘Show me what you want.’

      Silently cursing her total inexperience, Abby lifted her hands to clasp the broad naked shoulders, pulling him down towards her. Vasco made a satisfied sound, deep in his throat, then kissed her again, stroking his tongue along the curve of her chastely closed mouth in intimate invitation. Her whole body seemed to sigh with pleasure as her lips parted for him. At the same time she was dimly aware that he was kicking aside the concealing covers to draw her closer, so that she lay against the warm, muscular length of his urgent body.

      The touch of his bare skin against her own was a wild and potent magic. Of their own volition, it seemed, her shy hands began to move, to explore and caress, discovering the realities of bone, muscle and sinew. She was beyond all fantasy already. The most her wistful dreams had ever created for her was, perhaps, a brief kiss under the mistletoe at some Christmas reunion.

      Then the dark head bent towards her breasts, and Abby’s head fell back as a little startled cry escaped her. Vasco’s mouth felt like the brush of silk against her slender, scented curves, his tongue a smoothly sensual torment as it explored the swollen heat of her nipples. For the first time in her life she felt her whole body clench in an agony of fierce and frantic excitement.

      So this was desire, some part of her brain thought dazedly. It was light years away from the kind of pallid enjoyment she had experienced from Keith’s kisses.

      His hands were moving, gliding caressingly over each curve and hollow, down the length of her body to her hips. He paused then, tantalising her, as his fingers traced slow, erotic spirals across the flat planes of her stomach. She lay still and pliant, letting the need, the anticipation build like a quiet storm within her.

      Vasco kissed her mouth again, and this time her response was immediate, her lips parting hungrily in sensuous ardour, her own tongue moving in restless delight against his.

      Her body was melting in abandonment, her slender thighs slackening involuntarily, as his hand moved again, sensually insistent, explicitly demanding. Shock jarred through her being, commingled with piercing, blinding desire.

      ‘Touch me,’ he commanded again,