Brazilian Escape. Sandra Marton

been to push her on the bed and take her quickly, just so that they could start over again, but he really liked her, and he wanted to do this well.

      Thoroughly.

      Properly.

      ‘I know …’

      He sounded as if he’d had an idea, and he stopped kissing her, smiling down at her before rolling off and picking up the phone. He told Meg that a bath would relax her, and as they waited for a maid to come and run it he wrapped her in a vast white dressing gown. She lay on the bed, watching him as he went through his case, and then he joined her on the bed and showed her some documents, his fingers pointing to the pertinent lines, which she read, frowning.

      ‘I don’t get this.’

      ‘I had to get a check-up when I was in Sydney, for my insurance …’ he explained.

      ‘So?’

      ‘I wasn’t worried about the results. I always use protection …’ He was so completely matter-of-fact.

      ‘I’m not on the pill,’ Meg replied as she understood his meaning, and she saw his eyes widen just a little as she dampened his plans.

      ‘But still …’ He stopped himself, shook his head as if to clear it. What the hell had he been thinking? For a second a baby had seemed a minor inconvenience compared to what they might miss out on. He was, Niklas decided, starting to adore her, and that always came with strong warnings attached—that was always his signal to leave.

      ‘Niklas … am I making a big mistake?’

      He was as honest with Meg as he was with all women, because his was a heart that would remain closed. ‘If you are looking for love, then yes,’ Niklas said. ‘Because I don’t do that.’

      ‘Never?’

      ‘Ever,’ Niklas said. He could not bear even the thought of someone depending on him, could not trust himself to provide for another person, just could not envisage sharing, yet alone caring—except already a part of him cared for her.

      ‘Then I want as long as we’ve got,’ Meg said.

      When the maid left he took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. The bath was sunken, and as she slid into the water he undressed, and she was looking up at his huge erection, her cheeks paling in colour. Niklas found himself assuring her that nothing would happen between them just yet—not until she was sure she was ready. The need to comfort her and reassure her was a new sensation for him, and as he looked down at her he decided that for the next twenty-four hours he would let himself care.

      He climbed into the water with her and washed her slowly, sensually, smoothing the soap over her silky skin. He dunked her head in the water too, just so he could see the red darken.

      ‘Your last boyfriend—did he try …?’ Niklas asked as he soaped her arms, curious because he wondered how any man could resist the beautiful woman he held in his arms.

      ‘A bit …’ Meg said.

      Even her arms blushed, he noted.

      ‘I just …’

      ‘What?’ He loved her blushing, and found himself smiling just watching her skin pinken, feeling the warmth beneath his palms as she squirmed.

      ‘I told him I didn’t want to do anything like that till we were really serious. You know …’

      His eyes widened. ‘Married?’

      ‘Engaged,’ she corrected.

      ‘Do people really say that?’ He sounded incredulous, his soapy hands moving lower, past her breasts and down to her waist. ‘How would you know if you wanted to marry someone if you hadn’t—?’

      ‘That had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t demanding a ring. I realised I was just making up excuses …’

      ‘Because?’ He was sliding his soapy hands between her legs now, and she didn’t know how to answer. ‘Because?’ he insisted.

      ‘Because I didn’t have any compulsion to sit in a bath with him and let him wash me there …’ She couldn’t believe he expected her to speak as he was doing what he did. ‘And then he started talking rings.’

      ‘I bet he did,’ Niklas said, because, naked with her like this, what man wouldn’t want his ring on her finger?

      Suddenly his brain went to a place it should not, and Niklas tried hard to shut it down. This had to stay as just sex between them. He pulled her straight over to him, hooked her legs over his and kissed her shoulder.

      ‘I loved flying with you …’ He said it like a caress as he lifted her hair, and his mouth moved to the back of her neck and sucked hard.

      She closed her eyes at the bruise he was making, and then felt his hand move up her thigh. It was his neck she was now kissing, licking away the fragrant water just to get to his skin. As they continued to nip and kiss each other Niklas moved his hand, his finger slipping inside, and when she felt a moment’s pain she sucked harder on his neck. He pushed in another finger, stretching her, and again she bit down on his shoulder as pain flashed through her body. She knew he had to stretch her—she had seen that he was huge and this was her first time after all—but he did it with a gentleness that moved her.

      He continued to slide his fingers in and out, and then kissed her breast, sucking on her wet nipple. She began to moan and lift herself to his fingers as pleasure washed over her. Niklas realised that things were moving rather faster than he had intended. He wanted her on the bed—or rather they needed to get back to the condoms.

      ‘Come on …’ He moved to stand, except her hand found him first and, yes, she deserved a little play too.

      He liked being touched by a woman. He had just never expected to enjoy it as much as he did now. Had never expected the naked pleasure in her eyes and the tentative exploration of her hands, just her enjoyment of him, would make him feel as it did.

      For enjoy him, Meg did. It was bliss to hold him, huge and slippery and magnificent in her hands, and she was still scared, but rather more excited at the prospect of him being inside her.

      ‘Like this?’ she checked, and he closed his eyes and leant his head back on the marble wall behind him.

      ‘Like that,’ he said, but then changed his mind. ‘Harder.’ And he put his hand over hers and showed her—showed her a little too well.

      ‘Come here.’ He pulled her up over him. He was seconds away, had to slow down, but he had to have her. He was rubbing himself around her and she was desperate for him to be inside her too.

      ‘We need …’ It was him saying it, and he knew he should take her to bed and slip on a condom, but he wanted her this moment, and for once in his life he was conflicted. He knew he could have her now, that he was the only one thinking, and he wanted the pleasure. But as he looked at her, hovering over him, Niklas knew he wouldn’t have a hope of pulling out in time.

      Her hands were on his shoulders and he was holding her buttocks, almost fighting not to press her down. He wanted to give in, to drive her down and at the same time lift his hips, and he would have—absolutely he would have, in fact—had her phone not rung.

      He swore in Portuguese, and then French, and then Spanish at the intrusion.

      ‘Leave it,’ he said.

      But it rang again, and for a brief moment common sense returned. He stood, taking her wet hand and helping her out as they headed for the bed. He turned off her phone, and checked that his was off too, for he was tired of a world that kept invading his time. Then he looked at the shiny foil packets and realised that the last thing he wanted was to be sheathed when he entered this woman.

      ‘I want to feel you,’ he said. ‘I want you to feel me.’

      And his mind went to a place he never allowed it to go.

      He’d