The Marriage Deal(18)

'Where do we go from here?' she queried quietly, and he didn't pretend to misunderstand.

'Let's just take it one day at a time, hmm?'

For several minutes he didn't move, then his hands slid down her arms  and linked together at her waist. She felt his lips brush against her  ear, then trail slowly down the sensitive cord of her neck to nuzzle the  soft hollow there.

It was heaven to lean her head into the curve of his shoulder and just  be. To absorb the warmth of that large pulsing body, to take comfort in  the shelter it afforded her, and to luxuriate in the touch of his hands,  his lips.

He didn't offer a word, nor did she. They didn't move, just stood there for what seemed an age.

Then Michel gently turned her to face him, and she lifted her arms to encircle his neck as he lowered his head down to hers.

His mouth explored the soft lower curve of her own, grazing it with the  edge of his teeth before sweeping his tongue to test the delicate  tissues and tease the sensitised ridges in an erotic tasting that made  her want more than this gentle supplication.

He'd removed his jacket and tie, but his shirt was an impossible barrier  she sought to remove. She needed to touch his skin, to feel the heavy  pulse of his heart beneath his rib cage and to explore the very essence  of him.

By tacit agreement, they divested each other's clothes in a leisurely,  evocative fashion, the slither of silk over skin arousing and  heightening the senses to fever pitch.

Now. She wanted him now. Hard and fast. She needed to feel his strength, his unfettered passion.

Her mouth met his hungrily as he tumbled her down onto the bed, and she  was aware of uttering small sounds of encouragement as he explored her,  then she groaned out loud with pleasure as he entered her in one long  thrust, stilling for timeless seconds as she absorbed him.

He withdrew and she lifted her hips as he plunged deep inside. She clung  to him, urging him harder, closer, until pleasurable sensation reached  an almost unbearable intensity.

Sandrine cried out, beseeching him with a litany of pleas as she became  helpless beneath an emotion so treacherous it almost succeeded in  destroying her.

Afterwards she could only lie there and attempt to regain control of her ragged breathing. And her sanity.

His eyes never left hers, and she felt as if she were drowning as he  traced a finger over the soft curve of her mouth, probing the inner skin  with erotic sensitivity.

Not content, he trailed a path down the length of her throat, then  lowered his head to her mouth to create fresh havoc with her senses as  he kissed her, thoroughly, mindlessly, then feathered his lips to the  sensitive hollows beneath her throat, her breasts, savouring each peak  in turn with devastating eroticism.

As he travelled lower, her body quivered, then tautened against an  invasion so blatantly intimate she began to burn with the intoxicating  heat of his touch.

After play merged into foreplay as passion reignited, and she was driven  by a hunger so intense she became a willing wanton in his arms, taking  intimate liberties that had him groaning beneath her as they both became  lost in mesmeric rapture.

They took the late-morning flight out of Coolangatta airport, approaching the outskirts of Sydney just over an hour later.

The jet banked towards the ocean, providing a panoramic view of the  harbour and city. Tall skyscrapers vied with elegant homes dotting  numerous coves and inlets. Scenic landmarks such as the Sydney Harbour  Bridge and the Opera House were distinctive from this height, and  Sandrine felt the familiarity of home as they began their descent.                       
       
           



       

This was where she'd been born, raised and educated. Her family, her  friends were here. For a while she could relax, visit family, meet  friends and indulge a penchant for shopping.

The benefit of travelling first class was the speed of disembarking, and  in no time at all Michel had collected their bags from the luggage  carousel and organised a taxi.

It was a bright sunny day, with hardly a cloud in the sky. In some ways  it seemed an age since she'd left Sydney; in others it was as if it were  only yesterday.

Nothing had changed, she noted as the taxi took the customary route from  the airport. Industrial areas gave way to semi-industrial, then  residential. The terrace houses looked the same, although a few had  received a fresh coat of paint. Traffic hurtled along the busy road at  maximum speed, accompanied by the hydraulic hiss of heavily laden  trucks, the occasional squeal of hastily applied brakes as a driver  attempted a risky switch of lanes and miscalculated.

A turn-off led towards wide, tree-leafed roads, older-style homes, most  lovingly restored and some still standing in palatial grounds.

Double Bay housed an eclectic mix of homes and apartment buildings. It  was an inner suburb where old-money status sat next to new, where  Porsches, Bentleys and BMWs parked nose to tail with Ferraris, Audis and  Rolls-Royces. It housed one of the city's most exclusive shopping  centres where trendy cafés nestled between designer boutiques, classy  restaurants and a ritzy hotel.

Michel's apartment was situated atop a three-level, spacious old home  that had been gutted and architecturally designed to resemble the  original homestead. Pale lemon stucco with a white trim and  black-painted, iron-lace railings provided a gracious exterior. Each  floor housed a separate apartment, reached by a lift instead of the  original staircase, and modern materials had been crafted to resemble  the old, thereby retaining a sense of timeless grandeur that was  complemented by exquisite antique furniture.

Sandrine had fallen in love with it at first sight, and now she crossed  the spacious lounge to wide glass doors guarding the entrance to a long  veranda that offered panoramic views over Port Jackson Harbour.

'Penny for them,' Michel teased with measured indolence as he joined  her. He linked his arms around her waist and drew her back against him.

'Nothing in particular,' she said reflectively. 'Just a feeling of satisfaction at being home again.'

'You'll want to ring your family and make arrangements to meet them.'

'Yes,' she agreed. But not collectively. There was definitely a yours  and mine definition apparent, and she'd learnt from an early age not to  shift the line between the two!

'Lunch or dinner, whatever suits,' Michel offered. 'As long as I can put in a few hours on the laptop each day.'

She watched a ferry glide across the harbour and glimpsed a freighter on the horizon. 'You want to work this afternoon?'

'Unless you have a better idea.'

The temptation to tease him was irresistible. 'Well, it's ages since I  had a manicure, my hair could do with a trim, and I need to replenish  some make-up.'

'I work, you shop,' he quipped with a musing drawl.

'Are you sure you don't mind?'

His hands slipped up to cover her breasts, the touch light, tantalising,  and she caught her breath at the sensual promise evident as his lips  settled in the sensitive curve of her neck.

'Go, chérie. Be back by six, and we'll eat out.'

Unpacking could wait until later, and with a light laugh she slipped  from his arms, caught up her shoulder-bag, then blew him a cheeky kiss  before heading for the front door.

Sandrine enjoyed a wonderful few hours. The manicure proved to be no  problem, and the hair salon readily fitted her in between appointments.  Tempted by a trendy café, she ordered a cappuccino, a salad and  sandwich, then she browsed among several boutiques lining a narrow  street of converted old-fashioned cottages.

An arcade in the Ritz-Carlton Hotel housed several exclusive shops, and in one she discovered a perfect pair of shoes.

It was almost six when the taxi pulled into the kerb adjacent to the  apartment, and she cleared security, then rode the lift to the top  floor.

Michel was seated at an antique desk in one corner of the lounge, and he  glanced up from the laptop as she entered the room. He'd changed out of  his suit and wore dark chinos and an ivory chambray shirt.

He caught sight of the brightly coloured carry bags, glimpsed the  beautifully styled hair and offered her a warm smile as he closed down  the computer.

Sandrine deposited the bags on a nearby chair. 'I bought shoes.' She wrinkled her nose at him. 'Very expensive shoes.'                       
       
           



       

A husky laugh escaped his throat as he crossed to her side. 'Hmm, new perfume?'

'You noticed.'

'I notice everything about you.'

Just as she'd developed a keen sixth sense about him. The clean male  smell of his soap and cologne, freshly laundered clothes and a masculine  scent that was his alone.

'What time did you book the restaurant?'

'Seven.'

'Then I'd better go unpack, shower and dress.'

He slid a hand beneath her hair and cupped her nape as he lowered his  head down to hers. The kiss held passion and promise, and she felt  vaguely regretful as he let her go.