They ran down the two flights of stairs hand in hand and wandered into the grand drawing room.

"This is such a lovely piano," she said, smoothing her hand over the beautiful mahogany Steinway that stood near the window.

"It belonged to my mother. She played beautifully."

"Do you?"

"Sort of," he admitted. "They insisted I take lessons."

"Play me something," she said.

Without demur, he sat down and began to play. She leaned on her elbow on the piano, one hand propped under her chin, studying him as he played. His execution was flawless, his demeanor unself-conscious. The piece was hauntingly familiar, but she couldn't remember the name of it. She heard the emotions of his volatile soul pouring out through his fingers, loss and nostalgia, the bitterness and anger of dissonance, his struggle to find resolution, his longing for what might still be possible, the yearning for that one perfect love. His eyes rested on her from time to time as he played, but she had the uncanny feeling that sometimes he wasn't really seeing her, that his thoughts were somewhere else, somewhere sad. Something about the way he played it broke her heart, brought tears to her eyes, and told her that she loved him, would always love him, and would quite simply shrivel up and die inside if he didn't love her back the same way.

When he finished playing they were still, looking into each other's faces with something that might well have been described as mutual curiosity and wonder at what was happening, had happened, between them. Something so big they hardly dared acknowledge it. Then he sort of tilted his head and gave her a little smile.

"What is the name of that piece?" she asked.

"Chopin's etude in E Major," he replied, "one of my mother's favorite pieces. She was the true pianist in the family." Emotion flitted briefly across his face. "I think the popularized name of the piece is No Other Love," he said. He reached out and caressed her cheek then got up and closed the piano.

She followed him out of the drawing room and into the study, where he threw himself into the chair at the big antique desk, looking somewhat moodily out the window. She sat in the chair on the other side of the desk and watched him, sensing that his mood had shifted into unpredictability. There was a framed photograph on the desk, a larger version of the one she had seen in his town house bedroom. She picked it up and studied it.

"These are your parents." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes," he said, still looking out the window.

"You must miss them," she said, replacing the photograph.

"Yes," he admitted briefly. "They were remarkable people. They...died within three days of each other," he said, as though it were an afterthought.

"Oh, Anthony," she said, distressed.

He turned away from the window and looked at her. "I don't want you to be sad," he said. He got up and walked around the desk.

"Come," he said, holding out his hand. "Let us go to the sauna and after we'll have a swim."

They left their clothing in the change room and entered the sauna. She climbed up and sat on the top tier. He sat on the bottom one, his back to her, her legs on either side of him. Soon, the warm, dry air lulled her and she leaned her head against the cedar wall, surrendering to la.s.situde . He looped one arm over her leg and rested his head on her thigh. He caressed her leg lightly, and then she felt his kiss, as soft as a moth's wing. Her leg twitched, the faintest of tremors, and her hand descended warningly on his shoulder. A few minutes later she felt his lips on her thigh again, and she squeezed his shoulder, a little harder this time.

"Don't, Anthony."

"Don't what?"

"Don't start. It's too warm."

He leaned his head back, then pressed the side of his face against her belly and closed his eyes. Their bodies were becoming dewy, and eventually, the moisture began to bead. A drop of perspiration rolled down from under the crease of her breast and dripped over his face. He turned and licked her skin where the drop had pa.s.sed, stopping perilously short of capturing her nipple in his mouth. She closed her eyes, concentrating on controlling her breathing, containing the involuntary quickening in her belly that his licking the underside of her breast had induced. He could feel the sweat on her thigh pooling under his arm, mixing with his. He turned, facing forward again, the back of his head pressing on her belly, and this time draped both arms over her, one over each thigh. He pulled her knees hard against him, and they stayed like that for a little while.

He released her abruptly and climbed up on the top tier. He leaned against the wall, in the corner, sitting upright with one leg stretched out along the wall, the other resting on the lower tier.

"Come," he said. "Come sit with me."

She moved over and positioned herself between his legs, laying her head against his chest, just below his shoulder, secure in the circle of his arms with both feet stretched out on the bench.

He loved the feel of her sweaty rear end pressing against his tumescence. His head dropped into the crook of her neck as his fingers began to caress her perspiring b.r.e.a.s.t.s, stroking her nipples with the pads of his thumb. She stirred when his hands descended to her belly. She felt slightly panicky. It was too hot for this kind of exertion. What if they both pa.s.sed out? She held on to his roving hand.

"Anthony," she murmured, "this isn't safe."

"Just let me touch you. I'll be slow and gentle. I would never let anything bad happen to you," he said quietly. "Trust me."

She let go of his hand and tensed as it descended to her mound. He stroked her gently, making no attempt to get inside her, just caressing the wet curly hair, and the soft skin at the top of her thighs just under her mound, accustoming her to his touch, making her wait, until she longed for it.

When his fingers slipped inside her she inhaled sharply and he cupped her hard, his thumb pressing down on her nub, desensitizing it, bringing down the level of excitation. Gradually, she relaxed, and he began to stroke her, playing inside her folds, rubbing her gently, stimulating her libido to a new level that seemed all at once to be wonderfully sustainable, a high she could live on. She leaned back against him, every now and then releasing a murmur of satisfaction that chimed in his ear like a carillon.

He felt her growing heavy, her breathing deepening as she leaned against him in total surrender to the lethargy that the heat, coupled with his sustained stimulation of her, had induced.

"Time for a swim," he whispered in her ear.

He urged her into a standing position, and they climbed down off the bench and left the sauna. The change in temperature revived her almost instantly but the thought of diving into the pool was another matter entirely.

"You go first so I can enjoy watching you dive," she said, as they stood at the deep end.

"Little coward," he teased. "Come on. Give me your hand." She complied reluctantly and he seized it. "Now," he said. "One, two, three!" He pulled her with him into the water.

She sank to the bottom and came up, spluttering, shaking the water from her face when she broke the surface so she could open her eyes. He had already come up and was watching her, his teeth gleaming whitely with mirth.

"Did I ever tell you," she said between breaths, treading water furiously, "that sometimes I really, really hate you."

He roared with laughter. "Actually," he replied, still grinning, "I thought you were going to say that sometimes you really, really love me."

Her heart skipped a beat of wonder at hearing him say that and the need to tell him, to confess her true feelings, almost got the better of her. But what was at stake was so much more important. She couldn't live the rest of her life wondering if, deep inside, he forever harbored the suspicion that she had come back to him only because of money. Worse, she couldn't let him live the rest of his life wondering the very same thing. But how could she tell him the truth now? What would she say-"Believe it, dear, when I say I love you, but I still want the sixty-three thousand pounds"? No, there was no way such a thing could be said. She would tell him how much she loved him after she repaid her debt to Antonio. Her mind made up, she flashed her eyes at him.

"Dream on, lover boy," she said and streaked away across the pool.

He swam after her, not really chasing her, thinking. He knew that secretly, he had said what he said because he was curious about what her response would be. The disappointment that nicked him so sharply when it came told him that it wasn't the one he had been hoping for. He figured she liked him well enough and enjoyed having s.e.x with him, but he couldn't get past the fact that her main reason for returning to the game was much more prosaic. That would have been fine with him, if it wasn't for the fact that he was totally obsessed with and in love with her. No matter, he'd have to learn to live with whatever she wanted to give, to let it be enough, because whatever it was, it would be a h.e.l.l of a lot better than not having her at all. He swam on, wondering if she liked him enough to stay with him after the game was over.

They did a few laps, got out of the pool, and went to the shower.

"Let me wash your hair," he said as she picked up the bottle of shampoo. She stood under the hot spray, leaning against the wall on her arm as he lathered shampoo in her hair and began to ma.s.sage it in. Gooseb.u.mps embroidered her skin as his fingers described concentric circles on her scalp, her nipples erect under the dual onslaught of his touch and the stinging spray. Shutting off the shower, he concentrated on his task, working the foam into her scalp and along the silken strands of her hair. He squeezed out the excess then applied himself to washing the rest of her, ma.s.saging her body with his slick, soapy hands, being attentive to her armpits, the undersides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, down her back, and her b.u.t.tocks before stooping to do the backs of her legs.

"Turn around," he said.

She complied and he picked up one foot, soaping each toe carefully, then did her other foot. He worked his way up her legs and she leaned her head on the wall, her eyes closed as he soaped carefully between them, his fingers touching her intimately. He heard the breath gusting shallowly through her mouth and clamped the lid down forcefully on his burgeoning desire. He stood, washing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pa.s.sing his palm agonizingly over her pebbled nipples, her neck, and behind her ears. He exhaled, expelling some of the heat building inside him.

"Okay," he said. "Stand away from the wall facing me, close your eyes and put your head back. I'm going to wash the shampoo out of your hair."

She complied, sensing his jaw clench as his erection brushed against her, just above her mound. The spray descended and he smoothed her hair away from her face as the water cascaded through it, taking it all the way to the ends, leaving her hair clean and shiny.

He took his time washing the soap off her skin, stooping down to rinse her legs all the way to her toes. He washed the soap away from her s.e.x, probing the hidden recesses as her fingers tightened their grip on his shoulders.

"Okay," he said finally, "You're done." She looked up at him, her face wet. He returned her gaze quizzically then kissed her mouth. She swallowed her disappointment that he wouldn't make love to her.

"Your turn," she said. "I'll wash your back." She soaped his back, her fingers descending over his b.u.t.tocks and between them, running her finger down the crack to punish him for not making love to her and smiling wickedly when she heard his sharp intake of breath. She continued down the backs of his legs and then stood up.

"Shut off the shower and turn around."

He obeyed and she saw he was totally aroused, his shaft stiff as a pole. She brushed her s.e.x up against it, ostensibly ignoring it while she shampooed his hair, rubbing some of it into the curly hair on his chest. She soaped his erection lightly, working it gently with her fingers. His breath gusted out and his belly shuddered convulsively. She went down his legs, finished up with his toes, stood, and turned on the shower.

She washed the soap off his erection first, not wanting it to remain too long on the delicate skin. She pulled back the foreskin, exposing it to the spray and heard the air whistle through his clenched teeth. She sheathed it, pulling the foreskin over, then moved into him, her arms upraised to wash the shampoo out of his hair. His erection stabbed at her mound, and with an exclamation that sounded suspiciously like a four-letter word, he pulled her hard against him, pressing it against her belly as her nipples tantalized his chest.

They stood under the water, hands moving ceaselessly over each other's body as it cascaded down over, around and-where possible when they weren't pressed skin to skin-between them. He bent his head and sucked the hollow of her shoulder blade, drinking water off her newly cleansed skin.

She nuzzled her face in his chest and then took his nipple in her mouth, worrying the hardened little stone with her teeth and tongue and almost succeeded in smashing his resolve. He pulled her head up and covered her mouth with his in a kiss that seared his soul while the water cascaded over them like a baptism. He knew what she wanted from him, but he needed her to see past the s.e.x, past the game, to understand that for him, it was no longer just about that and perhaps then she would come to the place where he desperately wanted her to be. Always with him, safe and protected no matter what.

"We should go," he said. "It's getting late."

Her eyes reflected her disappointment and something that looked to him like regret, but he couldn't be sure.

She swallowed. "Okay," she replied.

He shut off the shower, slid open the shower door, and took a towel off the rail. He wrapped it around her, and she got out. He followed her, snagging another towel and wrapping it around himself.

By four o'clock they were ready to leave. She looked up wistfully at the house just before getting into the car.

"It was nice being here," she said wistfully.

He turned to her. "We'll come back."

"It's kind of like having a secret life, isn't it," she said, giggling in a sudden change of mood as they drove off. "n.o.body will even know we've been here."

He glanced at her, amused. "Mrs. Hodgett will know the second she walks into the pantry. She knows every item she's responsible for down to the last grain of salt. The missing food we ate will stand out like a gaping hole. Nothing escapes her."

"How long have they been with you?"

"They've been with the family a long, long time, before I even arrived. My parents left them an annuity, and I've done the same in my will, in case I kick the bucket unexpectedly."

"Don't," she said, almost sharply. "Don't talk about that. Let's talk about something else."

"Okay," he said agreeably. But he felt a perverse spurt of happiness that the thought of his sudden demise had bothered her.

They drove along in a comfortable silence, broken by desultory chat about this and that. At one point he thought she had fallen asleep, but then he heard an unmistakable sigh.

"What's up?" he asked, his eyes on the road.

She sat up a little, placed her hands between her knees and squeezed. "I'm tingly inside," she replied, giving another more heartfelt sigh.

He clutched the steering wheel of the powerful Aston Martin a little harder. It was infinitesimal but he had felt it lurch in response to the impulse that had traveled from his c.o.c.k to his foot on the gas pedal. He had to keep his mind on the road when driving this car. Feeling in control again he reached out and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Me too," he confessed. "We'll work on it later."

Her jade eyes held a lazy smile when she looked at him.

They were back in London about six thirty and headed straight for Rubens where he had made a reservation.

"Let's get some fresh air before we go in," she suggested. "Just up and down the block, to the palace and back."

He handed the car keys to the valet and they set off, walking at a good pace, because it was a fairly nippy night. They got to the corner and stood for some minutes, looking through the magnificent gates, caught up in the palace mystique just like the handful of tourists around who were braving the cold.

He put his arms around her, held her against him, and sang mischievously in her ear. "They changed the guard at Buckingham Palace. One of the guards ran off with Alice..."

She bent double with laughter at the parody. "You are so bad," she said, straightening up and laying her head back on his shoulder to catch his eye.

"You don't know the half of it," he said, grinning. He felt her shiver. "Cold?" he asked, hugging her to him.

"A little," she confessed. "Probably because I'm not wearing nylons."

"Let's go back then," he said.

They walked back briskly and went into the restaurant. It was very lively upstairs, some kind of group gathering, evidently. Seeing him hesitate, the head waiter who had greeted Anthony warmly, suggested that downstairs might be a bit quieter.

There were no other patrons downstairs and they settled happily into a cozy alcove. All the tables were covered with floor length cream tablecloths under a white topper and each featured a beautiful centerpiece of creamy roses. Two votive candles in transparent gla.s.s above each place setting created an inner ring of flickering candlelight that made each table seem like its own peaceful and private little island, isolated from the noise and bustle of civilization. The flickering light from so many candles reflected off the gleaming china, the crystal, and the cutlery and bounced seductively around the room. Their soft glow created a soothing ambiance that rea.s.sured guests their evening out would be perfect.

At Nicola's request the waiter obligingly moved one of the high-backed armchairs at their table so she could sit next to Anthony. She sank into the plush upholstery and leaned her head back with a sigh of contentment. She watched Anthony reflectively as he ordered.

"Can you give us twenty minutes before we order," she requested of the waiter when he returned with their aperitifs. "It's been a long day, and I'd like to unwind a bit."

"Certainly, miss," he replied. He placed the menus on the table and left.

"Well," Anthony said, "shall we drink to anything?"

"How about to being spontaneous," she suggested.

"To being spontaneous, then," he said.

They tilted gla.s.ses and he took a sip, watching her as she did the same, her eyes locked on his. Something was going on with her and he was pretty sure he was about to find out what. He could see it in her eyes, the gleam that he had learned to recognize as a precursor to the unexpected.

She put her gla.s.s down and her hand floated into his lap and began to ma.s.sage his groin. He groaned in mock despair and caught her hand.

"Not in public," he protested faintly.

She ignored him, continuing to ma.s.sage his c.o.c.k, which had risen to life like a phoenix under her hand. "This isn't public, Anthony. In fact, I think it's very private."

Magically, with her clever fingers, she had somehow undone the b.u.t.tons of his fly and reached in, and now there was nothing between his c.o.c.k and her stroking hand but his shorts. He closed his hand over hers, but he wasn't quite sure himself what his intention was, whether to encourage her caress or to put a stop to it. But if he didn't do something, it was a sure bet that he would be coming in his shorts in about sixty seconds. He stifled a gasp as she found the opening of his shorts and his eager shaft sprang erect in her hand. She stroked it dreamily, sliding the tender foreskin up and down, her thumb rubbing the head in a circular motion.

She released him abruptly and before he could guess what her next move might be, slipped under the table, and bunched the tablecloth in his lap, effectively shielding his c.o.c.k from view.

"Jesus, Nicola!" he said frantically, visions of being thrown out of the restaurant and tomorrow's Times headlines streaking across his brain. His mouth opened and shut on a thrill as he felt her take him in her mouth and begin to suck him. His mind went blank, all coherent thought erased as every last nerve in his entire nervous system leapt to focus on the mind-blowing sweetness of her tongue swirling around his engorged c.o.c.k as it throbbed in her warm, wet mouth.

The top of her head pressed against his belly as she took the whole length of him into her mouth, laved it with her tongue, and then licked it from stem to stern before taking it into her mouth again, sucking hard this time. He felt a tingling sensation, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet and knew that he was on the brink of an explosive climax. He scrabbled, reached desperately under the tablecloth and grasped the back of her neck, hanging on for dear life as a rushing noise filled his head. He groaned aloud as he came, spurting s.e.m.e.n into her mouth in response to her relentless coaxing tongue. His body quivered as wave after unceasing wave of release broke over him until at last he flopped back into his chair, catapulted like a capsized surfer onto the sh.o.r.e as the final wave retreated. Weakly, he caressed her face and hair as she continued to suck him until he was completely spent.

She emerged from under the table and sat down again in her chair, her head resting comfortably against its high back. She gazed at him, her eyes still dreamy, and as he watched, still stunned and replete with his own satisfaction, she swept her tongue slowly over her top lip like a contented kitten that has just lapped up the last of the cream. He almost came again in his shorts.