Wounds of Passion, Charlotte Lamb [english novels to improve english .TXT] 📗

her a furious look; she expected him to shout at her, but instead he lifted his head clear of the water and looked around, groaning. ‘And we’re a hell of a long way from land.’ Then he stiffened, staring to one side for an instant, before quickly turning back to Antonia. ‘Look, if you can’t swim, could you float, do you think? I’ve just seen a small sand bar over to the left. If we can make it there you can rest for a while until you’re fit enough to swim back to land. Will you risk it? You’ll have to trust me. If you start panicking, we could both drown.’

The cramp was getting worse; she was in such pain that she could barely stand it. She nodded, unable to speak. Patrick gave her a searching look, frowning.

‘OK, put your arms round my waist, and go limp; float on the top of the water if you can and try to keep to one side of me, so that I can use my arms and legs to propel us both along.’

She shakily obeyed, sliding her arms around the middle of his body, and fought to ignore the cramp still torturing her. Patrick began to swim, pulling her along with him. She felt every movement of his body as it drove through the water, his legs rippling along beside hers, his body cold and wet in her arms. It wasn’t easy to stay limp, to give herself up to his control. Fear thickened her throat, she was shivering violently, and the minutes seemed to drag by. The cramp in her legs seemed to be getting worse; she had to bite on her lip to stop a cry of anguish.

At last, though, the waves threw them both up on the narrow sand bar, like drowned animals. They lay on their faces, panting, trembling; it was several minutes before Antonia could even sit up and start massaging her cramped legs, feeling the agony gradually subside.

Patrick sat up beside her a moment later, his chest still heaving and his breathing noisy.

Antonia gasped out, ‘Thank you; you saved my life.’

‘It’s always stupid to take risks with the sea,’ Patrick said, looking sideways at her, his hair slicked down against his skull, making the strength of his bone-structure stand out.

‘I realise I was stupid,’ she said crossly. ‘No need to rub it in!’

‘I just want to be sure you won’t do that again; I might not be here next time,’ he said drily. ‘How’s the cramp now?’

‘Better, thanks.’

‘Well, we’ll have a rest before we head back to shore,’ he said, and lay down full-length on the fine sand, his long body lazily relaxed. ‘Mmm...that sun is wonderful. I don’t know about you, but I’m chilled to the marrow after being in the sea that long.’

‘I’m very cold,’ she agreed, watching him. He had his eyes shut, which made her feel safe enough to risk staring. He was almost naked, the tiny black briefs he wore clinging wetly to his body, revealing more than they concealed. She hurriedly looked up at his face, afraid he might catch her staring, but his eyes were still closed. Breathing more easily, she let her gaze wander back to his wide, tanned shoulders, that strong chest with the dark, wet tangles of hair which ran down his flat stomach and on until they disappeared under the waistband of the close-fitting briefs. No denying it, Antonia thought, dry-mouthed. He has a sexy body. Staring at his powerful thighs and those long, long legs, she felt heat begin to burn inside her.

The slow rhythm of his breathing altered at that second—quickened, was far more audible.

Antonia shot a tense, startled look at his face and was horrified to find Patrick’s eyes wide open. He had been watching her while she looked at him, she realised in shock, and a second later he reached out and caught her waist, jerked her downwards so that she fell on top of him. The impact of their bodies hitting each other sent her lungs into hyper-drive; she couldn’t get a word out for a minute.

‘Kiss me, Antonia,’ he whispered, his eyes very blue in the Venetian sunlight.

She shook her head wordlessly, deeply conscious of his body touching hers so intimately.

He murmured, ‘You won’t lay your ghosts until you’ve admitted you have a body and it has very physical instincts, Antonia.’ His fingers twined themselves into her wet hair. ‘Don’t be scared; just let those instincts take over. Kiss me.’

‘I can’t,’ she groaned, but she couldn’t stop staring at his mouth.

It smiled at her, a warm and passionate curve. ‘Yes, you can, if you stop telling yourself there’s something wrong with wanting to.’

‘Who says I want to?’ She pretended indignation, very aware of his blue eyes staring up at her intently, as if he was trying to see inside her head. She was afraid he could, too; she was afraid Patrick was telepathic, could read her every thought, every feeling.

Why was she so vulnerable to him? How did he make her feel this way? Why this man, rather than any other? Right from the moment she first saw him she had felt like this about him.

He kept staring into her eyes and his deep, low voice tormented her. ‘Kiss me, Antonia.’

‘I don’t want to,’ she lied.

‘Yes, you do,’ Patrick said, and he was right; she did. She was dying to kiss him, and at the same time scared to death. But how did he know that?

‘Antonia, how can you talk about getting married when you freeze every time a man comes within a foot of you?’ he asked.

‘If you know I’m so scared, why are you always trying to make me kiss you?’

‘You aren’t scared of me, Antonia. That isn’t fear you’re feeling, is it? Do I really have to tell you what it is?’

She gave him a distraught, flickering look. ‘Stop talking like that!’

‘If you don’t want me to talk about it, stop me talking,’ he whispered. ‘Kiss me.’

‘Well,