from the world, she recalled details that she’d barely noticed at the time. They’d been obscured by the sweet fire flaming through her, engulfing all in its path, yet they’d endured in some corner of her consciousness, to be relived later.
Now they made her heart ache for their cruel contrast with the present. Francesco was still the same man who’d won her love by his gentleness and his open adoration of her. He was still the man who’d taken her to bed and loved her with slow, reverent gestures that had brought her flesh to eager life.
The pressure of the water on every part of her body was bringing back those memories. With his very first touch she had felt that he was touching her everywhere. As his lips had lain gently against her breast the reaction had flowed up from her loins and out to every part.
She had been eager to welcome him in, reaching for him, drawing him close, moving with his rhythm. Everything had felt natural because it was with him. His skin, touching hers, had been warm, growing more heated as his passion mounted.
To make love in blindness was an act of trust, but hadn’t failed her. He had been a tender lover, gentle, considerate even in the intensity of his ardour, and above all, generous. Looking back, she often said that her passion had started the day they’d met. Her love dated from that first night together.
When the first explosion of delight had been over and they had fallen apart, stunned and joyful, she’d propped herself up on one elbow and begun to explore him.
‘After all, I can’t see you,’ she teased. ‘I have to find out in my own way.’
‘I guess you were going to discover my feeble muscles and pot-belly some time or other.’ He laughed.
‘Yup. Let’s see, now, is this your shoulder?’
‘It’s at the top of my arm, so I guess it must be.’
‘Nothing feeble about that muscle,’ she murmured. ‘And it continues very nicely along here.’
‘You’ve left my arm behind. That’s my chest.’
‘Mmm,’ she whispered, kissing the pectoral muscles one by one. ‘You don’t have any hair on your chest. I prefer that.’
‘Are you saying you’re an expert?’
‘Blind teaching is very modern these days,’ she said in a serious voice. ‘We take lessons in everything.’
There was the briefest pause before he said cautiously, ‘Everything?’
‘Almost everything.’
‘Are you making fun of me?’
Her lips twitched. ‘Do you think I am?’
‘I wish I could be sure.’
‘Well, you can decide about that later. Where was I?’
‘Exploring my chest.’
‘Let’s leave that for the moment. I don’t want to rush this.’
‘I don’t want to rush it, either,’ he said huskily, letting her fingers roam over his thighs, relishing every moment.
‘You have very long legs,’ she murmured in a considering voice. ‘At least, I suppose they are. I don’t have many points of comparison.’
‘I wish you didn’t have any—unless, of course, you learned that in the leg class?’
She stifled her laughter against his chest, and at last she felt him relax enough to laugh, as well.
Francesco didn’t relax easily, she could tell. It had been a real shock to him when she’d made a joke about her blindness, but he’d soon get the hang of that. She would teach him. In the meantime, they had other business.
‘Now, about that pot-belly of yours,’ she murmured, letting her fingers continue their work. ‘It doesn’t feel very pot to me.’
‘I don’t keep it precisely there,’ he said in a tense voice.
‘You want me to move?’
‘No, just…keep doing…what you’re doing.’
She did as he wished, realising that their previous loving had barely taken the edge off his passion and he was once more in a state of heated arousal. He was hard and hot in her palm, and she indulged herself in pleasure until, at the precise moment she intended, he lost control and tossed her onto her back.
Her own control was fast vanishing. She was eager for him to move over her and repeat the experience that had been so thrilling the first time. She reached for him, barely able to contain herself, clasping him so firmly that they were united in an instant.
At the feel of him inside her she gave a shout of pleasure that mingled with his and began to move strongly, urgently, wrapping her legs around him and holding him close. She wanted to keep him like that always.
Afterwards they slept in each other’s arms for a couple of hours and awoke hungry. She went into the kitchen, refusing his offer to make the food himself.
‘I know where everything is,’ she assured him.
‘Yes, you just proved that,’ he murmured.
‘Don’t be vulgar.’ She chuckled, aiming a mock punch at him.
But she misjudged the distance and caught him across the face, making him yell more in surprise than pain.
‘Darling, darling, I’m sorry,’ she cried, kissing him fiercely. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘You’re a violent woman,’ he complained.
‘No, just a blind one. You’ll be covered in bruises in no time.’
‘How can you talk like that?’
‘Because it’s true. You should escape me now, while you still can!’
‘I didn’t mean that. I meant the other thing.’
‘About being blind?’
‘Yes. Never mind that now. Let’s have something to eat.’
She made sandwiches and coffee and they picnicked in the bedroom.
‘It upsets you when I make jokes about being blind, doesn’t it?’ she mused, munching.
‘It confuses me. It’s like invading sacred ground.’
‘It’s not sacred to me. Anyway, it’s my ground and I’ll invade it if I want to. And if I can, you can. So hush!’
They had laughed, and loved again, laughed again and loved again. That was how it had been in the beginning.
And even then the first danger signs had been there, but they’d both been too much in love to heed them. If only…
‘Time to come in,’ came the voice over the radio.
‘Just a few more minutes,’ Celia begged.
‘Your air will be running out soon. Did you find any pirate treasure?’
‘Not this time, but I always live in hope,’ she said, determinedly cheerful.
It was time to go back and face the world. Fiona was close by, calling her, and together they made their way to the boat, where hands came down to welcome them aboard.
‘How was it?’ Ken asked.
‘Wonderful!’ Celia exclaimed. ‘The most glorious feeling—being weightless, and so free—such freedom—as though the rest of the world didn’t exist.’
‘Is that your idea of freedom?’ Fiona asked. ‘Escaping the rest of the world?’
‘Escaping the world’s prejudices, yes,’ Celia murmured thoughtfully.
‘Ah,’ Ken said in a significant voice. ‘I’m afraid that the world has followed