Free The Italian’s Rightful Bride by Lucy Gordon Page B

dropped.
    â€˜I think it was,’ Joanna said, her words almost drowned out by a crash of thunder.
    â€˜We get violent summer storms sometimes,’ Gustavo said. ‘Best get out of here quickly.’
    But it was already too late. The next moment the heavens opened and rain poured down in sheets, soaking everyone at once, turning the soft ground into mud. After the heat there was a certain pleasure in simply standing there, pounded by cool rain. Joanna looked up to the sky, raising her arms in almost ecstatic welcome.
    People were trying to reach the edge of the dig and make for the refuge of the cars, but they slipped and slid around, clinging on to each other, laughing.
    With their hair plastered to their heads nobody looked like themselves any more. Sodden clothes became transparent, revealing that some of the women were naked beneath their shirts. They clutched their arms across their chests while the young men competed to assist them.
    â€˜Are you all right?’ Gustavo called to Joanna.
    â€˜It’s in my eyes; I can’t see. Oh, heavens!’
    She reached out and he took hold of her arm, shouting through the din, ‘Hold on to me.’
    She clutched wildly and felt his arms go around her just as her foot gave way in the mud. Floundering, sheseized him, but her hands slipped on his sodden shirt and she had to grasp hard.
    She had the sensation of a hard, muscular body beneath her palms. It belonged to a stranger. The young Gustavo had kissed her with restraint and she’d forced herself to respond in kind, her arms demurely about his neck. She hadn’t dared yield to the impulse to run her hands over him, the way she seemed to be doing now.
    It was a startling discovery, almost like touching him for the very first time. This was a man who concealed power beneath expensive clothes.
    â€˜Are you all right?’ came his voice in her ear.
    â€˜I think so,’ she said through the pounding water.
    With one hand she was holding on to his arm, while her other was about his neck. And he was laughing. She could feel it along his arm, then her arms, and deep in his chest, pressed against hers. It seemed to go through her again and again, and she answered it with her own laughter, melting into his, so that there was no knowing where he ended and she began. And all the time she couldn’t see him.
    â€˜One step at a time,’ he said. ‘Careful.’
    She moved gingerly forward, one step, then two.
    â€˜I can’t see where I’m going,’ she cried.
    â€˜It doesn’t matter. I’m holding you.’
    â€˜But how can you see?’
    â€˜I can’t,’ he shouted cheerfully. ‘But sooner or later— Hey! ’
    The last word was a yell as his foot slid out from under him, so that he had no choice but to go down into the mud, taking Joanna with him, still clasped in his arms. She landed on top of him and they lay there, helpless with laughter.
    The others, seeing what was happening, surged backto rescue them. Hands reached out and hauled them both up.
    At last she managed to get her eyes clear and look around. Gustavo was sitting on the edge of the shallow bank, wiping his eyes and trying to brush his hair back.
    He was covered in mud. It soaked his clothes so that they clung to him, revealing every line of his body. Now she could clearly see what she had only sensed before. His body was perfectly proportioned without an extra ounce anywhere. His sodden trousers clung to him so closely that he might as well have been naked.
    Looking down, she saw that the same was true of her. Her breasts were outlined in vivid detail. She reckoned she must be light-headed because it was suddenly clear to her why female wrestlers used mud and why men cheered them on. But Gustavo wasn’t cheering. He looked astounded.
    Another flash of lightning announced an even harder downpour. In seconds everyone was in vehicles heading back to the house. Joanna travelled