Chapter One

IT LOOKED LIKE THERE was a party in progress, luxury cars lining both sides of the narrow country road. I inspected them as I passed, Lamborghinis, Mercedes, Porsches, and an Aston Martin sprinkled in with blacked-out Range Rovers. The cheapest vehicle that I could see was an Audi R8. No. A fashionable Mini was squeezed in-between a red Ferrari and what looked like an Ascari.

Walking through the estate's wide open black wrought iron gates adorned with gaudy family initials - ML painted in gold - I followed a paved drive through a small copse of closely planted trees. Sixty feet later I emerged into a world of sunlight, well-manicured lawns as far as the eye could see, more cars, and a monstrous grey mock-French chateau. It was an insult to the eye to see it here, in Italy of all places. Drawn by boisterous noises, I followed a flagstone footpath around the mock-French monstrosity to discover a crowd of partygoers on the back lawn. The huge groomed lawn sloped away and ended at a calm blue bay. Tied to a stone jetty was a large white cruise yacht. It looked like a Dutch made Icon; four million Euros of luxury; gleaming white fibreglass, smoked glass windows, and chrome brightwork.

The crowd was made up of young, desperately hip, insecure adults preening, strutting, and standing just so, rehearsed poses designed to show how impossibly important they were. Cut-crystal Champaign flutes sparkled in the afternoon sun. A pianist playing classical music on a glossy white Grand piano was ignored, hired because it was de rigueur. Partygoers mingled ready to impress with artfully crafted and well rehearsed stories. There was a hierarchy to this group. I didn't care. I wasn't impressed. I wasn't intimidated. It was false, a pretence, a carefully constructed tableau of artifice - image was everything with this crowd, substance of no value.

On the sweeping two-level flagstone terrace with large mullioned double doors open to the interior of the chateau, I spotted Mr. Lucchese. Tall and suave with well-groomed dark hair swept back from a tall forehead, he was chatting with a buxom brunette who was trying too hard. Her cuteness and fake eyelashes were not enough to hide the caking of makeup more appropriate for an evening event but needed to hide age wrinkles yet to be treated by Botox. I saw him notice me, his back straightening slightly. He dipped his head, whispering to the brunette. She laughed, a shrill bark she might have thought was charming, and slipped away, teetering slightly on her stilettos from alcohol made more potent by the hot afternoon sun.

I approached the terrace, Mr. Lucchese moving towards me. I didn't feel awkward in my jeans and light leather bomber jacket despite the sideways disapproving glances my presence elicited. The trying-to-be-hip group snickered as one, whispered as one, shocked at my apparent ignorance of appropriate attire for such a desperately social event.

"Mr. Blackmore," Mr. Lucchese greeted with no hint of an Italian accent, extending a slender hand with manicured fingernails, a serious expression on his face, his dark eyes intense. "Thank you for coming. Please, this way. We can talk privately inside."

I shook a cool, dry hand that lacked interest or commitment. Nodding, I followed him into the Chateau. It was big; big in size with oversized rooms, big in chintz with gilt-framed portraits of men I'd be willing to bet were no relatives of Mr. Lucchese. Furniture was over-stuffed, unnecessarily ornate, no doubt uncomfortable. It struck me Mr. Lucchese was buying social importance. Why?

He ushered me into a study, one carefully replicated from a fine English estate. He even offered me a Cuban Churchill cigar from a mahogany humidor as he circled behind a large desk.

"No. Thank you," I said, declining the offer. I noticed with interest that he didn't take one either. Were the cigars another cosmetic show of wealth?

From inside his charcoal silk suit jacket pocket he withdrew a slender cream envelope and placed it on the leather-inlayed desk, pushing it across towards me. I glanced at it and left it where it was.

"I apologize for the party," he said in a cultured voice. "It was planned long ago; too complicated to cancel it."

I nodded.

"Please. Sit," he invited, settling himself in the desk chair and motioning me to an armchair.

I sat.

"Perhaps you could give me the details?" I suggested.

"Yes. Of course." He opened the desk drawer and withdrew a large manila envelope, placing it on the desk, his long fingers gently tapping the top of it. A diamond sparkled in his pinkie ring. "My niece has been kidnapped. I understand you're the best at recovering children, at least that was what I was told when I made inquiries." Leaning forward, he pushed the Manila envelope across towards me.

I didn't pick it up. "Why are you talking to me? Shouldn't it be her parents?"

"Yes. True. Unfortunately her parents are no longer with us. I'm her guardian."

He was smooth, his responses calm, seemingly open and honest. So why did I have a nagging itch that something was off kilter? Why did I find Mr. Lucchese too polished, too one-dimensional?

"How long has she been gone?" I asked.

"Twenty-five days now."

"And you've heard nothing? How do you know she's been kidnapped?" I asked, beginning to get annoyed at having to probe. I was not a hostage negotiator. Why had I been called?

"Ah, well. We received the ransom demand three days after she was taken. Two million Euros."

"So pay it," I suggested. I watched as a flash of darkness passed through his gaze, his eyes briefly turning flinty. There was the real Mr. Lucchese, I thought. Hello.

"We tried. Unfortunately something went wrong. The ransom was subsequently increased to five million Euros."

"So pay it," I suggested again. Judging by this monstrous edifice he lived in he could afford it.

I saw anger flash through his eyes, or was it indignation? Perhaps it was annoyance. I didn't care. I'd already made my decision. I was not going to be able to help Mr. Marco Lucchese. I didn't like him or trust him. I was not a negotiator; that wasn't my forte. I never negotiated.

Standing, I informed him of his mistake. He should have called someone else. Perhaps the Carabinieri.

Walking back to my car, a small envelope in my breast pocket and a larger manila one in my hand, I wondered at my resolve. Then again, it was a mistake looking at her picture. When it's impersonal, decisions are always easier to make. Somehow, when a face is put to a name, my resolve weakens, especially when the face is like hers.

Starting the car, my mind turned to a plan of action. Somewhere in Europe a young girl was being held, frightened, alone, and praying to be rescued.

My blood stirred. I was back hunting, a familiar feeling.

Chapter Two

Another flush started, fever returning to my sore, aching body. I was dehydrated. I could feel reality slip away again, a vertiginous feeling, uncomfortable. Losing control was my deepest fear and I could feel it creeping up on me, a dark numbness slowly seeping in like a rising tide of human effluent; horrific, repulsive, fearful.

The shaking started. The sheets felt rough, like sandpaper. Heat suffocated me preventing me from filling my lungs. Sweat started again powered by fear and fever, beads rolling down my chest and down my forehead to slip into my eyes, stinging and painful. I felt my exhaustion as a physical weight, arms too heavy and weak to wipe my eyes. I felt my tiredness, a feebleness in my body like a weak, newborn kitten. I felt sweat-soaked sheets crumpled uncomfortably under me. I felt the depth of my despair. An ache in my head burned, radiating a constant throbbing; a burning pain with sharp stabs like red-hot needles piercing me as if some amateur seamstress was trying to sew me together without anaesthesia.

In this purgatory, an angel lay a cool damp cloth on my brow, sweet coolness bringing temporary respite. The hot breeze passing gently through open shutters evaporated my sweat, cooling me, but not enough. A blue-eyed angel looked at me. I tried to talk, then felt myself fall down a well, her face growing smaller and smaller as I free-fell into the depths of Hell.

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Gunfire erupted, single shots barking, a shotgun blast roaring with a blinding bright flash. Confusion. The distinctive acrid reek of burnt gunpowder filled the hall. A door crashed open when my shoulder hit it at full speed. I fell through to find the Devil standing over the bed, his arm outstretched, a Beretta in his hand aimed down, his black, bottomless, evil eyes staring at me.

She was splayed out on the bed paralyzed with fear, her eyes screaming terror at me, pleading, tears large. The Devil grinned at me, his fist tightening, finger curling, knuckles whitening.

Two shots rang out almost blending together, one a sharp crack, the other a soft thutt, pain searing into my temple. The Devil froze, blood blooming from the hole I'd put between his eyebrows. He toppled as I collapsed to one knee, dizzy, my face now wet with gushing blood. Turning without thinking I fired at the man behind me in the hall, his gun still smoking from shooting me. His head snapped back from the bullet. He fell. Massive pain arrived. My sight faded. Sweet unconsciousness arrived.

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I heard her light voice. "Bere. È acqua fresca."

I felt a cup held to my lips as consciousness swirled back, disorienting. Someone tried to pour water into my parched mouth. I choked and panicked, flailing at the unseen cup. Leaden eyelids refused to obey, too heavy, encrusted and sealed shut. My heart raced, pain lancing into my temple making me moan and twist. I felt helpless and out of control; it terrified me, my worst nightmare. I fell, free-falling, weightless. Blackness swirled at me like a thick London fog, smothering me.

Visions rushed in.

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The farmhouse was old, tiled roof showing moss growth, ancient stone walls beginning to weaken, mortar crumbling. It sat on a lonely plain, isolated, separated from civilisation, from neighbours, from society. Lights flickered in the kitchen and front room. The mid-summer Spanish heat was still intense even this late in the evening.

In the deathly silent darkness outside I crouched and observed as faint voices carried to me through open windows, indistinct, males, a bray of mirthless laughter. I counted five, perhaps six. One bedroom had shutters closed, light peeking through slats. The girl would be in that room.

Logistically it was a challenge. They were all going to die. That was inevitable. I was going to kill each and every one of them. I never negotiated. The only question was how. There were times where silence and stealth were needed and times, like now, when they weren't. These kidnappers of a child were going to die. I was judge and jury and executioner. I was Rescuer.

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My body shook, so cold, so cold, chills assaulting me. A cold towel gently washed my face. Someone tucked a blanket around me. Opening my eyes, a blurred vision of my angel appeared, blonde, intense blue eyes. Who was she? I felt her dry my sweaty face, the towel feeling like sandpaper. God I was thirsty. I tried to talk, chattering teeth preventing me.

A wave of furnace-like heat rolled in, sweat bursting, dizziness arriving. My head hurt, pain burst, hot, lancing deep. Dullness spread through my mind, numbness, deadness, fading. I fell, burning, my body aching.

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I saw him emerge and leave the front door ajar as he walked towards the old barn, their Citroën parked inside next to a white Ford Transit van. Moving quietly I slipped closer. I could smell him on the air, garlic and stale sweat, rank body odour. Peering across the unpaved driveway, I watched. He bent, his unshaven face poking through the open car window, reaching in, for what I didn't know or care. He was Eastern European, Latvian perhaps or Serbian, dark hair, hefty, two-twenty. The Lupo shotgun in his right hand was carried carelessly, his finger nowhere near the trigger.

It would be easy; slip up behind him, kick his feet out from under him and his throat would hit the edge of the car window. Add velocity with a hard shove on his head from behind, slam him down, crush his trachea, and hold him until he choked to death, his body jerking and calming. Soundless. One. Two. Two moves to a lonely death.

I padded across the drive to the barn, my steps silent. He never heard death arriving.

Three minutes later I carefully lowered his lifeless body to the ground, bending to peer into the car. What was he after? Darkness hid whatever it was. I'd come back for it. Right now four more waited for death in the farmhouse.

Ice flowed through my veins bringing dispassionate clarity. They'd kidnapped the girl, demanded a ransom then, when delivery had gone bad, upped the ransom. But something was off. They'd never given delivery instructions for the five million. It was almost as if they didn't care. Twenty-eight days was a long time to hold a hostage in Europe.

Slipping across the unpaved drive, I eased myself up to the farmhouse wall. It was rough, undressed stone. Sounds from inside were muted; unintelligible talking, the sound of footsteps, the faint noise of a radio playing Flamenco music.

Reaching for the door I eased it open slightly wider, a crack of light growing, noises strengthening and becoming individual, distinguishable, identifiable. Through the crack I saw two more in the rustic living room, one lounging on a worn sofa with a leg over the armrest, his Lupo on the floor leaning against the seat cushion. Standing at an open empty fireplace was the second, smoke curling from his nostrils, a filter-less cigarette held between nicotine-stained fingers. He had a revolver tucked into the waist of his jeans. Sloppy. These two were amateurs. Things were definitely off.

I studied them. A plan emerged. Reaching into my jacket pocket I pulled out a sound suppressor and threaded it onto my Sig Sauer P226. Where were the remaining two kidnappers?

The man with his leg over the armrest started bouncing his foot in time with the Flamenco music. A noise filtered down from upstairs. Should I use silence or brute force? Should I take them out quietly and avoid alerting the others? Or, should I just use overwhelming surprise and brutality?

A girl's voice cried out in pain. It made my decision easy. Brute force. Roll through the door and shoot the man on the sofa between his eyes. He could react faster, he was the greater threat, that Lupo very close to his hand. While the second kidnapper at the fireplace wrestled to withdraw the revolver from his pants I'd have eons of time to kill him; another shot between his eyes. Two shots. Two seconds to die. Breathing deeply, my heart slowed. Concentration narrowed. Move!

Exploding into action, two coughs sounded as I strode inside, arm up and straight, Sig Sauer extended. One. Two. Two dead. Two seconds. Noise of feet moving overhead drew my attention. Another sharp cry was cut off suddenly. There was no time to think or plan. Racing up the old wooden staircase I found the hall empty. I didn't need directions. There was only one door closed. The girl must be in there. A shadow suddenly emerged from an open doorway down the hall. The Lupo roared with a bright flash. Plaster exploded to my left. He missed. Too rushed. Definitely unprofessional. Turning, I brought up the Sig and shot the man between his eyes. Moving fast, lowering my shoulder, I thundered into the closed bedroom door. It burst open. I fell through only to find the Devil standing over the bed, his arm outstretched, a Beretta in his hand aimed down, his black, bottomless, evil eyes staring at me.

She was splayed out on the bed paralyzed with fear, her eyes screaming terror at me, pleading, tears large. The Devil grinned at me, his fist tightening, finger curling, knuckles whitening.

Conscious thought arrived slowly. A cool, moist towel draped over my brow.

"Si prega di bere," a soft girl's voice said.

The rim of a cup touched my lips. Eyes closed I drank. Relief was instantaneous and wonderful, water slipping down my parched throat. I gulped ravenously, water running down my chin. Temporarily sated, I opened my eyes to early morning brightness, an open window, a young girl looking at me with worry in her clear blue eyes, and the stench of death - a rotten cloying smell that coated the back of my throat.

"Grazie," she said, a small smile emerging. "Thank you for coming to save me."

Who was she? Save her from what? Where was I? Why did my head hurt? Reaching up I touched a towel wrapped around my head. What had happened to me?

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice cracking and sounding strange to my ears.

"Bianca. Don't you know?" she asked.

Why would I know her? "No. I don't know. What happened?"

"Li ucciso . . . You killed them," she informed me.

Killed? "Killed who?" I asked.

"The men."

A brief wave of panic washed over me. What was she talking about? I'd killed people? And save her from what? Who the Hell was she? Panic turned into confusion when I tried to remember. Nothing. Nothing at all. Who was I? What was my name? My hands began shaking. I didn't know!

An hour later we sat in the kitchen, the only place where dead bodies couldn't be seen. The mug of coffee was horrible but contained caffeine. Bianca sat at the table staring at me with her large blue eyes showing concern. The deep crease in my temple caused by a bullet had settled to a hard pulsing ache. A day and a half lost to a fever?

"Si deve . . . You have to believe me," she insisted. "Your name is Julian Blackmore. I knew you were coming. They talked about you."

This didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. "Tell me again," I asked, hoping a second time would bring recognition.

"My uncle, Marco Lucchese, arranged my kidnapping. We were supposed to die when you tried to rescue me. They were expecting you. They talked about you."

"But why?" I asked. This made no sense at all.

"For the money," Bianca said earnestly.

"What money? Why would I have anything to do with . . ."

The faint sound was unmistakable. A helicopter was approaching. Still far off, it would arrive very soon. Without thinking or understanding why, I jumped up. "Rapido, vieni con me," I ordered, wondering how I knew Italian. Grabbing her hand we raced out the front door. Glancing around I noticed the Citroën in the barn and ran towards it. A man lay dead on the ground by the driver's side door. Without thinking I grabbed the Lupo next to him. "Get in!"

I didn't question why we needed to leave. I didn't question how I knew we were in danger, and I didn't wonder at how I recognized the Lupo shotgun. We had no time. I didn't know how I knew how to hotwire a car, either. The engine roared into life. Bianca clicked the seatbelt on just as I hit the accelerator. We tore away leaving a trail of dust.

Two hours later I was no further ahead. I couldn't remember a thing. My pockets were empty. I had no ID, no money, no passport. I had nothing, not even a memory. All I had were the dirty clothes on my back and Bianca. We'd left the Citroën and the Lupo on a side street in Cordoba and quickly walked away. Distance from the car hadn't erased the itch I had in-between my shoulder blades. It felt like a target was painted there. We needed somewhere safe. We needed food. We needed money.

We needed to talk.

First money. With Bianca's hand in mine I led her to a bustling street. Without thinking I spotted the target, a middle-aged man wearing a custom tailored suit, his face clean-shaven and glowing as if he'd recently had a facial. Wealthy. Without thinking I steered us towards him on an intercept course. We bumped into each other.

"Perdóneme," I muttered, excusing myself in Spanish.

He nodded and continued.

Turning a corner I inspected his wallet, pulling out a sheaf of Pesetas and Euros. The credit cards were of no use. His soft, brown calf's leather wallet was dropped into a waste bin.

Café Nebu was small and bustling with patrons, making us anonymous. The air was redolent with the aromas of coffee beans being ground, of cigarette smoke wafting in from the outside patio through open windows, and the noise of boisterous conversations. Bianca and I sat at a very small round table. The espresso was flavorful and invigorating. Bianca consumed her ham sandwich ravenously, chased down with a water.

While she ate I had time to finally study her. Her almond-shaped eyes were a rather arresting blue, an Egyptian blue, intense, bold. Framed by soft blonde hair that fell to a few inches below her shoulders and eyebrows of ash brown, her eyes were quite dazzling. Her eyelashes were an even darker ash brown. A perfectly straight, perfectly normal nose drew my inspection down to her mouth. It, too, was quite normal; pale red lips, a bowed upper and fuller lower moved as she ate, her bites revealing small, even white teeth.

I wondered how old she was. From her stature she was very young, her body a bit on the delicate side. "How old are you?" I asked.

She paused between bites. "Dodici," she answered.

Twelve. That seemed right. She looked like that young. My eyes drifted to the street outside, scanning the pedestrians, assessing. I did it automatically without thought. I found myself noticing things. That man was heavyset and strutted as if he owed no one anything, his hair slightly unkempt. I knew if I needed a gun I could tail him home and I'd find one. That woman in a business suit would have a high-end automobile and an unlimited cell phone plan should I need either. That young man in a wrinkled army jacket would be able to tell me where I could find cheap and anonymous accommodation.

Why did I know these things?

Bianca finished eating and, with a sigh of satisfaction, leaned back, one arm rising to rest on the back of her chair. I bent towards her over the small table. "What's going on?" I asked. "I need you to tell me everything again."

"What do you know?" she asked.

"I know nothing! I don't even remember my name!"

"Ti ho detto," she said, adding in English, "I told you. You're Julian Blackmore."

I didn't question how I understood her Italian. It confused me as much as understanding Spanish. "Tell me everything," I begged. "Please."

Bianca glanced around before leaning towards me. In a low voice she started talking in a rapid tone. Her expressive face started with confusion and fear and grew into anger and outrage, her finger pointing, jabbing, and shaking in emphasis. She'd been kidnapped. She'd never seen the men before. But, over almost a month, she'd overheard them talking. It was Uncle Marco's plan. He was behind it. The kidnappers had talked about Julian Blackmore being sent to make it look like he was rescuing her. But their instructions were to kill me and her at the same time to make it look like a rescue gone terribly wrong.

"Why?" I asked.

Bianca got angry, her deep blue eyes flashing cold iciness. So her uncle could get the money without being suspect! Uncle Marco had been using her money, money left to her by her parents. He was using it to buy his big, ugly house and a boat and cars and friends and always kept her away at boarding school trying to hide what he was doing with her inheritance. It was Uncle Marco behind it all!

Leaning back, I tried to understand. Was I supposed to be the sap, the one to misdirect police? Why me? What the Hell did I have to do with all this? Frustration made me edgy and nervous. Glancing out through the café windows I spotted two men turn the corner towards us. They wouldn't have mattered except they paused and glanced towards the café before looking further down the street. I turned my head and followed their gaze. Two more men were slowly making their way towards us. The four were dressed too alike; casual pants, jackets that were too warm for the weather. Then one nodded to the approaching pair and glanced towards us. Our eyes met.

They were after us!

"Come," I said quietly, reaching for Bianca's hand. Looking around I saw the sign, 'Salida', the rear emergency exit. Leading Bianca, we wended our way around busy tables and into the hall leading to toilets and a rear door. Over my shoulder I saw one of the four step through the front door. Our eyes met again.

He started pushing his way towards us urgently. Hustling Bianca, we slipped thought the rear door. I paused, pushing Bianca to the side, her eyes wide in confusion. We needed space and time to flee. I needed to delay the man following us. He wouldn't expect me to wait for him. He'd barrel through the rear exit. It would be simple; one hard fist low to the side of his jaw and it would break. The force of the hit would concuss him and bring unconsciousness with it. One hit. Down. I waited. The door opened.

We left him insensate on the ground and raced down the back alley, turning away from the street, and making left and right turns at random, Bianca hanging onto my left hand. My right hand ached from the impact. Twenty minutes later, sweaty, heart racing, we stopped.

"What happened?" she asked breathlessly.

"I don't know. Four men. They found us. How? Did you recognize any of them?"

"No. I only saw one, the one you killed," Bianca answered.

"I didn't kill him."

Chapter Three

MARCO LUCCHESE SLIPPED THE ringing cell phone from his grey silk suit pocket.

"Scusi," he said softly, turning away from the small group of guests mingling in the expansive living room. He answered the call with a brusque, "Pronto."

A dark cloud passed over his face. He smiled an apology to his guests and stepped out of the living room. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice lacking all civility, the smile vanishing to be replaced by hardness.

"We found them in Cordoba, just as you said, Mr. Lucchese. But somehow he saw us coming and slipped away. Aleksandar has a broken jaw."

"How the Hell did he recognise you?" Marco barked. "How did you give yourselves away?"

"We did nothing! I don't know how he knew us."

"Where are they now?" he asked.

"We lost him."

"You idiots!" Marco barked. "They must still be in Cordoba. Find them. Kill them!" he ordered, cutting the connection. Like a petulant child deprived of a present, Marco threw the cell phone onto the marble floor and growled his frustration, his heel slamming down on the cell. She had to die! He needed her money!

"Can I help?" a slender young man asked, bending to pick up the pieces of Marco's phone.

Marco drew a deep breath. He studied Aldo, his dark hair, his good looks, the slenderness of his body belying its physical strength. Marco felt a stir, a spark of desire.

"No, Aldo. Let those incompetent idiots fix the problem. If they fail, perhaps . . ."

"Just say the word, Marco," Aldo said.

Marco reached out and touched Aldo's forearm gently, with possessiveness. "Not yet. Get me a new phone. I have guests to attend to."

"Bene."

Watching Aldo walk away, he admired his lithe body, another pulse of desire washing over him. With a deep breath he turned and headed back to his guests. No, he didn't want Aldo to go to Spain. At least not tonight.

Chapter Four

THE BARN WAS EMPTY. It smelled of dust and dryness and hay. There was no one in the farmhouse when we'd arrived in search of a place to hide and rest, but it wasn't deserted - the property too well maintained. My clothes itched. I'd sweated in them and slept in them for the past three days, maybe more but I couldn't remember. I was tired, too.

Bianca looked a bit bedraggled, her hair messy. She looked exhausted, her face drawn. Despite that, her Egyptian blue eyes were clear and bright and questioning.

Studying the barn, I saw hay piled up in the loft above us, a rough wooden ladder leading up. Pointing, I said, "Up there. We can rest. Tomorrow we'll find clothes, food, and a shower. Va bene?"

Bianca nodded. She began to climb the ladder moving slowly, the effort of pulling herself up evident. I followed, checking below to make sure we'd left no signs of our presence. Fatigue tugged at me, too. Spotting something, I lowered myself, crossed the barn and grabbed what looked like a horse blanket. Tossing it over my shoulder, I climbed up to join Bianca.

BIANCA'S BODY ACHED. SHE was tired and wanted to sleep. But she was hungry and thirsty, too. Her clothes itched, soiled from being worn for too long.

"Here. We'll sleep here," Julian said, spreading the red plaid blanket on a bed of straw.

She didn't have the energy to complain. Lying down, a feeling of comfort, of security, wrapped around her as Julian hugged her from behind. Her eyes closed.

Despite his comforting presence she was still scared. Julian clearly didn't remember anything and he looked so confused. He'd entered her consciousness back at the house with such explosive force, a dark-haired slender man bursting through the bedroom door, emerald green eyes flashing, gun firing, a grim expression narrowing his mouth. She'd actually seen the bullet crease his temple. Not the bullet itself but the blood welling suddenly, Julian falling to one knee. She'd been shocked at the violence of death, how he'd twisted and killed the other kidnapper in a seamless move of blinding speed before collapsing.

For a day and a half she'd tended to Julian as he fought a fever brought on by the head wound. She'd washed it with clean water, and stayed by his side as he moaned and burned and cried out in his delirium. She'd carefully avoided looking at the dead bodies that littered the house but they couldn't be ignored. They'd started stinking, a cloying, disgusting smell.

The relief she'd felt when Julian finally came around had been huge. She'd worried that he was going to die, that she'd be left all alone wherever she was. When he'd opened his eyes, she'd gasped at the intensity of his green eyes. They were so powerful, so penetrating. When he'd come to she thought everything would be okay. But it wasn't.

A helicopter had forced them to run. She'd not even been able to relax in the café, Julian hauling her out of it. He'd shocked her with the way he disposed of the man chasing them. One hit with his fist. The guy had dropped like he'd been shot in the head. Julian was frighteningly violent.

All day they'd been running; bus rides, walking, more bus rides, endless tiring movement as they made their way out of the city. She was exhausted, hungry, and dirty. Julian's arms tightened around her, almost as though he could feel her worries. She sighed. Would he get his memory back? Where would they go? What would happen next?

Disturbing images flashed behind closed eyes, a kaleidoscope of memory fragments and emotions. Bianca never knew when she slipped from disturbing reality into a disturbing restless sleep.

AN OWL HOOTED ITS lonely night call. Hay smelled dry. Bianca muttered in her sleep and moved restlessly. I held her tighter. I'd been so self-absorbed I'd forgotten what Bianca must be feeling. How could a twelve-year-old have the poise to tend to me amidst dead bodies? She'd been remarkably calm as we'd run, not complaining at all.

It struck me as I hugged her that, without the distraction of fleeing danger, the confusion of amnesia, and the mesmerizing power of her remarkable eyes looking at me with such trust, Bianca was very young. In my arms she was small, much smaller than her personality, smaller than her mature attitude. She was a fascinating girl and, even with her bedraggled appearance, really quite pretty.

Sleep rebuffed me despite a body crying out for rest. Bianca whimpered in her sleep. I tightened my hug and whispered, "It's okay. We're safe." It worked. She settled.

Lack of memory was disorienting. It was as though my mind had a physical void spot, a dark empty hole where everything was hiding from me, teasing me, frustrating me. Who was I? Was I a killer? All evidence said yes. But how did that connect to Bianca? Not knowing was almost physically painful.

Wait! Stop fretting and think!

I was approaching this problem all wrong. My memory might be blank but my mind wasn't useless. I could make some reasonable assumptions. First, how did I get to that farmhouse? Was I driving? If so, where was the car? Did I have help? If so, who helped me? Why didn't I have documentation, identification, money? Everyone had some. Where was mine? Had I left it somewhere? With identification would come knowledge. I could find out where I came from, where I lived, and that could lead to friends and acquaintances who would know me and reveal my life to me.

We had to go back. We had to return to that farmhouse. With a plan of action settled, I relaxed. Sleep arrived to comfort my aching body.

Birds twittering woke me up. My body was cramped from not moving all night. Morning sunlight streamed through gaps in the wooden barn wall, dust motes hovering in the shafts of light. I needed to pee. Hair tickled my nose. I sneezed.

Bianca sat bolt upright as if electrocuted, her eyes wide in fright, blonde hair messed, hay stalks sticking out. When she saw me fear faded from her large, deep blue eyes. I smiled and shrugged in apology and promptly sneezed again.

She laughed at me, her eyes twinkling with amusement. It transformed her face. Without the shadow of fear, Bianca was a very pretty girl indeed, even with her messy hair and the smudge of dirt on her cheek. It added character.

"Salute," she said with an amused smile, then surprised herself by sneezing, too. Hers was dainty little sneeze. "Mi scusi," she added, grinning.

It was a small moment of innocent pleasure with no thought to our current situation. Bianca brought a smile to my face. Hers faded when I told her we were going back to the house she'd been held hostage in.

The sudden crunch of tires on gravel reached us from outside the barn making my blood pressure jump. Bianca opened her mouth to talk. Reaching out, I pressed my finger against her lips warning her to be silent. I couldn't help but notice how silky soft they were. Car doors slammed. Voices floated up to us.

"Su madre es una bruja!"

"No, no lo es. Usted no debe ser tan grosero con ella!"

I smiled despite my nervousness. A husband and wife arguing over the wife's mother, the husband too rude to the mother-in-law; a time-worn dispute suffered by many.

"Nosotros nunca vamos a volver!" the husband swore as a front door slammed.

Grabbing Bianca's hand, I nodded down. We descended, slipped around behind the barn and cut across a fallow field to find the road. Despite needing a shower and clean clothes, we settled for a snack bought in a bodega - a small grocery store - taking the opportunity to use their small bathroom. It took seven hours for us to make the journey back. We couldn't risk returning to Cordoba so our route took us well out of the way. I debated stealing a car but feared being stopped and detained by the police.

By just after three o'clock the scent of ashes hit me. Rounding a bend in the long lane leading back to the isolated farmhouse, we arrived at the still-smouldering burnt shell of the house and barn. The fire had raged. Three walls had collapsed; the sole exception was the one with the chimney. Inexplicably I knew from the smell that all the dead bodies had been removed before the house was set alight. It didn't matter.

With Bianca hovering close to me, her head swivelling as she watched the surrounding country with understandable apprehension, I turned my mind to how I could have arrived before, trying to retrace my steps.

Oddly shaped, wind-swept, stunted bent trees stood in isolation here and there. Rock outcroppings were too small to provide cover. I must have arrived at night, in the safety of dark. But from where? Scanning further to the south, almost hidden by a dip in the land, I saw the top of a small copse of trees. Maybe there.

"Come on," I ordered, reaching for Bianca's small hand. We crossed the field and arrived at some dense-packed thorny bushes. Behind them perhaps a dozen or so trees clung to a meagre life. We pushed through the bushes, their branches tugging at our clothes, thorns pricking. On the far side a silver four-door Audi sedan sat undisturbed. Was it mine? It didn't ring a bell.

The doors were locked. Where would I have put the keys to hide them?

"Check the wheels for keys," I asked Bianca. Fishing into the front right wheel well I hunted and found nothing but dirt.

"Trovato! I found them, Julian," Bianca announced with excitement, her arm raised, hand jiggling a key ring.

Ten minutes later I was sitting in the driver's seat and staring at a drivers license I'd found inside a wallet stored in a duffel bag. A stranger stared back at me. I wasn't very good looking I decided. Did I really have green eyes? And what's with that small crescent scar on my chin?

"So what have you found out?" Bianca asked, leaning over to peer at my license. "Look! You live in France!"

14 Chemin de Passable in Nice. According to the license I was apparently six-one with dark brown hair and twenty-eight years old. Replacing the license in the worn brown leather wallet, I glanced at the thick wad of Euros. Fishing around in the duffle bag I found clothes, a key ring, a shaving kit, and a spare magazine for a gun. 9mm rounds. Where was the gun?

"It's a rental," Bianca announced, reading the Audi's rental papers found in the glove compartment she'd been fishing around in. "Avis."

A twist of the ignition key and the powerful v8 Audi engine purred into life. "Is there a map in there?" I asked, backing away from the trees.

"Sì. Here," Bianca replied, handing me a small tourist map. "We should go to your home in Nice," she suggested, adding, "I feel much safer now we have a car."

I agreed. Even if it brought no memories with it, having legal transportation made life hugely better. Studying the map I planned a route. Madrid looked like a good choice. We could make it in under four hours and avoid Cordoba. Somewhere in Madrid we'd lose ourselves and find accommodation, food, and a much needed shower.

Just before seven o'clock we entered the busy outskirts of Madrid. Spotting a mall, I peeled off the highway. Bianca stirred from the snooze she'd taken.

She rubbed her face and peered out the passenger window. "Where are we?"

"Madrid. We need to buy you stuff," I said.

"What stuff?"

"New clothes, toothbrush, stuff like that, unless you want to keep wearing your dirty clothes."

Glancing down at her dirty T-shirt, tugging it with fingertips and an expression of distaste on her face, she replied, "I want to throw everything away. Sono sporchi." She added in English, for my benefit, "They're filthy." It wasn't necessary. I'd understood her.

With a couple of turns we found parking. Zara, a hip clothing store, advertised itself with a glowing neon sign. Some seventy feet away was Mango, another fashion store. I figured half an hour and we'd be done.

It had been a long day. Mentally it had been an exhausting day. My patience was wearing thin when, after forty-five minutes, Bianca had one pale blue blouse in her hand, nothing else. Despite my constant urging and muttering, she paid me no attention, shopping at her own excruciating pace.

"Please, Bianca," I pleaded. "I'm exhausted and we still need to find a hotel."

"Okay."

It became apparent 'Okay' was not a term of agreement. I was in a foul mood when, after two hours, Bianca announced her satisfaction with her one outfit and we finally left.

No longer thinking straight, we found a small hotel, Hostal Conchita. It was cheap, clean, and available. With a room key in hand, I guided Bianca out to a bistro down the street. We ate. I tasted nothing.

The hotel room was small but functional. Floral bedspreads matched the floral wallpaper. A small desk and chair was squeezed into one corner, a TV on the blond wood credenza. The bathroom was spare but clean with plenty of towels.

"Me first!" Bianca exclaimed, racing into the bathroom.

Flipping channels on the TV, with the sound of a shower running in the background, I watched different news programs and commercials and a sitcom. Why did I understand Spanish so well? Was I part Spanish?

Body aching, I stretched out on the bed kicking my shoes off. It felt good. My mind turned to Nice and my home. How would we get there? We could drive the Audi or take a boat. Flying was out of the question. Bianca had no documentation.

Wait! Why not just go to the police and tell them what happened? Let them take care of Bianca. No. There was that small matter of dead kidnappers. Besides, handing Bianca over to the man that wanted her dead didn't sound like a good idea.

What was she doing in the bathroom? What was taking so long? "Hurry up!" I yelled out.

Documentation. She'd need papers. We'd go to Palamos, the small port city to the north east. We'd be able to buy her a fake ID there before crossing the border into France.

How the Hell did I know that? A wave of frustration hit me. Closing my eyes, I tried to remember. Anything. Anything would do. Probing, I found my oldest memory: Bianca's Egyptian blue eyes staring at me when I'd woken up yesterday morning. Fuck! And how did I know to hit that man on that particular spot on his jaw with that much force? How did I know it would break his jaw and concuss him without killing him? Why would I know these things?

Jumbled thoughts swirled. Despite them I fell asleep.

A hand shaking my shoulder woke me.

"Your turn," Bianca informed me.

She stood next to me. Her hair was bedraggled and damp, still blonde but without the heavy waves. Now clean, her face was remarkably pretty, her eyes still commanding. She smiled. It lit up her face.

With a groan I rolled off the bed, my body complaining. It wasn't until hot water from the shower was pummelling my shoulders and back that I registered what Bianca had been wearing. A simple white ribbed-cotton camisole with spaghetti straps hugged her young body rather tightly and outlined small, developing breasts with little beaded nipples evident. Matching white string bikini-style panties hugged her rather tightly, too. Bianca was all female. Twelve years old or not, she was definitely female.

Too tired to shave, I brushed the collected fur off my teeth, donned boxers and left the steamy bathroom. Bianca was in bed watching the television. She glanced at me and smiled, a very nice smile, too.

"Night," I said, crawling into bed. The clean sheets felt wonderful. The clean smell was comforting. Aches in my body slowly eased. Despite the sound of the television, with an image of Bianca standing at my bedside smiling at me, I slept.

Chapter Five

MARCO ROLLED OVER IN bed reaching for the ringing cell phone. He glanced at the watch on the bedside table. Two seventeen in the morning. "Pronto," he snapped into the phone.

"Mr. Lucchese, it's Paulo Conti. You told me to call at any time."

"Sì. What do you have?" Marco asked of his contact in the credit bureau.

"We've picked up a credit card charge by Mr. Julian Blackmore."

Marco's attention snapped into focus. "Tell me. Where?"

Two minutes later he dialled, spoke sharply giving a location in Madrid, Hostal Conchita. "This time don't fail me," he growled into the phone. "Kill them!"

"What was it?"

Marco glanced at Aldo in bed next to him. "Nothing that can't wait," he said, reaching out to caress Aldo's shoulder. A spark of renewed arousal hit him. Rolling, rising onto an elbow, he kissed Aldo, his hand caressing down over his lover's hairless chest, moving down with intimate familiarity seeking an erection he knew he'd find.

I'D MADE AN ALMOST fatal error. It was immediately apparent when Bianca and I left the hotel. I recognized them; three of the four that had found us at the café in Cordoba. Fuck! How had they found us here in Madrid? What was my mistake?

They tried to be casual, positioned to intercept us on the way to the Audi. Nervous hands edged inside jackets towards hidden guns. They tried too hard to not see us. No question they were Slovac or Serb, their features heavy, grey eyes watchful and cautious, all three with dark stubble-shadowed cheeks. They looked hungry and angry.

It seemed almost automatic. I immediately assessed each, their stance, the eye contact between them identifying their leader. It was a thoughtless action on my part, instinctual, adrenalin arriving as I assessed angles of attack, strike points, vulnerabilities. It was almost a reflex. The action was clear. I would approach leading Bianca with my hand as if I hadn't noticed or recognized them. Bianca being with me would lower their guard; no one would start anything with a child in tow. I'd ease her behind me as we closed in on them and, when near enough, I'd explode into action. A hard chop with the edge of my hand across the leader's throat would disable him, maybe even kill him by crushing his trachea. Turn my body to add velocity to my fist and hit the second under his chin in a powerful uppercut, throwing his head back, breaking his jaw and knocking him senseless, maybe even snapping his neck. Kick the third in his balls, hard, hard, and smack my palm into his nose when he reacts by bending forward, breaking cartilage, maybe slamming shards of bone into his brain, maybe killing him, too. One, two, three, four. Four moves, three men incapacitated.

Straightening, breathing deeply, I reached for Bianca's hand, her mouth still open, shock on her face. Three men lay on the ground, two not moving, the leader rolling and trying to breathe. He'd probably choke to death.

The Audi started with a throaty purr. We were back on the highway before Bianca spoke.

"You killed them!"

"Perhaps," I responded. They would have killed us. I was fuming inside, furious with myself. I'd figured out my mistake. Somehow Bianca's uncle had a contact in the credit bureau. I'd been so exhausted last night I'd paid for the room with my credit card! Fuck!

"How did you learn to do that stuff?" Bianca asked.

"How the fuck would I know?" I growled back at her, my adrenalin-driven fury spilling out.

"You don't have to snap at me!" she threw back, crossing her arms, a frown appearing on her face. She looked away from me. Her shoulder was very chilly.

The Audi ate up the miles. At one point Bianca thawed enough to inform me she was hungry, we'd missed breakfast, we needed to stop. At the next service centre we pulled off. After filling the Audi with petrol, we hit the service centre restaurant. Food was tasteless, the coffee cafeteria-weak. The meal was barely nutrition. We ate in strained silence and pressed on.

Just after five o'clock we arrived at the port of Palamos, a small city on the Mediterranean just south of the Spanish-French border. On a waterfront street I found what I was looking for, several seedy bars plying their alcohol even this early.

"Stay here. Don't move," I instructed Bianca.

Still pissed at my rudeness, she snapped, "Where would I go anyway?"

The first bar was a strike. But the second wasn't. Moving up to the bar, when the big, beefy and heavily tattooed bartender wiped the scarred bar top in front of me and asked what I wanted, I told him, "Necesito papeles."

He looked me up and down and didn't respond. I added, "And a beer."

Nodding, he poured beer from a tap into a tall glass, the amber liquid slowly filling up and forming a white, foamy head. He placed it on a coaster in front of me and waited. Pulling out my wallet, I dropped fifty Euros on the bar.

He counted, nodded, and finally spoke giving me an address of a portrait photographer who could supply papers. The beer was untouched when I left.

Bianca greeted my return with a nervous smile - being alone had obviously thawed her icy demeanour slightly. "Where to now? Dinner?" she asked. "I need to go to the bathroom," she added.

"Soon."

Three streets away from the waterfront we found the studio, a grimy shop with a paper sign in the door window saying, "Abierto." False advertising. It wasn't open. The door was locked. I shook the handle and banged on the doorframe, peering in. Weak light leaked from a room at the back. Eventually a small, balding man with an impressive comb-over emerged wiping his hands with a dirty rag.

An hour and a half later Bianca and I climbed a narrow staircase in a generic low-end hotel. The dark red runner carpet had seen better days. It was threadbare and grimy. The key had cost me forty Euros, too much for the hotel but it made them forget about IDs.

Bianca, fed and bladder relieved from a visit to the restaurant bathroom, followed me down the dimly lit hall. There was a musty smell to the hotel, mouldy. The door opened to a very small room and one bed. We both contemplated our unfortunate fate. It was shabby and barely clean.

With a shrug, I justified it. "It's only for one night."

I was in the one bed when Bianca emerged from the bathroom. I didn't miss that she was once again wearing her small cotton camisole and panties. I didn't miss how snugly they fit, either. Without looking at me, Bianca slipped into the opposite side of the narrow bed and turned away from me, presenting her back, maintaining as much distance as possible.

I did the same.

Morning arrived to find Bianca in my arms. Her hair tickled my nose again. I was spooning her, hugging a remarkably slender, almost delicate body. She felt good in my arms. She smelled good too, warm comfort with a hint of floral soap.

Without moving I enjoyed her. Her gentle breathing was calming. She made me think of females and sex and, with a smile, I realised I couldn't remember making love, having sex, intercourse. Did that make me a virgin again? I knew the mechanics just fine but couldn't remember ever actually experiencing it.

Warmth washed over me. Blood stirred. An erection threatened. With a soft kiss on her hair, I eased my arms out from her and slipped out of bed, closing the bathroom door quietly behind me.

BIANCA HEARD THE BATHROOM door close. She lay unmoving. Julian's presence was still felt, a ghostly remnant against her. Waking up in his arms was wonderfully comforting. She felt safe and protected. His kiss on her hair had caught her by surprise. It was oddly gentle, soft and almost affectionate; a contrast to the person she'd seen so far.

She'd been so pissed off at him yesterday. After everything they'd been through, after all the time she'd spent caring for him, she hadn't deserved his snapping at her in the morning. Her question was innocent. In all the excitement she'd forgotten he'd lost his memory.

Lying in bed quietly, Bianca smiled to herself. She'd given him the cold shoulder treatment to prove a point. It hadn't worked. Julian hadn't risen to the bait. He'd remained silent throughout the car trip, as stubborn as a mule.

Her smile broadened. She liked him. She liked waking up to being cuddled, too. That was a completely new experience and a rather nice one.

The bathroom door opened.

"Buongiorno," she greeted him.

"Morning. The bathroom's all yours. We should get moving. We have a long day ahead of us."

"Bene," Bianca agreed, slipping out of bed. She closed the bathroom door, sat and peed, her mind considering Julian's slight smile. It was really nice, and with those amazing green eyes, he was really quite cute. How did he get the scar on his chin?

Her stomach grumbled with hunger. It felt like she was always hungry now. Since being rescued she couldn't sate her hunger. Why?

Forty-five minutes later Bianca ate her third croissant, buttery flakes of pastry falling to her lap. She watched Julian emerge from the photographer's shop and walk to the car. Huh. She'd never noticed how he moved. It was odd, like flowing water, smooth, as if his limbs were relaxed, at ease, almost loose. Startled, Bianca had a vision of him attacking those three men yesterday and realised he'd moved exactly the same way then, too, except for being blindingly quick.

The car door opened. Julian folded himself into the driver's seat and she accepted the card he passed across to her. The Italian Carta d'Identità Elettronica was credit card-sized with a microchip embedded in it and a magnetic stripe on the back. Bianca recognized it. She used to have an ID just like it. The name on the front was Bianca Russo. Not hers. "This isn't my name, Julian," she pointed out.

He started the car and nodded. "When we cross the border, do you want your real name showing up?"

"Oh. Right."

THE ID CARD HAD cost me a lot. With security these days it wasn't enough just to have a fake. You had to have an electronic trail backstopping it, too. Computers had to have a card registered that matched the one presented. Juan Compos, the photographer and forger, had proved remarkably skilled. But how did I know what to ask him for? How did I know what questions to ask or what features to check?

Glancing across at Bianca, seeing her crumb-covered face, I automatically smiled. I liked her company. Then again, given she was the only person I knew, I didn't have much choice.

The trip was long, seven and a half hours. We stayed within the speed limit the whole way and crossed the border into France on a very small side road at Col d'Ares up in the mountains without incident. Just before five o'clock we skirted the city of Nice, passing it to curve around to the east. Nothing in the passing scenery was familiar. After several wrong turns we found Chemin de Passable.

Number 14 was indicated by white numbers on a blue enamel plaque attached to a white stone wall. The drive was walled with tall dark-green, glossy-leaf hedges on either side. I eased the Audi along the winding drive as it descended. The crystal blue Mediterranean appeared just as a house came into view. Was that mine? It looked almost medieval. Pale ochre stucco covered a tall structure with a turret rising on the left. An attached garage sat on the right. Small windows showed the home had two floors, the turret rising to a third with narrow archer-type slot windows.

The car door closed with a solid thunk when we got out, the only noise heard.

"Bella casa," Bianca observed. I agreed with her assessment. It was a nice house.

Opening the Audi's back door, I grabbed my duffel bag, my eyes still trying to assess the house. Was I rich? Opening the bag I fished for a keyring I'd found earlier.

We explored together. I was as awed as Bianca was. The interior was pale cream stucco, every room with very dark, old hardwood floors. The kitchen was a dichotomy; old, distressed wood cabinetry and a white ceramic farmers sink mixed in with contemporary brushed steel appliances. The other rooms followed a theme, the furniture plain, dark wood frames and cream cushions. Mullioned windows facing the sea were huge and framed with the same dark wood. Windows facing inland were small providing privacy.

Upstairs we discovered three bathrooms, all with claw-feet tubs and separate showers, old-fashioned taps, white tiles. Several bedrooms filled the second floor including a huge master.

"Do you own all this?" Bianca asked. "What do you do to afford it?"

About to bark out my frustration, I stopped myself. "I don't know," I answered.

"Sorry, Julian. I forgot," Bianca apologized. "You have good taste, though . . . at least you used to."

Our inspection of the lower floor revealed a study, a den with a comprehensive entertainment system, an expansive living room, a large dry-goods larder, a powder room, a laundry room, and a garage with a black Maserati Quattroporte sitting silently, spotless and gleaming. Was I that crass? That flashy? The rear flagstone patio was more like a balcony overlooking a thirty-foot drop to crystal-clear blue waters and an empty wooden pier, the undulating sand and rock sea floor perfectly visible for more than a hundred feet out.

It was too much for me. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed with so much to absorb. I wasn't ready to delve into the files in the study to find out who I was, the task too daunting. We went out for dinner, returned the Audi to Avis, and took a taxi home. By nine thirty I was done. With Bianca settled in a guest bedroom, I showered and hit a remarkably comfortable bed. Nothing felt familiar. Nothing struck a chord. I might be in my own house but I was a guest, a stranger, and it didn't feel good at all.

Tossing and turning I chased sleep, unconsciousness, peace. They eluded me, my brain too active.

"Julian?"

At the bedroom door a pale ghostly Bianca stood in the same ribbed white camisole and panties.

"I can't sleep," she said softly, almost hesitatingly.

"Then let's both not sleep together," I suggested. Lifting the covers, with Bianca smiling with relief, I welcomed her into my bed.

"Grazie," she said softly.

I drew her into a hug. She felt right in my arms. She felt like the comfort and warmth and peace I so desperately desired. She smelled of soap and minty toothpaste.

"What now?" she asked.

I knew she wasn't asking about us being in bed. She was asking about the future. "I don't know. I need to find out who I am. We need to figure out what to do about your uncle, too. I need to uncover my life and see if I have friends, maybe see a doctor about restoring my memory."

"I could hit you over your head. Maybe that would fix it. It works in the movies," Bianca suggested casually.

"I don't think that would work," I answered quite seriously.

Her body shook lightly with silent giggles. I chuckled. "Very funny."

Her arm hugged me tighter and it felt wonderful, intimate and almost loving. With a kiss on her hair, her head nestled into the crook of my shoulder, I fell asleep, at peace for the first time in days.

I woke up with an erection. Not a raging erection but a thick, comfortable erection, one that brought with it soft arousal. Before opening my eyes I assessed the sensations washing over me; the feeling of a petite body pressed to me, a warm stomach tight against my cock. I felt legs pressing against mine and a hand comfortably resting on my hip. There was soft cotton under my hand and under that a small shoulder blade and the bumps of a spine. A gentle pulse of pleasure washed through me, my erection flexing lightly, when I recognized what my other hand was feeling - a small, compact, panty-covered bottom.

My eyes opened.

Bianca's stunning Egyptian blue eyes were watching me. There was no discernible expression on her face. Her scent, now becoming familiar, teased my nose. Warmth and affection hit me. Even though she was only twelve years old, she felt wonderful in my arms, pressed against me, my arousal present but not feverish. There wasn't a trace of embarrassment in me, not a trace of worry, not even a care for what I might discover about myself in the future. This was all that mattered, right here, right now, Bianca. It was a strange feeling. Somehow I knew I'd never experienced it before. This was genuinely new.

"Morning," I whispered with a smile, my hand gently caressing the remarkable shape of her buttocks. It was hugely intimate.

A slow smile emerged. It kept building until its radiance threatened to blind me. "Buongiorno, Julian," she answered, waking up my heart

With a kiss on her forehead, I reluctantly released her, rolling away, slipping from the bed without a care for my partial erection, and went to the bathroom.

Over breakfast, when I could finally get beyond admiring Bianca, I noticed she was wearing the same clothes we'd bought the day before yesterday. She needed more clothes. The thought of taking her shopping made me shudder. Once had been enough. Never the less, it had to be done. I'd need cash for clothes. Did I have any around the house? Did I have a bank account in Nice?

"If you can promise you'll be fast, we'll go clothes shopping this afternoon," I offered.

"Okay."

I wasn't sure if that was agreement or acknowledgement. There was a significant difference between the two. It could affect me quite dramatically for better or for worse. "What does 'Okay' mean, Bianca?"

"Okay means okay." She shrugged her shoulders and went back to eating toast smeared with black currant jam.

With a sigh of resignation, I stood. "I'm going to hunt through the study."

BIANCA WATCHED JULIAN LEAVE the kitchen. Something had happened between them last night. She didn't know what but things were different. It was obvious it wasn't just her, too. Julian had lost the hard-edged desperation he'd been showing. Before when he'd look at her he'd have a calculating expression, as if each thought was being deliberated, debated. His eyes had been tense. This morning all that was gone to be replaced by . . . by what?

Elbows on the kitchen table, toast forgotten, Bianca supported her chin, her eyes unfocused. What was it? Julian's startling green eyes were different. They were softer, more relaxed. His jaw wasn't as clenched as it had been. That's it! Julian was relaxed with her!

Her mind naturally went back to last night and this morning, as it had done a few times already. She hadn't realised how much security and comfort Julian was giving her over the last few days. It only registered when she'd tried to sleep in the soft bed on her own. She couldn't sleep. The bed was really, really comfortable but she couldn't even relax. Getting into bed with Julian had been an attempt to rediscover that security and she'd found it. She'd slept like never before, deeply, no nightmares. She'd been awakened by Julian gently gathering her in his arms, pulling her to him and hugging her. She'd opened her eyes to discover Julian was hugging her in his sleep.

He'd felt so good. He made her feel so loved. She'd picked up his scent, too, an indistinct guy scent, nice and exciting. Then she'd registered that other sensation. Julian had an erection! It was pressed to her stomach, large and firm.

Bianca wasn't dumb. She knew guys could get erections in their sleep. But, to her surprise, she liked it! She liked feeling him pressed against her. She liked the way he held her so carefully. His eyes had opened suddenly as she was studying his face and, wow! Sharp green stared at her with such kindness. Then he'd smiled.

At the kitchen table Bianca stirred, standing and collecting plates and glasses. She took them over to the sink and washed them, staring out over the blue Mediterranean. She'd figured out what had happened between them. Bianca had never really considered sex beyond the way she gave herself climaxes. Sex was a concept, like a dream, not real. But not any more. It was a real consideration now. It attracted her, appealed to her. That's what had changed. Julian wasn't just her protector, she liked him.

I GLANCED AT MY watch for the tenth time and then at the changing rooms hoping to see Bianca emerge with a satisfied smile, not the frown she'd shown for the last hour.

She emerged. Shit! She was frowning again! "What's wrong this time?"

"It's too long," she announced, holding the short skirt up.

How the heck could something so short be too long? "Bianca, you promised to be quick," I reminded her.

"I am being quick."

"It's been an hour and you've found nothing," I pointed out in frustration.

"I want to look nice. Is it my fault the clothes aren't right?" she reasoned, dropping the skirt and moving to a table of blouses.

"Why don't you shop logically? Look for a skirt first, then jeans, then tops instead of going back and forth."

"You don't buy clothes like that!" she chastised.

"Just hurry," I urged. "It's almost next week."

Bianca laughed brightly. I smiled at her laughter. It was light and contagious. I liked seeing her so relaxed. Letting her browse, I reviewed what I discovered this morning. It was very revealing.

It seems I like kids. From a review of the sparse files in my study it appeared I specialized in retrieving them, be they lost, abducted, or kidnapped. I'd worked all over the world judging by the requests for help and had been very well reimbursed, too. There was a certified cheque stub for one hundred thousand Euros for the rescue of Bianca and it was just a deposit. No wonder I could afford that house.

I hadn't discovered what made me skilled for the job. I didn't understand how I knew what I knew, or why I reacted the way I did when faced with danger. Most people would turn and run but I seemed to immediately move close and take the offensive. Why? No idea.

I had not uncovered any address book or a cell phone or a mobile bill that would give me a list of people I'd called regularly. I had discovered two safes in the study, one small, one large, but didn't know the combinations. I found bank statements which had led us to the bank and allowed me to withdraw money to shop with. According to the account balance I was not hurting for money.

But of all the discoveries I'd made, the single most significant one was within me. I didn't understand why but Bianca's presence seemed to magically brush away any worries. The desperate urgency to uncover the real me had gone.

"This one," Bianca announced with a pleased smile, holding a blue and yellow skirt up as she emerged from the changing room.

Damn! One item? About to launch another protest, Bianca dropped the short skirt in my lap. "Hold this for me."

She walked off and, amazing me, in short order picked up some tops and jeans. When I asked what brought on the miracle, she educated me. Apparently it was the first fashion item that was the hardest. After that the wardrobe fell into place.

It did, too. Three stores down the street at Calvin Kline she was a whirlwind of energy selecting bras, panties, camisoles, and socks. I started smiling and anticipating dinner. Could I cook? It would be interesting to find out. My spirits soared until we hit a shoe store. Another agonizing endless wait began.

Time edged at a snail's pace. Glancing at my watch for the umpteenth time I frowned. Five thirty. We'd now been at this shopping lark for four and a half hours! This was the fifth shoe store. Did all young girls shop this way or was it just Italian girls?

"You've got another thirty minutes, Bianca, then I'm going home with or without you," I threatened.

"Okay."

There was that 'Okay' again. Did it mean okay go home without me? Or okay, I'll hurry up? With a smile, I found a seat, closed my eyes, leaned back, stretched my legs out, and waited.

"Tutto finito, Julian," Bianca announced. "You need to pay."

With a sigh of relief, I stood.

Just after seven forty we were in the kitchen studying carbonized chicken leg quarters while wafting noxious smoke away. Seems cooking isn't a memory muscle-type activity. Sauce for a pasta side dish boiled vigorously spitting all over the once clean stove.

"Wow! Che sembra disgustoso!" Bianca declared.

It did look disgusting. "Come on," I said grabbing her hand and turning everything off. "We're going out to dinner."

"Grazie a Dio," Bianca muttered.

We found a small bistro with unusually excellent food. Over our meal, I asked Bianca, "What do you want to do about your uncle?" I hadn't forgotten the potential danger he represented to us both.

Bianca stopped eating and considered. Her intense blue eyes studied me. "You're not going to kill him, are you?" she asked.

"No. I don't kill people."

"Yes you do. I've seen it."

True. "Only if I have to, I think. And we don't need to kill your uncle. We just need him to be arrested. That would stop him."

Bianca nodded seriously. "How do we do that?"

"I have no idea."

"It might be easier to kill him," she observed after some thought. "I never liked Uncle Marco."

Unfortunately it was the truth. Killing him would be easier all round, but not an option I was willing to take.

Shopping had been almost as exhausting as running from kidnappers. I was done in when we returned from dinner. My tiredness lifted slightly when Bianca appeared at the bedroom doorway in a powder blue nightshirt with royal blue piping. Her expression was questioning. Her smile when I held up the covers was sweet.

It happened without planning. She slipped to my side, my arm going around her. Her sigh of satisfaction was audible. She cuddled and it felt wonderful. Her arm crossed my body and hugged. The flush of affection in me needed an outlet. I turned my head to kiss her hair. She turned her face up at exactly the wrong moment and our lips touched. Time stopped. Bianca's eyes opened wide in surprise.

I pulled back breaking contact.

The silence was complete. Bianca stared at me, her blue eyes big - whirlpools pulling at me. I watched amazement and pleasure pass through them. It didn't even occur to me not to. My lips returned to touch hers again and I watched a smile pass through those enchanting eyes before they closed. The kiss was chaste, sweet, and because of it the kiss was intense.

When it broke I found my heart beating a bit faster. Bianca's head settled to the crook of my shoulder. She cuddled even closer. It was nice, comfortable. Then I chuckled.

"What's funny?" she asked.

"I was going to tell you that's the best kiss I've ever had, but it's the only kiss I can remember."

"It is the best you've ever had," she assured me. She snuggled tight against me, pulling the covers higher. "It's the only kiss I've ever had," she added quietly.

Chapter Six

MARCO LUCCHESE FROWNED IN annoyance. His manicured fingernails tapped on the inset leather top of his desk making muted ticks. A new cell phone lay on the desk in mocking silence. It hadn't rung all day. Where the fuck was Julian Blackmore and Bianca?

The news out of Madrid had been a disaster. One dead, two in hospital. Thank God the dead one was his only contact. They would not lead the polizia to his doorstep. But FUCK! Marco slammed his fist down onto the cell phone. How hard could it be to eliminate two fucking people?

The study door opened. Marco glanced up, his hand smoothing back hair that had fallen over his forehead. Aldo entered with enquiring brown eyes. For a man capable of cold violence, his eyes were remarkably feminine, Marco noticed, not for the first time. He felt the familiar desire ignite inside him but tamped it down.

"Here," he said, shoving the cracked cell phone across the desk. "Get me a new one, please."

Without missing a beat, Aldo picked it up and slipped it into his pant pocket. "Of course. Any news?"

"Nothing."

"Perhaps they returned to Mr. Blackmore's home?" Aldo suggested.

"He's not that stupid," Marco countered.

"Nothing from border agencies?"

"Not yet. This waiting is annoying me," Marco snarled.

Aldo stepped back from the desk silently. He knew better than to be in the line of fire when Marco lost his temper. He could be unpredictably vicious. Marco was completely amoral. "I will get a new cell phone, Marco," he said softly, turning and gently closing the study door behind him.

Marco Lucchese leaned back in the chair and glared out through the glass doors and across the well manicured lawn. He looked at his yacht. It was all at risk. He could lose everything if she lived. Why couldn't that fucking audit of her inheritance have waited until she was eighteen? Until it was too late? Picking up a Mont Blanc pen, he threw it across the study in anger, an anger fuelled now by a hint of fear. Hiring Julian Blackmore to be the patsy might have been a mistake.

I KEPT AN EYE on the locksmith as he worked at the larger floor safe. Bianca sat on the floor next to him studying every move he made. He'd assured me he could open the lock without exposing the contents. I didn't have that much trust so I watched him.

"Et voilà," he announced after almost an hour of work, turning the handle, the door edging ajar.

Bianca moved with him as he settled his tools at the smaller wall safe and went to work, the high-pitched whine of his drill grating my teeth. I stepped up to the big safe and, shielding it with my body, took a peek inside. Guns. Rifles. Boxes of ammunition. Why would I need an arsenal in my home? You couldn't travel with guns so why have them? The safe was useless now, the lock ruined. Maybe I'd dispose of the weapons. The more I was finding out about myself the less I was liking me. First was my explosive violence. Now I had an armoury in my home.

Closing the safe door I returned to my vigil, my mind more happily distracted with memories of waking up with Bianca in bed next to me. She'd been awake, her remarkable blue eyes studying me, her cheek resting on the pillow. The way emotions emerged was just fascinating. It started with pleasure and evolved into a slow smile, her eyes twinkling.

"Bongiorno, Julian," she'd said.

"Morning, Bianca," I'd responded, rolling so I could kiss her cheek, taking the opportunity to inhale her aroma deeply. Nuzzling her was exquisitely pleasurable. She'd turned her face just the smallest bit and our lips brushed. It still amazed me such a simple little kiss could feel so sensual. It had elicited a very fast physical reaction, too.

Watching the locksmith, Monsieur LaPoussan, work the second safe, my mind toyed with something that had been bothering me. I hadn't figured it out but there was a niggling itch that I'd missed something, or I'd seen something and not recognized its importance. It was something here, at home. But what?

Closing my eyes, I went over our arrival with Bianca. Step by step I reviewed our movements. We'd both been somewhat awed at the sight of the house. Bianca had expressed her like of the decor. I'd liked it, too. I liked the taste it showed; quietly elegant. We'd explored the bedrooms and . . . No. It was something else. Something earlier.

I mentally went back to the entrance of the drive, the Audi nosing around the curve, that first glimpse, the impression of a medieval home. The . . . That's it! The turret! It had narrow slot windows in it yet we'd not found any stairs inside leading up to it. Why?

Was it a fake? Was it there for aesthetic purposes only?

"Et voilà," the locksmith announced, the small safe door cracking open slightly. "Celui-ci était plus facile," he commented. Clearly he was right, it had been easier. It had taken him only fifteen minutes to open it.

"Merci," I thanked him, handing him the agreed fee. He gathered his tools, smiled at Bianca and wished us a good day.

As soon as the front door closed, I returned to the study to find Bianca inspecting the contents of the small safe. She was carefully piling bricks of cash on the credenza and inspecting papers. "You own this house," she commented, placing papers next to the cash. Reaching in, she withdrew two passports and inspected them. "You're Canadian," she observed. "No, wait. You're Swiss and your name is John Blacksmith," she said, offering me both passports.

Why would I need different passports? Never mind. "Bianca, do you remember seeing a door upstairs that might lead to the tower?"

"No." Excitement emerged on her face. "Maybe you have a secret room! We should find it!" Jumping up, she headed out of the study almost running. "Andiamo!"

Smiling at her enthusiasm, I did as instructed and followed her. We hunted and, amusing me, Bianca started knocking on the walls of each bedroom. Eventually I stopped being amused by her and common sense took over. There was a more scientific approach. Orienting myself, I led Bianca to the room directly below the turret.

The corner bedroom was, like all others, tastefully done. Dark, almost ebony hardwood floors matched the wooden bed frame and solid headboard. The bed had cream-colored sheets and a thick matching quilt. Below the window was a wide chest of drawers. Against one exterior wall was a matching bookshelf with a few books on the shelves and small knick-knacks.

To the right was a dark wood closet door. There was nothing in the room that could be a hidden entrance. About to turn away and check the bedroom next door, I noticed faint scrapes on the floor from the closet door. It looked as if the closet had been used heavily. Why?

Opening it, both Bianca and I poked our heads in and inspected the empty interior, the few empty hangers looking rather sad. Bianca pushed past me and started her wall-knocking again.

"Here! Listen!" she exclaimed excitedly, her knock echoing back with a hollow thunk. With both of us crowding into the closet it made it too dark to see. I switched on the overhead light.

A click sounded, part of the wall popping open to reveal the shape of a door perfectly camouflaged to be invisible. Bianca tugged it open. She shouted something and raced up circular dark wood stairs. I followed.

The room above was a twenty-odd-foot circle. A modern glass desk curved around a quarter of the room. Next to it stood a computer rack with blinking server lights. Twin blank wide-screen LED monitors sat on the desktop, a modern roller chair waiting in front. Metal filing cabinets lined the wall. Everything was spotless and neat, almost spare.

"What is this place?" Bianca asked.

"Damned if I know."

Four hours later Bianca tried her hand at cooking dinner, a simple pasta Alfredo with a Dijon vinaigrette red leaf salad. I sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of Moretti pale lager and sipped while watching her. She looked good in her newly purchased short skirt and matching short-sleeved blouse. She'd tied her blonde hair with a blue ribbon at the nape of her neck, her short ponytail thick and bushy.

The hidden room had been very revealing. It was like learning about a stranger. I remembered nothing about me from what I'd read but questions had been answered. It made it easier to understand me and easier to like myself.

My fighting skills were answered; five years in the British Special Air Service. I found an old photograph of me at about eleven years old with my arm around a younger green-eyed boy, his smile revealing missing teeth. I remembered nothing about him and I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Did I want to remember? The files suggested my life had been very solitary before. Did I want that back?

The filing cabinets revealed files on each child I'd gone after and the extensive research and planning that went into each. In the newest file I found research on one Bianca Vecchi, three months shy of thirteen, orphaned when her parents were killed in a car crash. The vineyard and estate was sold to a multi-national drinks company for thirty-two million Euros, the money put into a trust fund for Bianca in accordance with her parent's wills.

Marco Lucchese, brother of Bianca's mother, was appointed sole trustee. He apparently had no job, no income. More research detailed my search for her; the interviews I'd conducted with anyone who had seen the kidnappers, how I'd identified their nationality, discovered the make and model of their van. More papers outlined exhaustive research tracing the van through petrol station security cams and eventually the success, the van reported seen outside of Cordoba.

The file had two pictures of Bianca, one of her as a grinning seven-year-old standing in front of her handsome parents, rolling fields of cultivated grape vines behind them. The other was Bianca at twelve in a school uniform, her smile missing, her eyes lacking sparkle, lacking brightness. I didn't like that Bianca. She saddened me.

Searching though the filing cabinets I amassed knowledge of several years of my work, some kids taking months to track down, some retrieved almost immediately. It became clear I had very few morals. If killing would save the child, apparently I would kill without hesitation.

"Try this," Bianca ordered, extending a wooden spoon towards me, her hand underneath to catch drippings. I tasted the white sauce.

"Needs salt."

"No it doesn't," she countered. "E 'perfetto," she announced.

I rose to help, draining the spaghetti. Bianca tucked into her meal with verve, as if she had a bottomless pit for a stomach, murmuring her pleasure every so often. I ate more slowly, too absorbed with watching her. There was a sparkle in her eyes, the brightness that she'd shown in the photo of her at seven years old, none of the emptiness of the older photograph. I wondered if I'd been responsible for bringing that sparkle back.

"Why do you only help kids?" she asked.

I shrugged. I really didn't know.

Bianca swallowed and smiled. "I knew you were a good guy from the first time I saw you," she stated.

"When was that?" I asked absentmindedly, twirling my fork in the pasta.

"When you came bursting through the door. You looked really angry. Did you know your eyes flash when you're angry?"

Four hours later Bianca walked into my bedroom with a pile of clothes. She placed them on a chair and carried her toothbrush, toothpaste, and hairbrush into my bathroom. Emerging, as I stared in wonder, she opened drawers in the dresser, found what she was looking for, shoved my stuff aside and carefully folded and placed her socks, panties, little bras, and camisoles in it.

I didn't say a word. This was fascinating. Bianca was moving in without asking. The pleasure it gave me was surprising. She opened the closet and grabbed hangers, carefully hanging up her new clothes. Another trip and she returned with a load of shoes which were carefully arranged in the closet.

"Bene," she announced with satisfaction. "I'm going to take a shower."

The kiss I gave her when we cuddled in bed lasted just a bit longer.

For almost a week life became seductively peaceful, almost idyllic. Bianca charmed me. She was opinionated and stubborn and considerate; a complex girl. When I'd annoy her she'd chastise me loudly in a stream of Italian, her finger shaking at me, eyes narrowed. She was beautiful in her stubbornness, ignoring me yet somehow always being in the same room I was in to make sure I felt her cold shoulder. Eventually I would apologize even if I wasn't wrong and her snit would vanish instantly, no recriminations, no lingering annoyance.

Life with her became more intimate, too, and I didn't try to stop it. Having no memory almost felt like being isolated from the world, like living in a cocoon. With Bianca in the isolated world with me I lacked the desire to uncover more of my past.

Days became busy with exploration, walking through Nice and discovering stores, cafés, and gourmet bistros for lunch or an early dinner. Evenings became cosy. We'd watch television together in easy comfort, Bianca selecting whatever Italian shows she could find on the satellite feed. Nights would bring on erections from cuddling and sweet chaste kisses that seemed to last longer every time. Mornings were lazy cuddling, kissing, and some sexy light groping.

It was too easy to forget about the danger hanging over our heads. I was too distracted. And one evening I became very distracted.

The sound of Bianca taking a shower filled the bedroom. I hadn't noticed that the bathroom door was now left open. I didn't really think about it, mindlessly stripping to my boxers and going to brush my teeth.

The mirror was steamed over. I wiped it. In the reflection Bianca appeared through water-splattered glass shower walls, her head tilted back as she shampooed her hair. Suds ran in clumps down a slender back to find the valley of her bum, some flowing through her butt crack, others sliding around small rounded buttocks. The sight was incredibly sexy. It got even sexier.

To rinse, her head still tipped back, eyes closed, and her hands rubbing her hair, Bianca turned her back to the spray. She exposed her front and I discovered one of the sexiest sights ever. Bianca, at twelve years old, had a gazelle-like body, slender, and very narrow-hipped. She was almost delicate with practically no curves. Yet she was all female, powerfully female, and I reacted, an erection developing.

Two espresso-cup-sized breasts mounded with perfect firmness topped with sexy light pink areolae and beaded little nipples. They were remarkable. The perkiness was astonishing, lower and upper slopes mirror images. Water and suds caressed the edges, flowing around and down her slender body.

Without realizing it I held my breath and followed the suds as they discovered her flat stomach, bony hips, and the sensual delta of her pussy. It was so small yet it appeared plump and mounded and full and, inhaling sharply, I noticed a sprinkle of blonde pubic hairs, just a sprinkle, her cleft clearly visible. My erection strengthened and rose, tenting my boxers.

She was a dichotomy, a gorgeous, sensual dichotomy - her body shape one of a young pre-adolescent girl contrasted by the startling sensuality of puberty, that alluring hint of maturity. Bianca was a naked Goddess.

She turned around presenting that cute little ass, indents forming in each sweet buttock.

Rinsing my mouth, I left the bathroom quietly. My erection ached and pulsed from the sight. It was a very different girl that slipped into bed with me, her damp hair emitting the scent of shampoo. In her new pale yellow ribbed cotton camisole and matching panties, a very, very sexy girl cuddled up to me.

When I kissed her, her face upturned, big blue eyes staring at me intently, it felt like sparks going off.

"You saw me in the shower," she said softly, resting her head in the crook of my shoulder.

"Yes."

"Did you . . . Am I . . ."

"Yes, I liked what I saw a lot. Yes, you're absolutely beautiful," I responded, knowing exactly what she was asking.

"Buona. Sono contento," she whispered, cuddling closer.

I fell asleep with a heavy erection and arousal and now a forbidden desire for Bianca.

Dawn broke. I woke up in the semi-dark with a heavy erection and arousal and a strong, strong yearning intensified by the delicateness of Bianca as I spooned her, the sensual scent of her, and a hand gently cupping a petite, espresso-cup breast over her ribbed cotton camisole. My erection pressed at her thighs and, with my eyes tightly closed, it was far too easy to imagine slipping her panties down and touching her, feeling those sparse little blonde pubic hairs and plump little pussy.

My forbidden desire intensified becoming almost painful, almost overwhelming. With great care to avoid waking her, I eased myself away from Bianca, slipped from the bed and closed the bathroom door. My orgasm was fast in arriving, exquisite in its short visit, missed in its passing, and useless at diminishing my yearning.

Cleaned up, I returned to bed. Bianca was in the same position, on her side facing away from me, her knee bent, one arm flung out to the edge of the bed, one under the pillow, her blond hair a tangled mess on the pillow. She was gone to the world, her mouth open. The covers draped over her. On her side Bianca's shapeless body had gained curves, her hip and butt a sensual swell.

My physical arousal was gone. What was left was even more exquisite. The aching desire for her was strong. Possessiveness arrived. I didn't want to share her with anyone, not ever.

Slipping under the covers, Bianca reacted in her sleep. She mumbled something and rolled over and into my side, her hand reaching across me, her knee rising over my thigh. Messy blonde hair tickled my nose when I kissed the top of her head and slipped my arm around her. Her face found the crook of my shoulder. She pressed against me and relaxed.

A moment later she hugged me with her arm, pressed herself to me and relaxed. It happened twice more before understanding dawned. Bianca was rubbing her pussy against my thigh! Bianca was humping me in her sleep!

Through my hand on her lower back I could feel her moves. Unable to resist, I eased my fingertips under the waist of her skimpy yellow cotton panties. They touched the top of her bum crack; very exciting.

Bianca pressed her pussy against me, relaxed, and pressed again. Her foot slipped over my leg and tightened as she pressed again, this time emitting a little murmur. Her small presses grew rhythmic, press, relax, press, relax. The sound of her breathing strengthened along with my mental arousal. I held her gently and drowned in her humping and, just as I felt a faint twinge in my penis, Bianca humped, pressed, and paused. She emitted what sounded like a quiet grunt and trembled. She humped, pressed, paused and grunted lightly, her body shivering. Another two incredibly sexy humps and shivers and Bianca relaxed. She melted into me. She'd cum in her sleep and I was pretty sure I would never experience anything so sexy again. Unbelievably I was partially erect and completely charmed.

As dawn brightened our room Bianca stirred. Her big Egyptian blue eyes opened. A beautiful smile graced her pretty face. She emitted something like a purr before rolling and stretching, arms above her head pressing her camisole tight against little breasts. "Buongiorno, Julian," she said with a smile, eyes bright. "I slept so well," she observed. "I feel good. How did you sleep?"

"Not as well as you," I replied with a smile. Rolling, I kissed her smile. Her arm languidly circled my neck. She murmured.

"Molto bello," she advised me before rolling out of bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

We spent the morning going through personal papers in my study. I moved the collection of guns and ammunition up to the turret room in preparation for Monsieur LaPoussan, the locksmith, to arrive and replace the broken safes with new ones. On one of my trips Bianca waved a paper at me, excitement making her eyes twinkle rather charmingly.

"Julian, you have a boat! Vieni qui. Guardi!"

She passed me a bill of sale for one 2001 Riva 33' Aquariva Sport. What was that? And who would spend that much on a boat? And, if I'd bought it, where the fuck was it?

Bianca leaned over and pointed at the name. "What's a Riva?"

"How would I know?"

"Where is it?"

"How would I know, Bianca?" I answered forcefully.

"Oh. Right. I keep forgetting." She turned her blue eyes up at me giving me a cheeky grin at her pun. "Maybe you should call them," she suggested, pointing to the marina listed at the top of the bill of sale.

The arrival of Monsieur LaPoussan with three assistants and two new very heavy safes distracted us. Bianca took it on herself to keep an eye on them, although I was beginning to suspect she was just curious. No, she was nosy I admitted. She poked her nose into anything and everything that caught her interest with no regard to my privacy.

Just watching her pester the locksmith with questions brought a smile to my face and an unusual warm feeling inside me. I had to resist the urge to grab her and kiss her. Bianca was a different girl to me today. She was a deeper, more fascinating creature, and I could not dismiss the sexual attraction I was feeling towards her. Looking at her I now saw a young girl in the full blush of emerging puberty and the combination was powerful indeed. I so wanted to kiss her deeply. What would it feel like to kiss such an attractive young girl properly?

A physical response in my pants distracted me. Turning away from her, I studied the bill of sale and dialled the number for the marina in Port Jean Saint Cap Ferrat. As the locksmith's assistants wrestled with a large safe, I talked to a marina manager. It seemed I did indeed own a boat and, "Monsieur Blackmore, le moteur a été entretenu. Vous pouvez les récupérer à tout moment."

I thanked Philippe and let him know I'd be over to collect the boat today now that the engine had been serviced.

Five minutes to noon I saw the locksmith out the front door, shaking his hand with thanks. Bianca was in the study refilling the small wall safe with money and papers and passports. I stood in the doorway and observed her. Like her clothes, Bianca approached replacing everything in the safe with seriousness. I'd noticed it in other things, too. When she cooked it was with concentration, a serious affair, not frivolous or casual. It jived with her stubbornness. It was very Bianca and I found it very attractive.

Desire for her washed over me suddenly and strongly. It felt like I missed her even though she was there, right in front of me.

"Tutto fatto," she announced to herself with satisfaction, closing the safe door and spinning the combination lock. She spotted me in the doorway. A smile flashed across her face. "Is it lunch time? I'm hungry."

I nodded. But, when Bianca tried to squeeze past me, I stopped her. She glanced up at my face with questions. Turning her, I drew her against me, my hands finding her narrow hips. She smiled softly when she caught on, leaning into me. Bending my head, her beautiful Egyptian blue eyes watching me, I kissed her. Her lips were soft, warm, silky and receptive. Parting my lips, I touched her closed mouth with the tip of my tongue. Desire washed over me, disorienting and thrilling. My arms circled her slender, young body. Hugging her, as her eyes closed and her hands found my waist, I uncontrollably moaned aloud when Bianca's lips parted, her mouth opening to me, my tongue probing in to touch hers. An erection stormed in pressing against her. Desire intensified. Tongues teased.

The kiss ended. My heart was racing. My erection was straining. What a kiss! Opening my eyes I was greeted by Bianca smiling brightly, her lips looking a bit swollen, and her enchanting eyes twinkled with pleasure. Then a small blush dusted her cheeks. Simply gorgeous.

It struck me. That kiss was not just a deep French kiss; it was the first time we'd kissed each other outside of the bed. It changed everything.

With a gentle caress of one rosy cheek, I informed her, "You're the best kisser I've ever known."

Bianca laughed with pride and, after giving me a quick hug, eased away from me heading for the kitchen. "I'm the only kisser you've ever known," she correctly observed over her shoulder.

At two forty-five the taxi dropped us off at the marina. By just past three we were standing on the wooden dock staring in awe. The Riva Aquariva Sport was thirty-three feet of rich, glossy teak over a deep black fibreglass hull. Curved cream bench seating behind a well padded two-person Captain's chair formed an oval cockpit. A sleek, curving, low-swept windscreen added a sense of power and speed to the boat. Chrome brightwork sparkled in the sun. It was a breathtakingly beautiful boat.

"E 'bello," Bianca said softly, admiring it.

I wondered if I'd know how to pilot it. I shouldn't have. Five minutes later twin engines burbled into life, mooring lines were untied from dock cleats, and I eased the Riva towards the port entrance. We took it slow at first, letting the sleek boat cut through a light chop. The deep burbles from the engine exhausts vented into the sea sounded wonderful. But, as I opened the throttles the twin Yanmars burbles turned into deep growls, the bow lifting. Pushing the throttles forward the engines' growls became a full bellowing harmonious roar. We were thrust back into the Captains chair. The Riva slapped down onto a plane and, like a greyhound, it launched forward. Suddenly we were racing across the water, wind in our hair, a long white wake trailing behind us.

Bianca had the biggest damned smile on her face. Her tied-back blonde hair had come loose, one of her hands trying to hold it from whipping around, the other gripping the safety hand bar. With the Riva rising and thumping down we cut through the sea heading south. Rounding Cap Ferrat, we headed north and half an hour later I eased the boat up to the wooden pier behind our house. Bianca scrambled out to tie us up. The engines died and deafening silence rushed in.

Fucking brilliant!

Bianca, trying to bring order to her wind-mussed, tangled hair, grinned with pleasure. "Fantastico!" she announced. "Do you water-ski?"

"How would I know?" I asked.

"We should try."

Bianca naturally slipped her hand into mine and followed me up the steep stairs cut into rock. We arrived on the flagstone patio. I still had a smile on my face. Clearly I loved boats.

The afternoon was spent finishing our search of the study. Bianca wondered aloud if I had an airplane, too, making me laugh. I had no worries. None. No thoughts of possible trouble ahead entered my mind. Bianca was a distraction, a beautiful, charming distraction. At one point I drew her to me, hugged her slender body and kissed her deeply. Her moist tongue responded and probed into my mouth imitating mine. The intense, sexy kiss caused an erection and brought with it a fierce desire for her. Bianca responded with a bright, pleased laugh, her eyes sparkling. I might not know many people but it didn't matter. I knew Bianca and that was enough.

My insulated life took another turn that night after my shower. When I heard Bianca start her shower I went in and brushed my teeth. This time I leaned back against the sink and openly admired her naked body. It didn't matter to me why she aroused me only that she did. I admired her slender youth and adored her budding pubescence, the combination a heady aphrodisiac.

Somewhere in my open admiration Bianca must have seen me. A small flush emerged on her cheeks even though she had her eyes closed and her head bent back rinsing her hair. A hint of a knowing smile graced her face, too. It looked good on her.

I took me and my erection to bed. Bianca emerged in a dark blue silky top and matching loose silky pyjama shorts. She cuddled to me and complained about being tired and aching. Our kiss was wonderful. It started light, lips closed. Pressure increased and her tongue met mine. Accidentally my hand brushed across a perky little breast and Bianca gasped into my mouth. We were both breathing rather hard when the kiss ended.

In the quiet dark, Bianca suggested, "We should get a television for the bedroom."

I fell asleep with a smile on my face and the memory of my hand brushing against a rather pert little breast and the owner of that lovely bit of perkiness cuddled against me.

Bianca's painful moan woke me in the middle of the night. She was shivering next to me. Switching the bedside lamp on, the light revealed a damp face, flushed cheeks, and hollow feverish eyes. Bianca sneezed and moaned again, her eyes pleading.

"I don't feel good, Julian," she complained.

It might have been the boat ride, but Bianca had caught a full-fledged summer cold. She burned up and shivered with cold through the night and tried to toss off the covers I kept wrapped tightly around her. Nose blocked and red, she breathed through an open mouth and complained in a little voice about a sore throat, an aching body, and why couldn't I make her feel better?

Come morning I was exhausted. I left her on the couch in the den, television on, blanket wrapped tightly around her, with bed pillows propping her head up. At the pharmacy I loaded up with every type of medication I could find, cold and flu concoctions, painkillers, vaporizing ointment, lozenges, and more and, when I returned to my sick, complaining patient, she begged, pleaded, and eventually demanded I make something called "Pasta in bianco."

"I can't cook," I reminded her.

"Any idiot can make pasta in bianco," she retorted hoarsely, sneezing and moaning in pain.

I didn't take offense at being labelled an idiot. On the Internet I discovered it was, in fact, a very simple recipe: pasta, parmesan cheese, and olive oil. That's it. Something about having to "mangiare in bianco" when sick - eat white.

"Mio Dio che è buono," Bianca moaned, stuffing her face with more pasta. She smiled weakly at me. Apparently I was no longer an idiot.

Drugged and fed, she passed out. I grocery shopped. By late afternoon I was rewarded with a weak laugh when I explained her menu; cream of mushroom soup (from a can), macaroni and cheese - the white cheddar version (from a box), sliced white bread - toasted if she preferred, and a cauliflower if I could figure out how to cook it; all white.

She graced me with a smile when I served her vanilla ice cream and seemed to melt with joy when eating it. That night I held her very gently in my arms and wrestled with an unfamiliar bout of affection.

For the next two days I played doctor and tended to her. I didn't like seeing her sick . . . at all.

Bianca announced her recovery in a startling way, although it might have been caused by me. Wednesday morning broke with grey clouds and drizzle. I came awake to finding myself spooning Bianca, not an unusual occurrence. What was unusual was her hand on the back of mine. The final tendrils of sleep vanished when I realised I was cupping Bianca's crotch. Under my hand was the soft cotton of her bikini panties and the most sensual mound, petite yet full. Her hand was pressing mine to her pussy. An erection stormed in, arousal, desire.

Holding my hand in place, Bianca eased away from me and turned onto her back. Her eyes were clear and full of yearning, her expression thoughtful. Her hand pressed as she let her legs part slightly, an open invitation to fondle her intimately. I did. I gently caressed the astonishing shape of her pussy, a sensual, arousing delta, plump and erotic.

Desire for her confused me. It numbed better judgement. Leaning over her we kissed. It started soft, a brush of lips. Our lips lingered, Bianca staring into my eyes. My middle finger traced the outline of her cleft and Bianca's eyes narrowed slightly. She pressed my hand against her pussy harder and arched her hips up slightly.

Our eyes closed, lips parted, the moan was probably mine. Tongues met and I squeezed her small pussy, my erection raging. I so needed to cum. Bianca was so sexy, so damned desirable.

Breaking the kiss suddenly and withdrawing my hand from her crotch, with Bianca's eyes popping open in surprise, I smiled. "You're feeling better."

"Sì. Much better," she confirmed with a nod, her hand reaching for mine. It brushed against the tent of my erection. She paused. Her eyes almost asked for permission. Her touch was very gentle, hesitant, a soft exploration of the rigidity.

"Let's take a shower together," I suggested. I wanted to be naked with her. I wanted to touch, caress, fondle. I wanted taste her skin. I wanted to cum, too, the ache strong.

Leading her by the hand to the bathroom my heart beat harder, faster. With the shower warming up, I turned back to Bianca, drawing her into a hug. She was so petite, so slender. Her head didn't even reach my chin. Yet she felt wonderful, her warm body pressed to my erection, my hands caressing her back. I cupped two firm, petite buttocks, my erection flexing from their sexiness. Easing her back, I reached for the hem of her camisole, my eyes asking for permission.

Bianca's eyes were so big, so blue. Her expression was one of hesitant excitement. She studied my eyes intently and, as an answer, raised her arms.

I drew her camisole up and off and glanced down. My eyes closed as an intense wave of arousal hit me. Opening them, I whispered, "So beautiful."

BIANCA ACTUALLY FELT HER body tremble. Heat rushed through her, a wave rising from her pussy to her nipples and up, heating her face. She felt the gentle ache of horniness arrive. It felt like heaviness in her pussy, pressure, her small breasts feeling almost engorged. Yearning arrived as Julian worshipped her with his eyes. When he closed them she actually saw his body sway slightly as if he was overwhelmed by the sight of her.

For two days she'd been exposed to another side of Julian; the caregiver, the kind and considerate guy. It had really, really surprised her. It was so different from his usual self. In his care she'd been showered with attention and concern that, at times, almost felt like love. He'd cradled her body so gently, too, calming her aches and pains more effectively than the medication.

This morning when she woke up she'd immediately known two things; she was feeling better and she was horny for Julian. He'd been spooning her again, his big hand cupping her breast. Her pussy had ached for a touch and, feeling adventurous and comfortable with him, she'd eased his hand down to press it against her aching pussy. Wonderful sparks had erupted and she knew right then that she wanted to do more.

Now she was here, half naked and about to see Julian's erection. When he whispered, "So beautiful," a wave of heat flushed though her, his green eyes almost adoring her. Nervousness faded away replaced by need and excitement and even confidence. Julian felt right to her.

Reaching for his hands, she guided them to her small breasts. "You can touch me," she whispered, shuddering at the warmth of his hands, her nipples sensitive and crying out for his caress.

He caught her off-guard by slowly dropping to one knee in front of her. His hands slipped behind her to hold her ass. He kissed one breast and then the other. Bianca's knees went weak. Her hands combed through his dark brown hair. She felt the tremors in her body, felt his hands edge the back of her panties down. This was it. She was going to be naked with him. It was exciting and slightly scary.

Panties were pulled down over her buttocks and suddenly fell to the floor. Julian's hands stroked up the back of her legs and cupped her buttocks, his fingertips easing into her butt crack just as his mouth took her breast in and sucked. Breath whooshed out. Light-headedness raced in. She held onto his head for support then pulled at him, urging him to stand, her heart beating fast.

He stood. Somehow his boxers were gone. Julian's erection was thick, rigid, the tip mushroom-shaped. It looked huge this close up.

Glancing up, silently asking his permission, he took her hand and guided it. She gripped the shaft, thick, fingertips not quite meeting, warm, pulsing gently, almost alive. It was much, much nicer than her imagination had let her believe. It was very, very exciting, very sexy.

The sound of the shower intruded reminding her they were supposed to shower together. Feeling sexy and mature, Bianca reached behind her opening the shower door. Holding onto Julian's thick erection she backed into it. He followed. Warm water cascaded over her hair. Her pussy throbbed. She wished Julian would touch her again, rub her clit, make her cum.

MY HEART RACED. BREATH was short. Blood drained from my brain. Bianca's gentle grip on my erection made it swell and harden more than ever. The way she led me into the shower with a firm hold on my shaft, a twelve-year-old at that, was sexy beyond words. But what had me almost cumming was seeing her incredible, plump pussy with that sprinkling of small blonde pubic hairs. I'd never get used to the sight! Youth and pubescence - powerful, erotic, sexy.

I needed a distraction to stave off my climax. "Let's wash each other," I suggested. It would let Bianca learn about my body and, more importantly, me hers. Turning the shower spray away, I handed her soap after lathering up my hands.

Her touch was gentle, too gentle. "I won't break," I said casually, my hands washing her slender shoulders. Bianca flashed me a quick smile and concentrated, her hands gaining confidence, washing my chest, my stomach, avoiding my erection, and washing my hips. She pulled away from my hands and bent, her washing continuing down my legs. My cock waved dangerously close to her face. Her blue eyes never left it, either.

Lifting one foot for her, she washed. I offered the other. She washed. This intimacy was more than just sexy. This was two people becoming comfortable with each other. While Bianca was probably nervous and excited, I was, too. The prospect of caressing such a gorgeous young girl was intense.

Her hands washed up my legs moving to the inside. Excited, my erection bobbing gently, her hands arrived at my testicles. She immediately looked up at me. I smiled in encouragement. She smiled a bit shyly and explored with the gentlest of touches, washing carefully before sliding her hands out and around to my ass. I moved close, the tip of my erection poking her stomach before sliding horizontally to the side. Bianca pressed herself against it, her hands washing my buttocks, fingers slipping through my butt crack and up to wash my back. She ended up holding me, her hands on my shoulder blades, her naked young body fully pressed to mine.

When she turned her face up, blue eyes shining with excitement, I kissed her, light, lingering, a loving kiss, silky soft lips welcoming me. It was beautiful.

"My turn," I announced, taking her shoulders and turning her to face away from me.

My journey of discovery, my exploration of a twelve-year-old's body, started with her shoulders and arms, slender, so young. Kneeling, I washed the sides of her body from armpit to narrow, bony hip, circling in to wash her back, my eyes studying the perfection of twelve-year-old buttocks, excitement mounting.

Unable to contain myself, I kissed one firm buttock and murmured, "Perfect," before kissing the other. They were, too. Absolute perfection, sweet and petite.

Washing her hips, I moved down, skipping her wonderful bum. I washed down one leg. She raised her foot for me and a light giggle sounded when I washed it. She giggled again when I washed her other foot and quieted again when my hands moved up the other leg. Tension built. Her inner thigh was firm and silken.

The side of my index finger brushed against her pussy when I washed the top of her thigh. I actually felt her tremble slightly. Turning my hand, I cupped her small pussy from behind. Bianca moaned quietly, her knees shaking. She reached out to hold onto the tiled wall.

It was incredible. While small, Bianca's pussy was plump and mounded and full, her cleft tightly closed. I felt soft blonde pubic hairs. My erection strained, precum leaking. Withdrawing my hand from between her legs I finally washed her pert buttocks. I knew immediately. I just knew I'd always been an ass lover. They were erotic, small, and sexy.

Time for the front.

Holding her narrow hips, I stood behind her and then let my hands slide around to wash her stomach. The tip of my erection nestled the youthful gap between her thighs. It slipped in easily, a perfect snug fit, and emerged out in front. Bianca trembled, gasped, and leaned back against me, her small butt pressing into my groin. I kissed her wet neck and whispered, "You have a gorgeous body, Bianca."

When my hands slowly washed up her stomach, Bianca's hands covered them. I touched the underside of her breasts and slowly cupped them, tweaking beaded little nipples. Her breasts were amazing. While small, they were remarkably firm and sexy and all female, intensely erotic.

Horniness was raging through me. My cock ached and pulsed. The need inside me, the desire for Bianca was astonishing in its power. I kissed her earlobe, one hand gently caressing her small breast, the other sliding down, down. I found my erection where it poked out in front and cupped the crown pulling my shaft up tight against her pussy.

Holding her with one arm, bodies pressed together, Bianca such a sexy young girl, I eased my erection back, slipping along her pussy, and reversed, thrusting gently, my fingers holding my cock tightly to her cleft. Bianca twitched, her hands grabbing my forearm on her chest for support. I withdrew and thrust gently. She twitched again, her buttocks clenching. Soap made us slippery. With her thighs caressing me, her pussy caressing me, and her marvellous bottom pressing back at me it almost felt like we were fucking.

Waves of desire punished me. My cock swelled and throbbed as I gently fucked between her legs. We moved slowly, Bianca trembling and growing heavy as if her knees were giving out. With my face nestled to her neck, kissing her softly, we fucked at an excruciating slow pace. It must have been good. My erection must have been teasing her clit because her tremors grew. She became heavier, slumping slightly, my erection slipping back, thrusting, sliding back, thrusting, her silken thighs caressing, squeezing, her buttocks clenching. For silent minutes we fucked, erection straining at the exquisite sensations.

Bianca's climax arrived in a beautiful soft wave. Her hands gripped my forearm hard. She inhaled sharply and moaned. Her slender body shook. Her legs clamped together and she gasped, stronger body jerks hitting her. "Dio mio," she gasped and took me over the edge.

Thrusting very, very slowly, with Bianca climaxing in my arms, my erection swelled and bliss arrived in an aching throb, semen spurting against her pussy. Another hard, hard wave hit me, ecstasy, relief, semen exploding in a hot spurt, my gut clenching. Everything below was slippery and warm. I thrust my spurting erection between her thighs, semen exploding against my palm and her pussy with each glorious thrust, ecstasy following, cumming hard on her, thrusting, cumming, bliss washing over me, thrusting and cumming until my intense orgasm peaked and faded leaving me panting, drained, and holding a weak Bianca up, exhaustion permeating me. Satisfaction arrived, the sweet feeling of relief and on its heels, adoration.

Our rinsing off was slow and lethargic, both of us now tired. I helped dry Bianca. We brushed teeth. I was so drained, so happily distracted by my adoration for a twelve-year-old, it didn't register that we went to bed naked. It didn't matter that it was still morning. I desperately needed to cuddle and recharge.

A rainy, gloomy Wednesday passed with bright smiles, sweet kisses, and snuggling in front of the television. Bianca was all cuddles and smiling eyes. She charmed and distracted me. Nighttime led to kissing and cuddling in bed with some fun groping before we both slept, excited by the new intimacy we were sharing.

Chapter Seven

ALDO EASED HIMSELF OUT of the bed as Marco slept quietly. Donning a silk bathrobe he slipped out of the bedroom and descended the curving staircase. Entering the study he found the prepaid cell phone in the desk drawer. From memory he dialled.

"So, what have you found?" he asked as soon as the call was answered. He listened. He knew it! He'd been right. A Bianca Russo had passed border control into France from Spain in the company of a Mr. Julian Blackmore.

It had taken too long to find the small border crossing and to bribe one of the guards. Blackmore had almost two weeks on him. But Aldo knew. He was convinced Blackmore would head home if only to get supplies and money. His trail would start there.

Checking his watch, Aldo reached a decision. He could get to Nice, France by plane and be there late morning. That would give him time to develop a plan, kill both the girl and Blackmore and leave before nightfall.

Smiling, he decided he'd not tell Marco. It would be a surprise. In fact, he'd take photos on his cell of their dead bodies and present the images to Marco when they went to bed. It would make Marco a very enthusiastic lover.

He pocketed the cell phone and left the study, a smile of satisfaction on his face, his pulse rising. Let's see just how good this Julian Blackmore is.

AS SOON AS CONSCIOUS thought arrived I knew what I was feeling - an exquisite naked ass, the small mounded buttocks forming a sexy crack between. I explored the shape of perfection, my penis waking up and pressing to the bed, growing and lengthening. Her naked buttock filled my hand. It curved down sensuously to meet the top of her thigh. I could picture Bianca's ass, beautiful, narrow, compact, petite.

Tracing my fingertips lightly to the inside of her thigh, I brought them up to slip along her bum crack. Her buttocks clenched suddenly. A soft giggle sounded. Opening my eyes I saw Bianca on her front with her face turned towards me, a smile of amusement, beautiful blue eyes glinting.

I squeezed a lovely buttock. "Morning, Bianca."

"Buongiorno," she replied.

"I like you naked. I love your butt. It could be the best I've ever fondled."

She laughed softly. "It is the best. It's the only one you can remember," she told me flexing her buttocks under my hand.

The sudden intimate comfort between us wasn't questioned. It was just there. It was a new stage to our relationship. It felt natural and good.

Leaning across, I kissed her cheek before rolling out of bed. Despite a rather thick erection I needed to pee.

It took some concentration standing at the toilet, my eyes closed, head tilted back, and my mind trying to picture the Riva thundering across the waves, before I softened enough to pee. My sigh of satisfaction when the stream started echoed in the bathroom. It was joined by a giggle.

A naked Bianca leaned against the door jamb with her arms crossed under little breasts, ankles casually crossed, marvellous blue eyes watching me pee. "It looks funny," she observed and giggled when, after the stream ebbed into a trickle and stopped, I shook it a few times.

With a smile, I moved to the sink to shave and brush my teeth. Showing our new intimacy, Bianca sat on the toilet.

"Don't watch," she instructed when I looked at her in the mirror.

The hiss of her peeing started and for some very strange reason I became erect again. For some strange reason I imagined seeing her pee and it aroused me. Was that new?

Deciding to dress instead of coercing her back into bed was a difficult decision. However, we had time; lots of time.

"We're going for a drive today," I announced. I wanted to take the Maserati Quattroporte for another run. I'd discovered why I'd bought it. The exhaust sound it made was like rolling thunder even when driving slowly, very gratifying indeed. "We'll go to Monaco."

From the bathroom Bianca suggested a boat ride would be more fun and did I have water-skis? With a shake of my head at her wilfulness, I informed her it was the car or staying at home.

"Okay," she answered.

What did that mean? Yes car? Okay to staying in? "What does okay mean?" I asked.

"Okay means okay," she replied.

Perhaps I was phrasing things the wrong way.

Forty minutes later we were cruising along the coast, the blue Mediterranean on our right, the coast road sinuous, the Maserati emitting a deep, beautiful growl. "We'll eat lunch in Monaco," I announced.

Aldo approached the drive to Julian Blackmore's home cautiously. He listened and heard nothing. Emboldened, he walked down the curving drive and studied the large, old looking house with its strange turret. In his jean pocket he touched the folding knife he'd purchased, the weapon that would end Blackmore's and Bianca's lives.

Moving stealthily, he walked around the house finding no signs of life, the house empty. Where were they? Had he guessed wrong? At a side door leading to the kitchen he used his knife to pry the lock open, grunting slightly with effort. The house was silent. It echoed with the unique silence of emptiness. No one there.

Inspecting the kitchen, Aldo smiled. Fresh trash. Milk was new in the refrigerator. They were here just out somewhere. Good. That meant they'll be back. His inspection continued. He noticed with interest that the only used bed was the one in the master bedroom. Was Blackmore sleeping with the girl? Could he use that information to his advantage? Stage their deaths? Checking a dresser drawer he found girl's underwear. Confirmation.

While he pondered the possibilities he searched for stairs to the turret. It must be just for show, he decided, a decoration. There were no stairs leading higher anywhere.

Returning to the ground floor Aldo planned his attack. He needed to take Blackmore out first, take him out fast. Then he could deal with the girl at his leisure. Studying the layout he decided a blitz attack would work. Use the element of surprise and his knife to strike before Blackmore was aware of him. They'd enter through the front door. To the right was the study. It would provide cover for him. They'd pass the doorway probably on their way to the kitchen or to the right to the flight of stairs. Yes. The study was the best option.

Inspecting the study, he was pleased to see a small window overlooking the drive. Perfect. Time to wait. His smile was grim and smug. He was very, very confident in his skills.

BIANCA LEANED FORWARD, ELBOWS on the restaurant table, and stared out over the waterfront. Huge gleaming white super yachts were docked stern in. Some had people sunbathing on their multilevel decks, some had parties in progress, their decks filled with beautiful people. Her eyes were distracted by a speeding boat curving though the sea, behind it a bikini-clad woman cut a sharp wake through the water on one water-ski. "Look," she pointed. "I want to try water-skiing, Julian."

He grunted a non-response. Turning her gaze away from the view she noticed him staring off somewhere. His green eyes still made her look twice every time she saw them. They were so pretty. "Julian?"

"Hmm?"

"Where did you go?"

He smiled. "I was remembering."

"I thought you couldn't remember. Has your memory come back?" Bianca asked with growing excitement.

"No. I was remembering the first time I opened my eyes to see two Egyptian blue eyes staring at me. It's my earliest memory. It's a good memory."

Bianca smiled with pleasure.

"What were you saying?" he asked.

"I was saying I want to try water-skiing."

"We don't have skis. You don't have a bathing suit, either."

"We have a boat. We can buy the other stuff," she offered. When he didn't immediately agree she added, "Please?"

His eyes studied her, looking deeply. A small smile emerged. "Last time you were in that boat you caught a cold, remember?"

"It wasn't the boat ride," Bianca disagreed. "C'mon, let's! It'll be fun."

LOOKING AT BIANCA'S EAGER face, her eyes bright and shining, I almost caved. However, if we were to water-ski we'd need to shop for a bathing suit and I could just see hours of wasted time ahead of me. "No."

"Perché no? It's not like we have other things to do."

"Because it means shopping for a swimming suit," I pointed out. "You're the worst clothes shopper ever."

Bianca flashed me a smile. "I'll be quick."

Laughing at her optimism, I said, "No you won't. You're not capable of being quick when it comes to clothes. It's like asking a basking walrus to move over. It'll never happen."

A cute frown emerged. "I can be molto veloce," she added shaking a finger at me, slipping into Italian in her seriousness. "You're just too impatient. Everything with you is rush, rush, rush." Her beautiful eyes opened even wider in indignation. "Did you call me a walrus?"

Her frown darkened when my smile broadened. I decided retreat might be easier on my psyche. "Okay, okay. We'll shop for a swimming suit. But you've got to promise to be fast, Bianca."

"Bene," she said with a satisfied nod. "I will be very fast." A smile returned, excitement. "So let's go!"

We did.

My stomach rumbled. I checked my watch again. Five past four. Bianca emerged from the changing room in a frilly orange and yellow bikini. She looked at me. I frowned at her. She turned and went back. This had been happening a lot.

"Why can't you decide?" I yelled, my frustration building.

Bianca peeked around the changing room door. "I can decide but you don't like them," she insisted.

"What are you talking about?"

"Every one I try on you frown at."

Oh good Lord! "I wasn't frowning at your choice, Bianca! I was frowning at us still looking after two hours!"

Her face popped out full of surprise. "Davvero?"

"Yes, really," I said, shaking my head. Unbelievable!

"So which one did you like?" she asked.

Let's see. She had modelled somewhere between twelve and fifteen bathing suits in the last two hours ranging from one-piece Speedos to some startlingly revealing scraps of cloth supposedly called a bikini. I remembered her delectable little breasts in the red one and how seductively the white one formed to her plump pussy. If it was wet it might . . . "The white one," I decided.

Blue eyes stared at me, a puzzled expression emerging. Oh-oh.

"Which white one? The one with the small star, or the one with the yellow edging, or the one with the nice top?"

Damn! Had she tried on three white ones? "Which one was your favourite?"

"The one with the nice top."

"That was my favourite, too," I claimed.

Bianca gave me a bright smile. I sighed with relief. Crisis passed. I vowed to pay more attention to her shopping in the future. That thought made me laugh out loud. More clothes shopping with Bianca? Right!

The Maserati grumbled as we eased down the drive just before six o'clock.

"Tomorrow, Julian. If it's sunny we'll try water-skiing. First thing in the morning. This is so . . ." Bianca's voice tailed off as the house came into view.

"This is so what?" I asked.

She didn't respond.

"Bianca? What's wrong?"

"Is there something different?" she asked, pointing at our house.

Easing the car to a stop I studied the home. It looked fine to me. "What do you see, Bianca?"

"Nothing. But . . . It's just . . . Never mind."

A tickle of apprehension spider-walked up my spine.

We left the car parked on the drive. I opened the front door and followed Bianca in. She carried a small bag holding her new bikini. I carried the water-skis and towrope. As soon as I stepped inside I knew. It was immediate.

Reaching out I stopped Bianca. She glanced back at me and I nodded back towards the front door. She nodded, fear emerging in her face. Turning, she walked back out silently.

I stood stock still. Because of her premonition I'd been more cautious. The scent was a flowery tanned leather one with an unpleasant sweet accent. I wore no aftershave. Bianca wore no perfume. Someone was here.

Inexplicably my pulse slowed. My hearing sharpened. I heard the very faint creak of a floorboard to my right, the study. Who was it? There were two acceptable options; charge into the study and take my chances, or ignore the study and pretend like I hadn't heard him, whoever it was. Frontal assault had risks. Not seeing him I couldn't tell if he was armed nor plan an assault. No. It would be better to let him come to me, lure him in as if I didn't suspect anything. I'd hear him coming at me. If I judged it right I could use the water-skis as a weapon, turn suddenly and strike him with the edge of one, hopefully across the side of his neck or down on his shoulder to break his collarbone.

With him distracted and continuing the turn, I could sweep his feet out from under him and follow him to the ground, slamming my elbow into his sternum to rob him of breath. While he gasped for breath, his disorientation would make it easy to roll across his body and wrap my arm around his neck, tighten, and choke him to death or break his neck. Four moves, six seconds, and he'd meet his maker.

The situation assessment had taken only seconds. "Don't forget to bring the packages, Bianca," I called out.

Bianca made me so proud, truly impressing me. Despite her fear, she replied loudly, "Okay."

I started walking quietly towards the stairs, my ears listening intently.

The sound was a rustle, just a whisper. I felt his presence closing-in on me. Erupting into motion, I turned, whipping the water-skis around in a debilitating strike. He was closer than I'd thought. A flash of steel. He grunted as the edge of the ski slammed into him. One. My leg swept around. Two. He thumped to the floor with a grunt. I followed him down leading with my elbow. Three. Rolling, my arm hooked around his neck. Four.

Two and a half minutes, not six seconds. Asphyxiation took longer. Inhaling deeply I stood. My side hurt.

Bianca stared at me when I emerged from the front door. In that scarily mature aspect to her disposition she calmly observed, "You're bleeding again." But I saw her body trembling and fear in her beautiful eyes. It bothered me more than killing that man.

Looking down at the side of my chest I studied the gash in my shirt and the bloodstain spreading. So he'd gotten close with that knife. He'd been better than I expected. Who was he?

"Come on," I urged Bianca, extending my hand. She took it, her hand moist and trembling.

Passing the dead assailant on the hall floor, Bianca stopped. "That's Aldo!"

"Who's Aldo?" I asked.

"Aldo Cipoli. Uncle Marco's assistant. He's actually Marco's lover, too."

Patched up - Bianca having fussed and insisted on applying the bandage - I disposed of Aldo in the sea, some two miles out. Dinner was quieter. Reality had shattered our idyllic cocoon and reminded me we had a real problem to deal with. It had had an even deeper impact. It had brought home how much affection I was developing for Bianca. I'd actually felt fear for her when I understood the situation. That fear was much deeper than just care. It had shaken me. It still did.

In bed, I held Bianca slightly tighter and inhaled her scent deeper. Worry was a new feeling and an uncomfortable one.

The sound of a toilet flushing woke me. The covers moved. A warm girl snuggled close smelling of soap and sleepiness, a calming aroma. I hadn't opened my eyes. By not opening them I didn't have to face reality.

Bianca snuggled. Rolling towards her, I pulled her to me, body to body. My hand caressed her back. A sleepy brain took time to process the information my hand was sending. Bianca was naked. I confirmed it with a gentle grope of her butt; silky cool buttocks, bare buttocks, petite and sensual buttocks.

Her knee eased between my legs. I caressed upwards past a boney little hip, upwards. My hand found her sexy petite breast and rubbed her small nipple. It responded growing hard. She murmured quietly. An erection formed. Arousal. Desire.

Egyptian blue eyes greeted me when I finally opened my eyes. Bianca sighed when I nuzzled her cheek and neck, her knee rising to press against my testicles. A hand gently gripped my erection over my boxers and squeezed slightly before releasing it. She tugged at the waistband, an unsubtle hint for me to remove them.

With a lingering kiss on her cheek, I removed my hand from her sexy little breast, rolled away and pushed the boxers off releasing my erection. Rolling back to Bianca our naked bodies met. She was warm and cuddly and very sexy. Somehow the tip of my erection slipped up the valley formed by her closed thighs to press erotically at their junction, the crown pressed to her little pussy. It felt incredible, exciting, arousing.

Hunching, the tip pressed to her cleft. Bianca responded with a slight smile and pushed her pussy at me lightly. Visions of sparse blonde pubic hairs made my erection strain. I wanted to see, touch, caress, and even taste.

Rolling Bianca onto her back, I whispered, "I want to try something, Bianca. Just trust me." She nodded, a soft smile emerging on her face. It faded when my lips found her small breast, tasted her light pink areola, and teased her little nipple. I sucked, her succulent breast drawn into my mouth. Bianca arched her chest up, her hands resting on my head. Releasing her breast, I saw the areole had darkened from blood and arousal, her nipple a hard bead. My erection strained, precum oozing out as I paid attention to her second breast. My hand slipped down.

It discovered the sensual rise of her mons and the faint tickle of sparse pubic hairs. It discovered the remarkable shape of her pussy, an erotic delta, the steep sides narrowing to between her legs. I cupped her with a trembling hand.

Bianca sighed and let her legs fall apart. Unable to wait, I moved down and finally studied her pussy. It was beautiful. It was stunning. There was no doubt whatsoever that she was twelve years old, her pubis thick and padded. But up close I discovered more pale blond pubic hairs than I'd expected, some uncurled, so new and pale they were almost invisible, bum fluff, silky, small and soft, some just beginning to curl. Bianca had a gorgeous cleft, her labia plump and ripe and parted slightly to reveal their protected treasures: a long clitoral hood, sexy moist folds, immature inner labia, and below, at the very base of her glistening silken slit a small dark shadow that made my erection swell and ache. The opening to her vagina was so astonishingly small. Yet moisture glistened in her cleft highlighting her arousal, an almost flushed look. Sweet buttocks swelled where they pressed to the bed. It was truly a beautiful, intensely erotic sight.

Leaning in I inhaled and drew the scent of sexy innocence into my lungs, musky and earthy yet light and delicate. It called to me. That first kiss of her sent bolts of excitement racing through me, my cock swelling and leaking against the bed. That first taste was exquisite. Silky and moist, she had a flavour that matched her scent, pure ambrosia, manna from Heaven.

Bianca reacted to my kiss. Her body clenched. She inhaled sharply in surprise. When my tongue teased her clitoris Bianca's gasp was slightly louder. Pressing my mouth to her pussy, I suckled, ate her, and drowned in her sexy arousal. Bianca twitched. The tip of my tongue found the entrance to her vagina buried deep at the base of her labia. I pushed and probed unsuccessfully. Returning to her clit, this time I drew her clitoral hood between my lips with light suction. My hands cupped her sweet buttocks. My tongue teased.

Bianca gasped again. She whispered "Julian," drawing my eyes up over her sexy mons. Bianca's eyes were closed. She wasn't smiling. Her face was flushed. Her hands gripped the bed sheet under her. She humped her pussy at my mouth, my tongue teasing. She did it again, her stomach muscles straining, hips small mountains framing her pelvis. I sucked gently, teased and caressed her clit, my cock weeping precum. Bianca's mouth opened. Her body arched slowly, paused, and collapsed with a grunt, her hips moving suddenly, humping a suddenly very moist pussy against my mouth. Bianca was climaxing and it was amazing, phenomenal, stunning.

With sexy deep but quiet grunts, Bianca came, her stomach cramping and relaxing, cramping and relaxing, her fists tugging the bed sheet. She humped faster and suddenly gasped loudly, legs snapping closed around my head. She tried to roll onto her side, her hands pushing my head away. She gasped again and actually whimpered, her body jerking, jerking.

I slowed my oral caressing as she slumped and brought her down gently. My crown was sliding easily on the sheet, slippery from precum. Easing away, I moved back up the bed and rolled a limp girl towards me. Like a kitten Bianca murmured and cuddled, her body hot and now damp with perspiration. Kissing her cheek I inhaled a new scent, the intoxicating scent of sex on a young, beautiful girl.

My palm on her back felt her heart beat. It slowed gradually. I now had a hard aching erection pressing to her thighs, the tip just nudging against her sexy, moist pussy. I throbbed, desire strong, need strong. Reaching down, my hand spanned two sensual buttocks and drew her body tighter against me. I felt precum oozing out with each aching throb.

The move was unavoidable. It was a visceral need. It was very, very subtle but felt huge. I humped up slightly, the tip of my cock squeezed against her pussy. It felt good. It felt too good. Easing back only a millimetre in what felt like a much bigger move, I hunched gently, my crown once again pressing against her little cleft at the apex of her closed thighs. Bianca surprised me. She pressed her pussy at me slightly. Her hand reached for my hip and she pulled. Precum spread making her thighs slippery, making my crown glide, and pleasure washed over me.

I nuzzled her cheek, inhaled her sexy scent, and pulled her sweet bottom tighter, humping gently, a micro movement but huge in its pleasure. Bianca moved too, helping me, pressing her pussy against the tip of my crown on each tiny hump. Pressure emerged in my groin, balls tensing up, need growing. My orgasm stirred yet I was hardly moving. Bianca's hand slipped up to caress my back. She pressed her gorgeous, plump pussy against the tip of my erection, eased back and pressed again, very small but massively erotic movements.

I whispered, "Bianca," into her cheek, pulled her sweet ass tighter and hugged her slender young body. Pressure grew, grew. An agonizing moment of stillness arrived; the cusp of an orgasm, that delicious edge of bliss. One more gentle hunch and, with a beautiful girl in my arms, I came. My cock swelled. A long pulse hit me. Semen erupted to spurt against Bianca's pussy, hot, thick and wet. My gut clenched. Another more intense pulse hit and ecstasy exploded with a huge, glorious spurt, hot cum gushing between us and covering her pussy. With a quiet gasp, my orgasm washed over me in exquisite pulses, semen spurting with beautiful release, gut cramping, relaxing, cramping. I hugged Bianca tight and came in an exquisite climax that brought pleasure, relief, bliss, semen soaking us, and with its waning, weakening pulses, I drowned in extreme satisfaction and extreme adoration. I adored Bianca.

The silence was complete. Only the beating of my heart broke it. Bianca was warm and soft and so sweet in my arms. Her body was quiet as it pressed to me. Between us, at the tip of my softening cock, we were soaked in cum. I didn't care. I didn't mind. I wasn't ashamed.

Her hand touching my face finally made me open my eyes. Bianca's Egyptian blue eyes looked back at me. Her pretty face was relaxed. There was something different in her expression. I couldn't figure out what it was.

"I wish we could wake up this way every day," I said softly, reaching up to caress the cheek I'd been nuzzling just recently. I curled some loose blonde hair back off her face where it had fallen and wondered at her silence.

"Will you forget me?" she asked out of the blue.

"Why would I forget you?" I asked. "You're the only person I know."

"No. I mean when you get your memory back," she said, her eyes questioning.

This was obviously a serious question despite it making no medical sense to me. "No. I won't."

"Are you sure?"

My response surprised even me. "Yes. I don't think I want my other memories back, Bianca. These are enough for me."

"Bene. Molto bene," she whispered, no smile, just that strange emotion in her eyes.

"Want to shower?" I asked. We were pretty messy. I rolled out of bed when she nodded. Entering the bathroom I glanced back. Bianca was standing naked next to the bed cupping her pussy. Looking down she removed her hand and studied her pubis and hand, her fingers feeling the texture of my semen. The sight of her little pussy covered in cum was shockingly sexy.

The shower was invigorating. Bianca became her usual self, reminding me we were going to water-ski today and just watch, she was going to be on one ski before the day was over. She reinforced her commitment to water-skiing by turning up at breakfast in the rather fetching white bikini that emphasized a pouty little pussy rather well.

Her scream of laughter two hours later had me smiling. The weather was summer hot, sun bright, water crystal clear - clear enough I could see her shadow on the sea floor thirty feet below. With a red lifejacket keeping her buoyed, she struggled and squirmed and finally reached out for the towrope. It was the third time her bikini bottoms had slipped to her thighs when taking a headlong dive over her skis. By eleven o'clock she managed forty meters on top of the water before crashing and finally calling it quits.

Circling around and reeling in the towrope, I hauled her out of the water. She looked like a drowned rat, scraggly blonde hair that had lost the hair band holding her ponytail together. But her beautiful, intense blue eyes just sparkled with pleasure and excitement.

"Che era fantastico," she enthused, unbuckling the lifejacket and shrugging it off. "You should try it!"

"I can't. Someone has to pilot the boat."

"I'll do it," she offered.

Right.

Water had made the white bikini stick to her like a second skin. Every detail of what it covered was outlined. Her beautiful sexy breasts and tiny stiff nipples showed rather revealingly. The bottoms hugged her vulva, too, showing its sensual shape, its plumpness, and a rather exciting camel toe.

Not noticing my appreciative stare, Bianca eased her fingers into the sides of the bikini top to un-plaster it. With some rather amusing wiggling, her fingers un-plastered her bikini bottoms, too, front and back. A towel vigorously dried her hair.

I'd packed a lunch. I wanted to pilot the Riva anywhere just to enjoy it. It was a truly beautiful boat and deceptively fast. With electronic sonar, a GPS marine mapping unit, and horsepower to spare we powered along the coast towards Monaco. Noon found us drifting, sitting on the rear crescent bench seat and munching ham-and-cheese stuffed baguettes.

"What are we going to do about Uncle Marco?" Bianca asked, putting her sandwich down. She reached for a bottle of water and took a sip.

"I don't know," I admitted.

"He won't stop," she observed.

"I know."

A short silence ensued. I think we were both lost in our thoughts. I really didn't know what to do. Going to the police wouldn't work. Marco Lucchese could easily accuse me of kidnapping Bianca. How would I prove otherwise? Returning Bianca wouldn't solve a thing. I realised something else. I really did not want to kill him. Was I losing my edge?

"I don't want to go back, Julian," Bianca announced.

"I don't want you to go back," I commented, still absorbed by the intractable problem.

"I mean it. I don't want to go back," Bianca said in a louder, more forceful voice.

Her tone of voice demanded my attention. Her lovely eyes were determined. With her hair half dry and wearing an attractive and sexy white bikini, she looked quite edible, young yet not, a little girl yet not. "I don't want you to go back, either," I admitted.

"Good. So I won't."

"Yes you will," I countered. She looked confused at first. A determined expression emerged and I had a sudden vision of her shaking her index finger at me while letting loose with a stream of Italian berating me. It made me smile. "If you don't go back I'll be accused of kidnapping you. The problem we have is what to do about your uncle."

"So what are we going to do about him?"

"You just asked me that," I pointed out with a chuckle.

"Haven't you figured something out yet? You're supposed to be the expert."

"I'll work on it," I offered, wiping my mouth and moving back to the Captains chair. The engine started with a deep, pleasing burble. It almost drowned out Bianca's comment.

"You do that. And hurry up," she ordered.

We spent the afternoon exploring the coast with the Riva, sometimes puttering along and studying hidden reefs, other times racing flat out with both engines bellowing their enthusiasm.

At four forty in the afternoon I eased the Riva up to our dock, cut the engines and tied her down. We'd refilled the petrol tank. I'd stowed the water-ski equipment after rinsing it off with fresh water. Bianca carried the garbage from lunch. We were pleasantly tired. Our shoulders were a bit sunburned. With anticipation, I looked forward to a hot shower, food, and bed. Bianca took my hand as we climbed the rock stairway up to the patio. Despite the threat hanging over our heads I was happy.

Fatigue from a day on the water, from sun and wind in my hair, felt very different than other types of fatigue. It was relaxing and calming, muting worries and making troubles seem like problems of tomorrow. Dinner was a Pizza Blanc ordered in - a white pizza with mushrooms, chicken and Alfredo sauce. It went down well.

I didn't mind Bianca watching some ridiculous Italian variety show that appeared to be all about big-breasted bimbettes in skimpy clothing bouncing around a stage. It wasn't quite as riveting to me as it was to Bianca. She cuddled to my side in her pale yellow ribbed camisole and loose grey sweatpants, a very fetching outfit that garnered more of my attention and appreciation than the television.

Had I always been attracted to young girls or was it just Bianca? My eyes hadn't wandered when we'd been shopping. I couldn't remember paying any attention to anyone else, young or adult. What did that say?

There was no question about my attraction to her. I liked pretty much every aspect of her personality - even her clothes shopping, I admitted with a smile. I enjoyed her determination. I was impressed with her composure under stress - something that was instinctive with her. The way she kept looking at me with those big blue eyes and some unidentified emotion in them was very appealing. And her body, well, the contrast of youth and puberty was an irresistible combination.

Bianca distracted me from my thoughts. She reached out her leg and, with her bare foot, started working the almost empty pizza box on the coffee table towards her. It refused to obey. Her foot hooked, pushed, and nudged in an effort to draw it within reaching distance. It would have been so easy for her to sit up, lean forward and reach, but no. For minutes she worked away at it pausing when the variety show reached an exciting moment only to continue when it passed. I could have leaned forward and brought the box close. I didn't. In a weird way it was fun to watch. I was more excited about an almost successful toe hook than I was about the TV show. She became smarter. Instead of pushing, she tried to grip the edge of the box between her big and second toe, curl them and draw the box in. She might have succeeded, too, but, feeling dastardly, at the last moment I reached out and snagged the last piece of pizza in the box.

"Non oseresti!" she threatened. "Don't you dare!"

I would dare. I did dare. Opening my mouth to take a bite, Bianca's hands grabbed my forearm.

"That's mine!" she exclaimed, tugging.

The slice shook. Toppings slipped off into my lap. I nabbed a bite of the empty crust before Bianca yanked my arm hard. The slice went flying to the floor. I started laughing. Bianca found nothing amusing about it. Come to think of it, she took her food very seriously. A frown emerged on her pretty face. That index finger came out jabbing towards the fallen slice and the empty box and then at me, accompanied by a stream of very colourful Italian as she denigrated my ancestors, and questioned my mental acuity, and berated my maturity. It washed over me in rhythmic melody, a verbal orchestra conducted by a scolding finger.

Still smiling at her - it seemed to inflame her - I reached down into my lap and scraped up the toppings. "Here ya go," I offered.

"Idiota!" she exclaimed.

I shrugged and ate and grinned broadly when her hand fished around in my crotch for the last bits of topping.

Bianca cuddled to me but shoved my hand away every time I tried to caress. She was teed-off. It fascinated me that it was okay for her to cuddle, but my hands were unwelcome. It was amusing to try every so often, anyway.

By the time she slipped into bed all was forgiven. We cuddled and kissed lightly, nibbled lips, and groped a bit, too. I was tired but gently aroused. Bianca was delightfully petite in my arms, her body warm and sexy, her ass a marvel of arousing curves. I slipped my hand inside her little pale yellow panties and groped her cool buttocks gently. Bianca's hand pressed between us and discovered the opening of my boxers, fishing carefully inside to carefully grip my cock. A squeeze brought it to full rigidity.

My fingertips followed the sensual valley of her bum, burrowing deeper into her panties. My quiet sigh was almost orgasmic when fingertips touched a moist little cleft. Plump labia parted to hug my fingertip in a moist kiss. Bianca gripped my erection suddenly.

Nuzzling her cheek - an action I was increasingly finding most enjoyable - and inhaling her scent, I slipped the tip of my finger through her silken slit and found her clit, pausing to caress with a circular movement.

Bianca withdrew her hand from my boxers and grabbed the waist, tugging. "Take them off," she suggested in a quiet voice.

Rolling away, I peeled them off and rolled back only to find a bare ass. Bianca had shucked her panties, not her camisole, just her panties. She edged up the bed so we were face to face and pressed herself against me.

We were back in the same position we'd enjoyed this morning, my erection aligned with her closed thighs, the tip nudging against her pussy, my hand fondling two gorgeous buttocks.

With surprising comfort, we kissed lightly, lips brushing. Kissing became deeper, lips pressing. The kiss changed when lips parted, tongues emerged, teased, played, and probed, Bianca murmuring her pleasure. Precum oozed out making her pussy slippery.

The motion, when it started, was subtle. Bianca pressed her pussy at me. I pressed gently. We relaxed and did it again, tongues playing, breathing becoming heavier. She felt wonderful in my arms. When she pressed her pussy at me again, just as I pushed, the most exquisite sensation assailed me. My crown oozed along her cleft, between warm thighs, and across her clit earning a gasp, the kiss ending.

Bianca buried her face in my neck, her hand holding my shoulder. She eased her crotch back and pressed again. My crown caressed her clit. It was held in a snug hug by a moist, precum-slickened pussy and warm thighs pressed together. Bianca shuddered slightly and repeated the move, my crown oozing out, oozing in, slipping easily. Joining her movement, holding her sweet ass, my cock slipped deeper finding moist slippery heat.

Concentrating on the sensation below, my eyes closed. I was sure I could feel her cleft parting and massaging my crown. The heat and moisture was thrilling and intense. I had a vision of my crown sliding along her slit, spreading plump labia, probing deeper.

We moved together, no words spoken, Bianca's hot breath brushing my neck. Her almost silent gasps excited me. But suddenly everything changed. With each slow, arousing movement my cock had slipped deeper into her cleft, further into her crotch, eased by my precum and Bianca's arousal. Suddenly it made no progress. It hit a wall unable to proceed. Bianca inhaled sharply. It hit me. I was lodged at the base of her cleft, lodged at her entrance, poised to actually penetrate her!

Movement stopped. My erection pulsed, throbbed, swelled. "Bianca?" I whispered.

Her answer was silent. Trembling slightly, she tilted her hips and pushed her little pussy at me. Nothing happened but it was her silent communication; she wanted to go all the way. Holding her sweet ass firmly, I pressed. Nothing. Bianca trembled. I pressed again. She inhaled sharply even though I'd made no progress.

But, just as I pressed my aching, rigid erection again, Bianca raised her leg up over my thigh and tilted her pelvis towards me. Suddenly, with Bianca whimpering in pain and her fingernails gripping my shoulder, I penetrated her. My crown slipped into her. Warm moisture gripped me tightly. She was excruciatingly tight.

All movement stopped.

But it didn't. Not really. Bianca's vagina tightened and relaxed as if she was exploring the sensation of being penetrated. My erection throbbed, the crown swelling and pulsing, leaking precum into her. The arousal I was feeling was almost disorienting in its power. The excitement of penetrating Bianca was overwhelming, the concept of sex with her, sex with such a young girl, intoxicating. My cock swelled and ached, desire raging through me. She smelled sexy; soap and something new, something addictive. Bianca suddenly felt so small in my arms, so deliciously young, so perfect against me, her bottom so petite. Her warm breath wafted against my neck.

I nuzzled her cheek and kissed her, losing myself, gone, in another world of a soft sexy girl. She murmured pleasure and that was it. I couldn't stop myself. With just my crown penetrating her tight pussy, gripped hard by silken warmth, the storm of my orgasm hit. I gasped at the intensity of the first painful explosion, semen racing up to erupt into her, my crown swelling. Before I could inhale a second, even harder pulse slammed into me, cum exploding inside her in a long beautiful pulse, ecstasy washing over me. Another gut-wrenching pulse hammered me, semen exploding again, hot, thick, bliss crashing over me. I couldn't breathe. A painful pulse took control, cum spurting. Suddenly I was cumming hard, spurting, cumming, emptying myself inside her, my crown gripped in her tight, tight pussy. I drowned, panting, almost thankful when my orgasm peaked and eased off, weak pulses depositing the last of my semen inside her. It left. I was drained.

My brain slowly rebooted. Realization arrived. I'd just ruined Bianca's first time.

"I'm so sorry, Bianca," I whispered. "I couldn't stop myself."

"S'okay," she whispered. When I moved to pull out of her she grabbed my shoulder. "No. Don't," she begged.

I was in paradise when sleep neared, holding Bianca, being held by her, the tip of my softening erection still gripped in her tight pussy. She expelled me with a clench just as sleep took me away.

Chapter Eight

A stomach growl woke me. It was loud. It wasn't mine, either. Opening my eyes Bianca smiled apologetically at me and shrugged, her gorgeous blue eyes bright and twinkling. "Buongiorno, Julian. Ho fame. I'm hungry."

Moving languidly, I kissed her. "Then let's eat."

Her smile broadened. I watched when she rolled out of bed and bent to pick up her panties from the floor. A pale yellow ribbed cotton camisole, a gorgeous, spectacular bare ass, and small buttocks moving delightfully absorbed me. The beginning of an erection brought back a memory of last night. I wanted Bianca. I wanted to make love with her more than almost anything.

"Spostarlo!" she admonished me as she emerged from the bathroom, telling me to move it.

"But . . ."

She was gone.

BIANCA STIRRED THE SCRAMBLED eggs in the frying pan. The smell of toasting bread filled the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder again and smiled with pride. Julian looked so sexy and she'd had sex with him!

"Honestly, Bianca, I'm so sorry. I couldn't help it," he said, holding a mug of coffee with two hands.

Bianca laughed brightly. "I told you I don't mind."

She didn't, either. It wasn't quite what she'd imagined her first time would be like. She hadn't cum. Julian hadn't really gone all the way in. But there was so much that was better. It hadn't hurt anywhere near like what she'd expected. She'd felt so stretched, too. But it was Julian cumming in her that truly amazed her. She'd never really thought about the guy's pleasure. In all her daydreams, when she played with herself, it had always been her pleasure she imagined. Feeling Julian cum, feeling his orgasm and the intensity of his whispers, his murmurs of affection, was amazing! She'd made him happy. She'd given him pleasure. She'd made him cum!

Those were powerful feelings she was still getting used to. They brought warmth and pride. Stirring the scrambled eggs, Bianca was shocked. She loved him! She loved Julian!

The toaster popped.

"What are we doing today?" she asked, passing a plate to Julian.

"We could . . ."

"Go water-skiing again," Bianca cut in.

"If you knew what you wanted to do, Bianca, why did you ask?"

"I wanted to make sure you wanted to do the same thing."

I ATE SLOWLY SAVORING the scrambled eggs. They were very good. Feminine logic seemed a mystical thing, or a black art. I was tempted to ask her to explain her logic in that statement but suspected I'd find the answer just as confusing as the statement.

"Are you sure you're not too sore?" I innocently asked. Bianca blushed, a rare occurrence. "No. Not that," I added. "I meant from water-skiing yesterday."

"Oh!" She stopped eating, eyes losing focus briefly. "Actually I am. My legs ache," she said, somewhat surprised.

"Then we can go to see the MAMAC or take a walk along the Promenade des Anglais."

"What's the MAMAC?"

"The Musée d'Art Moderne et d'Art Contemporain."

"What's that?

"The Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art," I clarified.

"Okay."

There it was again, that amorphous 'Okay'. "Okay what?" I asked.

"Okay let's," she answered. "But why are we walking if my legs ache?"

"Because stretching them is the only way to make them feel better faster. And okay to which one? The museum or the Promenade des Anglaise?"

"I already said the museum," she replied, going back to eating her scrambled eggs.

"No you didn't. You just said 'Okay'," I clarified.

"Okay."

I gave up. One of these days I'd figure it out. Maybe I needed to change how I asked her questions, avoid multiple choices, perhaps? "Museum it is. Let's go."

The museum building was impressive. Two huge white windowless cube buildings stood at a slight angle to each other connected by a broad modern glass enclosure with suspension-bridge-like black steel accents joining each cube. We spent a couple of hours exploring the museum and I discovered I didn't like modern art.

Bianca disagreed with me as we stood staring at an exhibit of Xavier Theunis' works.

"He's used a ruler to draw," I commented, staring at a white canvass with linear patterns impressed and embossed on it. "It's not very creative."

"It's nice. I like it," Bianca retorted.

When we stood in front of a large square canvass that had been artfully painted with dark blue on the upper half and a lighter blue on the lower half, the most artistic element being the line where they met, a wavy joining, I commented, "Monkeys could paint something more interesting."

Bianca looked at it. "I like it."

"You have no taste. You don't know anything about art," I countered.

"You know less," she observed. "You don't even have a memory."

Touché. I smiled and took her hand. For another hour or so we meandered, disagreeing completely on what made art interesting. I had a great time.

As we headed away, the Maserati growling quietly, Bianca suggested we head home for lunch, not the Chinese restaurant I'd planned on. I was eager to try Chinese. Sweet and sour sounded like an oxymoron. How could something be both at the same time?

As soon as we entered the house Bianca took my hand. "Come on," she urged with a tug, leading me upstairs.

"What gives, Bianca?"

"I want to cuddle," she said, leading me towards the bedroom. "I've been . . . you know, all morning."

Her comment brought with it a physical response and amusement. "Okay. But why are we going to the bedroom?"

"I told you. I want to . . . you know."

"Cuddle?"

"Yeah, cuddle."

"But, we don't have to go to the bedroom to cuddle," I pointed out.

"Yes we do. I want to cuddle naked. Would you like to shower together?"

Her enthusiasm made me chuckle. However, when I had her undressed down to a small, plain white cotton bra and matching simple white cotton panties, showering was the last thing on my mind.

Drawing her to me we nuzzled and kissed lightly. In her simple underwear she looked very young indeed. Those firm, upright breasts cried out to me, petite and sexy. Her cotton panties had folds and gathers that emphasized the plump lushness of her small pussy underneath. Once again I marvelled at how sexy and desirable she felt in my arms, so young, slender yet warm and attractive.

Still standing, Bianca looked up at me, her arms around my waist, her lower body pressed against mine. The slightest blush emerged on her cheeks when she asked, "Would you kiss me again?"

I did, lightly, my lips brushing against her silky lips. It was almost addictive. Her eyes watched me as we kissed, her lips not responding. "What?" I asked.

"That's not what I meant," she clarified, a blush intensifying. "I meant, would you kiss me down there, on . . . where you did . . . like you did . . ."

I rubbed her red cheek. Damn she was cute. "It's okay to say pussy, or oral sex, Bianca. You don't have to be embarrassed."

"Bene," she said, exhaling and inhaling deeply. "Would you do it like last time? Sono . . . I'm horny. Is it all right to say I'm horny?"

Chuckling, I led her onto the bed, her beautiful bright blue eyes watching me. Bianca settled on her back, her legs closed, her hands fidgeting as if she didn't know what to do with them. Smiling in reassurance, I leaned over her and kissed her mouth, my hand settling over the succulent small mound of her breast.

My thumb caressed the remarkable shape and, through thin cotton, teased an areole and soft nipple. It made Bianca close her eyes. One of her hands found something to do - it reached for my neck. Her mouth opened slowly when my tongue touched her lips, the sensation of deeply kissing her almost overwhelming me again.

Breaking the kiss, I stood at the side of the bed and, under her sharp, watchful eyes, dropped my boxers, my cock springing out and up. Her eyes followed my movement as I went to the end of the bed and crawled up. Looming partially over her supine body I pressed the palm of my hand to her mons, loving the sensual way it mounded up, her cotton panties so chaste. With a light trail of fingertips up the outline of her camel toe, Bianca shuddering lightly, I grabbed the waist of her panties and started easing them down, one side then the other, Bianca rolling her hips from side to side to help.

Her pussy appeared. Once again I marvelled at the sensuality of such a young pussy and the intense sexiness of soft, blonde pubic hairs sprinkled over it.

Sitting back on my heels, I drew her panties down, Bianca raising her legs almost vertical to help, her pussy emerging from behind between her thighs, her butt crack showing before her legs fell back to the bed.

Bending, I kissed her soft stomach. As I moved down the bed, I eased her legs apart. Her sexy pussy was revealed in all its youthful glory; a tightly closed cleft, sparse blonde pubes hiding nothing, her buttocks bulging sensuously where they pressed to the bed. I settled between her legs and saw her labia separating slowly, oozing apart to reveal her beautiful clitoral hood and the glistening moisture of her arousal below. Pausing, I inhaled deeply to calm myself. I'd never tire of the sight.

The bed felt good pressing against my erection. Her scent hit me, slightly stronger than last time, the scent of her erotic ambrosia awaiting me. My lips touched the top of her pussy brushing lightly against silky soft pubes. I heard Bianca inhale and hold her breath.

Smiling, I kissed her clit, added gentle suction and pulled her clit between my lips. Bianca groaned quietly, her hands finally finding a purpose; holding my head. Her knees rose, thighs gently pressing to my ears.

I let my fingertip slide up from below using her butt crack as the guide. She clenched her buttocks when I touched her anus, relaxed when my fingertip passed and clenched again when, probing into moist warm folds at the base of her cleft, I found the impossibly small entrance to her vagina. My tongue began strumming her clit. Bianca groaned quietly. I probed into her with my finger.

Bianca moaned. Her body trembled with growing tension. Her tight vaginal entrance yielded to grip the tip of my middle finger in a velvety moist hug. My erection strained, pulsed, and leaked precum onto the sheet. It felt good to be so aroused.

Opening my mouth wide I covered as much of Bianca's small pussy as I could and sucked. She twitched, her hands curling to hold my hair. I began fucking her with my finger, gently, conscious of her tenderness from yesterday. She showed no soreness. Her gasp was louder. Her hips curled up and she pressed her pussy against my mouth and probing finger. It slipped in easily, surrounded by her snug velvet grip. Bianca was very aroused. Suddenly the top of my finger touched her cervix, a firm rubbery texture. I caressed it while sucking her clit using my tongue to tease.

"Dio mio," she gasped softly, before falling into her climax.

Bianca's body hunched up, curling as if in a cramp. A momentary pause preceded her sudden jerk, her whole body shaking accompanied by a little cry of pleasure. Her thighs snapped against my ears. She heaved and cried out again, her body suddenly shuddering as if suffering a feverish cold. She humped her pussy against my face, my fingertip buried inside her stroking her cervix. Quiet, soft grunts emerged with each body spasm and Bianca shook and trembled through an intense, intense climax.

It passed suddenly. One minute her body was tense the next it was liquid, residual tremors passing through as her orgasm ebbed.

Rising onto hands and knees, I edged up between her legs to hover over her. Her mouth was open. Her breath was still short, her eyes closed, her blonde hair a bit mussed. Another soft tremor shook her; the departing wave of her intense climax. Perspiration beaded her forehead. She still wore the small, cute cotton bra, two triangles gently cupping her lovely little breasts.

Looming over her brought home how slender and young Bianca truly was. It was too easy to be distracted by her personality, or her slender height. But hovering over her, she was small and delicate and fragile looking, truly a twelve-year-old girl. Glancing down, the sight of my heavy erection pulsing above her small, lightly dusted pussy hit me hard. It was so sexy. She made me look huge. She looked so small, so cute and desirable, and the desire in me was an overwhelming force. Unable to stop myself, I moved my knees, lowered my body slightly and groaned when the tip of my erection kissed her small pussy.

Bianca's eyes opened, blue, intense blue greeting me. She smiled and glanced down then back up at me.

"Can I?" I asked, desire punishing me, body taut, arms trembling slightly.

Bianca nodded, her legs spreading, knees slowly rising. She reached down, fingertips from both hands gently taking my shaft and guiding it. She rubbed the tip of my crown up and down her slit. I added pressure and sexy labia plumped out before spreading to hug my crown in a moist kiss. Our timing was off, we were too new at this, unpractised. I pressed slightly at the wrong moment and my erection slipped down between her buttocks. Bianca started again, sliding the tip up and down her cleft, her labia slippery and oozing apart again.

This time our movements were coordinated and I was pressing at her entrance, poised to penetrate her.

Excitement thrummed through my body. Bianca smiled softy, almost shyly, when she felt my crown swell suddenly against her pussy. Tearing my eyes away from her face I studied her slender body, the almost virginal small white cotton bra coddling two little breasts, her flat stomach, the sensuous rise of her mons, and, inhaling sharply, the sight of my thick crown lodged against her pussy. Jesus I was huge!

Need and desire punished me. With tremors making my body shake, I pressed forward. It was exquisite. Bianca's labia stretched and oozed down my crown. My tip penetrated her to be greeted by an almost excruciating tight velvet hug. Dizziness struck making my arms shake. I couldn't hold myself up any longer, lowering myself carefully. Bianca felt so wonderful underneath me. Her arms welcomed me in a beautiful hug. My body pressed her to the bed.

"Am I too heavy?" I asked in a whisper, my cock aching. I fought the urge to thrust into her.

"No," she whispered in response, her arms hugging me to confirm her answer.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No. You'd never hurt me," she whispered, her hands slipping down my back. In a surprisingly mature move, they settled on my hips and tugged, encouraging me.

With a gentle thrust I pressed my rigid erection into her, eased back and thrust again and, in an exquisitely pleasurable move, hot velvet gripped my shaft as I sank into her, penetrating her fully. Her gorgeous pussy gripped me making me feel bigger, thicker. My cock swelled and ached making her feel even tighter. I felt my crown actually press to her end. Unbelievably I was buried in her, completely, fully. It was fantastic.

Closing my eyes, all my senses focused on where we were connected and the feel of Bianca underneath me. I held her shoulders. It only reinforced how petite she was and that aroused me powerfully. My erection flexed inside her. She squeezed gently in response spurring me into action. Pulling out, her pussy gripped my erection as if unwilling to let me go. I gave in, sinking back into her, thrusting back into heaven, her snug pussy wrapping my cock in moist, warm velvet. I repeated the move, her vagina caressing my shaft as I pulled out, wrapping silky warmth around me as I thrust in, the tip nudging against her end.

It was too good. It was wonderful, erotic, arousing, so damned sexy. Reaching down I cupped her sweet buttock and withdrew, thrust, and groaned with intense pleasure. Just like that I was fucking Bianca slowly, gently. But desire fuelled me. My strokes grew faster and harder as the need for release made its presence known. It started as tenseness in my body, thrusting, fucking into her incredible pussy. Heaviness arrived along with an urge for more. My thrusts became harder, more forceful. Bianca's body jerked under me from each thrust. Pleasure flooded through me and the desire to cum, to climax, to empty myself inside her became all consuming. Holding her tighter, my thrusts became shorter, more urgent, fucking her harder, harder. Pressure in my testicles arrived.

Bianca grunted, "Dio mio!" and her hips surged up fucking back at me. Fingernails raked down my back and her pussy clamped down on my cock almost painfully. Bianca was cumming! She took me over the top.

Holding her tightly, I fucked into her with short, hard, desperate strokes, her body jerking with each firm thrust. My erection grew impossibly hard, thicker, aching. That moment arrived - that moment when everything freezes for a microsecond, the cusp of ecstasy, cock swelling, an almost painful ache blossoming deep inside. One deep, hard thrust into her tight pussy and I tumbled over the edge, cock pulsing. Semen charged up and, with a deep grunt, I came inside her, a hard explosion of cum erupting, beautiful bliss washing over me. Another short thrust and an even bigger, harder pulse smashed into me. I came in a massive, painful, gut-tightening spurt, hot cum flooding her little pussy, ecstasy wracking my body. Bianca gasped as if she could feel me spurting, her thighs gripping my hips, her fingernails digging into my back. Holding her sweet buttock tightly, I let myself go and fucked her, cumming in short, exquisite pulses, emptying myself into her, fucking her, spurting, cumming, fucking her. I drowned in my orgasm, cumming beautifully, perfectly, completely.

It passed suddenly, a feeling of deflation, of loss, of regret arriving as my spurts weakened and stopped. Exhausted, drained, with intense satisfaction permeating me, I lay on top of Bianca with a melting body and a still thick penis lodged inside her now very slippery pussy. With a deep groan and a Herculean effort, I withdrew from her and slipped to her side, face down, my back cooling from drying sweat. It was hard to formulate thoughts.

Bianca eventually rolled into my side.

The next thing I knew Bianca was gently shoving my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see her smiling at me, gorgeous Egyptian blue eyes twinkling.

"Good. You're awake. Are you hungry?" she asked.

"No," I answered. I was still sleepy, drained, and needing to recover.

"Are you sure you're not hungry?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You don't want a sandwich? With ham and cheese?" she asked.

Her brightness made me smile. "Are you hungry, Bianca?"

"Only if you are."

"In that case, I'm not," I told her.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Aren't you hungry for some pasta alla carbonara?

With a laugh, I sat up. "Okay. Let's eat." Bianca was still wearing the plain white cotton bra. She leaned over to grab her panties from the floor and I followed her sweet, narrow little ass to the bathroom.

"Don't watch," she instructed me when she sat on the toilet. Not go away, but don't watch. Interesting.

Lunch was sandwiches - ham and cheese - eaten at almost three in the afternoon. Bianca seemed to be her usual self, eating with serious intent. She'd thrown on light grey sweat pants that were too long and rolled down at the waist, a matching T-shirt draping nicely, her feet bare. She might have been her usual self, but I wasn't. Not at all.

Now I was nervous. Now I was afraid. My mind was churning and working overtime. Now the threat to Bianca was intensely personal and it scared me. What the Hell was I supposed to do? How could I engineer Marco Lucchese's downfall? Killing him actually crossed my mind and, if the risk of arrest and losing Bianca wasn't there, I might have gone ahead and done it. But try as I might, I just couldn't figure out how to stop him.

Feeling frustrated, I informed Bianca I was going up to the turret room to do some research. She let me know she was going to watch television.

I'd discovered nothing by dinner, frustrating me further. The evening news was warning us of an impending storm swirling up from the south bringing gale force winds, heavy rain, and thunder and lightning. It was forecast to arrive late tomorrow, stay with us through the night and head north by midday Friday.

Bianca cuddled next to me and watched the same forecast, expressing excitement at the pending weather. By bedtime we'd settled into a comfortable fatigue, hugged and kissed gently with Bianca snuggling. She slept. I didn't. Not right away. Troubles still plagued me.

Chapter Nine

MARCO'S DISTRACTED MIND WAS brought to attention by the ringing of the front door bell. He walked down the wide marble-floored entrance hall, his heels making echoing clicks. He sipped coffee from a china cup as he walked. Who was calling so early?

Opening the front door he greeted the Carabinieri officer standing stiff and formal.

"Signore Lucchese, scusatemi per chiamare così presto, ma . . ."

Twenty minutes later Marco fumed, anger boiling up like liquid lava, acidic and painful. Aldo was dead! Aldo! So that's why he wasn't answering his cell. That's where he'd gone. Nice!

Marco snarled aloud. Aldo had been pulled from the Mediterranean outside Nice. The preliminary cause of death was strangulation, his lungs empty of saltwater. Marco slammed a fist down on the study desk. Fuck! That fucking Julian Blackmore! It had to be him! Anger and hatred shaded his thinking. Only one thing resonated through his brain; KILL HIM!

Grabbing the phone, he dialled from memory. His plan was clear, crystal clear. He'd rent a fast boat and run it from Italy to Nice. That way he could take some guns and Guido with him. He'd find Julian Blackmore and slaughter him, a full frontal assault, no hesitation. He could arrive from the sea and slip away afterwards leaving no trace of his visit. He could even take care of his niece, too. Yes. That was the answer. If he wanted it done right, he'd have to do it himself.

"Guido," he barked into the phone, "me trovare una barca. A very fast boat," he added in English. "We're taking a trip."

Automatically his mind turned to guns. He'd need to acquire some. He never kept any in the house. He'd need overwhelming firepower. A Lupo and a machine pistol with spare magazines should do.

Flipping a small leather phone book open, he found a telephone number and dialled, his mind reviewing his needs. He'd get the same arms for Guido.

His call was answered. His voice became smooth. "Alberto . . ."

Dark clouds scudded across the dull morning sky. The leading edge of the storm that had been forecast was now arriving. I stood staring up at the sky, hands leaning on the balcony wall. There was no question we were in for a violent storm. Below me waves rolled in to slap against the rock, the Riva rolling and banging against the rubber pier bumpers. Out in the Mediterranean white caps had formed.

We needed to shop for supplies so we could ride out the storm in cosy comfort. Bianca was excited. I wasn't. Darkness dampened my mood matching the dark grey sky above. Waking up with Bianca hadn't led to sex or frisky foreplay. I'd suffered from unexpected emotions, tenderness and affection. Both were strange feelings, not uncomfortable but unusual, new.

"Julian, I'm ready. Let's go," Bianca announced behind me.

I checked my watch. It had taken her thirty-five minutes to get ready. She smiled at me brightly when I turned away from the Mediterranean. Letting her lead the way to the garage, I studied her carefully. She was wearing the same short blue and yellow skirt she'd been wearing earlier. Her short-sleeved top, a matching yellow with lace trim around the neck looked the same, too.

The car doors thunked closed. Bianca buckled her seatbelt as I pressed the start button, a brief bellow from mufflers echoing loudly in the enclosed garage. Pressing a remote, the garage door responded and started to roll up.

Despite knowing better, I had to ask. "Bianca, what took you thirty-five minutes to get ready? You're wearing the same clothes."

"You don't like it?" she asked.

"Like what?" I thoughtlessly asked, immediately wishing I could take it back.

She actually pouted and went silent, arms crossed.

"Bianca?"

Nothing. Shit! Out of the corner of my eye I studied her while driving. No make-up, no jewellery. Maybe it was the shoes. "Nice shoes," I said.

"Idiota," she muttered, turning away from me.

Shit!

The conundrum persisted through grocery shopping, Bianca picking up items and tossing them into the cart without asking what I thought as she usually would. It distracted me from my doom and gloom, too. It forced me to study her very, very carefully.

Her face, even with the pout, was beautiful. Her skin was creamy and flawless. No earrings or studs. Her neck was slender. No necklace. The yellow top was loose, hinting at the small mounds her breasts made underneath. Short sleeves exposed very slender arms. No wrist bracelets or rings. The top was tucked into that short, short skirt that flirted with the possibility of a flash of panties if only the wind would cooperate. Her legs were long and slender ending in yellow ankle socks and blue canvas shoes.

Nothing. The mysteries of Egypt were easier to interpret.

As I tended to do when stymied, I started again from the top. Wavy blonde hair . . . That's it! She'd braided her hair into a complex French twist that started high on her head and hung down to her back leaving loose blonde tendrils to frame her face. That's what took so much time.

"Beautiful hair," I murmured, almost as if I was talking to myself.

Bianca ignored me but I noticed a spring return to her step. When looking away from me a small satisfied smile graced her lips. The items she picked off the shelves were placed in the cart, not tossed or dropped. I breathed a sigh of relief and felt stupid for the stress I'd experienced at her displeasure.

While Bianca refused to talk to me in the supermarket she drifted closer to me, not quite back into my personal space, but a thaw was in the air.

So was wind. The great God Aeolus looked down on me with favour when we left the supermarket, our arms full of grocery bags. The God of wind sent blustery breezes at us, a prelude to the oncoming storm. It swished Bianca's short skirt with teasing movements and, just before we reached the car a gust lifted the back of her skirt high revealing matching yellow panties underneath, sexy little things that immediately distracted me.

"Nice skirt," I observed as she wrestled with the bags so she could push the back of her skirt down. Her giggle was charming. The thaw was officially over.

With the weather deteriorating hour-by-hour - distant thunder and lightning promising a harsh storm - we watched television. At one point the satellite signal dissolved into snow. Wind howled outside the window. A clash of thunder shook the house. With a bowl of potato crisps and hot popcorn, cozy inside away from the storm, we switched to DVD movies, a marathon of Indiana Jones. I really enjoyed the first, commenting to Bianca how Raiders of the Lost Ark was the best movie ever. She calmly reminded me I had no memory so of course it was the best ever. It was the only movie I'd seen.

Dinner of boxed macaroni and cheese, the white cheddar one I'd bought when she'd had a cold, was delicious. Bianca utterly disagreed, commenting that it was quite disgusting and perhaps I should take some cooking lessons. We finished Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and started Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Now I'd seen two movies I let Bianca know that Raiders was the best movie I'd ever seen. She giggled.

Wind started rattling the windows, rain pelting the glass. Bianca's hand found mine and started toying with my fingers. She tugged my hand to get my attention.

"Let's go upstairs and cuddle," she said when I finally paid attention to her.

It was eight-fifteen. "You know we don't have to be in the bedroom to, um, cuddle, don't you?"

"We don't?" she asked in surprise. "Davvero? Anywhere at home?"

With a chuckle I explained that sex could happen anywhere as long as it wasn't in public view, at least not if you wanted to avoid being arrested. Bianca thought that was most interesting and proceeded to straddle my lap and distract me from the movie with a sweet kiss and twinkling blue eyes full of excitement.

She made a mistake of murmuring into the kiss when my hand reached under a short skirt to caress a sexy panty-clad bum, and just like that the movie and the storm were magically forgotten.

I developed a theory that there was a correlation between the intensity of Bianca's kiss and my hand on her panties. Her tongue seemed to become rather forceful when the tips of my fingers traced her arousing camel toe from behind, and more relaxed when I went back to fondling delectable, firm buttocks. It fascinated me so I tested my theory, teasing the outline of her cleft, appreciating her lively response, and caressed sweet little buttocks, enjoying her soft sigh into my mouth.

The impact of her kiss made my jeans uncomfortably tight. Bianca accidentally discovered it when she rubbed her pussy against my lap. Her breath snorted, the kiss ending. Her forehead dropped to my shoulder and, after another shuddering rub against the bulge of my erection, her hands reached down between us to wrestle with the button on my jeans, her intentions obvious. Things became slightly confusing.

My hands discovered loose elastic at her panty legs and slipped inside to brush against silky pubes and a warm pussy. Removing my hands I went for her waistband and reached inside her panties to grip both buttocks, exploring down to return to sparse, soft pubic hairs, discovering a moist, slippery cleft in the process that made my cock strain.

Bianca almost sighed when she finally managed to wrestle my erection out of my jeans. Suddenly she was writhing and contorting on me, her hands busy under her skirt. "Aiutami!" she exclaimed.

I helped. Her sexy yellow panties slipped down and off one leg and hung off one bent knee. Bianca was almost manic, reaching down to grab my erection, shuffling up my lap, lifting her skirt and pressing the tip of my crown through her cleft, her labia moist and slippery. I felt them parting sensually against me. With a groan, she found the spot and settled, her pussy pressing down on my rigid cock. She eased off, holding my shaft, and pressed down almost forcefully.

"Gently," I whispered.

Too late. With a deep but quiet moan, Bianca impaled herself on me, her moist pussy slipping down my shaft until the tip nudged to her cervix. My entire erection was gripped tightly. She clenched and, with a sigh of satisfaction, stopped moving.

It was a disorienting experience. My erection felt incredible ensconced inside her velvet vagina. Her forcefulness was a surprise. But she had more surprises in store. When I tried to lift her butt, a desire to fuck driving me, she refused.

"No, Julian. Not yet," she whispered heatedly against my shoulder. Then, dissatisfied, she rose up, lifting herself off my erection.

Confused, I waited to see what she was up to. Bianca kissed my mouth lightly, her eyes twinkling but her expression serious. She turned around, her back facing me, straddled my lap again and reached underneath to fish for my erection. I held her slender hips, too intrigued to do anything else. With some sexy wiggling, a little repositioning, and a quiet sigh of satisfaction, Bianca once again impaled herself on my erection, burying me deep, all the way, soft, sexy buttocks pressed to my groin. She clenched. I groaned.

"Molto meglio," she sighed, reaching for my hands. She guided one up over her top to cup her small breast, the other under her skirt to her naked pussy, and settled, leaning back against me. "This is nice," she commented.

Yes it was - very, very nice.

Bianca might have paid attention to Sean Connery and Harrison Ford on TV but I couldn't. Under one hand was a deliciously firm braless little breast. Under the other was an outrageously sexy little pussy stretched by my thick adult cock, her small clitoris exposed. I rubbed it gently. Bianca's pussy contacted. I rubbed her clit again, rewarded by another thrilling contraction, a tight, tight squeeze, my erection throbbing with excitement.

Sex began slowly, exquisitely. It started with Bianca contracting and relaxing her vagina, giving my cock an erotic massage. I caressed her unfettered breast over her T-shirt and gently rubbed her clit. Movement started with Bianca, a slight curl of her hips moving my erection an inch or so. My heart rate ticked up at the feel of my crown being caressed deeply inside her.

Bianca moaned quietly and sat upright. The move pressed my cock firmly against her cervix. I pulsed in appreciation. A contraction of her pussy and Bianca trembled. Her hands found my thighs as she leaned forward, her knees to either side of me. I rubbed her back lovingly and watched her head drop.

The movement was pure eroticism. Bianca started undulating her pussy back and forth, hips turning slightly. The effect was astonishingly arousing, the tip of my erection rubbing against her cervix. She undulated, emitting a whispered, "Sì," hunching back and forth slowly.

I held her narrow hips and let her move. She was lost in her own pleasure, humping back and forth slowly, letting out small sighs almost as murmurs or moans, almost silent. Gradually her undulations picked up pace, moving faster and faster. My erection was massaged by her silken grip, the entire erection from groin to tip ensconced in her heated pussy, the crown rubbing her cervix harder. She humped with growing urgency and, in an intensely erotic display, Bianca climaxed.

It was a stunning display of young bliss. Her hands gripped my thighs hard, her hips churning back and forth. She let a deep groan out, "Dio mio!" and jerked, hips thrust forward. She gasped and jerked again, pussy scrubbing back, hunching forward, and pausing. I felt her body pause and tremble for the briefest moment and suddenly all Hell broke loose. With vocal gasps, Bianca started scrubbing her pussy against my groin, my cock pressed hard against her cervix. She undulated fast and hard crying out softly, fucking my erection, humping me, fucking me until, with a straining last hard shove, she slowed, her body trembling. She melted back against me.

It was erotic, exciting, and way too arousing. Bianca had literally used me to bring herself off and it was so damned sexy. It was too much to take. Reaching round her waist with one arm, her chest with another, I struggled up, my erection still buried inside her. She was limp in my arms. Turning, I put her face down over the edge of the couch, her knees on the floor, my cock still firmly pressing into her.

Bent over the couch, yellow panties still hanging off one knee, I flipped her short skirt up to reveal a stupendously sexy ass, sweet little buttocks pressing to my groin, and just the base of my thick cock showing where I was penetrating her.

Prying her buttocks apart, I studied the sight; her small pussy stretched massively by my erection, labia stretched, sexy soft blonde pubes hiding nothing.

I withdrew partially and inhaled sharply at the sight of her vagina almost inverting as it clung to my glistening shaft. Reversing, I thrust in, her labia folding in, my tip knocking at her cervix. A quick caress of her sweet buttocks and I reached for her waist, held her firmly, and gave into the driving need punishing me. I started fucking Bianca, long strokes, glistening shaft emerging, plunging in, fucking into her, cock disappearing, her pussy tight but moist, slippery, velvety smooth. I fucked Bianca harder, thrusting in, her buttocks jiggling as they hit my groin. I fucked her harder, faster, need arriving, pressure building and, with an exquisite ache deep in my groin, I thrust into her small body firmly, paused, and, with exquisite joy, finally came.

Erection swelling, a wave of ecstasy slammed into me as I exploded inside her, my erection lodged to her cervix, semen erupting, bliss, bliss. Pulling back, I thrust into her hard, shoving her small body against the couch, and exploded, a bigger, almost agonizing spurt, hot cum flooding her immature womb. Desire and need punished me. Holding Bianca's narrow waist, I thrust and spurted, cum exploding, fucked her with short, desperate strokes cumming almost viciously, my gut clenching. I chased my orgasm, fucking her, spurting, fucking, cumming, sweet agony arriving. Dizziness followed as I emptied myself into her. I gasped with relief when my climax passed, slowing, stopping, my erection softening, Bianca's tight pussy flooded. In a slow move I collapsed over her back.

The sound of Indiana Jones riding a tank registered. Bianca moved underneath me.

"I need to go to the bathroom, Julian," she whispered.

Easing my flaccid penis out of her, I sat back on my heels. A gush of thick white semen ran from Bianca's flushed pussy and down her cleft before her hand covered herself. She stood and left the den quickly.

Five minutes later Bianca returned. She'd changed into her too long grey sweats and soft T-shirt, her hair still slightly messy, a rosy glow on her cheeks. Her shy smile was stunning. I knew what she was thinking. We'd just had sex, not made love, but pure sex, raw and selfish.

With a smile, I reached out a hand to her. Her smile of pleasure grew. Bianca danced across to the couch and threw herself down at my side, both her arms hugging my arm.

"That was amazing," I said, bending to kiss her head.

"Uh-huh." she reached for the remote and flipped back to the beginning of the film, snuggling into me.

MARCO LUCCHESE HELD ONTO the powerboat as it rode the increasingly large waves. Spray blasted back soaking his face, the oilskin keeping him dry. He glanced across at Guido, a short, heavy-set man with grey-flecked hair, as he wrestled the 45' Pantera through the seas, squinting ahead with concentration. Guido was a good man to have around. He was solid as a rock, capable and as amoral as Marco, and good with a gun.

"How much longer?" Marco yelled over the roar of the engines.

"One more hour. Perhaps an hour and a half. It's getting very rough," Guido yelled in response.

Marco checked his watch. It would get them to Blackmore's house by just after nine o'clock. The sky was already dark from cloud cover. It would be almost pitch black by then. Good. "Andiamo!" he yelled.

RELAXED, WE CONCENTRATED ON Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade from the beginning, my hand holding hers in intimate comfort. I was feeling lazy and very, very happy. More and more I was beginning to understand the depth of my affection for Bianca. I couldn't remember anyone else but I sensed my feelings for her were genuinely new, feelings I'd never experienced before.

But with them lurked the fear and anxiety I could no longer shake off. I didn't know what the future held and had no power to affect its course. That alone concerned me. I hugged Bianca to my side, a tight hug.

She glanced up at me. "What was that for?"

"It was a muscle spasm," I replied with a smile.

Bianca opened her mouth to deliver a retort and never made it. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a shadow in the window from outside, the leading edge of a Lupo immediately recognised. My reaction was instantaneous. Tightening my hug around Bianca I rolled both of us off the couch just as the Lupo roared, the window exploding, shattered glass showering us, the television exploding. The high-pitched buzz of a machine pistol cut through the noise of fierce winds and a roaring sea slamming against the rocks outside. Bullets traced a deadly arc across the top of the couch.

Bianca screamed.

My options were limited. I had no weapon so we needed to flee. Could I get into the study and open the gun safe? No. He, whoever he was, was shooting a machine pistol. It would have twenty to thirty-two rounds. Three seconds and the magazine would be empty. Five seconds to replace it. I had to wait for that five-second lull.

The buzz of bullets stopped. Without hesitation I grabbed Bianca around her waist and carried her, fear giving me even more strength. Dashing towards the den door I dived through just as the machine pistol whined with a fusillade of bullets, wood splinters raining down on us. Pulling Bianca to her feet, her blue eyes wide with fright and confusion, I led her running towards the front door, the drive representing escape, safety.

Opening the door, I slammed it shut and fell backwards dragging Bianca to the floor just another Lupo blew a hole in the door at chest height. Fuck! Two men!

Where now?

Scrambling on hands and knees, Bianca now whimpering in fear but following my lead, we turned the corner, standing up just as the front door burst open. Pulling Bianca roughly, I led her in a dash into the kitchen and to the back door, praying there were only two.

Standing back, I opened the back door. Nothing. Yanking Bianca's hand we charged out into the black storm, wind howling, rain driven almost horizontally to sting where it hit exposed skin.

Without hesitating I dragged Bianca towards the stone staircase leading to the pier below, the Riva our last chance of escape. Bianca stole my heart by pulling her hand from mine and making for the mooring ropes to untie them despite her fear.

One twist of a key as Bianca jumped into the boat and twin engines coughed into life. I didn't hesitate, shoving the throttles forward. The Riva leapt away from the pier just as the high-pitched whine of a machine pistol sounded making me duck and shoving Bianca's head down.

We pulled around a docked 45' blood-red Pantera and, with throttles opened, the Yanmar engines roared with rage and launched us into the maelstrom of a roiling sea.

The faint bark of a Lupo shotgun reached us. We were too far away. Glancing back my gut clenched. The Pantera was pulling away from the pier to give chase.

"Hang on!" I yelled at Bianca over the noise of the storm; a peal of thunder and roaring engines. We began a bone-shaking ride along the coast. I had an idea. It was a high-risk idea but the only one I could come up with. We'd head to Neptune's Mouth.

For fifteen minutes we suffered extraordinary punishment relentlessly pursued by the Pantera.

"It's Uncle Marco!" Bianca yelled at me, pointing back.

I nodded acknowledgement. Three more minutes and it would be over, one way or the other. The weather and sea conditions worsened.

A wall of spray hit as the Riva slammed into a six-foot swell, the Yanmar engines growling as if angered at the impertinence of nature resisting its octane-driven power. Wind howled in rage, driving rain almost horizontally across the angry sea. Lightning flashed, illuminating the wind-ravaged seas around us and briefly exposing feathery whitecaps as far as the eye could see. Rain punished exposed skin like angry wasps swarming and stinging in anger. The storm was so much more impressive, so much more majestic when away from the safety of the shore.

I glanced behind feeling both exhilarated and scared; the pure raw power of the Riva thrilling, the awesome fury of nature intimidating. A long white wake curved out behind us appearing almost fluorescent in the stroboscopic bolts of lightning. Three hundred yards behind us the twin-engine Pantera chased, crashing though the swells recklessly, growing closer as it threw up huge curtains of spray, relentlessly drawing us in. The dark outline of two men could be discerned through the driving rain.

Roaring engines, the sound of the Riva's carbon fibre hull smashing into waves, the howling wind, and another sonorus clash of thunder combined to drown out the sound of gunfire. Yet unmistakable bright flashes of automatic fire reached out towards us from the pursuing boat.

"Down," I yelled, pushing Bianca's head down. Even though they'd have to be the luckiest people on Earth to hit us, I wasn't taking any chances; I wasn't prepared to fail now. I refused to let Bianca down now. The Riva slammed into another swell with a bone-jarring force before charging up a large rogue wave to launch into clear air, engines screaming as propellers briefly lost traction with saltwater.

Unbelievably, Bianca grinned at me despite the fear in her incredible blue eyes, her head snapping down as the boat slammed back into the turbulent sea, blonde hair plastered to her face from saltwater and rain. She gripped the safety bar hard.

Despite the circumstances I smiled. Bianca's grin was a great grin, pure rebellious stubbornness, a refusal to give in. Given our circumstances, being chased with automatic gunfire flashing behind us, it was a completely odd reaction by anyone except Bianca. It made my heart sing with admiration and pride.

A bone-jarring slam into another swell made my teeth rattle. Eyes straining, I saw water churning and foaming ahead as the sea tore across the Marimot reef. It was all down to timing and luck now. Somewhere in that maelstrom ahead was a sixteen foot gap; Neptune's Mouth. To each side razor-sharp coral lurked angrily below the surface waiting to tear out the bottom of any boat stupid enough to try to cross it.

I aimed the Riva, mentally picturing what we'd explored only a few days ago in calm seas. I was going to thread the needle practically blind; something I didn't think I'd ever done at speed or in these conditions. Tendrils of fear gripped me, my gut churning. There was absolutely no room for error and our speed and the turbulent seas made it even riskier; almost foolhardy. Yet it was the only option. Without guns to fight back, we had run out of choices.

Ten seconds, no, eight seconds and we were going to hit that reef.

I lined up the charging Riva and leaned forward. "Ready?" I yelled at Bianca.

Holding on to the safely bar for dear life with one hand, Bianca reached up with her other hand to sweep wet hair from her eyes. She smiled, her head snapping down as we slammed into yet another deep trough before rising up the back of another wave. She yelled, "Sì! Andiamo!"

Determination steeled my resolve. My mind calmed. Everything gained clarity, motion slowed. With a grim smile I shoved the throttles full forward, a reckless act in these seas. Twin Yanmar engines howled in response, all seven hundred and sixty horses finally released. The perfectly milled manganese alloy propellers dug into saltwater with renewed enthusiasm and the Riva surged ahead like a purebred Arabian racehorse, shoving us back into the padded Captains chair.

Eight seconds later, despite my confidence, despite my trust in the Riva, and despite seeing a minuscule piece of slightly calmer seas, I felt my asshole pucker up as we blasted through the pencil-thin gap of Neptune's Mouth, razor sharp coral to either side. Jesus effing Christ!

Glancing behind through the rain, I watched as the pursuing speedboat followed unaware of the danger. It hit the reef launching spectacularly into the air. A massive fireball briefly turned dark into day outlining a torn hull twisting through the air, rolling and crashing into the violent, voracious sea.

Easing back on the throttles to stabilize the boat, we turned slowly to head back home. A burning piece of the Pantera thumped down onto the fore deck, bouncing off into the sea with a burst of sparks. Calm descended for the first time in what felt like forever. Even the raging wind seemed to take a breather to recover. It was over.

"Let's go home," I yelled.

Bianca smiled. "That was crazy! Are you hungry now, too? Do you like hamburgers? I do. Let's make hamburgers!"

I couldn't stop my grin. Relief made my shoulders light. Bianca made my heart sing. "Okay."

She smiled radiantly, perfect white teeth showing. "And fries, Julian! You'll love fries."

Morning arrived with Bianca flushing the toilet. A momentary flash of fear hit me before memories kicked in. She was safe, thank God. Marco was dead.

The covers moved. A warm young girl cuddled to my side. Peaceful sleep returned.

Sometime later I woke up feeling refreshed and energetic and horny. The horniness was explained by my hand groping a sexy bare butt. It was so sensual, perfect mounds rising with pert loveliness, skin silken and cool. Damn I loved Bianca's ass.

Sitting up, I eased the sheet down revealing her naked back, her spine, her lower back, and then the twin little dimples that sat above her sexy buttocks. Edging the cover down further revealed the beginning of her ass crack. A final tug and there it was.

Bianca had a gorgeous ass. It was narrow yet mounded sensually, her sweet little buttocks merging into the tops of her thighs with little creases. My erection strained at the sight.

Glancing at her face, her cheek pressed to the pillow, I saw the slight smile curling the corners of her mouth. She was awake. Bending, I kissed her cheek gently, a slow, light, lingering kiss that let me inhale her scent, all Bianca, unbelievably pleasing. I loved kissing her, too.

"How come you're so horny this morning?" I whispered even though I had no idea if she was. I was. "Never mind," I injected quickly, "I'll help you. Don't move."

A silent giggle shook her gorgeous ass.

Rising, I straddled her legs and caressed her slender back, working my hands down with growing excitement, my erection jutting out. I massaged her spine and earned a quiet moan of appreciation, her arms rising to slip under the pillow.

To tease myself I skipped her rump, caressing the sides on my way to her slim thighs. She moaned quietly when I deep massaged them. I ignored her. As I massaged, her thighs parted revealing a sexy, pouty little pussy, lightly dusted with silky blonde pubes, her labia parting and closing with each stroke of her thighs.

The very quiet moan was mine. Bending, I kissed each small buttock before resting my cheek on one, her skin silky and cool. Bianca flexed her bum under my cheek and it felt so damned good. I kissed one then, for no reason at all, sucked, applying steady pressure,

"What are you doing?" she murmured lazily.

Finishing, I admired the hickey, nice and red. "Nothing," I answered with a smile, hoping she didn't wear her bikini for a day or two. It might take some explaining.

Feeling almost worshipful, I placed my palms on each cheek and admired how my hands covered them. Bianca's ass was so damned compact and cute. I massaged, groaning when her anus winked at me, her cleft parted, labia spreading deep in her crotch to expose the nub of her clit.

Massaging both buttocks I studied the effect, her cleft opening, closing, opening, closing. She appeared to grow moister as I massaged. Precum leaked when my erection strained, a reaction to imagining penetrating that small pussy from behind. With a smile, I scooped up precum and gently spread it along her slit, easing my fingertip between silky labia. She was warm to the touch, smooth, and very arousing.

Bianca sighed. But, when my fingertip gently rubbed her clit, she clenched her buttocks, indents forming, and let out a light groan. My erection ached, rigid, desire flooding my body.

Shuffling up, my cock loomed over her ass. I pressed it along the sexy valley between her cheeks and physically shivered when considering just how deep into her I'd penetrated her before, how deep I was about to penetrate her again. Like this, my erection aligned, it seemed impossible that she could have taken me.

That same thought aroused me, too. A memory of her warm, tight pussy came to mind. Easing back slightly, with mounting excitement, I pressed the tip of my erection down between her buttocks, easing back until the head nestled to her cleft. With my erection pressing to her, I returned to massaging her buttocks. The effect was astounding. Cheeks opened and closed. But below, her pussy did the same, labia parting, closing, and parting. It felt like her cleft was nibbling my crown. Precum leaked with each pulse of excitement and the sight, man it was sexy. There was something powerfully arousing in seeing my thick, adult erection poised to penetrate such a cute ass.

Holding my shaft down with a thumb, I pressed to lodge myself at her slit and leaned over her. It added pressure. My lips kissed Bianca's soft cheek.

"You've got the sexiest ass I've ever seen," I whispered.

Bianca giggled softly. "I've got the only ass you've ever seen."

"See? I didn't lie."

Bianca laughed softly and pressed her bum back at me. It felt wonderful. I needed more. Rising, I gripped her buttocks and, with thumbs, pried her labia apart, pressing my erection at her, easing off, pressing, each aching throb leaking more precum.

Three things happened together. Bianca groaned. I moaned. And the crown of my erection oozed into her pussy, her labia stretching. I was in.

Holding the sides of her narrow ass I started, pressing, relaxing, pressing, each move making headway, my eyes locked on the sight of a thick erection slowly, slowly penetrating her deeper, disappearing into her stretched pussy. She was warm and moist and so, so snug, a velvet glove slowly inching down my shaft. Half way in, I changed position. I wanted more. I wanted to nuzzle and kiss, too.

Lying down on Bianca's back, her sweet bottom nestled beautifully into my groin. My lips found her earlobe and sucked earning a soft giggle. Holding her shoulders I thrust carefully, almost a roll of my hips on her incredible butt. It felt fantastic. Repeating it I gradually penetrated Bianca deeper and deeper until I couldn't go further.

"How's this feel?" I asked, nuzzling her neck.

"You're heavy. I like it."

Bianca arched her butt back at me. I slipped deeper and groaned. She did it again. I responded, withdrawing and pressing back in. Coordinated movement started, me withdrawing from her snug pussy and pressing back in just as she curled her butt back up at me. Reaching down, I worked my hand under her side and cupped her sexy little pussy, my finger finding and caressing her clit.

Our dance of love changed again, Bianca suddenly undulating, pressing her pussy against my hand as I withdrew, arching her ass back at me as I thrust, penetrating her snug pussy deeply. With her scent filling my nose and her quiet gasps singing to me, we made love gently, languidly at a slow pleasurable pace, two bodies undulating against each other, her sexy little bum pressed to my groin. We fucked gently, simply, no hurry, no desperation, both of us relaxed and finding intense pleasure in each other.

Bianca's pussy massaged my erection with a warm, welcoming, tight hug. She became slippery with our fluids, silken and arousing. Making love to Bianca was pure pleasure, her ass a perfect fit to my groin. And slowly, gradually, my orgasm stirred, waking up, cock straining and feeling thicker, stiffer, Bianca's pussy tighter, my balls heavier, pressure building.

My orgasm flowed towards me, not the disorienting storm I'd experienced before, but softer, more loving. Stroking Bianca's clit, I whispered, "I'm going to come," kissing her cheek, fucking gently.

Bianca's eyes closed. She moaned, a frown emerging as she fucked back at me gently. "Me, too," she whispered.

Together our pace gradually increased but not hurried, fucking, pleasure growing. My erection swelled and I arrived, pressure releasing, semen rushing up. "Oh God, Bianca," I groaned as cum spurted, a deep wave of bliss washing through me. Another exquisite wave hit, cum spurting in a beautiful explosion. Bianca gasped. Her pussy contracted. Her undulations lost rhythm as she came underneath me. Thrusting, I climaxed, semen spurting, bliss, Bianca's pussy contracting, milking me, cum spurting, cumming, cumming, soft ecstasy washing over me.

The end came slowly, a gradual fading of our climaxes. Bianca stilled, her breath panting softly. I stilled. The last of our orgasms played out, my cock flexing weakly with final contractions, Bianca's body trembling with occasional remnants of pleasure. I lay on top of her, my petite lover, such a perfect fit.

Bianca's hand came out from under the pillow. It found my forearm and held it in a surprisingly loving touch, a soft caress.

"I'm not going back, Julian," she said softly.

Epilogue - Thirteen Months Later

Checking the speed carefully and adjusting the helm, I glanced back behind the Riva. Bianca's hair had grown longer in the last year. It now streamed out behind her. She still insisted on white bikinis but was now, at almost fourteen years old, filling them out with slightly more mature lines, yet she remained a slender, willowy girl.

I watched her ride the single water-ski, holding the towrope handle with one hand, her other waving to me - the signal. She gave me a smile. I waved back, the sign that I was ready, all was set.

With an almost lazy move she leaned steeply to her left, the water-ski cutting sharply across the boat's wake as she picked up speed, her shoulder almost touching the sea. Riding hard out to port, she straightened and rode the waves. I checked the speed and path of the boat again. We were good. Looking back over my shoulder I watched concentration emerge on her pretty face, a familiar serious look, her eyes studying her path, judging, estimating.

She looked calm and in control, no wavering. I found myself holding my breath. The moment came.

Bianca finally gripped the towrope handle with both hands and, with fluid elegance, she leaned back and over to her right, her shoulder almost touching the water as her ski carved deep sending up a rooster tail. The cutback across the boat's wake gained jaw-dropping speed as she fought the pull of the boat, racing out to the starboard side. She'd judged it perfectly, rising to vertical just as her ski hit the wooden ski ramp.

Knees bent to absorb the impact, she raced up the ramp at an insane speed. I held my breath as Bianca launched off the top into clear air, torquing her body into a three-sixty twist, her ski whirling. She continued into a seven-twenty, her body plummeting towards the sea with startling speed. My gut clenched. I was sick with apprehension.

Suddenly Bianca straightened and got her ski under her just as she hit the water, knees bending sharply to take the impact and, for one brief second, I thought she'd nailed it. My smile of relief and pride never formed. Her ski wobbled and twisted and, in a massive spray of saltwater she fell, the towrope flying up into the air.

I slowed the Riva and turned, cutting the throttle to idle while reeling in the towrope. Safely stowed, I went to pick her up. Her big, big smile and glittering Egyptian blue eyes spoke of her excitement. I didn't smile.

"Did you see?" she exclaimed, treading water, the ski floating next to her. "I almost made it, Julian!"

"You're crazy, Bianca," I muttered, reaching out to take the ski. Dropping it in the boat, I reached out again and grabbed her wrist, hauling her out of the Mediterranean effortlessly. In a familiar move she un-stuck the bikini top from her still petite breasts and un-plastered her bikini bottoms eliminating a camel toe and wedgie before taking a towel to her straggly blonde hair.

I returned to the helm to get us moving, my heart still in my throat.

BIANCA DRIED HER HAIR and smiled. Julian was grumpy, again. He'd get that way whenever he thought she was in the slightest danger of hurting herself. She loved it.

"Why couldn't you have taken up knitting?" he muttered, thrusting twin throttles forward.

Bianca went tumbling back into the bench seat with a laugh as the Riva reared up and launched itself forward like an Arabian horse set free. Julian was such a boy. She knew he did it deliberately, too. His grumpiness was just one way he expressed his love for her. He was abnormally protective, not smothering, but watchful. Water-skiing was a good example. He really didn't like her jumps, really, really didn't like them, but no one else was allowed to pilot the boat. No one - no exceptions.

With her hair just damp, Bianca leaned back, her face turned up to the sun and let the warm summer wind wash over her, loving the smell of saltwater. She could see Julian's frown and she smiled.

In the last year she'd learned so much about him. After Uncle Marco's death Julian had insisted they return to Livorno, her home. She'd been furious at him, swearing never to speak to him again when she'd been taken by the child services agency. In anger, she'd gone mute, refusing to talk to the police or the social service workers.

Julian had surprised her. Somehow he'd arranged for a judge to appoint him her legal guardian, probably bribery, and two days later she was back with him. Try as she might she'd been unable to give him the cold shoulder when she'd seen him, running to him and throwing herself into his hug, his green eyes soft and smiling.

But the last year hadn't been without stress. First had come statements made to the police about the kidnapping and she'd had to carefully avoid talking about her relationship with Julian. Then the lawyers got involved as they tried to recover the money embezzled from her trust fund by Uncle Marco, and she'd been forced to make more statements, trying to remember what she'd said to the police and be consistent.

But worst of all was seven months ago. Bianca shivered at the memory. She couldn't remember ever being so scared, even when being kidnapped. They'd settled down back in Nice. Julian had found a private school for her that was walking distance from their house but he never let her walk alone, always taking her and picking her up - another sign of his protectiveness.

It was a Tuesday morning mid-December, the weather cool and blustery. His absence in bed woke her up. Julian, in red tartan boxers, was standing at the window looking out over the Mediterranean.

Wondering what was up she'd called out, "Julian?" and he'd turned.

Bianca had known immediately. It was in his eyes, a sadness she'd not seen before. Her throat had closed, tears welling. Julian's memory had returned.

It had been her deepest, most secret fear. She'd been terrified he'd remember and stop loving her. Maybe he had someone else, or loved someone else and, with his memory back, she'd lose him.

Sitting up in bed, she'd trembled and tears had welled. "You've remembered, haven't you?" she whispered, unable to stop looking at the sadness in his beautiful green eyes. He was sad for her. He was sad at how it would hurt her, his feelings changed. She could see it in him.

Her world slowly crumbled. It was the end, the worst day ever, ever. She couldn't stop her tears from tumbling silently, wet on her cheeks.

Julian had shocked her. He'd rushed over, wrapping her in his arms and, cradling her gently, rocked her. His leathery, musky scent had filled her senses, his hug warm. She hadn't heard him for the roaring in her ears, the utter sense of loss hurting so much. But slowly his voice broke through, begging her to tell him what happened, what was wrong?

She told him. His green eyes narrowed. He frowned and told her nothing could be further from the truth. He'd talked about remembering his younger brother, Charlie, the loss he felt and the acute guilt. When his brother had asked him to go out and play in the quarry, Julian had refused, telling his brother to bugger off. It was the last time he saw Charlie and his life was changed. His parents were torn apart, a mother drinking to forget, a father leaving. And if only . . . if only Julian had said okay so much would have been different.

He told her about how it affected him, how it had forced choices in his life - seeking independence and strength by joining the SAS, and a second career of redemption by retrieving lost children - and through it all his never-ending search for the truth about his younger brother.

And, just as importantly, Julian had said something he'd never said before. He told her he loved her, only her. Julian loved her!

Her tears had stopped but she'd clung to him, pulling him back onto the bed. Holding had become hugging. Snuggling had become small kisses, small caresses, and legs intertwining.

Bianca felt her need, a different need. She felt love and tenderness and care, and a need to feel Julian inside her, not sex but something different.

Boxers and bra and panties had been shucked while kissing, Bianca's need growing in intensity. She'd taken charge for the first time. It felt right. This time it was her pushing Julian onto his back. It was her rising to straddle his legs. And, with a shiver of arousal, it was her that gently reached for his thick erection, taking it gently in her hands.

She didn't know why, but it seemed the right thing to do, a demonstration of her love. Bending she kissed the tip. It flexed and jumped in her hands. Julian liked it! Bianca kissed it again followed by light kisses down his shaft. When she'd looked up at him his green eyes had been so intense, so focused on her, no smile but something else.

It looked like adoration and love and desire all wrapped up together and Bianca wanted to see that expression for ever. It sent chills through her, made her pulse race, and arousal hit her hard. Bending, her eyes looking up at him, she kissed the tip of his erection, her lips lingering and, slowly, very slowly, staring into his green eyes, she let her mouth open and lips slip down over his large crown, taking him into her mouth.

It jerked in her hands and swelled in her mouth. Julian exhaled loudly, his hands reaching out to brush her hair. She sucked and caressed with her tongue tasting something slippery, tasteless, Julian's precum.

"Bianca," he whispered, his hands urging her up.

Bianca knew she'd let him cum in her mouth, the thought strangely not disgusting. But deep in her belly she ached. Her pussy ached. She had that need to be filled, to take Julian inside her.

Rising, Bianca shuffled up and straddled his hips, settling down onto his shaft. A bolt of pleasure hit her when her clit rubbed against his thick erection. She humped gently and leaned forward over him. Julian didn't kiss her. His gentle hands drew her up and, lifting his head he kissed her breast, sucking a nipple gently. A spark of arousal washed over her, racing from her breast to her pussy. She clenched. Coolness between her legs told her how moist she was, how horny.

Julian kissed her other breast and sucked harder. Shudders hit her. Breaking away, Bianca sat upright, reaching down to lift his erection up as she rose to her knees. She stared into his green eyes as his crown slipped through her slit, across her clit making her shake, and finally nestled to her entrance.

Not one word had been spoken but volumes communicated. Her heart raced. She was so aroused, her areolae puffy, nipples sore. Julian's erection was so thick, so rigid, and she'd made it that way. With a slight wiggle, Bianca pressed her pussy down. The sensation was one she'd never get used to. It was like nothing else. The feeling of pressure and of slowly stretching almost to the point of pain, only to feel sudden relief and sudden fullness was fantastic.

She felt his progress, every millimetre. She felt his erection penetrate up into her, going deeper, deeper with small up and down motions until, with a sigh of pride, the tip of Julian's erection touched her deepest part, that part that ached so much for him.

She couldn't stop her hand from holding her stomach, his thick erection buried in her. Then, with one little hump bolts of pleasure washed through her, her clit pressing against his groin.

"Bianca," he whispered, his warm hands settling on her hips.

She let him guide her, moving back and forth, back and forth, pleasure radiating up, her heart beating faster. She changed the motion, rising off him, her insides feeling empty, pressing down, her pussy full again, so good. Knees tight to his hips, she rose and fell, rose and fell, caressing his erection with her pussy, loving him with it.

Her breasts grew sore and achy needing to be touched. Reaching to her hips she took his big hands and guided them up. Her moan sounded loud to her when he cupped them, her pussy rising, falling, rising, falling.

"Julian," she whispered, her eyes finally closing, waves of pleasure washing through her body, nipples stiff, breasts aching. He squeezed gently and Bianca gasped. It suddenly became too hard to sit up. Collapsing forward, Julian's arms collected her. She drowned in the intense smell of him.

He began to thrust up into her harder, firmly. His hand found her ass pushing her down as he thrust up into her. Disorientation started, the confusion of a climax and, just as the wave reared up to rush towards her, her heart racing, Julian cried out her name. His erection swelled impossibly thick and with a short thrust, wetness flooded her, Julian was cumming!

To the feeling of his pulsing, swelling erection, his thrusts, his hand pressing her ass down, and his slippery wetness spreading inside her, Bianca climaxed, her pussy contracting, stomach clenching, breasts hurting. She gasped, wave after wave of ecstasy washing through her body, Julian cumming in her. Eyes closed tightly, she found it hard to breathe, humping him, bliss, utter bliss, cumming, Julian. God, cumming!

Leaning back in the speeding boat, Bianca smiled. She'd been so scared that morning, but that orgasm had been the single most loving she'd ever experienced, not the hardest, not the wildest, but the most loving. A flush of affection hit her. Standing up, she worked her way over to Julian at the helm and wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her cheek on his back. Over the roar of the Riva's engines, she yelled, "Let's go home. I want to cuddle."

She grinned when his cute frown faded to be replaced with a small boyish smile. Her nipples responded, anticipation delicious.