by Julia James
His hands fell away from her and she swayed in their absence. Blood was pounding in her ears and racing in her veins. She was dazed.
He gave that harsh, humourless laugh again. ‘Tell me to go.’ His voice had changed; his stance had changed. The darkness in his eyes had changed. ‘Or tell me to stay...’
She could not move, could not speak. She could only stand there, knowing with a kind of fatal awareness that desire had leapt in her body as a kindled flame. That she could feel her breasts filling, peaking, heat flushing up inside her. They were all but declaring her answer to him.
His expression had changed, too, and what was in it now made Talia feel faint again, weak. She could not drag her eyes from him, could not move. She heard him speak again through the blood soaring in her veins.
‘You see...’ he said softly, and a taunt was there in his voice. But it was not directed at her, she knew, but at himself. ‘You see how much protection from you I need.’
He reached a hand towards her as she stood there, so faint, so motionless. He drew one long finger down the length of her cheek, then let it fall away. It was the same casual gesture he had made when he had first touched her on that fateful evening.
She saw his eyes half close, long lashes dipping. She saw the planes of his face, the roughened edge of his jaw, the strong column of his throat, the sable feathering of his hair. She caught again his scent in her nostrils and felt weakness drain through her. This was insanity...madness. It could only be that, surely, after all that had passed between them? To let this happen all over again?
‘I want you. I want you as much as I ever did from that very first moment I set eyes on you. It’s that simple, Talia. So very, very simple.’
His mouth lowered to hers again, but this was no demanding kiss, no leap of hot, instant passion. This was slow and sensual and quite, quite deliberate, and it was meant to make her yield to him, to make it impossible for her to hear what every ounce of fading sense was telling her: that this was madness and insanity and she should put a stop to it immediately.
How could she resist? How could she pull away from that honeyed feathering of her lips by his? From the continued arousal of her senses and the blood pounding in her ears? She revelled in the deepening of his kiss as he opened her mouth to him, to taste the sweetness within...
She felt his hands splay around her waist, drawing her pliant form towards the strong pillar of his body. She felt the edges of her robe brush the smooth fabric of his tuxedo jacket, felt the delicate peaks of her breasts unfurl at the frisson, felt her blood bubble and fizz, her desire thicken. Of their own volition her hands lifted to his torso, sliding inside his jacket, feeling, with a leap of her senses, the hard-muscled wall of his chest beneath her fingers.
Her kiss intensified with his and she felt him quicken, the hands at her waist moulding her against him so that her hips were crushed against his. With a smothered gasp, though it should have come as no surprise, she realised his arousal was full and strong. It fed hers—sent heat flushing her core, sent her fingertips into spasm, as her mouth feasted on his and his on hers.
She moaned low in her throat and it was like a match to dry tinder.
He swept her up into his arms, strode to the bed, and lowered her down upon it. He shed his jacket, impatience in every gesture.
She lay there, her blood pounding and leaping in her veins. Desire surged in her limbs, flooding her in hot, hungry urgency. Oh, this was madness, insanity, but she didn’t care. Could not care. She could only reach up her arms with a low laugh of delight, of wonder and glory.
This was happening. He was here again—with her—and he was all she wanted.
All she could ever want.
Everything else in the world fell away from her.
There was only Luke. Only his possession of her.
Only that...
* * *
The dim light of dawn was filtering through the louvered shutters. Luke lay, sated, with Talia’s soft, silken body in his arms. Idly, he curled a lock of her lush hair around his finger. She was half asleep, her rounded breasts crushed against his chest, her legs tangled with his. Warmth enfolded them both.
At some point in the night he’d turned off the air-conditioning, turned off the light over the dressing table, and let the warm tropical night embrace them as they lay in the wide bed.
A sense of rightness filled him. It was right that he had yielded, after all, to what he had been fighting so desperately, so uselessly...
He’d known it the instant she’d stormed away from him in the hotel restaurant. He’d known there was only one thing he wanted—only one thing he could do. And it was what he had wanted from the moment she’d walked into his office in Switzerland—what he had been denying himself.
He’d tried to steel himself against her by any means he could—he’d spoken to her harshly, treated her so distantly, so critically, and he’d tried for indifference with every ounce of his willpower. But his need for her had only grown, and he’d been able to maintain that impossible effort no longer.
He’d had to yield to what he had had wanted every minute of the day and the night.
To possess her again. To make her his once more.
After the night they had spent together, the passion that had blazed between them, there was nothing else but what was between them. His finger released the silken tendril and drifted to the silk of her skin instead. He grazed it lightly along the line of her shoulder and felt her quiver at his touch, even in her drowsing. He bent his head, brushing her mouth with his, arousing her...
He wanted her again.
How long he would want her, now that he had her here with him, he did not know. Perhaps he would tire of her eventually. But he would not think about that. One thing he did know was that this time she would not be leaving him. He would make it impossible for her to want to do so. Not this time.
She had rejected him once but she would not do so again. While he desired her she would crave him—he would make very, very sure of that.
His hand smoothed over her flank, then her thigh, and eased inwards into the vee of her body...her quickening body... He heard her moan and gave a soft laugh, letting his fingers go where her slackening thighs told him she wanted them to go.
He heard her moan again and felt his own desire mount and harden. His body moved over hers, possessing her once more.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TALIA SIGHED LANGUOROUSLY and gave a rueful laugh. ‘I feel so guilty! I really should be getting on with my designs!’
Luke reached for her hand. ‘There’s no rush,’ he said lazily. ‘I haven’t even bought the site yet.’
Talia turned her head towards him. They were both relaxing on padded sun loungers, set beside the turquoise swimming pool beneath the shade of a wide parasol which protected them against the heat of the afternoon sun beating down on the lush gardens.
‘You are going to buy it, though, aren’t you?’
Was there urging in her tone? Whatever it was that had called to her in that sad, ruined place, she knew that she wanted it to be saved and restored, that it was important to bring it back to life again.
Luke squinted at her. ‘Do you want me to?’ he asked in the same lazy voice.
‘Oh, yes!’ she answered. ‘It could be made so beautiful again!’
He nodded in assent. ‘For a great deal of money, yes...’ he agreed dryly. ‘At the moment I’m still haggling over the price.’ His tone sharpened slightly. ‘The site owners are thinking I’m a rich foreign investor they can fleece for their own profit. That,’ he said, and now there was a grim note in his voice, ‘is their mistake.’
Talia glanced at him. It was unnerving to hear that change of tone, the hard, cold edge to it, and it sent a flicker of unease through her. She banished it, her expression softening. The Luke who had been so cold, so cruel and distant, had gon
e. He had vanished utterly and now—oh, now he was the man she remembered...the warm, passionate man who had swept her into his arms, showering her with kisses.
And, bliss beyond bliss, there was nothing to part them. She was here, with him, just as they’d dreamed of being—here in the sun-drenched Caribbean, in a tropical idyll to embrace them both. Before, it had been impossible—but now they could be together.
She felt emotion melt within her like warm honey and squeezed Luke’s hand that was holding hers, just for the joy of knowing they lay hand in hand. He answered her gesture, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing it softly, his eyes entwining with hers.
‘I think we’ve had enough of the great outdoors for now, don’t you?’
There was a husk in his voice, one that she was now thrillingly familiar with, and a speaking look in his dark, expressive eyes. He let his lips play over her hand, deliberately and sensuously exploring the tips of her fingers, softly biting at the mound of Venus below her thumb, brushing the delicate skin over her wrist.
She felt arousal beckon, her blood quicken, and her eyes clung to his. ‘What did you have in mind?’ she asked, her voice a soft tease.
He answered with a low laugh. ‘Come inside and find out,’ he challenged.
As he spoke, he swung his bare legs round and drew her upright. He slid a hand warm from the sun around her slender waist.
‘If the staff weren’t around you could find out right here,’ he taunted. His hand slid from her waist over her rounded bottom, shaping it lazily. His eyes glinted. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘we go shopping. This one-piece suit has got to go—I want you in a bikini. Or in nothing at all.’
His voice was a growl of arousal now and Talia laughed, her eyes never leaving him. She ran a finger along the waistline of his trunks, letting it slip a little within, and laughed again at the sudden flexing of his muscles at her touch.
‘That goes for me, too,’ she answered. ‘These trunks conceal far, far too much.’
Daringly, she started to ease her hand downwards—only for his lightning-fast grip to stay her.
‘Don’t!’ he said, his voice dangerously taut.
It gave Talia a thrill of pleasure to know how very near to the edge of his control he was. Then, with a gasp, she was being hefted up into his arms.
He laughed in triumph and possession. ‘Time to get you upstairs!’ he exclaimed. ‘Before I throw caution to the wind and ravish you here on the sun loungers!’
She snaked her arms around his neck, glorying in the strength of his body. ‘Take me, I’m yours!’ she cried with mock melodrama, laughing in return.
He strode indoors, carrying her as if she were a featherweight, sweeping her upstairs to take her and make her his—all his.
* * *
Luke leant forward against the deck railing on the yacht, gazing across to the shore.
Beside him, Talia gave a sigh of pleasurable appreciation. ‘This is so gorgeous,’ she breathed.
Luke laughed. ‘It’s a bit of a cliché, a sunset cruise, but definitely worth it!’
There was a soft footstep behind him and he turned. The steward was coming up to them, bearing a tray that held an ice bucket in which a bottle of champagne was nestling and two flutes. He set the tray down on a table near them, and the ice bucket in a stand, then took himself off. Luke reached for the champagne bottle and with a deft hand opened it, filled the flutes.
The rich light from the setting sun bathed them as the stately yacht creamed across the cobalt waters, and the distant shore was emerald-green and thick with vegetation. She gave another sigh of pleasure. Of radiant joy. How wonderful this was!
And all because of Luke.
She smiled now, taking the flute he was handing her, drinking him in. He was looking lean and relaxed, in an open-necked pale blue shirt, cuffs turned back, and tan chinos with deck shoes. He was elegant and absolutely edible.
She felt her stomach curl, knowing how much she wanted him, how much she needed him, how much she wished she could stay with him for ever.
A tiny flicker of uncertainty plucked at her. It had been nearly a week since they’d arrived on the island—nearly a week since Luke had claimed her for his own again. It had been the most blissful week in her entire life. But into her head came an echo of what he’d said to her back in his office in Lucerne, that day she’d had to seek him out and beg him for forbearance on evicting them straight away.
He wanted her to be here in the Caribbean for a fortnight. But what then? She didn’t know. Could only hope. Hope against hope that being with her was as wonderful for him as being with him was to her. That with nothing to keep them apart now they could stay together...
She felt a longing surge within her—a longing never to be without him. Did he feel it, too? Did he want her in his life as she wanted him? She could only hope—hope with all her being.
‘We need to celebrate.’ Luke was raising his champagne flute.
Talia looked at him questioningly. He nodded across to the shoreline they were gliding past, and as they rounded a small cape a beach opened up before them, a crescent of silver sand littered with fallen palms, and at the far end were the wrecked remains of the building she had last seen from the land.
‘Oh, it’s the hotel site!’ she exclaimed. ‘There it is!’
‘Indeed it is,’ Luke said beside her. He raised his flute to hers. ‘And now,’ he said, and there was open satisfaction in his voice, ‘it is my hotel site!’
She whipped her head round, her face lighting up. ‘Oh, Luke, that’s wonderful! You’ve actually bought it!’
‘I drove a hard bargain,’ he said, ‘but, yes, it’s mine now.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Are you glad?’
‘Yes! I’m so, so pleased! It needed rescuing!’
He gave a laugh. ‘You sound very sentimental about it.’
‘And why not?’ she countered. ‘If you hadn’t bought it what would have happened to it?’
‘It would have been demolished, probably. Or left to rot totally.’
‘Oh, that’s awful. It deserves much better.’
He was silent a moment. Then, ‘Yes, it does.’
There was something in his voice she hadn’t heard before, and she looked at him curiously.
Then, abruptly, he clinked his glass against hers. ‘So, drink up. Celebrate my latest acquisition.’ His long lashes dropped over his dark, expressive eyes. ‘It’s almost as good as the first one I made earlier this week.’
She looked at him, not understanding.
He dipped his head and kissed her in a leisurely fashion. ‘You’ve been a wonderful acquisition,’ he said softly.
She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Is that what I am?’ she asked. There was something in her voice and she wasn’t sure what it was, knew only that she didn’t want it to be there. Her eyes searched his but he was simply smiling down at her, appreciation in his open gaze.
‘Drink up,’ he said again, in a low voice. ‘There’s plenty more in the bottle. They’ll be serving our sunset supper at any moment.’ His voice changed, grew husky. ‘And after that I have every intention of testing out the bed in the stateroom down below.’
And he kissed her again, in that leisurely, casually possessive fashion...
* * *
It was good to kiss her. So very good to feel that velvet mouth of hers open to his, to taste its sweetness, savour its honey. To arouse the passion that came as he deepened his kiss.
But not right now. That was for later. For now he drew back, taking another draught of champagne, gazing out in a proprietorial fashion over the property he’d signed the purchase contract for that afternoon. For now he wanted to savour the moment. He wanted to savour everything.
He had bought the ruined hotel at the price he had wanted to pay—not the one that had been anticipated from him. It had been a fair pric
e—but a keen one. Restoration would be expensive, as he had told Talia, and it would be years before he would see payback on the investment. But it would be worth it—and not just from a financial point of view.
His gaze went across the water to the lush shoreline. Why had it called to him so much, that derelict building battered into ruin by Nature’s formidable, pitiless forces?
But he didn’t really have to ask why. He knew.
As he gazed across the water another shoreline came into his mind—one that was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. One that he had seen countless times from his boyhood dinghy, tacking back and forth across the bay. Finally tiring, or driven by hunger—or both—he’d head downwind to beach his craft on the sandy shore, where he would haul it out of the water and then lope back to the low-rise century-old building that had been his home. His parents’ home. His grandparents’ before them, and another generation before them, as well.
Villa Xenakis, which had become the Hotel Xenakis, was lovingly transformed by his parents into a small but gracious beachside hotel, filled with carefully garnered antiquities and family heirlooms.
It had been a bijou hotel, just right for the discerning traveller wending his way through the myriad islands of the Aegean, filled with charm, character, and heritage. There had been arched doorways set into thick walls, paved terraces edged with huge ceramic pithoi, tumbling with vibrant flowers—scarlet and white geraniums, crimson and yellow bougainvillea, glossy-leaved miniature olive trees.
Little stone fountains had cooled the air...shady pergolas had been wound all about with honeysuckle and jasmine. There had been the endless chirruping of cicadas and by day it had been hot, but then had come the starlit nights, the soft lapping of the sea by the water’s edge...
He blinked and the view was gone. Reduced to ruins.
His face shadowed. Nature had struck with all its callous fury, just like the hurricane that had destroyed the hotel he had purchased. But it had been no wind that had destroyed his precious sanctuary. No, it had been an earthquake that had shaken his parents’ hotel to its foundations, collapsing half the roof and the ceilings, shattering walls, turning the kitchens to rubble and the graceful archways to a heap of broken stone.