A Week to be Wild

by JC Harroway

  ‘He’s invited me to a wedding.’ Her throat shrank, hot and achy, and her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I don’t think I can go, Son...’

  ‘Oh, Libbs.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘Have you told him why?’

  ‘No.’ It was too personal for a business associate. And that was the label she felt comfortable with. But weren’t they more than that? Their relationship was blurring around the edges... He’d said no more games...

  ‘Well, you don’t have to go—come home.’

  Home. But without seeing Sonya every day, would her New York life even feel like home?

  ‘Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s time to focus on you,’ said Sonya. ‘Callum would want you to be happy.’

  Libby nodded, although she knew Sonya couldn’t see. Her silence spoke of understanding without the need for words.

  What was happy? And where did she search for it? It had been so long since she’d considered the possibility she’d convinced herself that this—her job, her cat, her friends—were all she’d ever need. But life changed. She knew that better than anyone. Her best friend was moving on. They’d still be there for each other, but it wouldn’t be the same. She was truly happy for Sonya. But how could she stay the same when everything was shifting under her feet?

  ‘You’re right. I just don’t know how to do it.’

  ‘Libbs... Don’t overthink it. Go to France, drink champagne.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Have a glass for me.’

  Libby sniffed, smiling despite herself. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Will you be okay?’ Sonya’s voice dripped with concern.

  Libby injected her tone with a lightness she didn’t feel. ‘I’ll be fine. Thanks for being there.’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘Promise me you’ll rest?’

  ‘I will. Promise me you’ll try to do what I said?’

  ‘I will. Love you.’

  They ended the call.

  Libby sat staring at the twinkling lights of the city, her forgotten tea now as cold and unwelcoming as her tumble of thoughts.

  * * *

  Libby opened heavy eyelids, the splash of cold water on her foot startling her from a sun-warmed slumber. Alex stood at the foot of her sun lounger, rivulets of water caressing his tanned, muscular body, which was covered only in a pair of black swim shorts, their wet fabric clinging to his thighs and the bulge of his crotch.

  Libby licked dry lips. He was Adonis. Standing on the terrace of this fairy-tale eighteenth-century French château, complete with turrets, he looked as if he’d come from a movie set—or the pages of one of Vinnie’s beloved magazines.

  She smiled. Her outlandish assistant would pop something if he could see her now.

  ‘Come in. It’s warm.’

  Libby curled her toes, checking the reality beneath her feet. The whole day had held a surreal quality. A private jet ride from London to the south of France, a waiting car to drive them to this breathtaking château, a delicious brunch on the terrace where she’d met Isabel and Henri, the bride and groom, and now Alex—wet, practically naked—luring her to the pristine blue waters of the estate’s swimming pool.

  She took his outstretched hand, allowing herself to be pulled from her lounger and into his now familiar embrace. His wet body slid against hers, raising goosebumps, his searing kiss turning her from warm and sun-kissed to hot and achy.

  The château, owned by Jack and Isabel’s maternal grandfather, had fourteen bedrooms, half of which were occupied by the wedding party. Alex and Libby had sole occupancy of the sumptuous guest wing. She toyed with the notion of dragging him back there now, but perhaps a dip in the pool would cool both her body temperature and her libido.

  Libby pulled back from the kiss, walked to the edge of the pool and executed a perfect dive into the deep end. When she surfaced Alex was watching her from the side of the pool before diving in himself and surfacing at her side. His arms circled her waist as they trod water together.

  ‘Told you it was good.’

  He manoeuvred her to the side of the pool, holding her captive against the tiles while he finished the kiss, stealing her air and plunging her back into tantalising fantasy.

  No.

  Not again.

  She couldn’t risk her feelings. The pain wasn’t worth the gamble. Fortunately Alex lived on a different continent. Once she arrived back in New York, settled back into her safe, predictable life, these unsettled emotions would fade like her tan. Although without Sonya by her side life would be a little less predictable.

  She forced her mind to think about something else. Anything else. But with Alex’s lips on her throat and his erection pressed into her thigh beneath the waterline it took every scrap of her resolve.

  He provided the distraction. ‘Tell me something about yourself.’

  His fingers traced patterns at her waist. She almost wished she’d worn a one-piece instead of a bikini.

  Libby held his stare, focussing on the amber flecks in his irises until her own eyes burned, infected by the heat spreading from her throat.

  Tired of her own games, and the exhausting jumble of her feelings, she blurted out her first thought. ‘I grew up in New Jersey, just me and my mom.’

  He lifted his chin, encouraging.

  ‘All this...’ she glanced around the opulence of the château’s manicured gardens and pristine pool ‘...is completely alien to me.’

  His smile dropped and he pressed his mouth to hers.

  She twisted away from the sublime slide of his lips, irritation buzzing beneath her skin. ‘I don’t need your pity. I’ve made good for myself.’

  His eyes hardened. ‘I don’t pity you.’ Another kiss, harder than the last. ‘I admire you.’

  Warmth spread through her limbs. She didn’t need his praise, but it was nice all the same. They kissed again. Libby was uncertain who’d initiated it. It didn’t matter. The effect was the same—her mind grew fuzzy, her limbs liquefied and she curled her legs around his hips, deepening their kiss and pressing him between her legs, where she wanted him.

  Would she even care if someone saw them? With the warm sun on her back and a wet Alex to explore?

  He pulled back, eyes hooded. ‘I want to see you again—beyond this week.’ He pressed her against the side of the pool, as if he guessed his admission would make her want to flee.

  She unlocked her crossed ankles, sliding down his body. ‘I...’

  An image slammed into her mind, as clear as the crystal blue waters of the Mediterranean—Alex, more dates like this, more adventures, a shared life... Her breath caught, her mind flicking a switch to close down the slug of yearning.

  She pushed at his shoulders, trying and failing to create some distance. ‘I live in New York.’

  He didn’t give an inch, his body a wall of solid warmth before her.

  ‘So? My mother is French, my father English.’

  He spoke with that sultry drawl, tempting her, as if her reasoning had no effect on his argument, as if the benefits were obvious.

  He nuzzled her neck again, his lips seductive. ‘You forget I have a plane. New York’s not that far away.’

  For a second her head lolled back as Alex’s kiss found the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. Ignoring the flood of heat to her erogenous zones, she focussed on the prickle under her skin.

  ‘Alex... This is just temporary. Just fucking, remember?’ She cringed, the words she’d uttered scalding her vocal cords.

  His lips ceased their meandering. Libby wished she’d kept her mouth shut as prickles of unease doused the pleasurable heat.

  He leaned away to glare at her, their bodies separating an inch and allowing a rush of cool water between them.

  ‘And if I want more?’ Eyes hard, the jut of his chin determined—this was the formidable businessman others saw. The driven man
used to making things happen just the way he wanted them.

  She shook her head. She couldn’t give him more. Sometimes you didn’t get what you wanted. Sometimes it was snatched away, no matter how hard you clung.

  He clenched his jaw, eyes searing. ‘What do you want, Olivia?’

  For once she had no answer to the now familiar question that had become a mantra for them—a prelude to their game. Wanting him sexually? Easy. Discovering inconsequential facts about his life? Fun. But more than that...?

  She considered herself incapable of more. And not with a man like Alex—wealthy enough to pursue dangerous pastimes, driven to recklessness through never having to accept that something was off-limits, an adrenaline junkie who grasped life with both hands...

  Not exactly like Callum, but close enough to amplify the chills set off by this turn in the conversation and the increasing physical distance between them.

  Had the moment arrived? Was it time to give it to him straight? She’d always been honest with him.

  ‘I want to do a good job for you. I hope I’ve done that.’

  ‘You have.’

  He sensed the brush-off. That was evident in the minute muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.

  Libby covered his mouth with her fingers. She couldn’t leave him with any doubt.

  ‘I need to get home, to sort out my business.’

  Coward.

  ‘Sonya wants out of the company so she can be at home with her baby. I need to find someone to replace her—work out if I can afford to buy her out or if I’ll need a new partner.’

  New shivers came, and the taste of acid, an ache under her ribs.

  He shrank against her thigh, easing his body completely away from hers. Her fingers flexed, desperate to pull him back. But she couldn’t lead him on. Couldn’t let him think there was any future for them beyond this week, no matter how tantalising the prospect.

  ‘That’s all I can think about right now.’ All she’d allow herself to think about. ‘I’m sorry.’ She pressed a brief kiss on his mouth, swallowing back a knot of emotion. ‘This has been fun. An adventure I didn’t expect. Thank you.’

  His eyes narrowed, determination sparking in their depths. ‘So let me be clear. You’re ending this? You have no interest in seeing me beyond this weekend?’

  Yes.

  No.

  I can’t.

  Alex’s phone trilled from the terrace, saving her from answering. She recoiled, shrinking inside. He gave her a hard stare as he moved away, the chill he left behind spreading to the pit of her stomach.

  Then he surprised her by returning just as quickly, clasping her chin in his hand and lifting her face so their eyes aligned.

  ‘I need to get that.’ His sigh gusted over her forehead as he pressed a final kiss there. ‘But this conversation isn’t over.’

  Sprinting across the width of the pool, he hauled his body from the water and in two strides reached the table where they’d left their cell phones.

  The final look he’d shot her told Libby he meant what he said. Of course he wouldn’t give in without a fight—he was a cut-throat businessman, used to getting his own way. Something she admired—a massive part of his appeal, despite her little game of power play.

  Libby harnessed her restlessness and the dull ache taking residence in her gut, sinking beneath the water and executing a few invigorating lengths of breaststroke. Perhaps the activity would dispel the hollow space where her vital organs should be. Because if her decision was so right, why did unease hound her every stroke?

  Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut for once? Glossed over his proposition, laughed it off, sidestepped the debate with the distraction of their pretty constant need to connect physically? No. The sexual game had been fun—a way to control the inferno of their chemistry—but she wouldn’t toy with him.

  She sank to the bottom of the shallow end, hoping the sun-dappled water would calm her conflicted mind. Why was there even any debate? It shouldn’t matter what Alex wanted. If he’d broken the rules, developed feelings, she’d been honest from the start.

  Honest with herself?

  No.

  It was crazy. In a few short days he couldn’t be anything more to her than a holiday fling. Clearly Sonya’s declaration had upset her equilibrium. Or the sun, the astounding sex and the glamour of Alex’s wealthy lifestyle had forced unrealistic fantasies into her head. Back in New York, with real-life issues, she’d find her balance, gain perspective and a firm hold on her emotions. Right?

  When she surfaced, her eyes zeroed in on the object of her discord and a sigh escaped her. The itch beneath her skin intensified. He ended his call, striding back towards her with his confident swagger firmly in place. If she’d dented his ego with her less than enthusiastic brush-off, it didn’t show.

  He reached for her hands, hauling her from the pool when she complied. ‘Maman has arrived. Want to say hello?’

  No. She wanted to run away, pretend she’d never met him, try to forget the way he made her feel.

  ‘Sure.’

  She snagged a towel from the lounger and wrapped it sarong-style around her body. She’d been gifted a reprieve, but the surge of relief failed to materialise.

  ‘Good.’

  He reached for his own towel, looping it around his neck and collecting his phone and sunglasses from the table. With his hand clasping hers, he led them back to the pool house.

  ‘And Olivia?’ He gripped her around the waist, his arm a steel band. ‘Don’t for one second think we won’t revisit that discussion.’

  His mouth covered hers, demanding, hot, so easy to yield to. He pulled back, leaving Libby craving more.

  ‘I won’t bend on this particular negotiation. I want you.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘OLIVIA, I’D LIKE to introduce Marie—my mother.’

  Alex slipped his hand to the small of Libby’s back, as powerless to stop touching her as he was to dragging his eyes from the swathe of red silk that sheathed her sun-kissed body.

  She’d left her hair down, just how he liked it. How she knew he liked it because he’d revealed as much. His fingertips tingled and his balls tightened. Her hair did things to him. Dark things.

  Fuck, all of her did things to him.

  ‘Maman, Olivia is from New York. This is her first visit to France.’

  Olivia shook hands with his mother, who, being a French native, insisted on kissing both her cheeks in that European way. Libby engaged his mother in talk of the sights of the local area and the history of the château while he indulged in his favourite pastime—observing Olivia.

  She was holding something back. He felt it. When he’d said he wanted to see her again her pupils had dilated the way they did when he pushed inside her, their gazes locked.

  Her hand in his clung, her fingers frequently slipping to entwine between his, squeezing. When she looked at him she flicked her hair over one shoulder, tilting her head to expose the pale column of her neck. Hiding her unconscious reactions from him was as pointless as her affirmation they were just fucking.

  His ability to read people formed a major part of his success. And he read Olivia like a screen full of computer code. She wanted more too. Now he just had to convince her to admit it to herself.

  He stroked the place between her bare shoulder blades, eliciting a thrill of goosebumps he soothed with his thumb. Her careful evasion should have pissed him off. She’d dressed it up for the sake of his ego, but he’d heard the message loud and clear. And yet gut instinct told him her rejection concealed something else.

  Part of him didn’t blame her for slamming on the brakes. They’d known each other only a matter of days and long-distance relationships were fraught with extra complications. But something visceral had shifted inside him. The thought of never seeing her again after the weekend left his skin c
rawling with impatience and his fists uncharacteristically punchy. And damn if he didn’t want every part of her—complete surrender. Her fearlessness and her insecurities. Her sharp mind and her sharper tongue. Her deepest desires and her greatest fears.

  His shoulders tensed, impotence like a block of ice in his chest. He’d indulged her. Conceded too much without pushback. Could he make her see? Draw out what she held back until she admitted what he instinctively knew was there?

  He knew one thing for sure—one thing he’d promised her at the pool house. He wouldn’t stand by and watch her walk away. Not without a fight.

  He tuned back in to the conversation.

  ‘...and, of course, if she were alive she’d have loved this family wedding.’ Marie clutched her throat, her eyes turning glassy.

  Oh, no. Please let that be water in Marie’s glass. The last thing he needed was a scene tonight.

  ‘Maman, it’s okay.’ He touched Marie’s arm, hoping to soothe away the demons his cousin’s wedding had triggered. At least he’d told Libby about Jenny.

  His mother turned on him, her watery stare blazing. ‘Is it, Zander? You never want to talk about her. She was your sister.’

  Fuck. He’d guessed this weekend might be a flashpoint for Marie’s grief—Isabel and Jenny so alike in looks. His eyes scanned the terrace for Clive. He’d need help if he was going to survive this family dinner without a full-blown Gallic scene.

  ‘I know that,’ he said.

  Fuck, must she always remind him of his sibling shortcomings? As if he didn’t relive them every time he thought of his sister. He clenched his jaw and flicked apologetic eyes at Libby, whose own stare had narrowed on him.

  Marie seemed to gather herself, and his shoulders relaxed.

  ‘Excuse me, my dear. I’m going to find my husband. It was lovely to meet you.’

  Marie touched Libby’s arm, shot a hurt look in his direction and turned on her heel, all injured elegance.

  Fuck, now he’d upset his mother. He’d hunt her out later. He had a proposition for her—a role at Able-Active that would hopefully give her renewed focus.

  ‘Was that really necessary?’ said Libby.