It's in His Kiss Contemporary Romance Box Set

by Rosalind James

  “You’re bath is ready, ma’am. If you would care for a massage afterward, I’ll arrange it,” the maid told Charlotte. Her hand swept toward a deep, round tub fashioned from an enormous block of honed granite. She had filled it with a mixture of scented salts and fragrant oils, and the petals of orchids and hibiscus flowers floated on the water’s surface.

  “Thank you, no massage. I’m feeling a little achy and beaten up right now,” Charlotte said, and as she began to undress, she turned to find Bly watching her with concern. “I could use some privacy… to undress, I mean… have you seen me… have you and I…?” She stopped midsentence, and Bly looked miserable. She closed her eyes for a moment, then took a glass of coconut water from the maid and sipped it. “I’m sorry. I’m sure my thoughts will get clearer. We’re together, you and I, right? We’re a couple?”

  “Yes, Charlotte, without a doubt, we’re a couple. We’re very much in…” He stopped and ran his hand through his hair before he turned away. “I’ll give you some privacy. There’s a chef who can prepare anything you like, or if you’re tired… the villa has several bedrooms.”

  “Ohhhh my God,” Charlotte sighed as she sank down into the warm, soothing water. She stared at her reflection in a cheval mirror that stood near the tub, and the sight of her bruised face was a jolt of reality. It wasn’t really that awful; a bruise was already fading on one cheekbone, and her bottom lip was split and swollen. The shock of it was that it conjured vague images of Jamey Huang’s smile after he delivered the vicious blows.

  Bly stood at the entrance of the Balinese ‘bathing room,’ and when he saw the tears in Charlotte’s eyes as her fingers traced the wounds on her face, it was more than he could stand. He crossed the room, the sheer curtains blowing in and swirling around her as she turned her face up to him, and he knelt beside her.

  “Fuck, I hate that this has happened to you, and to us. Your face will heal, Charlotte—no scars, I promise. But if this ruins what we have, I can’t tell you what a tragedy that will be. You don’t have to cover yourself in front of me, I know you; I know and love every part you. I know the secret places of your heart, your soul, and your body, please don’t shut me out.”

  Charlotte had instinctively covered her breasts when Bly knelt beside her, although she didn’t know why she bothered. Her long-term memory was surprisingly clear, and she remembered his mesmerizing sea-glass colored eyes studying her every curve, six years before. That was how she knew him: she had been photographed for the cover of one his magazines. The magazine was American Jock, and she had posed with her boyfriend, the NFL quarterback Jorgen Christiansen. She was a college cheerleader, in school on scholarship, and she needed the money from the photo shoot to pay her way through law school. The notoriety of those pictures had followed her for years, but she had risen above her ‘every man’s fantasy’ image to become one of the most influential young attorneys in California.

  The maid sponged Charlotte’s body gently, and handed her a soft cloth for her face. Then she held a large, fluffy towel, waiting for her to step out of the tub.

  “Please… Mr. Bly… Alex? Could you turn your back?”

  There was a world of hurt in his eyes as he left the room, and he stopped without turning to look at her.

  “Bly,” he said. “You, and only you, call me Bly.”

  *

  Charlotte woke the next morning to soft yellow sunlight filtering through the mosquito netting that draped the wide bed. She sat up and the linen sheets fell away, revealing a white cotton nightgown the maid had helped her dress in the night before. She pushed back the netting and slipped out of bed, padding barefoot across the smooth wood floors toward walls of light. She had never before seen such heart-stopping beauty. Crystalline blue water stretched out from a swath of pale sand directly below, and lush forest cascaded down and around low mountains on either side. She stepped out onto a broad, meandering stone patio that circled the thatched-roof villa and listened to the wild sounds of the island. Birds called to their mates, exuberant and insistent, and monkeys chattered, swinging and looping from branch to vine. A lone sea turtle swam just offshore, its paddle-like flippers barely moving in its leisurely journey to an unseen destination. All around was luxuriant nature, rampant and profuse, buzzing with the energy of life.

  “They’re banyan trees, mostly. Native to the islands,” Bly said softly, and as Charlotte turned to face him, he reached out and his hand traced over her bruised cheek. She instinctively closed her eyes and pressed her face into his palm, and he whispered her name. “Charlotte, Charlotte. Say my name, please, say it.”

  “Alexander Bly,” she said, stepping back and away from him, her eyes wide. He seemed so familiar, his skin, and his hand felt like she should know him. Her memory of him was clear, but it was the memory of a man who abused his power, as well as the lure of his striking good looks and his blatant sexuality. A man who used sex as a weapon, conquering women then leaving them broken. She remembered the sound of his voice and the raw need in his eyes that had sent her rushing out of his office and home to her tiny apartment. But that was years before, when she’d just moved to Los Angeles to finish her last semester at UCLA. Back then the thought of him—tall, deadly handsome, and cold as ice—ignited something savage inside her. She’d used her own hands on her body that day, and just as she was shuddering with release, he had called and asked her to wait for him. She told him the truth as she hung up the phone: she told him he was too late.

  He shook his head and ran a hand through the errant swatch of hair that fell across his forehead. He turned and walked away, and she felt a twinge of regret as she watched him go. He was unbelievably handsome, even more so than he had been when they were younger. His thick, dark hair was tousled from sleep, and he was shirtless and broad-shouldered. His wide chest and back were crossed with smoothly carved muscles that tapered down to a narrow waist. He wore jeans that were faded and loose, but hugged his butt in just the right way to cause a small eruption deep inside her.

  “Bly?” she said, and he stopped in his tracks. “Do you have anything planned for us, or are we just hanging around this insanely luxurious, oversized tiki hut?”

  “Oh, I have plans for us,” he said, and his smile was so captivatingly sexy, she knew exactly why she had fallen in love with him.

  *

  “Where are you taking me? And by the way, I thought all mega-rich men had bodyguards,” she said as they descended a stone stairway that was overhung with broad, arching leaves all the way to the beach below. “Are we the only people on this island? What if we’re swimming or snorkeling and we start to drown or something? Who’ll save us?”

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out of the green darkness, he led her across the sand into warm, foaming waves. He held her against him with the sun blazing down, changing the world to white sand and sapphire sea. She wore a tiny white bikini, and he wore only swim trunks, and his hot, smooth chest felt like home when she rested her head against it.

  “I don’t need a bodyguard here, this resort is a world unto itself. And I’ll save you, Charlotte. I’ll always save you. Look at this breathtaking ocean, it’s the exact color of your eyes,” he said, searching them for an invitation to kiss her, to let his hands wander over her body, and more. Not that he could have resisted no matter what her answer might have been.

  His long fingers smoothed over her cheeks, lingered against the bow of her mouth, and she couldn’t stop her own hands from tangling in his hair as his lips met hers. It was a kiss as lush and exotic as the jade green jungle surrounding them. And as deep and full of promise as the warm waters of the Indian Ocean pounding at their feet.

  “Bly,” she whispered, without realizing the name had materialized on her tongue. Oh, but she loved the taste of it, the taste and feel of him. His tongue scandalous in its sweet assault of her mouth, a current as strong as the tide washing through her belly, sending a rush of wet pleasure to her sex.

  “Ah, Charlotte,�
� he sighed, resting his forehead against hers, his hands sliding down her long, sleek back and circling her narrow waist. “What would I do if you were ever lost to me? My desire for you is so intense I’m afraid it will ruin us both. I need to make love to you. I need to make you remember the sweet pain and pleasure of our love. But you have to ask me. As much as I want you, you’ll have to come back to me, you have to remember that you love me. I’m not a stranger, I’m the man you’re in love with.”

  “You don’t feel like a stranger, my body seems to know you… and it wants you.” She blushed then, or maybe it was the heat of the day coloring her pale skin. She wasn’t a simpering schoolgirl, she was a tough lawyer, a barracuda in the courtroom. But this was Alexander Bly, a man she only remembered fantasizing about, and it was both thrilling and unsettling. Like waking from an erotic dream and the lover you’d imagined was real and smiling down at you, saying all the right things.

  Her words coursed through him, rousing the ancient, primal need that had planted itself in his brain the day they met. The evidence of that need was immediate, his growing erection as it pressed solidly between them, long and thick and determined. He wanted to pull her down on the sand at that exact moment and take what was his—never mind if she knew him, she would remember soon enough.

  “It’s easy to see how I could have fallen for you, Bly,” she said. Being near him was like a drug, and the proof of his desire made her bold. “You’re ridiculously gorgeous; you know that, right? I mean like a genetically engineered, perfect physical specimen of a man, for God’s sake. Look at you. Who looks like that? Seriously, who else do you know who just plainly looks like living, breathing, sex?”

  “Well, you do,” he said, and his smile turned into laughter when she rolled her eyes and ran her hands along his delectably bulging biceps before she stepped back.

  “So… do we go back upstairs and climb into that big bed, or just fall onto the sand here and now? Funny, I can remember how to argue a case in court, but I can’t think of how to… be with you.”

  “Let’s get our snorkeling gear and swim for a while. There’s a shipwreck not far from here. Some amazing coral has grown around it,” Bly said, adjusting the massive bulge in his swim trunks, trying to get comfortable, although it wasn’t possible. “We have time for anything you can dream up in the bedroom. The fact is I will make love to you today, whether you admit that you love me or not. But, you’re going to ask me… or better yet, beg me to.”

  Towels and snorkeling gear lay on the bottom stair-step, so they grabbed masks, snorkels, and flippers, and ran into the waves. They swam, gliding through clear seas heated by the sun and the nearness of the Equator. As they skimmed along the water’s surface the wreckage of the sunken ship was visible below them, and Charlotte was in love with the forms and colors of the coral and the psychedelic strangeness of a million darting fish. She dove under the water, leaving the shallow warmth as she plunged down into the cold depths. The sun’s rays made columns of pure light in the darkness, and it was a quiet beauty she’d never experienced before. All she knew was that this was peace, a weightless, silent world of luminescent beauty, hidden from view, but teeming with strange and lovely creatures. She kicked to the surface finally, her lungs aching for air, and she breathed in huge gulps and searched for Bly.

  “Don’t fight it, Charlotte. You’re caught in the current, a ripe tide. Let it carry you, just float,” Bly shouted. “Don’t try to fight. Dammit, Charlotte, I’m coming to get you!”

  She couldn’t answer; fear gripped her when she realized that she was far, far out in the open ocean. While she was under the water she hadn’t been aware of the steady pull of the current, but on the surface it was a mighty force dragging her out to sea. Out and away from Bly. She forced herself to float, her body buoyant in the salt water, and she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth to keep from screaming. What else might be swimming in that vast indigo ocean? It was not her territory, and the sight of land was receding more each minute. She imagined fins breaking the surface of the water, and the swipe of cool skin as predators circled. When she thought of teeth tearing and dragging her under, she opened her mouth and began to scream with all her might.

  “I’m here,” Bly said. “Hold onto me and don’t let go. The current will die away a few feet out, I’ve got you. Charlotte, are you listening? Let your body rise to the surface, don’t kick your legs under the water. We’ll swim parallel to the shore until we’re free of the current, and then the waves will carry us to land.”

  When they washed up on the sand, the villa was no longer in sight. They lay panting on a thin strip of beach in an unfamiliar cove. Charlotte clung to him as if her life depended on it, and in fact it had. He pushed back the tendrils of wet hair from her face and studied her. She was a mermaid washed ashore, terrified and lost. Her fingers tangled wildly in his hair, pulling his lips to hers, rising to meet him. Her fear in the water turned to hunger on land, hunger for him, for the safety of his body and his love. Fear and the instinct to survive drove her, and everything inside her was alive and pulsing with ravenous greed.

  She untied the string that held her bikini top. It fell away, and his eyes flashed like polished sea-glass.

  “Here? Now?” he asked, lifting his body as her hands pushed down his swim trunks so that he sprang free, diamond-hard and ready.

  “Here and now,” she said. “I know you, I remember us. Put your hands on me, Bly, please.”

  His hands raked over her, lingering then moving on. She moaned and begged for his touch as his mouth covered hers, a kiss that quickly changed from gentle to demanding.

  “Mine,” he said. His lips were on her face, her neck, then sweeping across her breasts and lingering there. His fingers slid between the hot, wet folds of her sex and again he proclaimed, “Mine,” as she arched beneath him.

  He knew her body and knew it well, his lips and tongue teasing first one hardened, pink nipple and then the other as she cried out. His fingers played deftly in the secret V of her sex, the pad of his thumb stroking, sending shock waves through her. His long middle finger probed the tender opening, tightly clinched in readiness for the explosion that was building. When it seized her, he pushed a finger inside, moving it in time with the spasms that rocked her, whispering her name like poem or a love song.

  She worked to still her body, guiding him in, his erection huge and heavy, its thick, ropy veins pumping. She gasped the moment she felt him enter. His size was a shock, forcing her open, splaying her. It was too much, too full and too deep, but delicious in its painful pleasure. He moved slowly at first, until the second climax tore through her, then harder and deeper as her wetness flooded over him. She matched his rhythm, their bodies moving in tandem, slick with sea water and sweat. His hands held her hips steady and then slipped beneath them, cupping her small, firm ass, lost in sensation as he poured himself into her and they fell off the edge of the world together.

  “Bly, oh, Bly, how could I have forgotten our love?” she said when she could finally speak and they lay side by side with their chests heaving. “And just so you know, I have sand in places even God didn’t know existed!” And they both laughed until their sides were aching.

  *

  “The people around here must go to bed early. It’s six o’clock and the sun has already set,” Charlotte said. At the villa, they’d washed the sand away under an outdoor shower and now she and Bly lay twined together so that it was impossible to tell where she ended and he began.

  They’d made love too many times to count, then watched from the big canopy bed as the sun dropped into the ocean. Gazing out over the terrace, past the edge of the infinity pool, to the thin line of the horizon, it seemed as if the villa was adrift in a great endless void and the two of them were the only human inhabitants. Except for members of the staff, who came and went quickly and quietly, leaving only treasures behind. Sumptuous treasures of food and wine, scented soaps and warmed towels, and mile-high chocolate soufflés that were al
most better than sex. But not better than sex with Bly, Charlotte decided, and that was saying a lot. Charlotte was a chocoholic, but Bly alone, his pure physical presence, was a powerful aphrodisiac. Chocolate satisfied, as did Bly’s lovemaking, but he left her craving more and more.

  “It gets dark early because this little island is practically sitting on the Equator,” Bly said, pulling her even closer. “The sun rises at six in the morning and sets exactly twelve hours later, every day of the year. We’re closer to the sun here, with the curve of the earth’s surface and all, and the temperature is pretty much constant. There’s only the rainy season and the dry season in Bali—either-or, no in between. It’s like my love for you: there’s my life before you, and my life since you, and only the moments and years after I met you count. The rest was too dry and barren to even think of as meaningful.”

  “Bly, I remember saying I love you for the first time in Las Vegas, the night before… before Jamey Huang took me away from you. I can’t recall the details of Hong Kong. I have brief flashes of being handcuffed and Jamey hitting me. That’s all I know, the rest is just missing; do you know if I was… did he… hurt me in any other way?”

  “No, you weren’t molested, he held you as a bargaining chip. Do you want hear the details?”

  “No, not now. Not when I’ve only just rediscovered you. I want you to make love to me, I want you to say you love me, I want you to kiss me and never stop.”

  His fingers skimmed her face, her neck, travelling downward, tracing over her flat stomach to her sex. She flinched at his touch—her flesh was tender and swollen. He shook his head sorrowfully and moved his hand away.