She’d somehow found the strength to walk away from him a month ago when he’d reached out in his grief and loneliness. She could do it again. Would have to do it again.
At least now, it should be easier. They’d had more time to accustom themselves to losing Jan, time to blunt the sharp and appalling pain her death had caused them both, time to start living without her.
Except—the champagne thing in the bathroom...
Sure, he’d started it, but had she slapped him away with indignation? Had she acted outraged?
No, she’d gone right along with it, tilted herself up toward him, and practically begged for more. Some way to behave when you were trying to get rid of someone!
She moved on to the next set of treasures—hand blown glass bowls in wall niches. A shadow appeared on the shining surface of one, then stopped. All her reactions screamed ‘Christian’. How could she become so acutely aware of him when he was still only at the door? She knew it had to be him the moment he entered the Lodge. A shadow was enough. Her skin prickled, the fine golden hairs on her arms rose up, her lips parted on a gasp.
He strode up behind her and pressed a possessive hand against the small of her back to guide her toward the dining room.
‘Stop touching me,’ her conscience pleaded as she turned to him and smiled.
“Hungry?”
‘Hungry for you,’ her brain instantly supplied.
“Not too bad,” she answered, feeling guilty for enjoying the sensual warmth of his long fingers through the thin fabric of her dress. They walked step for step across the travertine floor, past other beautifully dressed diners. Soft classical guitar music caressed the air, and the aromas of wonderful food drifted by as the maître’d showed them to a private table in a window nook.
Fiona found they were partly screened from the other diners by spectacular tall black taffeta curtains looped aside with tasseled ivory ropes. The snowy damask tablecloth set with crystal and silverware glowed under candle-light and chandeliers. It was undoubtedly special, but she’d hoped for a less discreet table. Here she’d be the sole focus of Christian’s attention, with the power of his intense eyes and charm totally devoted to her.
He dismissed the maitre’d with an easy smile and held the chair for her himself. Once he’d seated her, he bent and laid another soft kiss on her nape.
Shivers shot down to her toes.
He registered her tiny moan of anguish and joyful satisfaction flooded through him. Maybe she felt as frustrated as he did? He moved to take the chair opposite. “Problem, Blondie?”
“Don’t touch me like that.”
“Like what? Like I want you?”
She gazed at him across the table; her agonized eyes beseeching him to stop his seduction. He had no doubt his expression would be as transparent as hers. His hunger to possess her had to be written all over his face.
“Yes—like you want me,” she murmured.
“I’m finding it harder and harder to hide the truth,” he said, knowing he was really on the road to destruction now.
He leaned across the intimate space and dropped his voice to a husky drawl. “So here’s where I stand; I’ve wanted you for years. You’re like a gift I’m not allowed to unwrap. Or a delicious meal I’ve been forbidden to eat.” He set his teeth together to stifle any further admissions. But his eyes devoured her across the small table, and his hand reached across to enfold hers. He refused to relinquish it when she tried to pull away.
Fiona shook her head in denial.
“And Jan?” she demanded, sudden fierce fire in her eyes. “You loved her —of course you did. Not me.”
“Yes, I loved her. I was thrilled when she agreed to marry me. I’d never met anyone I wanted more.”
She nodded with apparent satisfaction at that.
“Never met anyone I wanted more until I met you,” he added.
“No!” she protested. “I didn’t try to steal you, or impress you, or anything. I was just my sister’s bridesmaid. You were marrying Jan.” She shrugged as though truly puzzled.
Christian enjoyed the lift of her smooth shoulders and the annoyed pout that accompanied her comment.
“Of course I was. And happy to be. But you’re a far more vivid version of her. Everything about you is wound up a notch or two. If I wanted Jan, how could I not want you?”
He watched as her breasts rose and fell in a furious frustrated sigh. Her green eyes snapped up to meet his again, challenging and serious.
“You mustn’t think like that, Christian.”
“That’s the way it is, Blondie. You simply captivate me.”
“Not possible,” she said, making another attempt to retrieve her hand from his grasp.
He shook his head, refusing to let her go. “End of guilty confession. Yes, I wanted your sister. And I want you even more.”
Chapter Fifteen
“No...” Her brows drew together.
Was that a touch of uncertainty he detected in her tone and her expression? Time to go for broke. “I’m itching to see you really turned on again,” he whispered. “So mad for me you’d forget the proprieties and just go for it—the way you grabbed me in the bathroom at home after I’d washed your hair. You know as well as I do there’ve been sparks between us. As the years passed, I hardly dared look at you when Jan was in the room.”
“You were never there. You were mostly away.”
“Hated going, Blondie. Knew I had to though.” He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’ve been trying so hard to resist you. It was incredible when you finally touched me. We’d be explosive together. You know we would.”
Her eyes hadn’t left his, but her expression definitely now showed her frustration. His heart rejoiced.
“Explosive maybe. But only for five or six days,” she said. “I’m booked to fly back to Rome on Tuesday. That’s all the time we have left.” She drew a deep breath and expelled it again, and Christian watched her gorgeous breasts rise and fall against the richly embroidered fabric.
Five or six days? She’s leaving me so soon?
“I couldn’t bear to start something that had no future, so this is not going to happen,” she added.
Five or six days? After the euphoria of finally being in her company again, it was like being doused with iced water. He sat stunned for a few moments, absorbing the disappointment, struggling through the morass of problems that kept them apart.
One of the staff approached their table and Christian somehow managed to flash Fiona what he hoped was a casual grin. As he loosened his clasp on her hand, the intensity of the atmosphere changed and he felt her slipping even further away.
Then the waiter began to acquaint them with the sumptuous feast to follow.
“Rome on Tuesday?” he asked once they were alone again.
“That’s the end of my leave.” She angled her chin at him as though challenging him to disagree. “I seem to remember you couldn’t wait to get rid of me a few weeks ago.”
“You were too dangerous. It was too soon.”
“It’s still too soon,” she insisted.
“And you’re still too dangerous. But maybe this is the only chance we have—away from the world and all its petty conditions and condemnations.”
He fell silent as the wine waiter arrived to pour the first of their wines—a Marlborough Sauvignon Gris—and listened impatiently to the description, wanting the man gone so he could return his attention to Fiona. He’d chosen most of the contents of the Lodge’s cellar himself, for God’s sake.
“Yes, it’s the rest of the world we have to worry about,” she replied once the man had bustled off. “For all sorts of reasons we’re an impossible combination.”
“And for all sorts of other reasons we need each other.”
Her eyes whipped up to his and she sent him a long very candid stare. Finally she shook her head.
“We can’t, Christian. It was bad enough leaving you before Christmas. That was after just a few days, and for mo
st of them I was very sore and hardly knew what I was doing.”
His masculine pride rebelled at that. He didn’t want to let her hide behind her injuries—not when he’d been so lost in grief his composure and resolve had been ripped to shreds. He’d laid down his heart for her to walk all over, taken the risk, and gambled to win.
“Did you know what you were doing in the bathroom when you reached out for me?” he demanded.
Had he been mistaken after all? Was she so concussed and confused that he’d misread her intentions entirely? He waited for her answer, hardly daring to breathe.
“Yes, I knew what I was doing then.”
Her voice sounded barely above a whisper, but it was enough to allow him to live again.
“And it just about killed me having to leave you after those strange magic days,” she continued. “I couldn’t do it again. Don’t ask me to repeat that pain.”
Christian bowed his head for a moment at the raw honesty of her words.
“What are we going to do, Blondie?”
He watched as she lifted her glass and took a sip of the superb wine, buying time to consider her answer.
“Nothing,” she murmured. “We’re going to do nothing at all. We’ve no other option.”
Fiona’s blood chilled as she forced the hopeless hateful words out between her lips. Yes, nothing was the right thing. Nothing was the best thing. But it was the coward’s way out. Christian had lost his beloved wife. Nicky had lost her adored mother. She could assuage the hurt for both of them, even if only for the next few days. But it would be at a terrible cost to herself.
She knew she must look paper-white after her cruel refusal.
But she was right. She knew she was right. However much Christian attracted her, he was Jan’s recent husband and nowhere near free to take up with his sister-in-law. He was forbidden.
It was a huge relief when the waiter arrived with their first course. Finally she had the excuse to look down onto the food instead of having to avoid Christian’s dark gaze from the opposite side of the intimate table.
She took another sip of her crisp wine, sampled the mini-tapas, and couldn’t stop a groan of appreciation as the flavors exploded on her tongue. “They’re seriously good,” she exclaimed, glancing up at him again.
“So our guests continue to tell us.”
“They beat anything from the chefs on the boat.”
“Bulk catering.” The twist of his lips told her what he thought of that.
She settled back in her chair and devoted her attention to finishing her small but delicious portion. When she next looked across at him, his expression was curiously serene for a man whose attentions had just been rebuffed.
“At least you don’t look offended,” she said with relief. “I hope I didn’t sound too sharp.”
“Live for the moment,” he replied with a barely discernable shrug. “After Jan became so terribly sick I decided I’d go after everything I really wanted. And tonight I wanted dinner with a view of you across the table. Anything more is a bonus.”
“Which you won’t be getting.”
He smiled, still with apparent good humor. “Live for the moment, as I said. We’ve several more days here. You might change your mind.”
Fiona shook her head, hating herself for doing it. “Don’t bet on it,” she said, pleased when their next course arrived to provide a distraction.
Morsels of the most delicious foods New Zealand had to offer followed each other in a leisurely progression.
“Bluff Oyster Consommé en Croute,” the waiter announced, setting down small white ramekins of thin seafood soup topped with a golden pastry crust.
“Prime Fillet of Angus Beef on Anna Potatoes with Onion Marmalade.” Fiona cut into the juicy pink meat and marveled at its tenderness. Sipped the rich ruby Shiraz that accompanied it, and knew she was close to heaven.
“Pan fried Snapper Fillet with Tomato and Red Wine Beurre Blanc.” She flaked the moist fish apart with her fork and closed her eyes to appreciate the delicate flavor.
“Asparagus on Mint and Green Pea Cream.”
“Breast of Poussin on Risotto with Capsicum Couli.”
She scraped up every last grain of the delicious risotto and sighed with bliss, then noticed Christian’s indulgent expression. “It’s all just so good,” she lamented. “I could eat a lot more of that last one.”
“Then order it for lunch tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Could I? What have you got planned?”
He shook his head slightly. Fiona watched the light and shade move across the strong planes of his face.
“Nothing at all. We could take Nic down to the beach. It’s a good flat sandy walking surface—if your knee’s up to it?”
“It’s fine now,” she said, basking in the warmth of his eyes, and wanting more than ever to reach out and touch him. His earlier comment about changing her mind meant it would be just so easy.
“Grilled Figs Wrapped in Prosciutto with Honey, Truffle, and Blue Cheese Sauce,” their attentive waiter announced.
“Truffles,” she murmured once he was out of earshot. “I’ve tried them in France, but not often.”
“If you survive the excitement of fresh truffles we could drive a short way down to the river tomorrow instead of going to the beach,” Christian teased. “There are some good swimming holes, and Nic could paddle around in the shallows?”
Like a normal family holiday, Fiona thought, feeling her heart contract with longing. As though we’re a married couple with our longed-for child. How I wish.
They discussed beach versus river until the next course arrived.
“Vanilla Bean and Buttermilk Panna Cotta with Berry Compote under a Sugar Cage.”
Her eyes grew wide at the artistic arrangement of the dessert. “Oh Christian,” she sighed. “How can I wreck such a beautiful thing?”
“Have some of mine then,” he said, spooning up Panna Cotta and berries from his own portion, leaning over, and nudging it against her lips. In a split second the air came alive with hot forbidden yearning again.
Fiona opened her mouth, eyes drawn to his. The amused affection was gone; now his intense gaze was dark with desire. His pupils blazed wide and black. She fell into their dangerous depths, then found she couldn’t draw back as his hand settled against her nape, pulled her closer and held her still as he teased her with the spoon. The smooth silver slid along her lower lip, and the luscious berry perfume wafted up, sweet and rich.
She opened her mouth on an indrawn breath and he gently pushed the spoon in, waited until she’d closed her lips around it, and slowly withdrew it. His eyes never left hers, and Fiona knew all too well that this tiny intrusion into her body was his hopeful prelude to an altogether more passionate invasion. How would she ever resist?
Later, after excellent coffee and handmade chocolates, Christian carried a sleeping Nicky in his arms as they returned to the car.
“Will you drive Blondie? Save me waking her? Keys are on the left.”
Fiona slipped her hand into his jacket, and he chuckled. “Pants pocket. Are you feeling brave enough to invade my trousers?”
She shot him a glare. “Bastard,” she said, although without venom. The dinner wines had relaxed her considerably. Her resolve was still strong, but if he was determined to tempt her like this...? She pushed his jacket aside to locate the pocket opening, and inserted her hand.
Permission to touch him, please Jan?
She stroked her fingers over the hard curve of his hipbone, sliding deep into his hot slippery pocket, only a fraction away from very dangerous ground.
Christian let loose a small soft growl, but with Nicky in his arms could do nothing to prevent her hand from exploring.
She located the key ring and closed her fingers around the car remote, drawing it far too slowly up past his groin, feeling her knuckles brushing where they shouldn’t. “Just getting even for your champagne game,” she said sweetly, producing the bundle at last and sending him
a faint cheeky smile. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she breathed out with relief as she turned to blip the car unlocked.
Unfamiliar with the luxurious vehicle, she gave her total concentration to driving the short distance, and drew to a thankful halt a tense minute or two later.
“Garage remote’s behind the visor.”
Fiona fumbled for it in the dark and waited until the door rose. She coasted inside and signaled for it to close.
They were alone, and it was bedtime.
Her heartbeat once again increased to a rapid hammering. Separate bedrooms and the presence of a sleeping two-year-old would to do very little to douse the furious flames that had sprung up between them.
“Thank-you for a lovely dinner.” She sighed at the desperately bright tone of her voice as she shot out of the car and hurried around to open the passenger door. Christian stepped out, cradling his still-sleeping daughter.
“We must do it again,” he replied gravely, a humorous twitch at the corner of his mouth showing he’d registered her unease. “Tomorrow.”
“Um—yes—goodnight then,” she said, swallowing. She bolted into her room, yanking the door closed behind her.
God, this is juvenile! We shared the house in Wellington safely enough.
But that had been more than a month ago, when Jan’s death was hideously recent; when reminders of her were all around them.
And when Fiona had been too injured to think of much beyond her accident.
Now she was strong and supple again, Jan had retreated a little into the past, and there were none of her sister’s personal belongings in the cottage to reinforce the memories and strengthen her resolve.
Temptation gnawed at her like a hungry terrier worrying at a bone. Christian had made his feelings clear. He wanted her. He was gentleman enough not to force the issue, but his starving eyes and husky suggestions had found their mark. The tension between them now stretched tightrope-taut.
Fiona glared at her reflection and groaned. After all her efforts to play down her appearance her eyes were huge and bright, her cheeks flushed warmly, and her lips pouted full and inviting. She looked as seductive as any cunningly made-up model posing for a glossy magazine feature. So this had been Christian’s view of her across their table? No wonder he’d seen possibilities.
Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book Page 94