She felt on fire as he trailed soft, sensuous kisses along her neck.
Then, when she thought she could wait no more, he spun her toward him. In the swiftest of moments Max’s mouth was on hers. His breath tasted of cinnamon and dark chocolate.
'Yes, like that,' the photographer said circling them and snapping the lens in quick succession. 'Don’t stop.'
He needn’t have asked. She didn’t want to stop. Not ever.
She went crazy with longing.
This was a kiss to build a dream on.
Then reality bit. She felt a stab to her heart. She knew this was a test for them both. To show once and for all there was no passion, there was no real feeling, there was no happily ever after.
This kiss would finally end the madness. But rather than quench the thirst, his lips ignited an insatiable one. A deeply fulfilled breath escaped her. He was everything she hoped for. Everything she didn’t need.
Lust rolled through her in tidal waves of longing. Her body ached with desire to do more than simply kiss.
She breathed a murmur of need. He responded in kind deepening his kiss, pulling her to him. She felt his arousal, powerless to pull away. She rocked against him in unconscious rhythmic motions.
'That was for the camera,' he said, tearing away.
CHAPTER NINE
What had come over him? Max did not lose control like this. She hadn’t seduced him. She hadn’t even desired him—it had all been for the camera. And still he had been seconds away from throwing her to the sand and ravishing her in a frenzy of need. She was maddeningly impervious to his sexual prowess. The fact that she seemed not to care just made him want her more.
Max strode down the palm-fringed beach. He had lost control. Again. Him. The consummate control freak. He who had unwavering control over everything, every inch of his empire, every electron of his body—until now.
Alien fear made him push away from her, all the way down the sandy beach.
His memory burned with the way she looked at him with passion clouding her eyes, her lips swollen by his into a cauldron of enticement.
That was for the camera. He couldn’t help the harshness of his tone. They’d both been faking it—hadn’t they? Why then was he fighting urges that had no place in a life mapped out to the nth degree. Her kiss inspired him, unlocked his creativity—wasn’t that all he wanted from her, wasn’t that what he had decided? That all roads would lead and stop there?
A flurry of lime and orange snared his attention. He watched feeling unsettled as a pair of Flame Doves swept past him.
Opposites attract. It was chemistry. Biology 101. Testosterone meets estrogen. Nothing more, he mused, striving to make rational sense of it all. In a chemistry lab, yes. But he’d never felt what he had just felt with any of the other women he’d kissed. What was it about this obstinate, willful , woman who was totally opposite to him in every way woman? He gritted his teeth, refusing to admit the blatant proof of his sexual attraction.
I’m a man, he offered, loathing himself for his pathetic excuse.
He raked his hands through his hair. He tried to deny the unpalatable truth. He wanted more. The truth was she was someone he really could care for. The only one his arms liked to hold.
He gazed back to the village, knowing he would be expected for the Kava ceremony. He would have to turn back. He couldn’t keep running forever. He picked up a fallen coconut lying on the sand and placed it against a coconut tree. Raising his hand like a sabre he held it over the husk, glancing briefly back toward the village and following the plume of smoke billowing from their fire.
He’d been cruel, lying to her that his kiss was only for the camera. Crueler than he intended. But he couldn't risk the embers of attraction thawing his heart. She wouldn’t be able to stand the heat, or the fire that would destroy her when the relationship inevitably went up in flames.
He didn’t want her to be burned. Better to be cruel than kind. She’d thank him one day when she married the kind of guy a girl like her deserved. A man that would make her a princess, put her on a pedestal. A man who wouldn’t sacrifice their love to a career dedicated to making squillions.
Precision, not emotion, certainly not love—that was his talent, his calling, his métier, his skill, the only thing he did with any aplomb, he mused. Then without flinching, with the speed and force of lightning he chopped through the air, arching the side of his palm down onto his target.
The coconut snapped in three segments, spilling the juice inside. He lifted a piece filled with translucent white liquid and lifted it to his lips.
His hard-hearted resolutions sounded good in his head. Why then did his mouth overflow with the taste of her? Every electron in his body did an exultant dance, the air charged with sensuality, as his thoughts turned erotic. Why did his body still want her naked in the sand?
*
'Knock it back.' Max said, his voice a low, hard-edged whisper. 'You’ll offend them if you refuse.'
Issy grimaced, staring down into the murky brown sludge, swimming around in the half coconut shell which Tukana handed her. Surrounding her, the villagers seated on the mat for the Kava ceremony looked at her expectantly.
She noticed with rising irritation that Max had not even taken a sip. Obviously he was afraid of ceding control. Again. Afraid of what this murky, beguilingly benign cup of liquid mud could do to his mind. Well, she was afraid too. She’d heard of its potent effects, coiling its way through your senses, your inhibition.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t smell so vile. If she could only distract them all she could tip it out and pretend to enjoy it, as a child she’d had great success with Brussels sprouts, boiled cabbage and any other substance that offended her senses. She’d mastered the disappearing act of politely coughing, while discreetly and with lightning speed slipping the contents of her mouth into her hand, and popping the offenders into the mouth of their ever obliging family dog. But there was no obliging dog now, and everyone had eyes riveted on her.
'Do Fijians drink Kava every day, Tukana?' she said, stalling for time.
'Kava is very popular in Fiji—and the other Pacific Islands. Even the church likes us to drink it—it is much better for our people than alcohol. Better for you too,' he said, shooting her a conspiratorial look, 'I promise.'
Alcohol had never done her any favors, Issy thought, nor had striving to maintain her professionalism, she mused, pressing her lips together to crush the pulsing memory of that kiss and the heated night of passion Max and she had shared.
'Kava is very spiritual,' Tukana added. 'And very important to our artists—fueling the fires of inspiration.' His eyes glistened as though in a heavenly trance.
Spirit and inspiration. Two magnetic words, she thought as she glanced up at the sapphire sky. A million tiny bright stars sparkled like fairy dust. It was a magical night. Thirty or so degrees she guessed, and the air was strangely still and calm. The day’s lingering heat enveloped her body like their lingering embrace.
'And Kava is very, very relaxing—good for removing stress. In fact, in Fiji there is no word for stress, thank you to Kava.' Tukana said, grinning at Max as he knocked back his third cup.
Issy stared into the murky liquid. She hated that everything reminded her of Max's forbidden passion. Perhaps the Kava would help dull her heightened senses and make her forget.
'Gentlemen before ladies,' Issy said to Max, swirling her coconut cup. 'After all, this is your stress break—the whole purpose of our being here.'
Max looked at her, a devilish quirk on his lips, causing heat to flooding her body. Feeling vulnerable under the intensity of his gaze she forced herself to hold his stare, thinking it would break his hold. But the brute held fast—as though it was an arm wrestle and he was determined to show a strength that deep down he feared he no longer possessed. Could it be that he felt as she did, she wondered?
Tukana chuckled as they stared at each other, 'Already the Kava is weaving a spell.' At this Max looked away, laughing with
a tight, shallow, nervous laugh. So he wasn’t Mr Cool, Issy mused, suddenly drawn to his vulnerability. What on earth had made him so wary. What did a man with his looks, his money, his intelligence—a man who on the surface had it all—have to fear?
Tukana began to clap, slow, languid claps with a cupped hand making a hollow sound. The firelight torches surrounding the garden flickered, filling the air with an element of fantasy.
'Bula!' Tukana cried, lifting the shell to his lips, he downed the Kava in one gulp. He emerged smiling, his face serene, his eyes infused with ethereal light.
'Bula!' Issy and Max cried in sync—as though in that moment they both decided to cede control, give up, let go and embrace the unknown.
The foulness of the drink, tasting every inch of the gnarly earthbound root from which it was grown, was sweetened immeasurably by the warmth that fluttered through her heart as she sat cross-legged on the Masi mat beside Max.
She closed her eyes, projecting the memory of that stolen kiss—earthy, sensual, grounding and euphoric all in the same moment, a kiss like Kava that transported the senses, fired inspiration, fueled her imagination.
Kava soaked her lips as she pulled the coconut shell away as at last the drink was gone.
'You’re dribbling,' Max trailed his finger in a long sensual movement below her chin, wiping away a trickle of Kava
She rocked her head from side-to-side mutely, unable to speak. Did he have absolutely any idea the havoc his touch reaped?
'My wife has a special gift for you. A couples’ Fiji massage. Would you like that?' Tukana said, breaking the silence.
'Yes, we’d like that,' Max said.
Issy’s heart thumped heavily in her chest. Really, he’d like that? Besides the fact he’d made it clear he hated relaxing. Any alpha male she’d ever known would want to head to the nearest sports bar, take advantage of any free time with a belly full of beer and an eye on the rugby.
Just what was he up to? Had the Kava taken control of his left brain? Whatever it was, she thought, stretching her feet and wriggling her toes, for once in her life she wasn’t going to argue.
*
'How’s the pressure, Mr Balforni?' Kerela asked.
'It’s perfect,' Max murmured, barely able to speak as he lay on the massage table, nestled at the edge of the lagoon, cocooned amongst the swaying palms and tropical garden. He lifted his head lazily, glancing at the miles of white sand and azure sea stretching out before him. The magic elixir of coconut oil and frangipani wove a spell as Kerela kneaded the tension from his muscles.
'These ancient aromas and soothing rhythms will help guide you on your journey to serenity and relaxation,' she said.
'Bene,' he murmured. Total relaxation took him by surprise as he felt himself drifting off. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d felt so relaxed. In fact, before coming to Fiji there hadn’t been any time in his life when he’d kicked back and done nothing at all. It felt good, dangerously good.
He turned his head slightly glancing at Issy lying beside him, enjoying her own massage.
Clearly she was a massage queen, Max thought, as she lay eyes closed beneath the towering coconut palms interspersed with frangipani, hibiscus and bougainvillea flowers. Her skin glowed like a woman who’d just had sex.
Her eyes flickered open, sending a kick to his heart as her giant emerald eyes met his. 'I told you you’d like it,' Issy said, in that sensually familiar voice, oblivious to the turmoil she sent crashing through his veins. He wanted her—because she was so different, or in spite of it, he wanted her. Forcing himself to keep his hands off her since that first frenzied sexual encounter was beginning to be tiresome.
He wouldn’t admit it, not to her, but dare he say it, he felt great. The Kava and the massage, he affirmed in his mind, not wanting to admit that perhaps it was all because of her.
His muscular tension relieved, his mind and body uplifted from the amazing rhythmic massage. He opted for the deep tissue massage, which promised the manipulating of muscles and tissues reducing body aches and stiffness. It seemed more scientific and physiological, something that allowed him to remain in control. Unlike the fluffy aromatherapy massage Issy had chosen. But now, it seemed Kerela had gone ahead and mixed an ancient blend.
Who knows what potions were put in that mix.
He glanced over as Issy turned away. Her shoulders and lower back glistened as the moonlight and candles danced over her body. He caught his breath. Not just because she was voluptuous like a woman in a Renaissance painting, but also because she was so refreshingly pure.
Desire lapped his body. For a briefly delicious moment he succumbed, surrounding to the fantasy that it was he who was gently massaging her body. He felt the soft sensuousness of her skin, as his fingers followed the contours of her heavenly body. He felt his manhood throb with desire. Max was grateful he was lying on his stomach.
'Not too hard?' Kerela asked, forcing his mind back to the present, as she wrestled with a tight knot locking his shoulders.
'Hard is good,' he said. The firmer Kerela pressed, the less he would fantasize about getting up from the table and taking Issy there and then in a frenzy of unrestrained passion. 'Hard is very good.'
'I can’t believe you’ve never had a massage, ' Issy murmured, oblivious to the conflict tormenting his mind and body.
How could he tell her that the only time he was ever touched by a woman was when he was firmly in control. Touch to him meant vulnerability. Even in the throes of passion with many of the women he’d bedded it was not the wild passionate love-making of a man who had lost his heart, but of one very much in control of his mind.
How could he tell Issy that she didn’t even need to be the one touching him to ignite all his senses, that with her beside him his life was a thousand times richer. All his senses were heightened in a way no that other woman had ever ignited.
He wanted to tell her she tasted like honey, that she smelt like gardenias, that she felt like a warm tropical breeze, that she looked liked a rare luminous pearl. But he told her none of that afraid that he would raise her hopes only to send them crashing upon the jagged rocks of his previous failed relationships.
'Big knots.' Max grimaced as Kerela picked up some smooth river stones, and threw the weight of her body into her arm, sweeping with long fluid movements from his shoulder blade to his neck repeatedly until finally the muscle relaxed. 'You’re very tense.'
If only she could massage the tension from his mind he thought, as despite all his attempts to cease thinking of Issy, he blazed with impure thoughts about the woman lying nearly naked beside him.
Issy looked like she’d floated off to sea.
'You snored,' he said when her eyes flew open.
She smiled self-consciously, the stars bouncing in reflected light from the sea highlighting the gentle contours of her face. Wide-eyed and entranced, he watched as she arched her feline body, her eyes closed and impervious to his need.
Kerela’s sister's dark fingers gently massaged Issy’s face, trailing around the voluptuous contours of her mouth. He took a ragged breath, his lips parting. He wouldn’t lose control.
Only a foot separated them. All he had to do was reach over and steal a kiss. He was aware of the turmoil of sensuality. The moisture of the massage oil, the heat of the smooth river stones gliding along his body. His eyes flickered and he closed his eyes, surrendering to the fantasy which wove through his mind like an enchantress.
No, he wouldn’t lose control. But that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be lovers.
***
Dazed, Issy lifted heavy eyelids and. before she could register that he was looking at her, gazed into Max’s face. A seductive smile played on his lips that sent her heart pounding. The striking features of his honed-to-perfection face sent a shiver of desire surging through her. For the first time she understood the agonizing power of insatiable need, a power made more potent by the realization that hers was a need that would never be satisfied.
/> Never again would she taste those lips. Never again would she touch the formidable power of his aroused body.
The air was aflame—the night calls of birds and gentle sea lapping against the shore, the balmy evening breeze ruffling the coconut fronds. It was all so surreal. Here she was virtually naked, save for the thin sheet covering her body, lying next to an equally naked man, and not just any man—a total hunk. This was the stuff of honeymoons.
But, she mused, throwing cold water on her imaginings, she wasn’t married and this was no honeymoon. It was work and she had a job to do. Cold, reliable common sense and logic, with which she rarely fraternized, would be her trusted companion. However much she enjoyed those illicit kisses she was no top-shelf beauty. She was not at all like the sort of woman Max would pursue. Let alone marry. Long limbed, like a gazelle, not a hippopotamus. Blonde sleek hair to her buttocks, not a flamingo pink bird’s nest. Need she go on? Why torture herself with the inevitable? He could, and would, have his pick of any supermodel.
Max lifted his head and gave her a smolderingly dangerous look. Issy gazed into his infinite eyes and floated seamlessly into the vast cosmos.
'I’ll take the first shower,' she managed, breaking the spell. She slid off the large table and rose to her feet unsteadily. Moving quickly she avoided his gaze, lest he see the desolation in her eyes. How on the planet was she going to get through the next few days?
CHAPTER TEN
'What’s so funny?' she said, suddenly aware of his bemused stare.
'Nothing, I was just admiring you.'
'Admiring me?' she didn’t attempt to mask her surprise.
'Just thinking, pinching myself really.'
Her heart hammered.
'To be in one of the most beautiful places on Earth—' he looked at her, unblinking, 'with the most fascinating woman in the world.'
'Must be the Kava,' she blurted tossing the compliment back. At least he hadn’t lied and called her beautiful. Captivating was better, safer. Better to reject herself first before he came to his senses.
The Italian Billionaire’s Christmas Bride Page 12