'How long do the effects of Kava last?' she asked, as Kerela walked beside them toward the village. 'I’ve never seen him like this? He’s gone quite mad.' She laughed in spite of herself, realizing with a start she was enjoying seeing this new playful side of him. She didn’t tell them she felt light-headed, happier than she had ever felt in years, her whole life, she corrected. Why did good things have to end?
'It’s not the Kava,' Kerela said, smiling as she pointed to the tree. It’s love.'
Love. The word sat like an undetonated grenade. The tension, the shift in energy, was unmistakable. Both of them froze like a scene in Maxwell Smart. Iron door after iron door slamming down, fortifying, protecting their hearts.
Shaking, she gazed toward where Kerela was pointing
'The Flame Doves,' she laughed, pointing to where the birds were nesting.
Issy felt her heart kick as she recalled what Tukana had said when she’d seen them for the first time. They take a long time to find a mate, but once united they never part.
Issy and Max had already united. They were no longer strangers to each other. Not after that steamy night of passion. He’d tasted her just as she could taste him now. She wanted him to taste her again. Mind, body and soul. If he did, perhaps a miracle might happen. Perhaps he’d realize what she already knew, that there’d be no questions and no need for answers. That their language would be the language of birds.
Except she wasn’t a Flame Dove anymore than Max was an orange-crested, long-tailed bird of paradise. In three days they would be forever parted. She would go back to her dingy bedsit and he would gladly return to his opulent life.
She could see Kerela’s eyes change, growing as dark as the sky above them.
'You’re such a sweet romantic,' she said, remembering with a start these were the words Max had thrown at her once.
Romantic and naive.
She glanced up at the sky noticing a bruised yellow staining the fast banding clouds, and started to remind Kerela she was only here to work, that dreams and desires and desires weren’t enough. That even though she wanted the fantasy of mating with Max for life to be true more than anything, that her bones were melting from the desire for him, it wasn’t enough.
Nerves sprinkled along her skin, all the more frantically because of the relaxing, escapist hour she’d just spent.
The wind blew around her, stirring the trees, stirring her desire.
No amount of lucid dreaming would change the facts.
'You know what real love is?' she said, forcing an optimistic tone. 'That beautiful moonlight massage you planned for us both.'
The bird song which has once filled the air suddenly stopped, replaced instead by the wild roar of the once languid sea, now a swelling wall of fury. The hot, wild wind grew in strength.
The light dimmed. Thunder rumbled.
She could hear Tukana calling, 'Come quickly.'
The grip on her hand was tight as Max pulled her toward the idling Land Rover.
Max leapt in beside her as the sky opened and the rain poured.
'You’ll be safer staying here tonight,' Tukana said, glancing out as lightning flashed in wicked bolts.
She jolted back against the seats.
Be careful what you pray for.
*
The Land Rover swung off the road, a sign saying “Happily Ever After” greeting them as they pulled into a gated driveway.
'We took your advice,' Tukana said, ignoring Max’s appalled stare. 'And focused on honeymooners.'
Max shook his head in disbelief. Happily Ever After. How ironic. Having vowed he would never marry, that other than design bridal couture, he would never subject himself to the fairytale fantasies of women, he now found himself literally being driven towards his honeymoon. Was this the villagers’ idea of a joke?
His hand-tightened around the car handle, as though impelling him to make a leap to freedom. He was being ridiculous, of course. No woman, no matter how enigmatically compelling, could force him against his will. And with the threat of a cyclone advancing ferociously, this secluded hideaway on the northern most part of the island was as safe, and, for now, as dry as it would get.
'Let’s not assume the worst,' Issy said, resorting to the optimism she had so carefully cultivated over the years, 'why don’t we just wait to see what they’ve created. Hopefully there’ll be a nice area where we can finally start what I was employed to do,' she said, her brows knitting together as at last the accommodation came into view at last. 'We’ll just have to go with the flow.'
Max stiffened. 'I did not turn around a failing business, expand a formidable portfolio of fashion and jewellery lines by going with the flow,' he said, fixing Issy with a reprimanding glare. 'Planning, scheduling, rational analysis, anticipating every single thing that could go wrong and then making sure it never did, that’s the measure of success.'
'Well how’s that working out for you, ' Issy flashed. 'Would it really have been that hard to have scanned the weather forecast.'
Max slumped back against the seats. Grudgingly he conceded she had a point.
'You sure you two are not married?' Tukana said, chuckling. 'You argue like me and my girl,' he said, giving his wife a wink.
'Go with the flow,' he said. ‘It may suit bohemians and bums but it’s no way to run a business. Flow does not win business contracts, flow does not create an empire, flow does not create the world’s favorite haute couture.' Still, he thought, running a successful empire had taught him one thing—pick your battles.
And right now, he mused, looking up at the moody sky, it looked as though the storm would win.
There were worse ways to spend a night. He stretched out and gave a hearty chuckle.
'Why are you laughing?' asked Issy, thrusting out her chin.
'This is priceless,' he said. 'Milano’s most notorious bachelor, Italy’s consummate control freak, the world’s most unlikely man ever to be hoodwinked by a woman and here I am running from a storm—on my honeymoon with a virtual stranger. But wait, it gets better, the most revered designer in the world, if he survives nature’s wrath, is about to spend the next three days playing with paints and crayons. If I didn’t laugh I’d probably have a heart attack.'
'If I said I was insulted would you care?'
'Surely you’ve heard that laughter is one of the best antidotes to stress,' he said sweeping aside her protests. 'Pinch me,' he said, thrusting a muscled arm toward her. 'Pinch me and tell me I’m not hallucinating.'
'Ha. Ha. I’m glad you find it a joke. Personally I find it terrifying,' she said jumping as a loud crack of lightning boomed through the sky.
Her fingers pinched together as her hands clutched his arm. He felt a zing of desire ricochet through his body as she clung to him. Then smiled with satisfaction when her pinch barely registered a mark. Instead of the soft, malleable, dare he say flabby skin of most men her slender fingers met biceps like Italian granite. And in that moment he relished the role of protector.
'Welcome to Lomani,' said Tukana. 'In Fiji Lomani means ‘in love,’ he said chuckling as he slid from the driver’s seat. 'We listened to your marketing advice and thought that would be a winner.'
Max grimaced.
'The setting is exquisite,' Issy said brightly as though forcing herself to think optimistically as she entered the small thatched bure. "Gosh, you've really gone to a lot of trouble—it's enchanting,' she said, taking in her surroundings. 'Gosh, where did you find those cushions shaped like love hearts? They're adorable. And you seem to have them in every possible shade of red. Ohhh, and you've even strung a rainbow of love hearts from the ceiling, and fairy lights.'
The Islanders in their enthusiasm had taken things a little too far, Max thought shading his eyes from the mayhem of discordant color. The over-the-top love nest they'd created was unashamedly tacky and Issy seemed to loved them even more for it.
'Oh, that’s beautiful,' she said, taking in the mosquito net of pink silk draped over the marshma
llow bed. 'Maybe we can make this work. I could set up my art materials on the deck, I could—' she opened the door, as though hoping to find other rooms, but encountered only an outdoor shower, with two shower heads and towels embossed with a pair of Orange Fruit Doves. 'Where are the other rooms?'
'This is a unique romantic paradise. A couple’s retreat,' Tukana said, flashing a while toothy smile.
'We’re not a couple. We’re not doing romance. You know that,' she said, fixing Tukana with a reproachful stare.
Despite cringing at the decor Max enjoyed watching her strive to keep some semblance of control.
'Couples honeymoon package. That is our target market,' Tukana looked to Max for approval.
'It’s all good,' Issy said weakly.
Something dangerous danced in his eyes as Max ambled toward the bed.
'So my bride, what are we going to do now?'
*
He was making her life impossible.
Issy lay on the bed staring up at the love hearts dangling from the mosquito net. A sensual wave of desire fluttered over her as the once gentle rain gained in velocity.
She traced her lips with her finger, closing her eyes and surrendering momentarily to the memory of their night of passion. Her pathetic brain recalling every detail, from the way his eyes glinted gold to the sensuous texture of his beautiful mouth. But since that night, other than that silly honeymoon kiss, he’d been a perfect gentleman.
Emphasis on gentleman, she mused over at him as he lay on the wicker couch. She’d never met a man so cultured and divine—a man that held out her chair, then pushed it in; a man who opened doors for her and now had given up the bed.
She couldn’t leave him there, no matter how gallant he had been giving up his own comfort for hers. And she absolutely shouldn’t invite him into her bed, but his powerful frame was far too tall for the two person lovebird couch.
Issy let out a long frustrated breath. She would be scrupulously professional, unspeakably detached and utterly sexless. Whatever ideas he may or may not think she was inviting, by morning he’d think he’d been sharing the bed with a rock.
'Come to bed,' she said, aloofly padding over to him. Hopefully she had injected enough cool detachment into her voice to leave him in no doubt that Passion Down Under was not in the business of providing sex tours
He hesitated—looking more conflicted than fevered with desire. 'I’ll take my chances,' he said.
Waves roared toward the shore, as spiraling winds rose in ferocity, coconut trees arched their trunks, bending almost to the floor. Visibility was almost zero as the rain fell in horizontal sheets of water.
He looked at her as though wondering if it would be better to face the eye of the storm than come to her bed.
'Look, that’s my side and this is yours,' she said, drawing a crease down the middle of the bed. Max’s brows furrowed as he looked at the roughly drawn division.
'It doesn’t have to be perfect,' she said, noticing for herself without intending it she had given herself a bigger portion. 'I’m a bed hog. What can I say?'
Did his eyes become darker or was it her imagination? 'I normally sleep naked,' he said.
She stared at him.
What I wouldn’t give to see that.
'I’m sleeping in my clothes. I’d rather you did too.'
She didn’t look at him as she slid under the thin cotton sheets. She heard the soft plop of his clothes landing on the floor. The bed creaked as he lay down beside her. Her foot throbbed with sexy friskiness. She fought against the urge to touch him with her toes to see if he truly was naked. If she closed her eyes and kept them shut, thinking chaste thoughts, temptation would be impossible, she told herself. She turned her back to him, feeling awareness swirling between them.
She gave him a cool smile. '’Night, Max. '
'Buona notte, Isabella.'
She clung to the edge of the bed but despite the distance between them sparks flew anyway. If they touched he would ignite desire, burning her cotton thin resolve.
While his body was at a safe distance, as safe as it could be in a king-size bed, it was impossible to deny there was a man beside her. A wildly sexy, impossibly attractive man who sent blood surging through her body with no more than a glance.
Issy shuffled a little more to the edge, gripping the side. Any further and she’d fall off. But no matter how much distance she tried to create between them it was as though his aura was fused with hers. It wasn’t an auspicious start to the night, but what was she going to say, ‘‘Excuse me, can you keep your auric field to yourself.’’
The room was silent but outside the wind and rain raged. This was a bad idea.
At least he wouldn’t be able to hear her thundering heart, she prayed, tensing as a crack of lightning exploded across the sky.
Challenge. That was the best way to look at it. A test of her resolve. A formidable challenge. But she would sleep like a rock, unmoving.
Minutes felt like hours and still they were both awake. She counted sheep, visualized lavender fields, but none of it helped. Normally the strategy from the Power of Now book, extolling the virtues of focusing the mind on the sensations of her body, worked a treat.
But not now. Not tonight. Not next to him. Her toes yearned to encircle his feet, her chest hammered with urgent need, her breasts pulsed with desire. She tried to relax all her muscles, think of anything other than what it would be like to be taken by him.
Failing miserably.
There was no other option.
They would have to…
Talk.
'Max.'
'Si.'
'You awake?'
'No, principessa.'
She pressed her lips together. What other banal thing would slide out of her mouth next? Whatever she said, it had to, well, it had to somehow break the aching awakeness.
'Would you like me to put my arm around you?' he said, finally bringing his addictive gaze to her. Instead of looking self-conscious, or worse, eager, she frowned at his familiarity.
'Why?' she said thickly, trying to force any treacherous trickle of hope from her voice.
'Because you’re shivering, because you jump every time there’s thunder, because… ’
Issy felt a quick lick of excitement. 'It’s all good,' she whispered.
She respected the fact he’d asked her permission. So why was she so disappointed he wasn’t offering more? It was darned near impossible to be a rock, she thought as she inched over ever so slightly. A wave of sensual tension locked her body in excruciating rigor mortis as she lay stiffly beside him.
'It could be a long night,' he pointed out. 'The storm sounds like it’s only just getting going.'
His eyes were too dark to read. She could feel him searching her face, looking for anguish or fear. The last thing she wanted to look like was a weak and wilting wallflower that needed rescuing.
Oh, but what she wouldn’t give for a cuddle. Not that she knew what that would feel like. While she was a great cuddler she'd never been a receiver. Her parents had never cuddled her, not once, and any time a man locked arms around her she’d felt imprisoned. But something about Max’s arms looked safe, protective.
She opened her mouth, aching to say, 'Yes please, I’d love a cuddle.' She shook her head and closed it again. She knew only too well where a cuddle would lead.
He looked at her, his face illuminated in the moody violet-tinged moonlight.
Violent gusts of wind arched the coconut trees bending them like rubber bands. Gusts lashed against the shutters, fingers of wind seeped into the room and kicking up the mosquito net that covered them like a wedding veil.
If she hadn’t been so tense it would have been incredibly romantic, she mused, avoiding his gaze and staring at the ceiling.
'I thought it was part of your job description,' he said, moving closer.
'What?' Issy said stiffly, sensing the energy shift between them. He was relaxed, playful, in charge.
'To
ensure the comfort and relaxation of your clients.'
She stared at him.
'I’m frightened,' he said, grinning, 'frightened and scared. Can you hold me?'
She shrugged. 'Maybe,' she mumbled. The man was impossible. Still there were worse ways to pass a stormy night… and he was the client, the guest… and he did ask nicely-and he did look so damned cute! ‘If you promise to behave.’
He shook his head. 'I can’t do that.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Max observed in studied amazement as Issy captured the sunrise with a frenzy of saturated colors. She was sitting on the edge of the cliff, a board and paper on her knees, paints and brushes beside her. The early morning rays as the sun rose above the Pacific captured shades of gold in her tousled hair.
His heart lurched in a way that was becoming disconcertingly familiar every time he was in her presence. He watched as she laid a new blank piece of paper on the pad. Her shoulders tensed, then she crumpled the sketch into a ball, and stared at the horizon with added intensity. Pausing briefly she laid a new blank piece of paper, and began washing it with a yellow glaze, then dropped in pink bands and green circles.
The shapes resembled nothing of the setting before her but seemed to convey her emotions in a way words never could. As scrambled and conflicted as his own He wanted to cry out “A Euro for your thoughts,” but he feared what she would say, what she would reveal, what she would ask.
He’d broken his commitment. He’d betrayed his vow. He’d pledged that no woman would ever get close enough to pierce his resolve.What was she really thinking? He had no idea. He barely knew his own mind. Watching Issy as she spontaneously threw down colors onto the page, he , admired and envied her freedom. There was no going by the rules.
He witnessed the moment when her intuition and natural talent took over, and felt a strong, clear surge of clarity about the one thing he could give her. He found himself smiling as her shoulders relaxed, as though concentrating on what was being drawn seemed to release her energy. The picture seemed to be drawing itself on its own.
The Italian Billionaire’s Christmas Bride Page 13