She felt another flicker of panic. Earlier, she’d felt strong and sure of herself. Despite wanting nothing more than to tumble back into bed with him, she’d forced him to see her not just as a conquest or a commodity but as a person. But now, transported by his luxury yacht to an exclusive piece of paradise she felt vulnerable and out of her depth—alone on an island with a man who not only didn’t live in her world but clearly didn’t expect to play by its rules either.
‘You’re very quiet.’
Massimo’s voice broke into her thoughts.
‘I was thinking.’
‘I’ve got a cure for that.’
She felt his gaze sweep over her and, looking up, she found him watching her curiously. ‘Thinking isn’t a bad thing.’
He looked past her out to the open sea. ‘Depends what you’re thinking,’ he said cryptically.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what he was thinking. But just in time she remembered. This was just sex.
She didn’t need to know what he was thinking and she certainly had no intention of sharing her thoughts. In truth, she’d rather die first.
She smiled up at him. ‘Actually, I was just thinking that I would never have got to see the Spiaggia Rosa if you hadn’t brought me out on your boat today.’ She hesitated. ‘So thank you.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I still can’t believe it’s actually pink.’
He laughed. ‘The clue’s in the name.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I know it’s called that. But lots of things have names that sound like one thing and then they turn out to be completely different. Like Leeds Castle,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Leeds is in Yorkshire but the castle’s in Kent.’
There was short, taut silence, and then he said quietly, ‘It was built next to a village in Kent which is also called Leeds. That’s why it’s called Leeds Castle.’
‘How do you know that?’ She stared at him in astonishment but he simply shrugged. For a moment she hesitated. This definitely had nothing whatsoever to do with sex but— ‘Are you interested in castles, then?’ she said tentatively.
His pace had slowed, and she sensed that he was deciding whether or not to tell her something. Finally, after several strides, he shook his head.
‘I went to school in Kent. One year my class had to do a project on Leeds Castle.’ His voice was flat and he was staring straight ahead. ‘That’s how I know so much about it. I don’t actually remember much about the castle itself, except that it has a maze and a moat.’ He smiled stiffly and let go of her hand. ‘But then I was only seven, and seven-year-old boys find history pretty dull.’
Flora looked at him blankly. ‘I didn’t know your family lived in Kent. I thought you grew up in Italy. What were they doing in England?’
There was a stilted pause and then Massimo frowned. ‘My family didn’t live in Kent. I went to boarding school there. They were in Rome.’
His heart was beating slowly, like a funeral march. He gritted his teeth. What the hell was he doing? She didn’t need to hear this stuff any more than he wanted to remember it. Except that saying it out loud, sharing it with Flora, made it feel different somehow.
He’d always thought that talking about it would bring back the pain. And it had. Only not in the way he’d imagined. It still hurt—how could it not? But this was not the dull, throbbing pain of loneliness and rejection. It felt more like the prickling ache that came when a wound was healing.
He felt her turn towards him and then saw her look away.
‘Oh!’ She swallowed. His words had shocked her, but it was the tension in his voice that made her flinch. ‘Wow. That must have been quite hard for you. I mean, I still get homesick now and I’m twenty-seven. I can’t imagine what it would have been like, going away from home when I was that young.’
He shrugged, holding up his hand almost defensively, as though to deter her sympathy.
‘I didn’t know any different. And it was actually a very useful life lesson. It taught me that you can only ever rely on yourself. That you don’t actually need anyone in your life.’
Flora nodded. It was a brief, too brief glimpse into his mind and she badly wanted to ask him more. But the cool inflexibility of his voice was like a shutter coming down, and she knew that the topic was no longer up for discussion.
She smiled at him weakly, stunned and saddened. It might have been the slimmest of revelations but it went a long way to explaining the man he was. No wonder he was so detached and clinical. His parents hadn’t just sent him away to school. They’d sent him to a different country. But they must have had some reason, she thought shakily. Only she knew that her own parents would never have made that choice.
‘Fantastic. Lunch is ready!’
Massimo’s voice bumped into her thoughts and, looking up, she felt her feet stutter to a halt.
Across the sand a huge canvas canopy was rippling gently in the breeze. Beneath it large, brightly coloured velvet cushions were strewn across a huge Persian rug. And in the middle, laid out on a low wooden table, was lunch.
Her hand flew up to her mouth.
Turning, Massimo studied her face as though assessing her reaction. ‘I know I said I’d take you out to lunch, and I hope you’re not disappointed, but I thought it would be more fun to have a picnic.’
His mood seemed to have lightened, and she felt a warm rush of relief. She didn’t exactly know why, but she wanted him to feel happy. Maybe because he had made her happy. Her gaze drifted over the suckling pig, roasting over a pit of ash, and then moved back to the bottles of champagne chilling in a huge copper ice bucket. Who wouldn’t be happy with this?
‘It’s not a picnic. It’s a banquet!’ she murmured.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind about the restaurant?’ His face softened. Reaching out, he ran his thumb gently down her arm. ‘I wanted it to be just the two of us. I didn’t want to share you.’
His gaze slid slowly over her throat, dropping down to the curve of her breast, and then his eyes locked on to hers and she felt her heart beat faster beneath their shimmering, teasing gaze.
She breathed out slowly. He was probably just talking about sex again, but still, they could have just stayed on the yacht. So it had to have been his choice to bring her to this beautiful, idyllic beach...
Her shoulders stiffened. But perhaps he brought all his conquests here. After all, what woman could resist paradise?
‘No,’ he said softly, lifting up his hand to touch her face. ‘I’ve never brought anybody else here. That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?’
She stared at him. ‘There are a lot of islands in the world,’ she said grittily.
‘And there are a lot of women. But I haven’t taken any of them to any island.’ His eyes gleaming, he drew her into his arms. ‘But I love it that you care that I might have done.’
‘I don’t care,’ she lied, pushing him away. ‘It would just be awkward if you’d left any of them behind.’
He burst out laughing and reached out for her. ‘There are no women hiding in the bushes. I promise. But there’s going to be one unhinged man on this beach if I don’t eat soon!’
* * *
The food was delicious. After the crew had cleared away the plates and glasses with swift, soundless efficiency, Flora lay back on one of the cushions, her head resting on Massimo’s shoulder. She was trying not to stare at him but it was difficult. With his shirt unbuttoned and his hair mussed up by the breeze drifting gently over the sand he looked more desirable than ever.
Feeling her gaze on his face, he leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth. His lips were cold and tasted of honey and berries.
‘Penny for them?’ he said, tracing a finger up the bare skin of her thigh so that she squirmed against him.
‘You’d get change,’ she said lightly.
<
br /> He frowned. ‘What does that mean?’
She tilted her head back. He was watching her intently and the feel of his eyes on her was making it difficult for her to breathe. ‘It was something my mum used to say...’ she said finally.
He waited for her to continue.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about her a lot today. Before she died we used to go sailing together. Not your kind of sailing.’ She gave him a quick, tight smile. ‘We had a little dinghy and it was just the two of us. My dad and Freddie—my brother—they both got seasick, so it was just the two of us. Me and Mum.’
Glancing up at him, she hesitated, expecting him to look bored, but instead he nodded. ‘When did she die?’
‘When I was twelve. But she was ill for a couple of years before that.’ Her shoulders tensed and she looked down at her hands.
‘I’m sorry.’
He meant it. She could hear it in his voice.
She nodded. ‘Me too.’
‘So, do you still sail?’
His voice was so gentle that she had to curl her fingers into the palm of her hand to stop tears from filling her eyes. ‘No. At first I didn’t want to. But later my dad...’ She paused. ‘It made him worry. He couldn’t help it,’ she added almost defensively. ‘He’d just lost my mum, and sailing is dangerous.’
‘Did he remarry?’
Looking up, she was shaken by the intense blueness of his gaze. ‘No. No, he didn’t. He never really got over her death. You see, they were like soul mates.’
Trying to ignore the scratchiness in her voice, she gave him another quick, tight smile.
‘They met at school. He was the year above her but she asked him out.’ She bit her lip. ‘He was just so lost without her. Some people can’t be apart,’ she said slowly.
She fell silent. Beside her, Massimo was silent too, and for a moment there was no sound except the waves washing over the sand. Looking across the beach, she watched the foam rise and fall, feeling awkward. Not that she really blamed him for having nothing to say. In her experience death was a no-go area for most people, and certainly not the most fitting topic of conversation for a picnic on a deserted island.
‘My mother didn’t really like the water very much.’ His voice jolted her from her thoughts, and slowly she lifted her head. He smiled tautly.
‘When she took me swimming she used to pile all her hair up on top of her head and do this incredibly slow breaststroke so as not to splash herself.’
Flora nodded but her head was spinning so fast she hardly knew what she was doing. Up until today Massimo had been like a dot-to-dot puzzle: she’d just filled in the lines, creating a picture of a man who was unscrupulous and ruthless. Only now she saw a different man. A man who’d once been a boy, struggling as she had with grief and guilt and loneliness and loss.
Leaning forward, Massimo ran his finger lightly over the pattern on the carpet. ‘She had this sapphire necklace my father gave her when I was born and she always refused to take it off in the water. It drove my father mad. But he’d always back down. I think he liked it that she loved it so much.’
Flora looked at him. ‘She sounds like she knew her own mind!’
‘She did. She was very strong-willed.’ His eyes met hers and he smiled reluctantly. And then his smile faded. ‘She was strong too. Right up until the end she’d get dressed and do her hair and put on her make-up...’
‘And her necklace?’ she said softly.
Massimo nodded. His finger stopped moving. He’d never talked to anyone about his mother’s death. When she’d died he’d been too young. And then later he’d been too angry. He felt sadness settle around his heart. It had been so long since he’d even spoken her name. He hadn’t meant to do it, but in his grief for what he’d lost he’d edited her out of his life.
Chewing her lip, Flora stared up at his profile. He looked remote, untouchable, hard-edged. But she knew now that was how he’d learnt to manage the pain. Knew too that he hadn’t always been that way.
Anxious not to break this new mood of intimacy between them, she breathed out quietly. It was strangely calming, sitting beside him, watching the play of sunlight beneath the canopy. Usually thinking about her mum left her feeling resentful and wrung out. But here, with the warmth of his body drawing her closer, she felt okay. Maybe it was because he actually understood how she felt; his mother’s death had obviously had a huge impact on him. And his father too.
‘How about your dad?’ she said quietly. ‘How did he cope after your mum died?’
Flora had a beautiful voice. Soft and husky and soothing, like the sound of summer rain, but nothing could relieve the pain caused by her innocent question. And nothing would ever induce him to share that pain with anyone.
Massimo gave a humourless laugh. ‘He managed.’ His voice was cool with a definite edge to it.
It was time to change the subject. Glancing across the beach, she said lightly, ‘I don’t know about you, but I quite fancy a swim.’ Gripping his hand, she stood up, pulling him to his feet. ‘The only trouble is I don’t have a bikini. You don’t have one on the boat I could borrow, do you?’
‘I don’t think you’d fit mine,’ he said sadly.
She nipped his hand with her fingers. ‘I didn’t mean you...’ She hesitated ‘I just thought maybe one of your guests might have left one behind.’ Colour was spreading over her cheeks and collarbone but she met his gaze defiantly.
He gave her a long, considering smile. ‘By “guests”, I suppose you mean female guests? But, as I’ve never taken a woman on the boat before today, I’m afraid I can’t help you. If it’s any comfort, I don’t have any trunks with me either.’
He paused, his eyes roaming lazily over her body, and the sand seemed to shift beneath her feet. She felt as if she’d been drinking. Adrenaline and anticipation were spiralling up inside her like the curl of lemon in a martini. And fear too. Fear that she was confusing sensation for emotion. If this was going to work she needed to stay in control of herself. She needed to make it just about sex. Just as they’d agreed.
‘In that case,’ she said softly, ‘I suppose I’ll just have to go naked.’
The air was thickening around them like a sea storm about to break. Even the waves seemed to have stopped beating against the shoreline.
Breathing unsteadily, she took a step backwards and in one swift move pulled her dress over her head. Proudly, like some island princess, she stood in front of him, the green satin of her bra and panties gleaming like damp leaves beneath the shade of the canopy.
A dark flush stained his cheeks; his narrowed eyes sent darts of bright blue light over her skin.
With shock, Flora realised that she liked him looking at her like that.
Her pulse slowed. More than liked... It made her feel alive: wild and strong and beautiful. And she wanted him to keep looking. Wanted him to want her.
But every time they had sex everything got a little messier inside her head. It scared her how badly she wanted him. But what scared her more was the fear that she might grow careless—might grow to want more. She didn’t want to care. She didn’t want to feel any emotion. Emotion was dangerous. Watching her dad suffer had shown her exactly how dangerous. What she needed was pleasure and passion. Pure and simple.
Reaching round with a hand that shook slightly, she unhooked her bra and let it slip through her fingers.
‘Last one to the sea has to swim home.’
Their eyes met, then before he could reply, she turned and ran towards the surf.
He caught her moments later, his arm around her waist as the water foamed over her feet.
‘You cheated,’ she said breathlessly as he pulled her against him, the damp fabric of his trousers slipping against her skin. ‘You’ve still got your clothes on.’
They were deeper now, the water splashing against their knees. His eyes were shimmering with passion. ‘That’s your fault,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You make me break the rules.’
And then he pulled her closer and kissed her feverishly.
Her lips parted as his hands slid over her body, every touch sending an exquisite flickering flare of heat over her skin. Cupping his hands beneath her bottom, he lowered her into the water and then, raising her up again, put his mouth to her breasts and delicately licked the salty droplets from each swollen tip.
She gasped, her body jerking forward. Reaching for him blindly, she pressed his head against her nipple. But it wasn’t enough. Heat was swelling inside her, impossible to ignore. Desperately, she grabbed his hand and pulled it between her shaking thighs.
This was what she needed. To clear her mind of conflict and doubt and fear. Maddened, she clenched his hand, pressing down hard against the knuckles. Heat spiked inside her and, reaching down, she pushed his fingers beneath the wet satin, bit down on his shoulder and shuddered, muscles spasming, her pulse beating against the palm of his hand.
She heard him groan, and as he reached into his trousers for protection she clawed clumsily at his belt. Panting, he held her still against him, his hands circling her waist, and then as his mouth covered hers he surged inside her.
She clung to him, her hands gripping the muscles of his arms, gasping into the sea breeze, and then she felt his lips brush the side of her face.
‘Oh!’ She gave a start of surprise as some tiny orange and white fish flickered swiftly through the water beside them.
‘Rainbow wrasse,’ Massimo said quietly. ‘The tide must be going out. We ought to get back to the yacht.’
She nodded and let go of his arm. Their eyes met and for a moment he hesitated, and then, frowning, he pulled her against him, kissing her fiercely. As they broke apart he began to laugh softly.
A Deal Sealed by Passion Page 11