by Trish Morey
Sam! Eve woke with a mother’s certainty that something was wrong, bolting from the bed and momentarily disoriented with her new surroundings, only to realise it wasn’t Sam who was in trouble. For in the bed she’d so recently left, Leo was thrashing from side to side, making gravel-voiced mutterings against the mattress, rantings that made no sense in any language she knew, his body glossy with sweat under the moonlight.
He cried out in his sleep, a howl of desperation and helplessness, anguish clear in his tortured limbs and fevered brow as he twisted and writhed. Eve did the only thing she could think of, the only thing she knew helped Sam when he had night terrors. She went to Leo’s side of the bed and sat down softly. ‘It’s okay, Leo,’ she said, sweeping a calming hand over his brow, finding it burning hot. He flnched at her touch, resisting it at first, so she tried to soothe him with her words. ‘It’s okay. It’s all right. You’re safe now. Leo, you’re safe.’
He seemed to slump under her hands, his body slick with sweat, his breathing still hard but slowing, and Eve suspected that whatever demons had invaded his midnight hours had now departed. She went to leave then, to return to her side of the bed, but when she made a move to leave, a hand locked around her wrist and she realised that maybe there were still some demons hanging on.
And just as she would do and had done with Sam when he needed comfort, she slid under the covers alongside the hot body of Leo, putting her arm around him, soothing him back to sleep with the gentle reassurance of another’s touch and trying not to think of the heated presence lying so close to her or the thud of his heart under her hands.
Five minutes should be enough, she figured, until he had settled back into sleep. Five minutes and she’d escape back to her edge of the mattress. Five minutes would be more than enough…
Something was different. She woke to the soft light of the coming dawn, filtering grey through the shutters, and to the sound of birdsong coming from the palms outside. And she woke to the certain knowledge that she had stayed far, far too long. Fingers trailed over her back, making lazy circles on her skin through her thin cotton nightie and setting her skin to tingling, and warm lips nuzzled at her brow as the hand between them somehow managed to brush past her nipples and send spears of electricity to her core.
And she was very, very aroused.
She was also trapped, his heavy arm over her, one leg casually thrown over hers. She tried to wiggle her way out but the movement brought her into contact with a part of him that told her he was also very much aroused. He growled his appreciation, shifted closer, and she tried not to think about how good that part of him had felt inside her.
‘Leo…’ she said, conflicted, her mind in panic, her body in revolt, turning her face up to his, only to be met by his mouth as he dragged her into his long, lazy kiss, a kiss she had no power or intention to cut short even though she knew it was utter madness.
Utter pleasure.
Her senses soared, her flesh tingled and breasts ached for the caress of his clever hands and hot mouth, and arguments that things were complicated enough, that there was no point, that this must end and end badly made little impression against this slow, sensual onslaught.
‘I see you changed your mind,’ he murmured, a brush of velvet against her skin.
‘You had a nightmare.’
‘This,’ he said, sliding one long-fingered hand up the back of her leg, kneading her bottom in his hand, ‘is no nightmare.’
‘Don’t you—’ His mouth cut her off again as his hand captured her breast, working at her nipple, plucking at her nerve endings, making her groan into his mouth with the exquisite pleasure of his caress, emerging breathless and dizzy when it ended so that she almost forgot what she wanted to say. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Maybe…’ he said, rolling her under him, pinning her arms to the bed above her head as his head dipped to her throat, ‘maybe right now I’d rather forget.’
She moaned with the wicked pleasure of it all, his hot mouth like a brand against her skin. But this wasn’t supposed to happen. She hadn’t wanted this to happen. But as he lowered his head to her breast and drew in one achingly hard nipple to his mouth, laving it with his hot tongue, blowing on the damp fabric and sending exquisite chills coursing through her, she couldn’t, for the life of her, remember why. Her body was alive with wanting him, alive with the power that came from him and that she craved, and there was no way she could stop.
He let her wrists go, his hands busy at her nightie. She felt the soft fabric lifting as he skimmed his hands up her sides, before skimming down again, taking her underwear with them. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he growled, his voice like a brush of velvet over her bare skin as he pulled it over her head. And yet he was the magnificent one, broad and dark, his erection swaying and bucking over her, a pearl of liquid glistening at its head. Transfixed, unable to stop herself, she reached out her hand and touched it with the pad of her thumb. He uttered something urgent, his dark eyes flared, wild and filled with the same dark need that consumed her as he swiped up his wallet, found what he needed and tossed the wallet away in his rush to be inside her.
He dragged in air, forced himself to slow. ‘You do this to me,’ he accused her softly as he parted her thighs with his hand and found her slick and wet and wanting. ‘You make me rock hard and aching,’ he continued, his fingers circling that tiny nub of nerve endings, a touch so delicious she mewled with pleasure, writhing as sensation built on the back of his words, fuelling her need, fuelling her desperation.
Until at last she felt him nudge her there, hot and hard and pulsing with life as he tensed above her for one tantalising moment of anticipation.
And then joyfully, blissfully, he entered her in one magical thrust and she held him there, at her very core, welcoming him home, tears squeezing from her eyes at the sheer ecstasy of it all.
So much to feel. So much to experience and hold precious. And still the best was to come. The dance, the friction, the delicious moment of tension when he would sit poised at her entrance, before slamming back inside.
She went with him, matched him measure for measure, gasp for gasp as the pace increased, their bodies slick and hot as the rhythm increased, faster, more furious, the climb too high until this thing building inside her felt too big for her chest, her lungs too small.
Until with one final thrust, one final guttural roar, he sent her shattering, coming apart in his arms, falling, spinning weightless and formless and satisfied beyond measure.
‘So beautiful,’ he said, as he smoothed her hair from her damp brow, kissing her lightly on her eyes, on her nose, on her gasping lips.
And you’re dangerous, she thought as he disappeared to the bathroom, as her brain resumed functioning and a cold and very real panic seized her heart. So utterly, utterly dangerous.
And I am so in trouble.
What should one say now? What would an army do, its defences stripped bare, the castle walls well and truly breached? Try to hastily rebuild them? Call for reinforcements?
Or surrender?
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about the sizzle under her skin where his fingers had stroked her shoulder.
As if she had a choice. She would no sooner patch up her defences and he would have them down again. One silken touch, one poignant kiss, and he would have those walls tumbling right down.
But she was kidding himself. There was no point rebuilding walls or calling for reinforcements. No point trying to save herself from attack from outside the castle walls.
Not when the enemy was already within.
Tears sprang to her eyes and she swiped them away. Damn. What was she doing? What was she risking? ‘I can’t afford to get pregnant again,’ she said when he returned, putting voice to her greatest fear.
‘I wouldn’t let you.’
‘But Sam’s father—’
He rose over her, cutting her off with his kiss. ‘I would never do that to you.’
‘How do I know that
? And I would have two babies from two different fathers. How could I cope with that?’
‘Believe me. It won’t happen but even if it did, I would not abandon you as he has done.’
‘But you wouldn’t marry me either.’
He searched her eyes and frowned and she thought it was at her words, until he used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the moisture there.
‘I thought I heard you say any woman would be certifiably insane to want to get shackled to me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, remembering the scene in the bar. ‘I was angry.’
‘As was I. I should never have said what I did about Sam’s father thinking the same of you. But you’re right. Marriage is not an option, which means the best thing for everyone is to ensure we’re careful. All right?’
She wished he wouldn’t be like this. She wished he could go back to being ruthless and hard, because when he was tender and gentle with her, she could almost, almost, imagine he actually cared.
And she could almost, almost, imagine that she cared for him. She couldn’t afford to care for him. She couldn’t afford to read anything into his apology for what he’d said about Sam’s dad when it was plain he wasn’t lining up to marry her himself.
But she could enjoy him.
Two more nights in Leo’s bed. Why was she fighting it when it was where she so wanted to be? Why not treat it as the holiday it really was? Time spent in a tropical paradise with a man who knew how to pleasure a woman. No ties, no commitments and a promise not to let her down.
Was she mad to fight it?
And was it really surrendering, to take advantage of what she’d been offered on a plate?
His hand cupped her breast, feeling its weight, stroking her nipple and her senses until it peaked hard and plump under his fingers while his lips worked their heated way along her jaw towards her mouth. ‘Evelyn?’
A woman would have to be mad to want to give this up, she reasoned, leaning into his ministrations, giving herself over to the sensations. Two nights to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. It was more than some people had in a lifetime.
It would be enough.
It had to be enough.
‘All right,’ she whispered, giving herself up to his kiss.
CHAPTER TEN
SAM’S morning chatter roused them, as he tested all the sounds in his vocabulary in one long gabble, then she heard a tell-tale bump on the floor, followed by a squeal. ‘That’s Sam,’ she said unnecessarily, locating her nightie and snatching up her balled-up underwear and a robe and making for the bathroom for a quick pit stop, wanting to ensure she looked maternal rather than wanton when she greeted her son. Not that he was old enough to notice anything amiss, she thought, giving thanks for his innocence.
Sam was hanging onto the rails and bouncing on the mattress and greeted her with a huge grin followed by ‘mumumumumum’, which warmed her heart. Unconditional love. There was nothing like it. She changed him on the table provided and equipped for the task before popping his wriggling body down on the floor. ‘Bear!’ he shouted, gleefully scooping up the toy and running with his wide toddler gait out of the room before her, looking a little bit lost at the new surroundings for just a moment, before running full pelt and colliding with the bed.
Dark eyes blinked up at Leo, openly curious. He blinked back, wondering what one was supposed to say to a child. Sam looked around at his mother, who was pulling milk from the fridge in the small kitchenette and pouring it into a jug. ‘It’s okay, Sam, you remember Leo,’ she said reassuringly as she put the jug in the microwave, and Sam turned and careened straight into his mother’s legs, hiding his face between them.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, hoisting him to her hip in one efficient movement, although it wasn’t so much the efficiency that impressed Leo but the unexpected way the sudden angle of her hip displayed the long line of her legs. His mouth went dry, his blood went south. Strange really, for here she was, dressed in a cheap cotton nightgown, a toweling robe sashed at her waist and with a baby at her hip, and maybe it was her tousled hair, or the jut of that damned hip, or even the fact she’d just blown his world apart in bed—twice—but suddenly he was thinking about a third time.
The microwave pinged.
‘Ping,’ cried Sam, holding his hands out. ‘Ping!’
One-handed, she poured the milk into some kind of cup, fixing on a spout before passing it to the boy. ‘Here’s your ping, Sam.’ Leo watched her, admiring the way she looked so at ease working one-handedly. Sam dropped his bear to clasp the cup in his pudgy hands, gulping deep. ‘Sam’s used to joining me in bed in the morning,’ she said, bending over to retrieve the bear and giving his sex a hell of a jolt in the process. Until, through the fog of rising testosterone, it occurred to him that she was about to bring Sam back to bed.
‘Although, admittedly,’ she added, already on her way, ‘he’s not used to finding someone else there.’
He tucked that piece of information away in a file that came marked with a tick, even as he gladly took her hint and pulled on a robe to vacate the bed. He liked the knowledge she didn’t often entertain at home. Sam was evidence she’d been with someone, and that wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate. He didn’t want to think there had been or were others.
‘I didn’t mean you had to run away,’ she said, settling Sam between the pillows. ‘It’s still early.’
‘I think I’ll go for a run.’
‘You haven’t had that much to do with babies or children, have you?’
‘Does it show?’
‘Blatantly. You might want to do something about that if you want people to believe you’re actually Sam’s father. The fact you’re travelling most of the year is no excuse for not knowing how to deal with the child who’s supposed to be your own.’
He shrugged, knowing he’d handled things badly last night, not even remembering his supposed son’s age, but uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘Maybe you should try holding him from time to time. Even just hold his hand. Engage with him.’
‘Engage with him?’
‘He’s a person, Leo, just like anyone else. Maybe try directing all that animal magnetism you have at him instead of every woman you happen to meet.’
He looked at the child. Looked back at her, not sure who was making him feel more uncomfortable now. ‘But can he even understand what I say?’
She laughed. ‘More than you know.’
He sat down awkwardly on the side of the bed, watching Sam, Sam watching him as he swigged at his milk, his teddy tucked securely once again under his arm.
And Sam guzzled the last of his milk and held out his toy. ‘Bear!’
He looked on uncertainly, not sure what was expected of him, unfamiliar with this role. ‘I’m not sure I can do this.’
‘He’s offering it to you. Try taking it,’ she suggested.
He put out his hand toward the bear and Sam immediately rolled over, giggling madly, the toy wedged tightly beneath him.
He looked over at her. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘It’s a game, Leo. Wait.’ And sure enough the arm shot out again.
‘Bear.’
This time Leo made a grab for it. A slow lunge, and way too slow for Sam, but he loved it anyway, squealing with glee as he hid his teddy.
The next time was nearly a draw, Sam winning by a whisker, and he was in stitches on the bed, his body curved over his prize, and even Leo was finding it amusing. ‘He’s quick,’ he said, and he looked at Evelyn, who was smiling too, although her eyes looked almost sad, almost as if…
‘I’ll go take a shower,’ he said, standing abruptly, not interested in analysing what a look like that might mean. He didn’t do family. He’d told her that. And if the shadowed remnants of last night’s nightmares had reminded him of him anything, it was that he could never do family. He dared not risk it. He was broken, and that was just the way it was.
S
o she could look at him any damned way and it would make no difference. Because after two more nights with her, he would let her go for ever.
He didn’t want anything more.
And he definitely didn’t want her pity.
They were all meeting after breakfast at the dock, ready for a day’s adventure. A morning sail, and then a helicopter trip over the more far-flung sights of the islands and the reef. Hannah had already collected Sam and taken him up to the main house where there was a large playroom filled with toys and games and all surrounded by secure fences so he couldn’t get into trouble if he wandered off. Which meant Eve had a rare few hours without Sam, not to work but to enjoy her beautiful if temporary surroundings, and the heated attention of a man just as beautiful and temporary, if a lot more complex.
He held her hand as they wended their way along the palm-studded sand toward the dock on the bay, the whispering wind promising a day of seductive warmth, the odd scattered white cloud offering no threat, and the man at her side promising days and nights filled with sinful pleasures.
Now that she had made her decision, and had Leo’s commitment that he wouldn’t abandon her if the worst happened, as Sam’s father had done, she was determined to enjoy every last moment of it. Maybe she was crazy, but she trusted him, at least on that score. And there was no question that he didn’t lack the means to support a child.
The morning sun kissed her bare arms where it infiltrated the foliage, the air fresh with salt and the sweet scent of tropical flowers. Ten whole degrees warmer up here than Melbourne’s showery forecast, Eve had heard when she’d flicked on the weather channel while feeding Sam his breakfast. She could think of worse ways to spend the time waiting for a new hot water service to be installed.