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He studied her tousled and damp appearance, the fiery hair tumbling round her heart-shaped face, the tight clasp of her fingers on the lace edges of the scanty covering. He took his time looking her over, a burnished glitter of desire brightening his dark eyes. A brilliant smile curved his mouth, making her vibrantly aware of the leashed sensuality coiled within his relaxed length. “What do I want?” he echoed softly. “Only to kiss you goodnight for the servants’ benefit. You wi
ll come to me the next time we make love.”
“There won’t be a next time,” she swore as he slid upright and folded his arms around her rigid body.
His lips feathered across hers, and she trembled long before the hard heat of his mouth properly engulfed the sweetness of her own. It was a taste of heaven and a taste of hellfire damnation all in one go. His hard thighs were imprinted against her softer curves as she leant inexorably closer to him, until he was holding her upright. She shivered violently in the unyielding possession of sensations infinitely stronger than she was, sensations that whispered and yet burned over every part of her. With a husky laugh, Alex gathered her up and deposited her down on the bed before freeing her.
He stepped back, his smile mocking the confusion she could not hide from him as she swam back to reality again. “I do not think that you are cut out for the life of a celibate, cara. Buona notte,” he drawled with silken emphasis.
She groaned as the door shut. What was it about him, dammit, what was it about him that made him irresistible? Her hands curled into claws in the pillows. Her body had a blind spot where Alex was concerned. It was all this slothful eating and lying around and being waited on. Healthy activity was what she needed, and not of the kind Alex would suggest. There was no barrier there. It made no sense. She ought to freeze when he came close. But she didn’t. The same powerful chemical attraction which had drawn her to him at eighteen was still there. Indeed, by some cruel twist of fate it had grown even stronger. She ought to be mature enough to handle Alex’s sensual magnetism and see it for what it was: a hangover from her misspent youth, a symptom of frustration. Unfortunately, none of her frantic efforts to explain away her response to him made it any easier to get to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
KERRY slid out of bed, irritably pushing her hair off her damp brow. A tide of dizziness went over her and she groaned. It was the heat. Alex would die laughing if he saw her like this. Hot, harassed, sleepless. She curled up in the basketwork chair by the tall window. It was their fifth day on the island. From dawn to dusk, Alex had been charm personified. He had broken the ice, in spite of her determination to remain aloof. Somehow…heaven knew how, her sharp, defensive retorts had begun to seem petty. They were talking now without fighting. Of course not about anything in particular. Safe things. Nicky, the house in Florence, his business interests.
Her fingers rubbed at her tense neck muscles. She had changed. She had changed from the moment Vickie told her the truth. An inner strength had been reborn, a surge of returning self-respect. It shook her to admit that for four years she hadn’t really cared about anything but Nicky. She had just gone through the motions, even in business, content to believe herself independent of Alex, but too apathetic to employ the effort of will required to lick Steven into shape. She could have made a go of Antique Fayre. Instead, she had let it limp along, and now there would never be another chance to prove her own mettle.
Last night they had attended a wedding in the village as honoured guests, and amid the jubilant mayhem of the celebration Alex had caught her to him, amber eyes rampant with impatience. “When…hmm?” he had muttered. “Why pretend? Deep down inside you must know what you want. Or perhaps you want to be told.”
The chauvinist emerged around nightfall. Alex wasn’t accustomed to waiting for anything he desired. His restraint over the last few days had been sheathed in a sardonic indulgence. The sexual charge in the atmosphere was like an electric current. After all he had done to her, how could she still want him?
The sight of Alex in a pair of low-slung, tight-fitting shorts and nothing else was lethal enough to stop her in her tracks. And he knew it. The torment was like a knot jerking a little tighter every day. She couldn’t sleep because she ached for him. It infuriated her, it outraged her pride, but she couldn’t deny it. Alex brought her alive as no other man ever had. An unholy and primitive pleasure sent her pulses leaping when he came close.
The clear, moonlit night beyond the glass was dancing dark reflections on the shimmering surface of the pool. It was three in the morning. Everybody would be asleep. The water glimmered a silent invitation. Leaving her room, she let herself out on to the terrace. It was the impulse of a moment to shed her nightdress and slide soundlessly down into the gloriously cool depths. With a sigh of relief she floated on to her back.
Alex would find himself a mistress. She could hug her inviolability to the grave. She turned over and began to swim. She didn’t want him to have other women. She had her pride, too. It was the woman who looked the fool when her husband was entertaining himself elsewhere. She ground her teeth together at that humiliating reality. Lost within her own thoughts, she did not notice the ripples spreading on the water, signifying that she had company.
A pair of hands enclosed her waist. She gave a stifled gasp before Alex spun her round and pressed her back against the side of the pool, his hard, punishing mouth stealing her cry of bewilderment and fury. His lips roamed torturingly over her temples, her wet cheeks and down again to tantalise the corners of her mouth in a passionate barrage of burning caresses. Emerging from shock, Kerry planted her hands on his bare, muscular shoulders. “Where did you come from?”
“I saw you from my bedroom window.” Alex dragged her small hands down and forced them to her sides. In the shadowy light, a hard-boned savagery clung to his taut, golden features. “You flaunt yourself…you go too far…”
“F…Flaunt myself?” she echoed incredulously, mortified to learn that she had had an audience. “You rotten…voyeur!”
His hands dug into the sodden mane of her hair. “Dio, I do not receive satisfaction from watching,” he scorned. “But I’m entitled to take it when my wife plays at provocation.” His mouth connected hotly with a hollow in her throat. “Your skin gleams like wet silver in this light.” His hands skimmed down, not quite steadily, to the full globes of her breasts. “And I find that I am very much a man…”
“I never doubted it, but you promised!” she objected shrilly, a spasm of terrifying excitement shooting through her tremulous body.
“So I am human,” Alex grated in unashamed excuse, involved in a scorching trailpath across her smooth ivory shoulders, pausing to nip at her earlobe before stabbing his tongue in a hungry thrust between her lips, and she quivered. Great breakers of anticipation washed over her in response.
The water eddied noisily round them as he pressed her closer still to his virile length. He did not have a stitch on either. A constricting pain tightened her stomach muscles on a wild, remorseless rush of pleasure.
“No…” She fought her own weakness in desperation. Her palms braced against his shoulders in a fleeting gesture of protest, and then breathlessly, mindlessly, her hands began moving down in slow connection with his damp skin, her fingertips tangling in the black whorls of hair sprinkling the breadth of his chest. With an earthy groan of approval he pressed her hand down over his flat stomach to demonstrate his need, and she capitulated without thought. She was starved of him, almost frantic in the cruel hold of the desire he had unleashed within both of them.
Suddenly he was sweeping her up and wading towards the steps. He cast her down across the bed in his own unlit room, lowering himself down to her again with primal grace. “When I saw you in that hospital, I knew it wasn’t over. I looked at you,” he cited in a husky, accented growl. “And I knew I had to have you again. You’re in my blood like a fever and I’m in yours.”
His fingers spread her wet hair over the white woven counterpane, and he ran his hot, burnished gaze over her ivory slenderness. She felt like a sacrifice of old. It was insanity but she was spellbound. There was a wild, womanly joy to the discovery that Alex was as entrapped as she was. It seemed to make them equal. And when he bent over her, her lips parted by instinct to welcome his.
* * *
KERRY HAD A THUMPING headache when she woke up. She crawled weakly over the bed to squint in dull-eyed disbelief at the clock. She was back in her own room. Her nightd
ress lay on the chair as if she had never put it on, never taken it off. The curtains were firmly closed on the brilliant light of midday. It was as if the whole of the previous night had been a figment of her imagination. But the ache and the languor of her body told her otherwise.
Had it been a dream that there had been something magical about those hours? Why had she pretended to herself that she could resist Alex? He had put the heat on and she had scorched. She had burnt up in an inferno, incapable of denying him.
Ahead of her stretched a never-ending roundabout of falls from grace and morning-after attacks of conscience. She swallowed hard as she thought about all the affairs Alex had had since their divorce. Distaste rippled through her. She was her own worst enemy still. Why had she ever blamed him?
“Sleep well?” Alex lifted his blue-black head from a perusal of a Greek newspaper and watched her walk across the terrace.
“Yes.” Her eyes searched his cool, dark features in search of a smile, a greater warmth.
“Good.” Alex went back to his newspaper quickly. “Could you tell Sofia that I’d appreciate lunch soon?”
Disconcertingly, her eyes glazed over with tears. She glanced down at the pale blue sundress she had carefully selected from her wardrobe and, spinning, she went back into the house. Last night Alex had slept with his wife. What had she expected? A magnificent bouquet of flowers on her pillow? Some romantic, loving gesture? What had happened might have been important to her, but it wasn’t to him. She ought to have reminded herself that Alex’s raw energy found a natural vent in sex. And, as he had said, why should he not use her as he had accused her of once using him?
She mumbled to Sofia about lunch and mentioned a headache in the same breath, requesting a tray in her room. Her distraught reflection in the mirror there seemed to taunt her. How many times had she sought her soul in a mirror during the years since she had met Alex? How many times had she asked herself why her life was in such turmoil?
