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Done, she locked eyes with him and felt an enormous thrill of power and excitement surge through her.
Nico took a long gulp of his cocktail.
‘It’s very hot,’ she commented, in the most matter-of-fact voice she could muster.
‘Da.’
If his eyes were any wider she figured they might just pop out of his head.
‘I think I will take my shorts off too.’
Keeping her eyes fixed firmly on his stunned face, she stood up. She undid the button, then teased the zip loose and wriggled the shorts down her hips and thighs before letting them fall in a puddle at her ankles. Casually she stepped out of them and bent over to pick them up from the floor.
‘You will burn,’ he said hoarsely, his eyes hooded.
Rosa reached a hand behind her head and pulled her hairband free, shaking her head to enable her hair to tumble over her shoulders. ‘In that case I suggest we go inside. I forfeit the game.’
* * *
Nico did not think he had ever been so aroused—not even when he had first seen a picture of a naked woman at the grand old age of nineteen.
This...
How could he ever have thought she was merely pretty? She was beautiful. And how could he ever have thought implanted breasts on ‘stick-insects’—as Rosa so eloquently referred to his previous lovers—were attractive? Compared to the creamy, inviting wonder of Rosa’s voluptuous figure...there was no comparison.
Slowly, he extended a hand. ‘If you are forfeiting then I win by default. It is time for me to claim my prize.’
Rosa’s chest rose and fell, and the beautiful caramel swirls of her eyes pulled him to her. With only the slightest hint of hesitation she threaded her fingers through his, allowing him to steer her, keeping their fingers laced together.
Nico locked the patio doors behind them before turning to face her.
She stood at the foot of the bed, watching him. It was as if a hook caught in his chest when he caught a glimmer of apprehension in her eyes, confirming his suspicions that she was not quite as blasé as she was trying to portray.
Ridiculously, this touched him.
His usual sleek lovers oozed sexual confidence, knew they looked fantastic clothed or undressed.
Not one of them could hold a torch to Rosa.
A bottle of massage oil had been left on the dressing table, as he had instructed.
‘You were confident,’ she observed, uttering her first words since she had forfeited.
‘I always play to win.’
He stepped over until he stood before her. Unable to resist, he snaked a hand around her neck and gathered that thick mass of hair, inhaling the sweet fragrance. He felt her tremble, heard her breath quicken.
Heat licked through him, as deep a burn as he could stand. He released his hold on her and took a step back, unable to tear his eyes away. ‘It is traditional for a massage to be given naked.’
The caramel darkened to chocolate. Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she moved her hands behind her back and unhooked the top of her bikini, then slid the straps down past her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
For an age all he could do was gaze at her, completely transfixed. Those magnificent breasts he had been dreaming about were more perfect than in his deepest imaginings.
Rosa was all woman—a glorious, hourglass gift from the heavens.
He sensed her arousal. He could see it in the puckering of the perfect pale rose nipples, hear it in the shallowness of her breath, feel it in the heat emanating from her curvy form.
Her fingers tugged at the bikini bottoms.
‘No,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Keep those on.’ He did not think he could trust himself if she were to reveal the core of her womanhood to him. Not yet. Not until he had regained some control.
Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths. ‘I need you to lie on your stomach.’
When she was lying flat on her belly, her head resting on a pillow, he removed a condom from his wallet and threw it onto the bed before divesting himself of the restrictive shorts. Shamelessly naked, he climbed onto the bed and knelt beside her.
Her ebony hair was spread around her shoulders. With tender care, he gathered it together and swept it down the side of her neck, tucking it under her chin. Her eyes were closed.
She jolted when the first drops of oil hit her back but made no sound.
At first he worked on her neck and the top of her shoulders, determined to release the tension that had been dogging her since their arrival on Butterfly Island, slowly working his way downwards across the sweep of her back. He could not help but marvel at the dewy softness of her skin, his fingers kneading into buttery flesh so reminiscent of a Botticelli painting.
How could he ever have thought lean stick-insects were desirable?
Gradually he reached the top of her rounded buttocks.
