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But Lissa got to her feet and tugged at him again. With a show of reluctance he stood up, tossing the market report aside on the table.
‘Eh, bien—let us go and comb the beach, then, if you insist,’ he said resignedly. Long lashes swept down over his eyes as he baited her gently.
He took her hand and she felt its warmth and strength closing around her fingers, making her feel suddenly safe and cherished.
A little tremor went through her, and, like a ghost whispering in her head, she heard again the warning to be careful.
She heard the words, felt them imprinting, but in their wake came another whisper, that set through her a deeper tremor yet.
Too late.
‘Honestly, Xavier, you’re such a wimp. The water’s not that cold.’
Lissa grinned with amused exasperation at Xavier’s adamant refusal to do as she was. They’d gained the headland of the tiny promontory, scrambling over rocks to get there, and were now sitting on a large, flat rock that projected slightly over the sea. Lissa had not hesitated to take off her canvas shoes and dangle her toes in the water. It was cold, no doubt about it, but that was hardly adequate reason for wimping out.
Xavier was sitting beside her, his legs drawn up, arms loosely looped around his splayed knees. He cast her a disdainful look.
‘Masochism has never appealed to me, cherie,’ he informed her. ‘And don’t even dream of thinking that I’m going to rub the circulation back into your feet when they get frostbite.’
She laughed, leaning back on her elbows, letting her hair pool on the sun-warmed rock, and gazed up at him.
‘You’ve obviously never been to the British seaside, then, have you?’ she teased. ‘Let alone St Andrew’s up in Scotland. That’s what I call cold water—even in summer! It’s a fantastic beach, though, even if it is the North Sea. It’s right by the famous golf course, and my father loved to play there—’
She broke off. There was a painful lump in her throat suddenly.
Xavier’s attention shifted from contemplating the way her posture so invitingly thrust up her breasts. It was rare to hear Lissa mention her family. Actually, now that he thought about it, she never did. Neither did he—for obvious reasons—apart from that slip of the tongue he’d made about his mother living in Menton.
Where was her family? he wondered. Then, deliberately, he put the question from him. He didn’t want to think about families—hers or his. Didn’t want to think about her existence anywhere but here. Didn’t want to remember the job she’d done, or how she’d been involved with his brother. He wanted to shut all that out of his consciousness. He only wanted her to be here, with him, alone at his villa, secluded from the world beyond, in a private haven where he could have her all to himself, without the interference and complications of the outside world.
Yet, unwanted thoughts flickered at him. He might want to, but he could not remain here indefinitely. Already, the two weeks he’d allowed himself from the office had overrun. How much longer could he put off returning to Paris? He was already receiving agitated e-mails from his PA and directors, indicating that they needed his full attention focussed on XeL again.
Irritation and annoyance shafted through him. He didn’t want to think about XeL. He didn’t want to have to go back to Paris, make decisions, take meetings, involve himself with his job again. Not yet, anyway.
This time was too precious to him.
He gazed down at Lissa. She had shut her eyes, relaxed back on her elbows, face lifted to the sun.
He felt emotion dart through him. It was desire, he knew. Familiar and enjoyable. He let his eyes roam over the exquisite lines of her face. It gave him pleasure every time he did so. He could look at her for ages.
There was something serene in her face now, lifted to the sun, hair falling back from her head. Her long, delicate lashes brushed against her cheek, flushed with the beginning of a pale tan. The gentle breeze coming off the water played with the strands of her hair, caressing her skin.
His breath caught suddenly.
Elle est si belle!
More than beautiful.
More than desirable.
Something moved in him—something he did not recognise but could feel, like a strange, alien presence.
What was it? He tried to think, to understand with his mind. His reason. But he could not. Words formed in her mind. Words he could not stop.
I don’t want to let her go.
That strange, alien emotion moved through him again, and he felt its presence, stronger now. He could give it no name.
But one thing he could give a name to. One thing he knew and understood with absolute certainty. As he gazed down into her unseeing face, tracing with his eyes the line of her features, the outline of her tender, generous mouth, he knew there was only one thing to be done here, on this secluded rock, beneath the warm sun.
