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‘Don’t even think about it.’
‘What?’ she asked innocently, as if she wasn’t considering criminal action to get what she needed. Maybe she was going crazy. That, or she’d inherited a little more of Catherine Soames’ adventurous nature than she’d realised. But there was a thin line between adventurous and reckless.
‘If you do that you’ll end up in jail for breaking and entering—which, I assume, was the next stage of your plan. And as much as I resent your presence here, I don’t think I’d like to see you in a Costa Rican jail cell. Because that’s what will happen. And then you and your sisters really will be in trouble.’
Anger spiked through her then. ‘Don’t use them against me.’
‘Why? It seems to be the only thing that will get through to you.’
‘It’s just that I’m... I’m...’
‘Feeling out of control and hating the fact that there’s nothing you can do about it,’ he cut in.
‘Would you not finish the end of my sentences?’ Her shout was consumed by the dense concrete and live green foliage surrounding it.
‘Fine,’ he replied, tight-lipped and grim-faced.
She knew that he was right. She couldn’t break into someone’s house to see if they had a phone. She might have ticked reckless behaviour, theft and destruction of private property off her criminal to-do list, but she couldn’t add breaking and entering to the list. Even for her sisters.
Benoit was right; the neighbour wasn’t at home and he really hadn’t exaggerated the situation. There was no way out. Not until his helicopter arrived in four days’ time.
‘It is only four days,’ he said, his tone for the first time neither mocking nor angry.
Four days.
Just four days. Skye knew that in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t a lot of time. Even with her mum sick, it wasn’t long. And really, what could Summer and Star get up to in ninety-six hours? She couldn’t fight it, couldn’t carry on like this. It was exhausting and damaging. She had to trust that they would all be okay. She had to.
‘Are you done?’ Benoit asked Skye the moment the resolute energy holding her up seemed to drop away and she sagged in defeat.
‘Yes,’ she replied as a wave of exhaustion threatened to pull her under and she dropped onto the seat behind him. This time she put her arms around Benoit’s waist without a second thought, her body sinking against his as the speed of the bike picked up and the air rushed through her hair.
She allowed her mind to completely blank, to simply relish the sensations around her. The cool rushing air against her skin, the feel of Benoit’s torso beneath her fingers, the shift and sway of the muscles of his back against her chest, her thighs reflexively tightening around his as they turned a corner... She closed her eyes a
nd leaned a cheek against his shoulder blades, losing herself to the sensations of the bike’s movement, rather than those of her fevered imagination. When she next opened them, Benoit was slowing the bike at the gate to his home.
He walked the bike into the courtyard and leaned it on the stand. He waited for her to slither off the seat before he gracefully swung his leg over and stalked off into the house. His silence was beginning to really eat away at her and she hurried after him, having gone from wanting to flee to feeling as if the only safety she had was when she was with him.
‘Where are you—’
Her question stopped short as she watched, eyebrows at her hairline, as he started to strip off his T-shirt.
‘Shower,’ he growled, looking at her as if daring her to comment.
She bit her lip and watched as he stalked through the French windows, grabbing a towel he must have left there earlier. She pulled her eyes away the moment his hands reached for his waistband.
Instead she turned to the kitchen and, with her back firmly to the garden, she focused on the contents of the fridge and not what was happening outside. In the shower. Where, in the gathering dusk, stood a very naked Benoit.
Food. They both needed to eat. And although she wasn’t completely comfortable rummaging around in a man’s fridge, it was the least she could do. The list of debts she was accruing with Benoit was getting longer and longer by the minute.
As she marinated steak and chopped cucumber, lettuce, tomatoes and whatever else she could find to go in a salad, the twist and turn of embarrassment that gripped her like bindweed wouldn’t quit. She was embarrassed by her actions, by the train of her thoughts. By the way she’d reacted to the feel of her hands wrapped around his waist. A low thrum at her core reminded her that it hadn’t just been the vibrations from the bike she’d felt, that the heat hadn’t just been from his body, and...
And then Benoit walked through the French windows, emerging from the shower with just a towel around his waist and water droplets darkening the sandy blond hair curling around his head. She nearly dropped the knife she was using to cut the tomatoes.
Her eyes drank in the sight of him, the ripple of his muscles as he stalked towards her, her mind thankful for the barrier of the breakfast bar between them, her body crying out in frustration. The power of him, the predatory look in his gaze as he allowed her to take her fill of him unabashed, unashamed. Her skin sizzled in response; the thin flame of need turned into a wildfire storming through her body. She yanked in a jagged breath.
‘You should not look at me like that unless you have every intention of finishing what you’re starting.’
His words hung between them, the challenge ringing loud, clear and utterly undeniable.
