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She met his gaze. ‘What terms are they?’
‘One night. That’s all,’ he told her, his gaze raking over her. ‘No more. No dates. No promises. No happy ever after or follow-up emails. No Christmas present or surprise ticket to New York. And you certainly won’t be getting love because I don’t do love. I’m out of here tomorrow and it’s goodbye. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Sophie bit her tingling lips as she considered his question. She was caught in the perfect storm of moonlight and desire and opportunity, even though the voice of common sense was urging her to get out while she still could.
But hadn’t she always played by the rules and done what was ‘right’? And look where it had got her. Deserted by the Prince her people adored and left a laughing stock. She had been placed on a pedestal from the moment of her birth. She was the Princess. People could look but they could never, ever touch. But Rafe had touched. She stared at him. Rafe didn’t have a clue who she really was and he didn’t care. All she could see was desire in his eyes and a hard, tense body which was calling out to her on the most primitive level of all. He wanted her. Not Princess Sophie. Just Sophie. More than that, she wanted him. Not the billionaire in his shiny helicopter but the elemental man who was making her feel like a real woman for the first time in her life. Him. Rafe Carter.
‘I understand,’ she said quietly.
His wet brow furrowed into a frown. ‘Just like that?’
‘Exactly like that.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe I want exactly the same thing as you do, Rafe. One night. No strings.’
There was the glint of something predatory in his silvery eyes as he lowered his mouth to kiss her again, only now the kiss was underpinned with a new urgency, which sent the blood beating hotly through her veins. As the water lapped around them he kissed her hard and deep before raising his head, his eyes smoky with lust. ‘Then what the hell are we waiting for?’ he said roughly, splaying his hand possessively over one wet buttock.
CHAPTER THREE
SOMEHOW RAFE GOT her out of the pool and set her down onto the dripping tiles, his fingertips brushing wet strands of hair away from her face.
‘Let’s get you inside,’ he said, his voice unsteady.
But Sophie hesitated. It seemed so perfect right where they were. She was terrified that moving away from that moonlit spot might break the spell—and she couldn’t bear that to happen.
‘Why do we have to go inside?’ she whispered.
He gave a low and silky laugh. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I’d prefer the first time to be in private. Maybe you’re one of those women who gets turned on by the prospect of discovery, but if that’s the case, don’t worry. I can promise you won’t need any added extras to make this a night to remember.’ He lowered his head to graze his mouth over hers. ‘Plus, I didn’t exactly arrive carrying condoms. It might have looked a little presumptuous, don’t you think?’
His introduction of such an intimate topic silenced her and Sophie let him take her by the hand through a side entrance to an area of the house which she’d never used before and which took them directly into his private quarters. Her damp feet were cooled by the marble floor as she looked around her, blinking in amazement, feeling as if she’d fallen asleep and woken up in another country. It was an incongruous sight—to find such luxury and opulence on an Outback cattle station—and she tried to take it all in as he led her through the different rooms. A study lined with rare, old books led into an enormous sitting room, the walls covered with beautiful paintings of the country he loved so much.
But her admiration of the fixtures and fittings dissolved once he took her into a bathroom as big and as luxurious as any found in her Isolaverdian palace—although with decidedly more masculine overtones. ‘It’s huge,’ she said dazedly.
He paused in the act of sliding a strap of her swimsuit down over one shoulder, his eyes glittering with devilment as they sent a glance slanting in the direction of his groin. ‘I assume that wasn’t just a flattering innuendo?’
She prayed he couldn’t see the faint rise of colour in her cheeks. She prayed he wouldn’t discover that she was new to all this. ‘I’m talking about your suite of rooms,’ she said primly.
His fingers moved towards the second strap. ‘You mean you didn’t come peeping, before I arrived?’
‘No, I...oh...’ She bit her lip as he tugged the damp fabric down over her breasts. ‘I certainly did not.’
He bent to fasten his lips over one cold nipple and then the other, tantalising the acutely sensitised and puckering skin with the faint graze of his teeth. She looked down to see his dark hair contrasted against her pale skin and spangles of pleasure rippled over her body as she buried her fingers in the damp tendrils.
A sudden fervour seemed to grip him as he finished peeling off her swimsuit before removing his own wet shorts and towelling her dry. And before she really had time to register that they were both naked, he picked her up and carried her into a vast bedroom, putting her down on a king-size bed. Part of her felt like a sacrificial lamb as she lay there, outlined against his sheets in the silvery moonlight—but the heated hunger of her body was powerful enough to make any anxieties melt away. Plus, he was just so beautiful. Powerful and strong, with long, muscular legs and narrow hips, his buttocks a paler colour than the deeper olive glow of his skin.
Sophie licked her lips. She’d never seen a naked man before—not unless you counted the famous statues which brought visitors flocking to the Isolaverdian national museum during the winter months. And those naked men were made of marble, usually with a fig leaf covering their modesty. It occurred to her that Rafe would have needed an entire bunch of fig leaves to cover his most intimate part and that maybe she should have been daunted by the stiff, proud column of his erection. But she wasn’t. As he moved over her, she just felt...eager.
‘Well, just look at you,’ he said unsteadily, as his fingertip trailed a slow path from h
er neck to her belly button. ‘Aren’t you gorgeous?’
She gave a wriggle of pleasure. ‘Am I?’
‘You know damned well you are. A million men must have told you so.’
His remark brought reality creeping into the room but Sophie didn’t want reality. She wanted to feel, not to think. She wanted to feel a man’s fingers on her skin. To be intimate with a man who desired her, not because of her position or her status—but because they had a powerful chemistry which could not be denied.
So she coiled her arms around his neck and looked up at him, invitation vying with reprimand in her voice.
‘I don’t want to talk about other men right now,’ she said honestly.
