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His eyes shadowed. Yes, but even there, he realised, eager as she was to take the pleasure he bestowed on her, she never, unless he instructed her, took any initiative sexually. Oh, she did as he bade her, and enjoyed it too, he knew that—taking sensual pleasure in caressing him, arousing him, sating him.
But she never did it spontaneously. Never to please him because she wanted to please him. Because she wanted him to be pleased with her. Indulgent of her.
The way other women did.
He thought of Delia Delatore, his last mistress, and the French countess who had been her predecessor. He thought of the parade of women who had passed through his bed.
Every single one of them had always wanted to please him. Because each and every one of them had known how fortunate they were for having been chosen by him. They had known how lucky they were that his eyes had lighted on them and selected them for his bed.
All except one.
Memory stung in his brain like acid.
Anna Delane—on whom he had looked with desire, with wanting, and to whose bedroom he had come, expecting exactly the same reception as every other woman had given him.
And she’d thrown him out on his ear.
Rejected him and scorned him and berated him.
Anger and chagrin pulsed through him.
Then another thought occurred.
Yes, but she was planning all along to steal the rubies.
But that should have made her even more eager to lull him into a sense of false security with her. He’d have been far less likely to suspect her if she’d been pleasing him in bed—for a start, her motivation would have been a lot less. The bracelet might be worth eighty thousand euros, but that was on the open market. Anna Delane would have had to fence it, and whatever she made out of the sale it wouldn’t have been eighty thousand.
Yet as his mistress, pleasing him sufficiently to be kept for several weeks, she must have known she would easily have walked away with gifts of jewellery worth much more than her profit from stealing the Levantsky jewels.
And so much less risky…
So why, why had she thrown him out of her bedroom like that?
It simply didn’t make sense.
He strode after her, to where she was waiting by the car. She looked like a cat who’d had its fur rubbed up the wrong way. He could almost see her tail lashing furiously.
He unlocked the door and she climbed in, whisking her skirts gracefully inside as she sat. She belted herself up, then stared rigidly ahead out of the window.
He wondered whether her teeth were gritted. He wouldn’t be surprised. He could feel his own gritting.
A thought darted into his head.
Why do we keep fighting?
It came from nowhere, and he amended it immediately—Why does she keep fighting me? But it didn’t work. The original version was the one that bit at him as he headed out of town.
There is no ‘we’. There can be no possibility of there being a ‘we’.
He put his good foot down, and shot off.
Perhaps a decent lunch would make him feel better.
Anna looked around her. They’d driven for over forty-five minutes across the interior of the island. She’d spent her time as before, gazing around at the landscape and the scenery. Now they were driving along a twisting narrow lane, slowing every now and then as goats wandered, grazing at the roadside. One final twist, and a stone gateway was opening to their left. Leo swung the car through, into a paved area dotted with cars. He pulled into a parking space and cut the engine.
‘Where are we?’
Anna stared around, not looking at Leo as she asked her question.
Amazing, thought Leo caustically. She’s asked a question. Graciously, he supplied an answer.
‘It’s an old plantation house that’s been converted into a restaurant.’ He leant across to open her door, ignoring the way her body automatically stiffened and pulled away, as if to avoid him.
‘Shall we?’ he enquired, even more graciously.
He drew back his hand and Anna undid her seat belt, breathing out again. She climbed down, feeling the noon-day heat of the Caribbean hit her. She flexed her shoulders and looked around her.
‘This way,’ said Leo, at her side.
She walked along beside him, doing her best to ignore him, but highly conscious of his presence. But then, she always was conscious of his presence, she thought wearily.
Why can’t I be immune to him? Why can’t he just be like a block of wood?
She gave a sigh. It didn’t help to ask such hopeless questions. Leo Makarios had an effect on her that she could not ignore. Even though she desperately longed to.
How much longer can I endure this? How much more can I take? Wanting him and hating him, and hating myself for wanting him, and…
The questions drummed in her head like a pain in her skull. Numbly she followed the stone-paved pathway that led upwards through tropical gardens. The heat settled on her shoulders, making her feel heavy and tired.
