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‘And her necklace?’ she said softly.
Massimo nodded. His finger stopped moving. He’d never talked to anyone about his mother’s death. When she’d died he’d been too young. And then later he’d been too angry. He felt sadness settle around his heart. It had been so long since he’d even spoken her name. He hadn’t meant to do it, but in his grief for what he’d lost he’d edited her out of his life.
Chewing her lip, Flora stared up at his profile. He looked remote, untouchable, hard-edged. But she knew now that was how he’d learnt to manage the pain. Knew too that he hadn’t always been that way.
Anxious not to break this new mood of intimacy between them, she breathed out quietly. It was strangely calming, sitting beside him, watching the play of sunlight beneath the canopy. Usually thinking about her mum left her feeling resentful and wrung out. But here, with the warmth of his body drawing her closer, she felt okay. Maybe it was because he actually understood how she felt; his mother’s death had obviously had a huge impact on him. And his father too.
‘How about your dad?’ she said quietly. ‘How did he cope after your mum died?’
Flora had a beautiful voice. Soft and husky and soothing, like the sound of summer rain, but nothing could relieve the pain caused by her innocent question. And nothing would ever induce him to share that pain with anyone.
Massimo gave a humourless laugh. ‘He managed.’ His voice was cool with a definite edge to it.
It was time to change the subject. Glancing across the beach, she said lightly, ‘I don’t know about you, but I quite fancy a swim.’ Gripping his hand, she stood up, pulling him to his feet. ‘The only trouble is I don’t have a bikini. You don’t have one on the boat I could borrow, do you?’
‘I don’t think you’d fit mine,’ he said sadly.
She nipped his hand with her fingers. ‘I didn’t mean you...’ She hesitated ‘I just thought maybe one of your guests might have left one behind.’ Colour was spreading over her cheeks and collarbone but she met his gaze defiantly.
He gave her a long, considering smile. ‘By “guests”, I suppose you mean female guests? But, as I’ve never taken a woman on the boat before today, I’m afraid I can’t help you. If it’s any comfort, I don’t have any trunks with me either.’
He paused, his eyes roaming lazily over her body, and the sand seemed to shift beneath her feet. She felt as if she’d been drinking. Adrenaline and anticipation were spiralling up inside her like the curl of lemon in a martini. And fear too. Fear that she was confusing sensation for emotion. If this was going to work she needed to stay in control of herself. She needed to make it just about sex. Just as they’d agreed.
‘In that case,’ she said softly, ‘I suppose I’ll just have to go naked.’
The air was thickening around them like a sea storm about to break. Even the waves seemed to have stopped beating against the shoreline.
Breathing unsteadily, she took a step backwards and in one swift move pulled her dress over her head. Proudly, like some island princess, she stood in front of him, the green satin of her bra and panties gleaming like damp leaves beneath the shade of the canopy.
A dark flush stained his cheeks; his narrowed eyes sent darts of bright blue light over her skin.
With shock, Flora realised that she liked him looking at her like that.
Her pulse slowed. More than liked... It made her feel alive: wild and strong and beautiful. And she wanted him to keep looking. Wanted him to want her.
But every time they had sex everything got a little messier inside her head. It scared her how badly she wanted him. But what scared her more was the fear that she might grow careless—might grow to want more. She didn’t want to care. She didn’t want to feel any emotion. Emotion was dangerous. Watching her dad suffer had shown her exactly how dangerous. What she needed was pleasure and passion. Pure and simple.
Reaching round with a hand that shook slightly, she unhooked her bra and let it slip through her fingers.
‘Last one to the sea has to swim home.’
Their eyes met, then before he could reply, she turned and ran towards the surf.
He caught her moments later, his arm around her waist as the water foamed over her feet.
‘You cheated,’ she said breathlessly as he pulled her against him, the damp fabric of his trousers slipping against her skin. ‘You’ve still got your clothes on.’
They were deeper now, the water splashing against their knees. His eyes were shimmering with passion. ‘That’s your fault,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You make me break the rules.’
And then he pulled her closer and kissed her feverishly.
Her lips parted as his hands slid over her body, every touch sending an exquisite flickering flare of heat over her skin. Cupping his hands beneath her bottom, he lowered her into the water and then, raising her up again, put his mouth to her breasts and delicately licked the salty droplets from each swollen tip.
She gasped, her body jerking forward. Reaching for him blindly, she pressed his head against her nipple. But it wasn’t enough. Heat was swelling inside her, impossible to ignore. Desperately, she grabbed his hand and pulled it between her shaking thighs.
This was what she needed. To clear her mind of conflict and doubt and fear. Maddened, she clenched his hand, pressing down hard against the knuckles. Heat spiked inside her and, reaching down, she pushed his fingers beneath the wet satin, bit down on his shoulder and shuddered, muscles spasming, her pulse beating against the palm of his hand.
She heard him groan, and as he reached into his trousers for protection she clawed clumsily at his belt. Panting, he held her still against him, his hands circling her waist, and then as his mouth covered hers he surged inside her.
