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With her family? Her heart sunk. “But –,”
“Stop worrying,” he chided, dipping his head forward so their lips almost – but didn’t quite – brush. That didn’t matter though. The proximity was enough. A tremor of awareness spread through her, lifting goose bumps on her arms and making her pupils huge.
She was worried. But why? It wasn’t as though Luca would wax lyrical about her, or dig a deeper hole for her than she’d dug for herself. And she was pretty sure her recent heartbreak meant her dad would go out of his way to be on his best behaviour – no dragging out all the old embarrassing Bronte stories for a laugh. But wasn’t this whole weekend scheme acceptable to Bronte only because she’d convinced herself it wouldn’t be an inconvenience to Luca? That he’d be able to work when there weren’t wedding-related functions? So far, that wasn’t turning out to be the case.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said sotto voce.
“I know,” he repeated, and beneath the table, his hand brushed her thigh, so her eyes flew wide and a kaleidoscope of butterflies burst through her tummy. The touch was fleeting and innocent, but its effect was long reaching. Bronte’s heart was hammering as though she’d run a marathon.
“Then it’s settled,” Edward lifted a hand, gesturing for a waiter to come over. A woman with curly dark hair and a symmetrical face appeared – Bronte remembered her from their inspection of the hotel a month or so earlier. She was the other woman’s sister – Beth – and they ran the hotel together.
A quick explanation
of the tab later and there was standing and moving, everyone saying ‘goodbye’ and preparing to leave. Bronte, Alice and Clara were going into the spa in town for a day of pampering – something Bronte had been looking forward to. But now, she felt a strange – ridiculous – reluctance to be parted from Luca. Was it worry that she thought he’d say something that would reveal the truth of their relationship? No. She trusted him completely. Luca didn’t make mistakes.
“Stop stressing,” he murmured, while everyone was busy with their own farewells and conversations regarding logistics.
She blinked up at him.
“Your ex is looking at us.”
Bronte frowned. She’d forgotten Ashton was even in the same restaurant.
“Oh.”
“What do you say we give him something to look at – and think about?’
She wasn’t sure what he meant, and that showed in her perplexed expression, but a second later his head dipped lower, and she guessed his intent, her mind flying into overdrive, her body screaming in fevered anticipation. One hand lifted to her face, his fingers splayed wide over her cheek, the other pressing to her hip. He smelled of his aftershave and orange juice and coffee. Her gut rolled. His breath was warm, his touch demanding and confident. She yielded completely, exhaling softly, pressing forward, lifting onto the tips of her toes.
His lips brushed hers. They were just as she’d imagined they would be – it was only now she could recognise that yes, she had been imagining this. Fantasising about it. She swayed further forward so her breasts brushed his chest, her nipples almost painful at the contact. His hand at her waist tightened, his thumb padded her cheek and moved towards her lips. Her eyes swept shut and then it was just the two of them, no one else in the room, just him, and her, and this kiss. It was only three seconds, but somehow, it was perfect. She made a small noise of satisfaction, a noise that also, somehow, begged for more.
His body tensed, his hand stilled. She felt him stiffen. Then he pulled away, his smile not like usual, false in some way. Forced.
Bronte’s lips felt as though they were on fire.
Her body too.
Her mouth was dry and inside, she was aching, yearning, for more. So much more. She’d woken up full of regrets but now she felt as though whatever madness had propelled her to undress for Luca the night before was running rampant inside her once more, demanding action.
Their eyes met; her throat felt filled with sawdust. Her pulse was like a tsunami in her body, weakening her veins, making her aware of their spidery, pervasive network. She fidgeted her hands at her side, staring up at him, as if his eyes could provide answers to questions she couldn’t even voice.
It was a moment – less than a second. A brief, searing look and then his smile was normal once more, his expression giving nothing away, showing only the billionaire tycoon the world saw when they opened their newspapers.
“I’ll see you soon, Bronte.”
She had to fight every impulse not to stare at him as he walked away.
It had been a moment of weakness. No, it had been part of the plan – for surely at some point he would have needed to kiss her, given the ruse they were perpetuating. But he knew, deep down, that kissing Bronte after breakfast had less to do with her ex, and proving their relationship was real to her family, than it was the answering of a desire she’d sparked in him the night before.
A chaste kiss – a brush of the lips, that was all. It was hardly the stuff of erotic dreams. So why the hell was he still, several hours later, thinking about the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath, the sweetness of her smell, the addictive, husky little noise she’d made as he’d drawn her to him, the curve of her hip, the velvet of her cheek. He nodded at something Charles had said, reaching for his soda and taking a sip. He liked Bronte’s dad. He was funny, smart, hard-working, considerate. He could see how he’d raised a daughter like Bronte. Bronte’s soon-to-be brother-in-law to be seemed like a decent guy too, and Luca was glad for that. Glad that Bronte had a nice family who would fill the void left by her ex. She shouldn’t be single, but for as long as she was, she definitely shouldn’t be alone, and her family would stop her from feeling that.
The kiss lingered on his lips and in his mind. The whole way around the pristine golf course, and over a late lunch back at the estate. It was some time in the afternoon when he finally admitted to himself that if Bronte was any other woman, he’d be working out how to get her into bed by now.
And therein lay the problem because Bronte was already in his bed and he’d promised he wouldn’t touch her. He’d put her mind at ease by assuring her she wasn’t his type, that he could be trusted to sleep beside her without hitting on her.
Besides which, she worked for him. Him, his brothers, his cousins. She worked at their family business and she was damned good at her job. And she was still getting over her messy break up with her ex.
There were a thousand reasons he needed to stop thinking about the goddamned feeling of her mouth, wondering what it would have been like if he’d deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue inside and duelling with hers…
