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It was a struggle to drag his mouth from hers, but he managed it, lifting his head and looking down at her. Her face was rosy, her mouth red and soft from the effect of his kiss. Then as he watched, the desire faded from her gaze to be replaced again by a certain challenge.
‘You didn’t have to force yourself to kiss me,’ she said tartly. ‘This isn’t real, remember?’
The priest was still standing there, but Castor didn’t care.
‘And if it was?’ he asked. ‘What if tonight it was all real?’
Surprise rippled over her face. ‘What? What are you talking about?’
She is yours now. All yours.
He didn’t want to get possessive. That was all too prevalent in the world he lived in, where people were seen as possessions, and he didn’t want to turn into that kind of man. But that didn’t change the feeling that had him by the throat.
He took her hand tightly in his. ‘Come, wife. You and I need to have a little chat.’
‘Castor, wait.’
But he didn’t want to wait.
He pulled her down the aisle and outside, tugging her in close to shelter her as the sound of helicopters came from overhead. Out in the bay, yachts bobbed, dark figures moving on the decks.
Since the island was private, the media couldn’t gain access to it; not that they needed to when they had telephoto lenses.
Automatically Castor put a possessive hand on Glory’s hip, making it clear who she now belonged to, and it wasn’t entirely for show this time.
She’d gone rigid, but made no attempt to pull away.
Nico was standing on the church steps, waiting to fulfil his witnessing duties as Castor had specified. It didn’t take long to complete the legalities. Five minutes later Castor said, ‘My wife and I are going back to the villa.’ He gave his manager a very direct look. ‘Alone.’
He didn’t wait for Nico’s response, merely firmed his grip on Glory and urged her along the white gravel path back up to the villa.
‘Castor, what are you doing?’ She sounded breathless. ‘I know you didn’t want to kiss me, so why did you?’
But he didn’t want to have this discussion here, not out in the open with unseen cameras trained on them, so he didn’t reply, hurrying her along the path lined with olive trees and up through some terraces, until finally they were safely back inside the villa.
Glory was glaring at him as he shut the door of the living room firmly behind them. She still had the posy in one hand, a handful of white silk in the other since the gown was long and she had to lift the hem. The wreath in her hair was slightly askew, curls drifting over her shoulders, and he wanted to grab her, undress her, scatter the flowers everywhere around them and lay her down on the petals like the virgin sacrifice she was.
‘What is this all about, Castor?’ she demanded, before he could speak. ‘You just walked out the night before last without even a word, then you spent the whole of yesterday avoiding me, sending me ridiculous notes—’
‘Yes.’ He took a couple of paces towards her, itching to take her in his arms. ‘You’re right, they were ridiculous. And yes, I was avoiding you.’
She blinked, obviously taken aback. ‘Why?’
‘I think you know why.’ He took another few steps, getting closer. ‘You offered me something precious and I refused you. Then I walked out without explanation. I shouldn’t have.’
She gave him a wary look, but didn’t move as he came closer still. ‘No, you shouldn’t have. Especially considering you kissed me back. I thought...I thought I did something wrong.’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’ He was so close now, inches away from her, and he didn’t hesitate, reaching for her, his hands settling on her hips and drawing her up against him.
She gasped, her bouquet dropping onto the floor as she lifted her hands to his chest, her palms pressing against him, holding him away. ‘What are you doing?’
The heat of her body seeped through the thin silk of her wedding gown and into his palms like the promise of a fire on a cold, dark night, and he wanted to sit in front of it, let it warm him right through.
‘What am I doing?’ He eased her closer, fitting her softness against all the hard, aching parts of him. ‘I’m doing what I should have done that night instead of walking away.’ He lifted one hand and slid his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head. Then he held her still as he bent and kissed her again.
She made a soft sound, the pressure of her palms increasing on his chest, but it wasn’t to push him away. And when he pushed his tongue into her mouth, her fingers curled in his shirt as if she wanted to pull him closer.
He should talk, explain himself, but he was tired of talking. He was tired of denial. It felt like he’d been denying himself for years, and finally, now he had something he really wanted here in his hands, he couldn’t deny himself any more.
