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‘The bedroom is upstairs. There’s no one here, so you can—’
‘Don’t. Ignore. Me.’ The words held a barely leashed anger that had been brewing long before she had met Loukis.
‘What do you want from me?’ he demanded, spinning to turn on her. The moonlight glinting through impossibly large windows picking out the harsh lines of anger on his features.
‘I want you to stop playing. I want you to stop hiding.’
‘Hiding?’ he breathed out on a harsh laugh. ‘You accusemeof hiding?’
‘Yes. Right now, I am. Because youarehiding.’
He shook his head. ‘Go to bed.’
‘I’m not some child you can easily dismiss. I will not be sent to bed.’ Her breath caught before she issued a demand of her own. ‘Unless you are in it with me.’
‘No.’
‘Really? You were the one who said—’
‘I know what I said,’ he interrupted as if not wanting the reminder of his own demands. ‘But I was wrong.’
‘That must have hurt.’
‘What?’
‘Admitting that you were wrong.’
‘Don’t be—’
‘Crass?’ It was Célia that interrupted this time.
‘Naïve!’ he countered with anger. ‘Do you think I can risk this? Meredith showing up tonight—’
‘Has nothing to do with what is going on between us. So. Next?’
‘Next what?’
‘Next excuse to avoid what is going on between us.’
Loukis shook his head again, wondering how on earth Célia managed to oscillate between proud and determined and fearful and shy. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t stand here and see her like this, because she was simply magnificent. Demanding what she wanted, powerful and righteous. And it was the most devastatingly attractive thing he’d ever seen.
She was a siren. Calling to him, callingforhim. But he just couldn’t. The risk was too great.
‘There is nothing going on between us, other than a fake engagement.’
‘Liar.’
She stalked towards him, capturing his gaze as the silky material unfurled around her legs, as the sensual pull in her eyes demanded, cajoled, taunted. She reached him, her head lifted towards his, the scent of her perfume soothing as much as enticing, the feel of her body’s heat crashing against him more forcefully than the waves he’d battled to reach the island.
‘Kiss me.’
He said nothing.
‘Kiss me. Without the paparazzi watching. Without being on display. Show me, prove to me that there’s nothing between us,’ she demanded.
‘I’m not playing this game.’
‘This,’ she said, reaching for his fiercely clenched jaw, ‘is not a game any more.’
