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‘It’s private.’
And again she had the sense that his own privacy was something he valued immensely. She tilted her face to his, staring at him until he turned to look at her, his eyes lighting little fires beneath her skin.
At the edge of the beach he kicked off his shoes, waiting for her to do likewise, then taking them onto the white sand. She yelped as the heat caught her off guard. She began to hop and then Alex lifted her easily, throwing her over one shoulder as a caveman might his quarry, carrying her towards the lapping shore and placing her on the cooler, wet sand, sliding her down his body so every single inch of her was aware of every single part of him and her brain was filled with floating shards of glass, blades of awareness punctuating the perfection of this day.
There were a thousand reasons why she wanted to keep her level head, to hold on to her reasons for resisting this—and him—but there was also the beating of a drum, drawing her towards him, so the past, her marriage, their one night together, all seemed to fade into nothing—concerns carried away by the gentle drawing of the ocean, now in the custody of the deep sea beyond.
He didn’t move. His body—strong, powerful, safe—stood like a sentry, but Tessa couldn’t fight this any longer. She was shaking from the effort of resisting him, her whole body in meltdown. She wanted him, so badly, and that terrified her, so she could only lift a hand to his chest and press it there.
Her eyes sought his, probing him, asking him to be gentle with her, begging him not to hurt her again, because Tessa wasn’t sure she could bear that again.
And yet, wasn’t this paved with pain? Alex was not like Jonathan. She’d never felt anything like this for Jonathan—that was why she’d chosen to marry him. Because he was completely non-threatening. She’d never felt her senses shuttling into overdrive with Jonathan. She had never lost sleep over desire, never dreamed of him. Everything about it had been reassuringly lukewarm, until he’d started to belittle and demean her, until he’d begun to cheat on her. She knew now that her pain had more to do with the realisation she’d made a terrible mistake, rather than any hurt feelings over Jonathan’s lack of love for her.
But with Alex, the threat was so much more real.
If she let herself go with him, if she really let herself go, and forgot the contractual nature of their deal, she was terrified she might lose her heart as well as all of herself. Alex was a man determined not to love. She might give her heart to him, but he’d never return his own; the effects of that would be devastating.
The smartest thing of all would be to pull back from him. To push space between them, to take several deep breaths and remember that the worst thing she could do was become swept up into their relationship, to forget, even for one single moment, that this wasn’t real.
‘Alex...’ She tried to find the words to explain, to tamp down on the sense of building urgency, but he was so close and the war raging within her felt a lot like a losing battle.
‘Yes?’ He was so close. Their bodies were almost as one, and the heat of the day was nothing to what they were generating. Did he feel it too? She had to believe he did. After all, he was the one who’d argued for their relationship to become physical.
And if he was disappointed by her? If Jonathan’s insults held water? ‘You are just incredibly lacking in sex drive. Can you blame me for looking elsewhere?’ She flinched, as though the words were being rained down on her in real time, and her central nervous system began to quiver, because she was enraged and filled to the brim with desire, needs flooding her, so she dug her fingernails into his chest, as though she could stem this from getting out of control, if only she held on hard enough.
‘What is it, agape?’
She didn’t argue with his use of that term. She bit down on her lip, eyes holding his, so there was nothing for it but to be completely, openly honest.
‘I’m scared, Alex. I feel—’ She searched for words that could describe all of her angst and fears and shook her head when they didn’t come. ‘I don’t want to get hurt again.’
A muscle jerked in his jaw as he dropped his head, his lips brushing her hair. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘You don’t know that.’
For a long stretch of time only the sound of wind rustling through the nearby trees broke the silence, and then, his voice, deep, gruff and steady: ‘Would you like to go back to the house?’
She stared at him, frustration swishing through her at the very idea, and she shook her head. She was sick of being careful. Sick of listening to the fears that had become embedded in her. And most of all she was sick of ignoring the basic, physical needs of her body.
‘No,’ she ground her teeth together, aware that she was about to admit to something quite mad, and unable to care, ‘I don’t.’
His eyes flickered with curiosity and speculation and then Tessa was moving, no longer able to resist temptation, no longer caring for the consequences. It was impossible to think this wouldn’t complicate things; it was also impossible to care.
