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CHAPTER ELEVEN
HERBODYWAS pressed close to his as he surfed the coastline, tracing the outline of the island from the water, showing her hollowed-out caves dug into the cliff face, and the little stone cottages that his staff used when they were on the island, as well as grapevines that yielded just enough fruit to make a small pressing of wine, and the nimble mountain goats that had graduated to the edge of a cliff now, and were lazily chomping their way through wildflowers. Everything about the island fascinated her, and the man in front of her, whose body she had her arms tightly wound around, fascinated her most of all.
There was danger in that sentiment—it was the opposite of how she should feel—but there was something about Alex that made her want to stop time and devour him. To understand him completely—everything about him—even when she knew him on an instinctive level that defied explanation.
Jet skiing was wonderful, but when they returned to the house Alex said he had work to do, and disappeared abruptly, leaving her alone. She told herself she was glad, that their time together had to be carefully balanced, or there would be too much danger. She read for a while, then wandered into what would become her studio and imagined how she’d lay out the furniture, then, as the sun started to become almost too much, she stripped down to her bathers and stood on the edge of the pool, toes curled over the coping, eyes chasing the ripples of the water. She counted to ten, breathed in deeply then dived in, cracking beneath the surface and spearing through the water, holding her breath all the way to the other side, before pushing up and resting her arms on the edge of the pool.
‘Mind if I join you?’
She bit back a smile as she turned to see Alex crouching on the side of the pool, his fingertips caressing the water.
‘It’s your pool.’ She shrugged, hiding the fact that she wanted him to join her almost more than anything.
His eyes were lightly mocking, as though he understood the stand she was taking. He stood, eyes still on her as he stripped out of his shirt, leaving him standing in just a pair of boardshorts that did little to hide the muscular nature of his body. Her mouth felt as acrid as the desert as he walked around the pool, closer to her, his every step an inducement, a temptation, a fascination, so that by the time he’d reached her the air in her lungs seemed to crackle.
He stood directly in front of her, his hair-roughened legs and strong calves so close she had an irrational urge to pull herself out of the water and press her lips to his flesh there. Thankfully, before she could indulge that craving, he lifted his arms over his head and dived in, his body a study of strength and elegance as he swam to the other end of the pool easily. When he was halfway there she could no longer fight her body’s cravings and she gave chase, moving beneath the water to follow him stealthily, eyes scanning to find him. When he changed direction she followed, no longer pursuing him beneath the water but splashing on top of it, moving faster, laughing as she got close and he slipped away, changing direction again, spinning easily in the water, his far more powerful stroke no match for hers. So when she caught him, finally, she suspected it was because he’d allowed it, but that didn’t make the success any less sweet. Her fingers curved around his bicep, and he laughed, drawing her closer, their arms tangling as they splashed in the water. He was so much stronger, and yet he let himself be caught and tamed, let her body wrap around his, until she was breathless from laughing and the exertion, in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, so close to him she felt as though they were one person.
‘Hi.’ She smiled, all rules momentarily pushed from her mind by the pleasure of this moment. Her lashes were clumped from the water and her dark hair fell like silk down her back.
‘Hi.’ He grinned back, his handsome face knocking the air completely from her lungs.
The sunset was stunning, and she was aware of it in her peripheral vision, but mostly she was aware of the man in front of her, of how perfectly they fitted together, and of how much she liked being here with him, like this.
Before the idea could terrify her, and make her pull away from him, he shifted, kissing her—wet, urgent, important kisses that spoke of time wasted and imperative needs. Breathless, she kissed him back, and as he steered them through the water she didn’t argue, but let him direct them to the wide pool steps, lifting her bottom onto the edge of one so that he could kiss her properly, his body dominating easily, hers surrendering to his completely. It was a magical night, from the colour of the sky to the perfection of his possession. He peeled her bathing costume off easily, then dispensed with his own, tossing both onto the pool tiles before kissing her again, slowly at first, and then with desperate need, until she was a quivering mess in his arms. When he parted her legs and moved between them she bit down on her lip so hard she almost drew blood, holding her breath until he thrust into her, and her muscles squeezed him in welcome abandon.
They were unified by passion and need, each moving with the same desperate haste, she writhing to be closer to him, he rolling his hips until she was incandescent, the water lapping around them creating waves that rivalled the ocean’s, until finally they exploded in a shared, redefining moment, clinging to one another as though that was the only way they could make sense of what they were doing.
When he pulled away a little, so he could look down at her, she saw the dark slash of colour on his cheeks and felt a rush of female power to know that for all he could drive her wild, she did the exact same to him. It was a shot of confidence and a balm to her traumatised soul. She pressed a palm to his chest, smiling contentedly when she felt the strong racing of his heart.
In the space of a week, she’d gone from thinking of herself as entirely sexless to suspecting she might actually be a little bit of a sex goddess. The thought made her laugh softly beneath her breath, earning a cocked brow from Alex.
‘Something funny, Mrs Zacharidis?’
Her heart stammered and air was suddenly in short supply. ‘I...’
Mrs Zacharidis. How ridiculous that it had only just hit her fully: they were married. Man and wife, for the rest of her life.
Her gaze dropped to the water beneath them as emotions too strong to interpret began to pull on her. ‘I was just thinking that a week ago I would have said I didn’t have a sexual bone in my body,’ she said with a small shrug.
‘You hadn’t had the opportunity to get to know yourself properly.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ She lifted her face to his. ‘Except for that one night, when I was just too grief-filled to realise that what we’d shared was...’ She stalled, not sure she could put into words what she thought about that night, nor what it had come to mean to her during her marriage.
‘Yes?’
Perfect. She couldn’t admit that. It hadn’t been perfect...it had been a lie. Just as this was a lie. Not the sex, though. But beyond that? Her heart beat harder, faster, more urgently, demanding that she listen.
Alex had rejected her four years earlier, and despite the fact they’d only spent one night together, it had broken her. His words had shattered her in two. She’d married Jonathan in the stupid hope that she could start to feel normal again, but it had failed, because Alex had always been there, larger than life, in her mind, her memories, her studio, and her heart.
Instinctively she shied away from any deeper self-analysis, because it would be too catastrophic if she was to start thinking she’d done something stupid and fallen in love with him. Even the idea had her stiffening, breaking away, putting space between them, physically and, she hoped, emotionally.
It was one of the things she’d come to love most about being on the island with Alex. Walking aimlessly, directionless, along his private beaches, sand warm beneath their toes, water lapping at their feet, and the sun, half-concealed by the horizon now, spread a blanket of gold from it to them, so it seemed as though there was something magical in the air. When they walked it was easy to talk, or to simply be silent, side by side, and it was natural for his hand to reach down and grab hers, to lace their fingers together in a small yet intimate contact that did funny things to her heart.
‘There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.’
His tone of voice was flattened of emotion but the formality of his statement had her slowing. ‘Oh?’
‘Your father’s company cannot keep running with him at the helm.’
