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‘You can be my Mr Right for the Weekend.’
For a second inexplicable sadness touched her, but then she pushed it away. Zander could not be her Mr Right for Ever. His life goals were utterly different from hers—and, of more importance perhaps, she couldn’t keep up with him. She wasn’t in his league and it wasn’t a league she wanted to be in—not a world she wanted to be part of. Lord knew she loved her niche, the place in the world she’d forged and carved out for herself. Secure, safe... A place where she could be content.
But right now that didn’t matter—nothing mattered except the here and now, and for once she was going to grab the moment. And him.
‘I want this. I want you.’
And finally he smiled and her heart soared.
‘Then what are we waiting for? It would be my pleasure. Our pleasure, in fact.’
She could hear the rough edge of desire in his voice and it thrilled her. His eyes, molten in the moonlight, were completely focused on her as he leant forward and brushed his lips across hers with a tantalising slowness, caressing her shoulders. Her skin shivered under his touch and desire surged inside her in a swirling vortex of need that only he could assuage.
She couldn’t hold back the moan of protest when he pulled away.
‘We need to go. Get back to the villa.’
Together, their fingers made clumsy by the sheer need for speed, they cleared away the remnants of their picnic, rolled up the rug and half walked, half ran up the beach to where the lighted streets still showed couples out for a stroll, bars lit up and where there was the sound of late-night diners, laughter and the hum of conversation.
Within minutes he’d found a taxi, tugged her towards it and their journey began. A silent journey, broken only by a few courteous platitudes to the driver. There was no need for words to each other, nothing to say that could eclipse the mounting anticipation inside her. Not a single doubt was allowed to surface—she knew that she couldn’t stop now, propelled by a desire so deep, so consuming, it wouldn’t be possible to deny it.
As she alighted from the taxi she felt as though she was walking through a sea of sensation. Every sound was magnified, every chirp of a cricket, every rustle of a tree’s branches in the wind. The breeze lifted her hair against the nape. Her skin was supersensitive. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as Zander pulled her into his arms and kissed her—a deep searing kiss in which their mutual passion met and matched, a kiss that branded her very soul.
Time lost meaning, and it could have been minutes or hours that they stood lip-locked, surrounded by the late-night garden scents. But finally he took her hand and they walked unsteadily towards the front door.
Once inside they wasted no time, practically sprinting for the stairs, and she gave a small laugh of relief as they reached the mezzanine level—until he dropped an expletive.
‘What?’
‘I haven’t got any protection...’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m on the pill.’
She had remained on it after her split with Steve, as it regulated her periods. It was a decision she had been unsure about, but now she welcomed it with a wash of relief, matched by Zander’s and shown in the force of his answer when she explained.
And then the need for words was over; his expression said it all, and he was utterly focused, almost reverent, as he gently pushed the straps of her dress down, bent his head and whispered kisses across her shoulder. How was it possible to feel boneless, to be so caught up, so focused on the thrills that ricocheted through her?
She reached out in wonder. Finally this was allowed—to slide her hands under the soft fabric of his T-shirt and feel the muscular solidity of his chest, to rest her palm over the accelerated beat of his heart. And then he was kissing her again, and Gabby gave herself up to the sensory onslaught...
* * *
Zander opened his eyes and stared up at the whitewashed ceiling, aware of the rays of bright sunshine that filtered through the slatted blinds they had forgotten to close properly. A feeling of immense well-being filled him—an urge to throw open the windows and sing. Instead he shifted slightly, aware that next to him Gabby still slept.
For a long moment he looked down at her and marvelled at the sheer joy they had experienced just hours before. Passion, laughter, discovery and a generosity that still startled him. Now she lay curled on her side, her impossibly long eyelashes on show, one hand tucked under her cheek.
As quietly as he could, he slipped from the bed, closed the shutters so she could sleep on and tiptoed downstairs, determined to produce a spectacular breakfast.
Half an hour later her head appeared over the banister. ‘That smells divine!’
‘Bacon, eggs, pastries, coffee, toast. They stocked the kitchen in style. I figure we burned off a whole load of calories. I also figure we need a whole load more energy for what I have in mind.’
An endearing blush and a wicked smile greeted this, and she padded downstairs dressed in an oversized T-shirt. Her hair cascaded wildly to her shoulders and his heart did a funny little dip.
Whoa, Zander. Any other bit of his anatomy, sure, but his heart really did not need to get involved.
Turning away, he concentrated on breakfast and on the plunge of the cafetière, and the sheer unfamiliarity of cooking for two smote him. It was a reminder that this was not normal—it was a capsule of time outside reality and away from the usual slipstream of their lives.
‘So.’ He placed a heaped plate in front of her. ‘What’s our plan for the day?’
