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‘Well, I have to think ahead.’
He took a step ahead and turned to face her, slanting a glittering look at her face as he continued to walk backwards...
If I tried that, I’d fall flat on my face, she thought.
She could simply not imagine Ezio doing anything that wasn’t elegant and co-ordinated.
‘Ever heard of living in the moment?’
‘I did that once today...’ The words were out before she could stop them and she was watching herself grab him and kiss him... That it had only happened today seemed impossible.
‘And very nice it was too.’
His throaty murmur almost made her trip...before she sought a solution to the problem by removing her shoes. Hopping from one foot to the other with a lot of swear words was a useful distraction.
‘I’ve got flats in my bag,’ she grumbled. At some point, her bag had vanished...was it in the car?
Ezio stared at her small, narrow elegant feet, the toe nails painted pale-pink. He had never in his life considered a woman’s feet a turn-on. ‘I could carry you. Don’t look at me like that. I have not just made an indecent suggestion.’ His thoughts were a lot less pure, and, had she known where his tongue in his hot ever-developing fantasy that began at the arch of her foot had reached, she would have looked a lot more outraged.Or not...?
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
He tipped his head, accepting her lie. ‘It’s not far now, and your luggage will be in our...sorry,your...room.’
They reached the room and he paused to let her enter before him. Tilda found herself in a pretty, light room. The open French doors faced a terrace with brightly coloured flowers set against the backdrop of the blue sea.
‘The sitting room.’ He made an expansive gesture that took in the room. ‘Your room is that side. Mine...’ He nodded to the second door. ‘Nothing so scary as an inter-connecting bathroom. We are standing in the neutral zone... Oh, and you will find some clothes in the dressing room. The ones you rejected and a few others—and before you protest,’ he inserted in a bored drawl that made her close her open mouth with a snap. ‘These are not an indulgence but a necessity. In order to play a role convincingly, get into character, you need to dress the part. You are my wife.’ The possessive note in this autocratic pronouncement should have made her laugh, but it didn’t; instead, the quiver low in her belly became a thrum.
‘And you think clothes are going to convince anyone of that?’
‘I’m hoping your lingering look of love will seal the deal,glikia mou.’
‘You are so up yourself!’ she cried, her face flaming at his mockery.
‘You’ll miss me when I’m gone,’ he teased, walking to the door and leaving behind the echo of his deep, throaty laughter.
The horrible possibility his mocking jibe was not a million miles from the truth was why she was resisting getting into the role...as much as she wanted to deny the attraction she was feeling. She wasn’t blind to the real danger of buying into the fiction, getting so deep into character that she couldn’t find the exit.
She needed to keep that exit in sight and not let Ezio spoil her for a man who one day might come along... Even if he didn’t, she didn’t want to spend her life comparing every man she met to this complex, infuriating man.
She walked into her bedroom which was complete with far too many mirrors, a stunning chandelier of wrought-iron and cut glass and, of course, the bed...a fairy-tale four-poster piled high with cushions.
Pre-warned, she still got a little shock when she opened the dressing-room door. The sheer volume of clothes hanging on the rails that lined the room took her breath away. She pulled open a couple of the drawers. She wouldn’t have been human if the luxury fabrics, soft silks and delicate lace had not made her sigh with pleasure...and the thought of them against her skin.
The thought of someone peeling them away from her skin... Aware of the moist heat between her legs, she closed her eyes against the images, but they stayed there and there was no mistakingwhosefingers she was imagining on her...
She needed to cool down; she needed a shower.
The bathroom was another jaw-dropper—double-ended beaten-copper bath tub, a view through the slatted shutters that was breath-taking and glass shelves lined with bottles of luscious-looking oils that invited her to take the tops off and inhale.
Tilda didn’t, she headed towards the shower, which was the size of her bathroom at home, and stripped off, letting her clothes fall to the floor in a heap.
The controls looked as if they belonged in an alien space ship but, after pressing everything on the touch-pad control, something happened and water came at her from all sides.
She supposed it was adjustable but, rather than try to figure it out, she settled for having her skin pummelled clean by the jets. By the time she emerged, her skin was pink and glowing. Pity the same couldn’t be said for her mind, which was still firing on all cylinders.
She was in the living room when there was a knock on the door. She was tightening the belt on one of the beautiful silk robes from the Aladdin’s cave dressing room when the door opened.
The sense of anti-climax was intense.
