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He might have caressed her for seconds. Or hours. Time ceased to exist or matter. All she could process was the encroaching tide of bliss that rushed over her and pulled her under.
She resurfaced to find herself still upright but caught in his arms.
‘You’re exquisite, Arabella mou. Truly exquisite,’ he rasped against her ear. ‘And all mine. Why did you let me believe all those things said about you in the media?’ he added gruffly, his tone holding a touch of contrition.
Senses still swimming, she tried to find the right words to reply. ‘Umm...you seemed blissfully wedded to the idea that I was a wild, wicked siren. But it was just the...white noise I needed to...to forget.’ She bit her lip, wondering if she’d gone too far. Rushing on, she added, ‘I told you, you didn’t know everything about me.’
He grunted, his hand cupping her core in a shockingly possessive hold. ‘From now on I will be your white noise. You get to be the wild, wicked siren only with me. And no more hiding important stuff from me. You’ll be straight with me on everything. Understood?’
Her heart lurched. ‘Draco...I...’
His hand moved between her thighs, melting away the apprehension and budding guilt, and leaving nothing but fevered anticipation behind.
When he picked her up, and walked over to the weight bench, Rebel gave up trying to formulate a single thought.
He arranged her over the bench. The rasp of the condom being ripped open barely registered against her buzzing senses before he was once more in control of her, his hands on her waist, his power at her throbbing centre. He took her higher than he had last night, almost rough in his possession as he drew every ounce of pleasure from her. His guttural shout as he followed her into bliss echoed in her ears as she lost her mind to sensation once more.
For the next three weeks they fell into a rigid routine. Intense training twice a day, six days a week. In between training, they made love, picnicked at various spots on the island, or ate their meals on whichever breathtaking level of Dante’s villa took their fancy. On her first rest day, he took her out on a launch to his yacht moored on the other side of the villa. Rebel had seen the impressive vessel on their morning runs, but nothing had prepared her for the beauty of the Angelis.
Draco had smiled indulgently as she rhapsodised over the vessel, then let her take the wheel as they sailed around the island.
By some unspoken agreement, their conversation didn’t stray into too personal territories, as if they were both emotionally wary, having bared their innermost cores to each other in the first week of meeting.
Of course, Draco didn’t know of the last layer, the one she feared would be uncovered each time his gaze lingered on her scar and she pretended not to notice. Or when he kissed it during lovemaking and she felt the question on her skin.
Although, more and more, an equally insidious fear trickled through her each time her gaze caught her engagement ring. The craving for everything happening between them to be real had taken permanent root in her heart. She couldn’t shake it off, and with each day that passed it embedded itself deeper into her heart.
It was there, silently clamouring for attention, when she woke from an afternoon nap on their last week on the island and went in search of Draco. His expansive office was located on Level Two. It was the only place in the private villa besides the gym that she went into with clothes on, having refused point-blank to risk entering a room while Draco was on one of his many videoconferences.
She heard his dark, smoky voice now as the lift doors parted, and heard his deep laugh before she saw him, the sound so beautiful her footsteps slowed. In contrast her heart leapt, then filled with a powerful emotion that threatened to knock her to her knees.
She stepped into the sunlight as he threw back his head and laughed again. The clear joy in his face caught her breath as a certain knowledge pounded through her.
She had no time to process it because Draco turned his head and saw her. She expected him to wave her to the sofa at the far end of the room where she usually waited for him to finish; her eyes widened as he held out his arm to her.
Warily, she stepped forward, then gasped when he jerked her into his lap. Face flaming, she glanced at the wide screen.
The woman bore a striking resemblance to Draco, her dramatically beautiful face and the headrest of what could only be wheelchair announcing who she was.
‘Maria?’
She smiled. ‘So I finally get to meet my brother’s fake fiancée.’
Rebel’s gaze flew to Draco’s. He shrugged. ‘Maria and I don’t have secrets. Not any more.’ A hint of regret washed over his face, but it was gone a moment later when his sister replied.
