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Nor was there any point in asking what the hell he thought he was doing there, because she already knew. But she had to say something—if only to break this taut and terrible silence stretching between them.
Her voice a husky whisper, she pleaded, ‘Diaz—no…’
‘You are so beautiful.’ The words seemed torn from him. He moved, lithe as a panther, walking over to the pile of towels to take one and envelop her in it before, without haste, blotting the moisture from her skin.
‘How can you do this?’ she protested again, her voice shaking. The slow movement of his hands on her body through the layer of towelling was already an unbearable, shameful incitement. He was shirtless again, and the clean, sun-warmed scent of his skin filled her nose and mouth, turning her dizzy. ‘Feeling as you do—despising me?’
‘Because this is unfinished business between us, Rhianna, and you know it.’ He spoke calmly. ‘And whatever you’ve been to Simon Rawlins, it hasn’t stopped me wanting you, although God knows I’ve tried.’
A fist seemed to clench inside her, and she knew she needed to stop him urgently, tell him everything before it was too late.
‘Please,’ she said, rapidly. ‘Please, Diaz—you must listen. You don’t understand…’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re the one who doesn’t understand.’
He lifted her into his arms, stifling any further protest with the hard pressure of his mouth, and carried her into the other room. The coverlet on the bed had been turned back in readiness, and he put her down on the snowy sheet, followed her down.
Kneeling over her, he unwrapped the towel from her body and tossed it on to the floor. Stripped off his shorts and sent them to follow the towel, before stretching himself, naked, beside her.
‘I need to erase him,’ he told her quietly, almost conversationally, looking down into her widening scared eyes. ‘To wipe him from your mind and memory for ever. To prove to you that you can’t live in the past, Rhianna, and set you free. To show you that there’s a present, and there can be a future.’
‘No,’ she said hoarsely. ‘You’re so wrong. There never will be—not without the man I love.’
He smiled with faint bitterness. ‘You may be right,’ he said. ‘But at least I can try.’
He put his hand on her stomach, smoothing the damp skin with almost exquisite care, and she felt the pleasure of it shiver through every nerve-ending in her body.
‘And you don’t have to worry,’ he added softly. ‘I swear I’ll be gentle.’
‘Oh, God.’ Her voice sounded stifled, caught as she was between terror and desire, as she realised what he meant. Remembered what he believed. ‘Diaz—no. There’s something I must say. Please let me go.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I will. As I promised. But not yet. We’ll talk later. Afterwards.’
He leaned down and kissed her again, his lips moving on hers this time in a slow and seductive quest, coaxing them apart, preparing her for the heated, silken invasion of his tongue, carrying her, as some reeling corner of her mind acknowledged, beyond denial. But not beyond shame.
When at last he raised his head she was breathless, wordless, her pulses playing all kinds of tricks as she stared up at him through the veil of her lashes.
‘I should have made love to you weeks ago,’ he told her huskily. ‘That night at your flat when I found him there. But I was too angry then. You were right to send me away. Before that you wanted me, and I knew it. Later, when I realised you were still sleeping with him, I told myself that it was too late—that I could never come near you—never bear to touch you again—not after—him.’
His mouth twisted. ‘Yet here I am. Needing you so badly that I’m prepared to forget decency and reason, along with everything else that should be keeping us apart. I no longer have a choice.’
His stroking hand moved slowly upwards, over her midriff and ribcage, to cup the soft swell of her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple and awakening it to hot, aching life.
‘We could even treat it as a pact,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll release you from Simon and you, my lovely Rhianna, you can release me—from you. And maybe we’ll both have some peace at last. Show me what you like.’
He bent, taking her tumescent rosy peak in his mouth, caressing it with the sweet agony of his tongue, making her gasp, her body arching involuntarily towards him.
She had only instinct to guide her. No prior knowledge of what the responses of her flesh might be to his hands and lips, or what he, in turn, might expect from her.
