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Never before had his self-control been so sorely tested...
‘Jordan—’
‘Don’t.’ A fierce look crossed her face. ‘Don’t say sorry. Or tell me you regret it. Because I don’t.’
He heard the pride and defiance in her voice, and if he’d had any capacity whatsoever for gentleness just then he would have tried to spare her feelings. But the only way to keep a tight rein on his lust and prevent himself weakening was to be hard. Adamant.
‘I do regret it,’ he said, grasping her wrist and disentangling her fingers from his shirt. ‘The kiss was a mistake.’
Hurt flashed in those big hazel eyes but her chin stayed boldly elevated. ‘It didn’t feel like a mistake to me. It felt pretty...amazing.’
He didn’t like the way his pulse kicked then, as if his body agreed with her assessment.
‘It was a mistake,’ he repeated. ‘And it won’t happen again.’ He released her wrist and stepped back. ‘Goodnight, Jordan.’ And he stalked back to his study.
CHAPTER SIX
JORDAN WOKE IN the morning feeling as mortified as she had when she’d crawled into bed last night.
She stared at the canopy above her head and pressed her palms to her cheeks. Just thinking about what had happened by the pool—or rather what hadn’t happened—made her face burn and her stomach shrink all over again.
After hours of feeling as if her body was in the grip of a prolonged flush, she’d put her bikini on and slipped quietly out onto the terrace for an evening dip. She hadn’t seen Xavier in hours. He had distanced himself as soon as they’d arrived at the villa, stalking off to his study and then letting her know via Rosa that he was working and wouldn’t be joining her for a meal.
Jordan had filled the intervening hours with a bout of determined activity, taking a long walk down the tiered terraces to the private beach at the bottom of the property, then back up through the citrus orchards on the gentle slopes behind the villa.
On her return she’d followed her nose to the enormous kitchen, where the divine smells of fresh baking had wafted in the air. Rosa had fixed her a snack and then sat down and shared a pot of tea with her.
But nothing had distracted her completely from thoughts of that kiss.
Or, more disturbingly, from thoughts of what that kiss might have led to had they not been standing on a public street but somewhere more private.
As for what had possessed her to ask him to hand her the towel when she’d been perfectly able to fetch it herself... She only knew that her heart had leapt into her throat when she’d surfaced from under the water and spied him walking away. She’d called out his name on impulse, then quickly had to think of something to say.
He’d looked so attractive. Still in jeans, but with the white button-down shirt replaced by a black polo shirt that showed off his tanned, muscular arms and fitted snugly across his powerful shoulders and chest. His physique looked more like that of a professional athlete than a desk-bound executive. She’d wondered how a man who spent so much time in boardrooms and offices kept himself so lean and fit.
And then her ability to think anything at all had fled. His hands had come down on her shoulders and his expression had changed from annoyed to something much more intense.
He’d been going to kiss her again—she was sure of it—and her heart had raced, pumping a dizzying mix of desire and adrenaline into her bloodstream.
Without realising it she’d gripped the front of his shirt and tipped her face up. Wanting to be kissed. Wanting to experience the same heady rush of excitement and endorphins as when he had trapped her against the car with his hard body and claimed her mouth with deliciously brutal force.
But then he’d abruptly backed off and she’d made an utter fool of herself, clinging to his shirt. Telling him she thought their kiss had been amazing.
Oh, God. Had she really said that?
She squeezed her eyes shut. Why, oh, why had she set herself up for such a humiliating rejection?
And yet... He hadn’t been unaffected by their kiss, had he? As evidenced by his erection!
An erection he had shamelessly and shockingly made her aware of.
She groaned. She was mortified and confused.
She got up and opened the blinds and the French doors, breathing deeply as fresh air and bright sunlight flooded the room. The exquisite view from the balcony never failed to amaze her. For a moment she stood and drank in the vista, imprinting the vivid colours of the landscape and the bright blue sea into her memory.
She couldn’t stay. Xavier’s withdrawal had sent a clear message. If she remained she’d outstay her welcome, and she couldn’t bear the thought of lingering where she wasn’t wanted. Besides, she had planned to spend only six days tops in Barcelona. Time enough to sightsee, do the day trip to Camila’s village and give the letter to Xavier.
Check, check and check.
