Читать книгу By Request Collection April-June 2016 - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 17

‘I ’M NOT sleeping with you.’

They’d landed on Hamilton Island and made the helicopter transfer to Mina without incident, arriving to be greeted by Eric just as the sun was dipping into the water in a glorious blaze of gold. Eric had laughed, secretly delighted she could tell, when they’d all stood and watched the spectacle, telling them they’d soon get used to ‘that old thing’, before dropping them off at their beachside bure to freshen up before dinner.

And now, after a tour of the timber and glass five-star bungalow, their eyes met over the king-sized bed. The only bed, aside from the cot set up for Sam in the generous adjoining dressing room.

She wasn’t about to change her mind. ‘You’ll just have to find yourself somewhere else to sleep.’

‘Come on, Evelyn,’ he said, sitting down on the bed and slipping off his shoes, peeling off his socks, ‘don’t you think you’re being just a little melodramatic? It’s not like we haven’t slept together before.’

‘That was different.’

He looked over his shoulder at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘Was it?’

Her arms flapped uselessly at her sides. From outside she could hear Sam laughing as Hannah, the young woman who had been sent to be his babysitter, fed him his dinner. At least that part of the arrangements seemed to be going well.

‘I’m not sharing a bed with you,’ she said. ‘And I certainly don’t have to sleep with you just because we happen to be caught in the same lie.’

He stood, reefing his shirt from his pants as he started undoing the buttons at his cuffs. ‘No? Even though you know we’re good together?’

She blinked. ‘What are you doing?’

He shrugged. ‘Taking a shower before dinner,’ he said innocently enough, although she saw the gleam in his eyes. ‘Care to join me?’

‘No!’

But she couldn’t resist watching his hands moving over the buttons, feeling for them, pushing them through the holes. Clever hands. Long-fingered hands. And as he tweaked the buttons she was reminded of the clever way he’d tweaked her nipples and worked other magic… She looked away. Looked back again. ‘There’s no point. No point to any of it.’

‘It’s only sex,’ he said, finishing off the rest of the buttons before peeling off his shirt. ‘It’s not like we haven’t already done it—several times. And I know for a fact you enjoyed it. I really don’t know why you’re making out like it’s some kind of ordeal.’

‘It was supposed to be for just one night,’ she said, trying and failing not to be distracted by his broad chest and that line of dark hair heading south. ‘A one-night stand. No strings attached.’

‘So we make it a four-night stand. And I sure as hell don’t see any strings.’

She dragged her recalcitrant eyes north again, wondering how he could so easily consider making love to a person like they had for not one but four nights, and not want to feel some kind of affection for the other party. But, then, he had a head start on her. He had a heart of stone. ‘It was nice, sure. But that doesn’t mean we have to have any repeat performances.’

‘There’s that word again.’ His hands dropped to the waistband of his pants, stilled there. ‘“Nice”. Tell me, if you scream like that for nice, what do you do for mind-blowing? Shatter windows?’

She felt heat flood her face, totally mortified at being reminded of her other wanton self, especially now when she was trying to make like she could live without such sex. ‘Okay, so it was better than nice. So what? It’s not as if we even like each other.’

‘And that matters because…?’

She spun away, reduced to feeling like some random object rather than a woman with feelings and needs of her own, and crossed to the wall of windows that looked out through palm trees to the bay beyond. It was moonlit now, the moon dusting the swaying palm leaves with silver and laying a silvery trail across the water to the shore, where tiny waves rippled in, luminescent as they kissed the beach. It was beautiful, the air balmy and still, and she wished she could enjoy it. But right now she was having trouble getting past the knowledge that she’d spent an entire night, had bared herself, body and soul, to a man who treated sex as some kind of birthright.

And if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d not so subtly pointed out she’d been vocally enthusiastic, now he’d as much as agreed that he didn’t even like her. Lovely.

And that was supposed to make her happier about sleeping with him?

Fat chance.

She felt his hands land on her shoulders, his long fingers stroking her arms, felt his warm breath fan her hair. ‘You are a beautiful woman, Evelyn. You are beautiful and sexy and built for unspeakable pleasure. And you know it. So why do you deny yourself that which you so clearly desire?’

Self-preservation, she thought, as his velvet-coated words warmed her in places she didn’t want warmed and stroked an ego that wanted to be liked and maybe, maybe even more than that.

‘I can’t,’ she said. Not without losing myself in a place I don’t want to be. Not without risking falling in love with a man who has no heart. ‘Please, just believe me, I’ll pretend to be your fiancée, I’ll pretend to be your lover. But, please, don’t expect me to sleep with you.’

The big house, as the Culshaws referred to it, was exactly that. Not flashy, but all spacious tropical elegance, the architecture, like that of the bures, styled to bring the outside in with lots of timber and glass and sliding walls. Outside, on an expansive deck overlooking the bay and the islands silhouetted against the sky, a table had been beautifully laid, but it was the night sky that captured everyone’s attention.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars,’ Eve confessed, dazzled by the display as they sat down for the meal. ‘It’s just magical.’

Eric laughed. ‘We think so. This island takes its name from one of them but don’t ask me to point out which one.’

Maureen continued, ‘When we first came here for a holiday about thirty years ago, we got home to Melbourne and wanted to turn right back round again. We’ve been coming here every year since. Hasn’t been used much lately, not since—’

Eric cut in, saving her from finishing. ‘Well, it’s good to have guests here again, that’s for sure. So I’d like to propose a toast. To guests and good friends and good times,’ he said, and they all raised their glasses for the toast.

‘Now,’ Eric said, from alongside Leo, ‘how’s that young man of yours settling in?’

‘He’s in his element,’ Eve replied. ‘Two of his favourite things are fish and boats. He can’t believe his good fortune.’

‘Excellent. And the babysitter’s to your satisfaction? Did she tell you she’s hoping to study child care next year?’

‘Hannah seems wonderful, thank you.’

Maureen distracted her on the other side, patting her on the hand. ‘Oh, that reminds me, I’ve booked the spa,’ she started.

But Eve didn’t hear the rest, not when she heard Eric ask Leo, ‘How old did you say Sam was again?’

She froze, her focus on the man beside her and how he replied to the question, the man stumbling with an answer, seemingly unable to remember the age of his own supposed child.

‘Ah, remind me again, Eve?’ he said at last. ‘Is Sam two yet?’ Eve excused herself and smiled, forcing a laugh.

‘You go away much too much if you think Sam’s already had his birthday. He’s eighteen months old. How could you possibly forget?’

Leo snorted and said, ‘I never remember this milestone stuff. It’s lucky Evelyn does,’ which earned agreement from Eric at least.

‘It must be hard on you, though, Evelyn, with Leo always on the move,’ Maureen said. Eve wanted to hug the woman for moving the conversation along, although a moment later she wished she’d opted for a complete change of topic. ‘Do you have family nearby who help out?’

She smiled softly, looking up at the stars for just a moment, wondering where they were amidst the vast array. Her grandfather had held her hand and taken her outside on starry nights when she hadn’t been able to stop crying and had told her they were up there somewhere, shining brightly, keeping her grandmother company. And now her grandfather was there too. She blinked. ‘I have a wonderful neighbour who helps out. My parents died when I was ten and—I hate to admit it—I don’t remember terribly much about them. I lived with my grandfather after that.’

‘Oh-h-h,’ said Felicity. ‘They never got to meet Sam.’

‘No, and I know they would have loved him.’ She took a breath. ‘Oh, I’m sorry for sounding so maudlin on such a beautiful night. Maybe we should change the topic, talk about something more cheerful.’

‘I know,’ said Eric jovially. ‘So when’s the happy day, you two?’

Eve wanted to groan, until she felt Leo’s arm around her shoulders and met his dazzling smile. ‘Just as soon as I can convince her she can’t live without me a moment longer.’

Somehow they made it through the rest of the evening without further embarrassment but it was still a relief to get back to their bure. The long day had taken its toll, the stress of constantly fearing they would be caught out weighing heavily on Eve, and even though she’d slept on the plane, she couldn’t wait to crawl into bed. Her bed, because after their earlier discussion, Leo had offered to sleep on the sofa. Hannah was sitting on it now, watching music television on low. She stood and clicked the remote off as they came in.

‘How was Sam?’ Eve asked, looking critically at the sofa, frowning at its length. Or lack of it. How the hell did Leo think he was going to fit on that?

‘Sam’s brilliant. I let him stay up half an hour longer, like you suggested, and he went down easy as. I checked him the last time about five minutes ago, and he hadn’t stirred. I don’t think I’ve ever looked after such a good baby.’

Eve smiled, relieved. ‘Lucky you didn’t meet him last week when he was teething—you might have had a different opinion.’ She opened her purse to find some notes and Hannah waved her away. ‘No. It’s all taken care of. It’s my job to look after Sam while you’re here.’ She headed for the door, gave a cheery wave. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, then.’

Eve met Leo coming out of the bedroom with an armful of pillows and linen. ‘Goodnight,’ he said, heading for the sofa maybe a little too stoically.

She watched him drop it all on the sofa, measured the height and breadth of man against length and width of sofa and realised it was never going to work. It should be her sleeping on the sofa. Except Sam’s room was beyond the bedroom and it would be foolhardy if not impossible to move him now.

She watched him for a while try to make sense of the bedding, as if he was ever going to be comfortable there.

And suddenly she was too tired to care. It wasn’t like they were strangers after all. They had made love and several times. And even if they didn’t like each other, surely they could share two sides of a big wide bed and still manage to get a good night’s sleep?

‘Stop it,’ she said, as Leo attempted to punch his pillow into submission at one end, one bare foot sticking out over the other. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘Look, it’s a big bed,’ she said reluctantly, gnawing her lip, trying not to think of the broad, fit body that would be taking up at least half of it. ‘We can share it.’ Then she added, ‘So long as that’s all we share. Is that a deal?’

He sat up on a sigh, clearly relieved. ‘It’s a promise. I promise not to share anything, so long as you don’t jump me first.’

‘Ha. And I thought you were awake. Now I know you’re dreaming. I’m going to have a shower—alone. You’d better be in bed and asleep when I get there, or it’s straight back to the sofa for you.’

And he was asleep when she slipped under the covers, or he was good at pretending. She clung close to her edge of the bed, thinking that was the safest place, yet she could still feel the heat emanating from his body, could hear his slow, steady breathing, and tried not to think about what they’d been doing twenty-four hours ago, but found it hard to think of anything else. Especially when she was so acutely aware of every tiny rustle of sheets or shift in his breathing.

Twenty-four hours. How could so much have happened in that time? How could so much change?

Outside the breeze stirred the leaves in the trees, set the palm fronds rustling, and if she listened hard, she could just hear a faint swoosh as the tiny swell rushed up the shore. But it was so hard to hear anything, so very hard, over the tremulous beating of her heart…

It was happening again. He buried his head under the blanket and put his hands over his ears but it didn’t stop the shouting, or the sound of the blows, or the screams that followed. He cowered under the covers, whimpering, trying not to make too much noise in case he was heard and dragged out too, already dreading what he’d find in the morning at breakfast. If they all made it to breakfast.

There was a crash of furniture, a scream and something smashed, and the blows continued unabated, his mother’s cries and pleas going unheard, until finally, eventually, he heard the familiar mantra, the mantra he knew by heart, even as his mother continued to sob. Over and over he heard his father utter the words telling her he was sorry, telling her he loved her. ‘Signome! Se agapo. Se agapo poli. Signome.’

Sam! Eve woke with a mother’s certainty that something was wrong, bolting from the bed and momentarily disoriented with her new surroundings, only to realise it wasn’t Sam who was in trouble. For in the bed she’d so recently left, Leo was thrashing from side to side, making gravel-voiced mutterings against the mattress, rantings that made no sense in any language she knew, his body glossy with sweat under the moonlight.

He cried out in his sleep, a howl of desperation and helplessness, anguish clear in his tortured limbs and fevered brow as he twisted and writhed. Eve did the only thing she could think of, the only thing she knew helped Sam when he had night terrors. She went to Leo’s side of the bed and sat down softly. ‘It’s okay, Leo,’ she said, sweeping a calming hand over his brow, finding it burning hot. He flnched at her touch, resisting it at first, so she tried to soothe him with her words. ‘It’s okay. It’s all right. You’re safe now. Leo, you’re safe.’

He seemed to slump under her hands, his body slick with sweat, his breathing still hard but slowing, and Eve suspected that whatever demons had invaded his midnight hours had now departed. She went to leave then, to return to her side of the bed, but when she made a move to leave, a hand locked around her wrist and she realised that maybe there were still some demons hanging on.

And just as she would do and had done with Sam when he needed comfort, she slid under the covers alongside the hot body of Leo, putting her arm around him, soothing him back to sleep with the gentle reassurance of another’s touch and trying not to think of the heated presence lying so close to her or the thud of his heart under her hands.

Five minutes should be enough, she figured, until he had settled back into sleep. Five minutes and she’d escape back to her edge of the mattress. Five minutes would be more than enough…

Something was different. She woke to the soft light of the coming dawn, filtering grey through the shutters, and to the sound of birdsong coming from the palms outside. And she woke to the certain knowledge that she had stayed far, far too long. Fingers trailed over her back, making lazy circles on her skin through her thin cotton nightie and setting her skin to tingling, and warm lips nuzzled at her brow as the hand between them somehow managed to brush past her nipples and send spears of electricity to her core.

And she was very, very aroused.

She was also trapped, his heavy arm over her, one leg casually thrown over hers. She tried to wiggle her way out but the movement brought her into contact with a part of him that told her he was also very much aroused. He growled his appreciation, shifted closer, and she tried not to think about how good that part of him had felt inside her.

‘Leo…’ she said, conflicted, her mind in panic, her body in revolt, turning her face up to his, only to be met by his mouth as he dragged her into his long, lazy kiss, a kiss she had no power or intention to cut short even though she knew it was utter madness.

Utter pleasure.

Her senses soared, her flesh tingled and breasts ached for the caress of his clever hands and hot mouth, and arguments that things were complicated enough, that there was no point, that this must end and end badly made little impression against this slow, sensual onslaught.

‘I see you changed your mind,’ he murmured, a brush of velvet against her skin.

‘You had a nightmare.’

‘This,’ he said, sliding one long-fingered hand up the back of her leg, kneading her bottom in his hand, ‘is no nightmare.’

‘Don’t you—’ His mouth cut her off again as his hand captured her breast, working at her nipple, plucking at her nerve endings, making her groan into his mouth with the exquisite pleasure of his caress, emerging breathless and dizzy when it ended so that she almost forgot what she wanted to say. ‘Don’t you remember?’

‘Maybe…’ he said, rolling her under him, pinning her arms to the bed above her head as his head dipped to her throat, ‘maybe right now I’d rather forget.’

She moaned with the wicked pleasure of it all, his hot mouth like a brand against her skin. But this wasn’t supposed to happen. She hadn’t wanted this to happen. But as he lowered his head to her breast and drew in one achingly hard nipple to his mouth, laving it with his hot tongue, blowing on the damp fabric and sending exquisite chills coursing through her, she couldn’t, for the life of her, remember why. Her body was alive with wanting him, alive with the power that came from him and that she craved, and there was no way she could stop.

He let her wrists go, his hands busy at her nightie. She felt the soft fabric lifting as he skimmed his hands up her sides, before skimming down again, taking her underwear with them. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he growled, his voice like a brush of velvet over her bare skin as he pulled it over her head. And yet he was the magnificent one, broad and dark, his erection swaying and bucking over her, a pearl of liquid glistening at its head. Transfixed, unable to stop herself, she reached out her hand and touched it with the pad of her thumb. He uttered something urgent, his dark eyes flared, wild and filled with the same dark need that consumed her as he swiped up his wallet, found what he needed and tossed the wallet away in his rush to be inside her.

He dragged in air, forced himself to slow. ‘You do this to me,’ he accused her softly as he parted her thighs with his hand and found her slick and wet and wanting. ‘You make me rock hard and aching,’ he continued, his fingers circling that tiny nub of nerve endings, a touch so delicious she mewled with pleasure, writhing as sensation built on the back of his words, fuelling her need, fuelling her desperation.

Until at last she felt him nudge her there, hot and hard and pulsing with life as he tensed above her for one tantalising moment of anticipation.

And then joyfully, blissfully, he entered her in one magical thrust and she held him there, at her very core, welcoming him home, tears squeezing from her eyes at the sheer ecstasy of it all.

So much to feel. So much to experience and hold precious. And still the best was to come. The dance, the friction, the delicious moment of tension when he would sit poised at her entrance, before slamming back inside.

She went with him, matched him measure for measure, gasp for gasp as the pace increased, their bodies slick and hot as the rhythm increased, faster, more furious, the climb too high until this thing building inside her felt too big for her chest, her lungs too small.

Until with one final thrust, one final guttural roar, he sent her shattering, coming apart in his arms, falling, spinning weightless and formless and satisfied beyond measure.

‘So beautiful,’ he said, as he smoothed her hair from her damp brow, kissing her lightly on her eyes, on her nose, on her gasping lips.

And you’re dangerous, she thought as he disappeared to the bathroom, as her brain resumed functioning and a cold and very real panic seized her heart. So utterly, utterly dangerous.

And I am so in trouble.

What should one say now? What would an army do, its defences stripped bare, the castle walls well and truly breached? Try to hastily rebuild them? Call for reinforcements?

Or surrender?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think about the sizzle under her skin where his fingers had stroked her shoulder.

As if she had a choice. She would no sooner patch up her defences and he would have them down again. One silken touch, one poignant kiss, and he would have those walls tumbling right down.

But she was kidding himself. There was no point rebuilding walls or calling for reinforcements. No point trying to save herself from attack from outside the castle walls.

Not when the enemy was already within.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she swiped them away. Damn. What was she doing? What was she risking? ‘I can’t afford to get pregnant again,’ she said when he returned, putting voice to her greatest fear.

‘I wouldn’t let you.’

‘But Sam’s father—’

He rose over her, cutting her off with his kiss. ‘I would never do that to you.’

‘How do I know that? And I would have two babies from two different fathers. How could I cope with that?’

‘Believe me. It won’t happen but even if it did, I would not abandon you as he has done.’

‘But you wouldn’t marry me either.’

He searched her eyes and frowned and she thought it was at her words, until he used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the moisture there.

‘I thought I heard you say any woman would be certifiably insane to want to get shackled to me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, remembering the scene in the bar. ‘I was angry.’

‘As was I. I should never have said what I did about Sam’s father thinking the same of you. But you’re right. Marriage is not an option, which means the best thing for everyone is to ensure we’re careful. All right?’

She wished he wouldn’t be like this. She wished he could go back to being ruthless and hard, because when he was tender and gentle with her, she could almost, almost, imagine he actually cared.

And she could almost, almost, imagine that she cared for him. She couldn’t afford to care for him. She couldn’t afford to read anything into his apology for what he’d said about Sam’s dad when it was plain he wasn’t lining up to marry her himself.

But she could enjoy him.

Two more nights in Leo’s bed. Why was she fighting it when it was where she so wanted to be? Why not treat it as the holiday it really was? Time spent in a tropical paradise with a man who knew how to pleasure a woman. No ties, no commitments and a promise not to let her down.

Was she mad to fight it?

And was it really surrendering, to take advantage of what she’d been offered on a plate?

His hand cupped her breast, feeling its weight, stroking her nipple and her senses until it peaked hard and plump under his fingers while his lips worked their heated way along her jaw towards her mouth. ‘Evelyn?’

A woman would have to be mad to want to give this up, she reasoned, leaning into his ministrations, giving herself over to the sensations. Two nights to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. It was more than some people had in a lifetime.

It would be enough.

It had to be enough.

‘All right,’ she whispered, giving herself up to his kiss.