Did Fotis’ voice turn challenging, or was that imagination? He couldn’t possibly know about her writing. Yet his direct stare made her wonder how much he’d seen.
Rosamund looked again at the painting. ‘Is that why he lives here? He sees it as a haven?’ Maybe that explained her impression that the rough mountain and the windmills weren’t simply starkly beautiful but represented a protective bulwark.
The silence drew out. ‘You do see a lot, don’t you?’ Fotis said in a voice that defied definition. ‘This place has always been a haven. Generations upon generations lived here. They even moved their town up onto this hill centuries ago, to protect themselves from marauding pirates.’
‘Pirates? Really?’ It was easier to focus on colourful history than the awareness zinging through her blood, because of a man who was only beside her because he’d promised Leon he’d keep her safe.
‘Really. They were dire times, but the cliffs and high walls kept the people safe most of the time.’ He paused. ‘Now there are no pirates, but it’s still a haven.’
For him too? Rosamund desperately wanted to know. She wanted to understand him. What had made him a recluse? What had given him the drive to build a multibillion-dollar business? Why, in repose, was his expression often so stern?
But if she quizzed him, the quid pro quo meant he’d have every right to question her.
She turned, and just as she’d known, he was scrutinising her, not the artwork. His brow furrowed as if she intrigued him. It was arousing and terrifying, having that fiercely insightful mind turned on her.
Almost as arousing as the idea of them together, naked, the way she’d been imagining.
Without a word, he beckoned for her to follow him, leading her up the wide staircase. At the end of an upstairs corridor he opened a door. ‘This is yours. I’m next door if you need anything.’
The room was simple but pure luxury. Windows down one wall gave spectacular views towards the sea and through an open door she glimpsed a well-appointed bathroom.
Another luxurious, empty suite.
Another lonely, empty night.
Rosamund paused in the doorway. It struck her suddenly, how much time she spent alone. How she ached for…more. Ached forhim.
She liked solitude, needed it for her work, but still there was a yearning inside her, a yearning so powerful it bubbled up, an unstoppable force. She wondered if he could read it in her face.
‘Rosamund? What is it?’
Her pulse quickened. Was she really going to do this? After all the effort she’d put into being sensible?
Part of her couldn’t believe it. Another part screamed at her to hurry up. Once that inner voice, the impulsive one, had dominated. But years learning caution had stifled it so now she didn’t know whether to trust it.
‘I do need something.’ How glorious it was, how freeing, to admit it.
He stepped before her. ‘What is it you need?’
‘You, Fotis.’ She put her hand to his darkly stubbled jaw, tracing its strong lines, feeling his solid heat under her hand with something like relief. ‘I need you.’
CHAPTER NINE
HE WAS SILENTso long, she wondered if he hadn’t heard her.
Oh, he heard. Those eyes blazed so hot they scorched her.
‘What, exactly, are you suggesting?’
What part ofI need you, didn’t he understand? She hadn’t imagined his implicit invitation to share his bed last night, had she? No, his meaning had been potently clear.
She angled her chin up. ‘You and me together. Naked.’ She watched a pulse throb at his temple, felt his muscles move as he swallowed.
‘Is this guilt talking?’
‘What do you mean?’
He nodded towards his arm. ‘Because I got hurt. Your way of making amends? Paying me back?’
