In the darkness, as he stripped and left his clothes in an untidy heap, he studied Tabby in the moonlight filtering through the room. Light shimmered over the point of a delicate ear and pale blonde hair as she shifted and rolled over, evidently in the grip of a disturbing dream. A low moan was wrenched from her. ‘Daddy…no!’ she sobbed and his blood chilled in his veins.
She sounded like a frightened child and Aristide was in that bed and gathering her into his arms before he could even think about what he was doing. His need to comfort her was overwhelming.
Chapter Six
TABBY SURFACED SHUDDERINGand gasping for breath, her last recollection of trying to intervene after her father had struck her mother to the floor and, while he was still ranting, returned to kick her.
‘It’s only a dream,’ Aristide murmured softly.
‘No, it was a memory of Dad beating up Mum and me trying to stop him,’ she muttered shakily.
‘And how did that go?’ Aristide prompted in a strained undertone.
‘I got kicked too,’ she mumbled wretchedly. ‘But he backed off after that.’
‘What age were you?’
‘Seven, eight… I’m not sure,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve never told anyone about that before. I was in bed and I heard him shouting and I got up. I should’ve known better—’
Aristide expelled his breath in an audible hiss. ‘No, he’s the one who should have known better when he saw his child in his way. But then he should not have been hurting either you or your mother.’
Aristide cradled her in his big, strong arms as he sat on the bed and she had never felt safer in her life. Dimly she recognised that was always,alwayswhat she had sought from a male: that he would be there for her when she needed him, that he would understand that she was softer inside than her prickly exterior implied. And then, most of all, that he would make those connections without thinking she was somehowless. The scent of Aristide, forest-fresh air with a hint of sea salt, engulfed her and she breathed in deep, firmly resisting the urge to snuggle, aware of the hard male contours of his lean, fit body against her.
‘What are you wearing?’ she whispered.
‘Nothing. I was getting undressed and then you were crying out and I wanted to wake you out of that dream,’ he murmured lazily. ‘And what are you wearing? Something silky and small.’
Long fingers tugged at the hem of her shorts and she shrank inside her light vest top, her nipples tightening and pushing forward at the awareness that he was naked.
‘Rather cruel and tempting considering I’m the guy you were set on sentencing to the couch,’ Aristide opined huskily.
‘You weren’t here. I wasn’t thinking of what I was wearing,’ she protested truthfully. ‘Anyway, I wasn’t really planning to make you sleep on the couch. I was just annoyed with you.’
‘You smell delicious,angelos mou,’ Aristide breathed thickly. ‘I think I’d better return you to bed.’
Rising, he threw back the sheet and slotted her into place, throwing the sheet over her. Without that physical contact, she felt cold and then he climbed in beside her and she relaxed again as he drew her into his warmth. In a sudden movement, she squirmed round and put her arms round him, her mouth instinctively seeking and finding his. And just as suddenly, she was pinned beneath him and he was kissing her breathless, heat darting to the heart of her and stirring a tight, intolerable ache.
Aristide released her swollen mouth and lifted his dark, curly head. ‘You’re impulsive,’ he pointed out, as if she weren’t already conscious of that failing. ‘I was sentenced to the couch…remember?’
‘I’m not impulsive—’
‘You soare. I have to know that you want me and that this isn’t some impulse you’ll start regretting at dawn,’ he decreed.
‘I always want you,’ Tabby admitted as if that was so obvious that it should go without saying.
‘And I never stopped wanting you,’ Aristide growled.
‘Has there been anyone else or several someone elses for you since that night?’ she asked, even though she knew that she wasn’t being fair demanding an answer to that question when they had parted as enemies without any kind of future even seeming possible.
‘There’s been nobody since you,’ Aristide admitted after a lengthy pause, brilliant eyes glimmering dark in the moonlight. ‘But that isn’t a fair question—’
‘Iknow,’ she agreed without regret. ‘But I had to know. I’m possessive. I don’t share—’
‘Neither do I,’ Aristide growled, returning to worry at her parted lips with his lips, the edge of his teeth and then the deep plunge of his tongue, his hunger unhidden and thoroughly stimulating.
‘Did I ever tell you how much I like the way you kiss?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘No. You can tell me tomorrow over a late breakfast. I think we are both due a very late breakfast,’ Aristide positively purred, the vibration of his deep dark drawl travelling down her taut spine, filtering intrinsically into softer, warmer places.
