“You came,” she said, and he fought an urge to make some double entendre.
“Need some more lotion?”
This time, he’d caught her unawares. She stared up at him, her throat shifting visibly as she swallowed, then gradually, nodded.
“Roll over,” he commanded, moving to the back of the sun bed and pressing the lever to lower the backrest, so it was completely flat.
She wriggled onto her stomach and eventhatmade his gut twist with need. He reached for the tube and squeezed some into his hands but hesitated before touching her. “Move over,” he said, and when she did, he sat on the edge of the bed, his hip touching her bare flesh, so he wished he was wearing a hell of a lot less.
She turned her face so that he could see her in profile, the way her teeth were pressing into her lips and her eyes were blinking too fast, and then, he started to apply lotion to her sun warmed skin, starting with her bare shoulders, rubbing across them far longer than was necessary, before dipping lower, to her back, massaging her there, inch by sweet inch, lower, to the skin just above her bikini bottoms. She wriggled her bottom and he bit back another curse.
“You must have dated,” he said, moving his hands back to her shoulders, rubbing there.
She shook her head slightly.
“How is that possible?”
“I just never met anyone that interested me.”
A surge of masculine pride was unmistakable. Raw, unadulterated ego. Yeah, he liked the thought of that—of being the one man who made her feel sexy and sensual. He liked the thought of giving her everything she wanted. He liked it so much it was hard to imagine why he was holding back from this, whyhe wasn’t just agreeing to one night of pleasure. What harm could come from that?
He wasn’t his father, he’d take precautions. With her emotions, and with the likelihood of any unwanted consequences. As the unwanted child of an affair, Luca knew better than to risk any chance of history repeating itself.
He began to rub suntan lotion down her arms, as he had in his office, but this felt so different. Each touch and stroke was like a promise he couldn’t wait to fulfil, even as his brain was berating him to leave again.
“Have you eaten?”
She shook her head.
“Are you hungry?”
She moved to glance up at him, then shifted completely, turning onto her back, but wriggling even closer to him—whether by accident or design—so he couldn’t ignore the way it felt to have her hip pressed right to his. Against his better judgement, but as though his body had taken over completely, his hand moved out to curve over her other hip, his fingers splayed wide, as if to hold her right where she was. Her beautiful breasts moved quickly with each sharp intake of breath.
“I was offering lunch,” he said, trying to remember his intention.
Her hand pressed out and into his thigh. He stared down at her fingers, imagined he wore nothing.
“Are you usually such a good host?”
“I rarely host.”
“Not even the women you fuck?”
Cristo. Hearing her talk like that pulled at every single piece of his self control. He nodded once. “Even them.”
“Just as well I’m your wife,” she pointed out.
Hiswife.A surge of possession and pride made his whole body taut. “For one year.”
“And not a day longer,” she agreed.
“Then we’ll never see each other again.”
“As we’ve agreed.”
“And nothing will change that.”
She sat up, the bikini top perilously close to slipping down. How he wished it would. He found himself cursing the very existence of elastane as she brought her body closer to his, their faces level.
