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It had made it impossible for him to want a woman. Beyond that initial spark of desire, he’d played out any possible future scenario and known where it had the potential to end, and bam. Desire extinguished.

Not so with Tia.

The second she’d stepped out of the wardrobe, his brain had exploded. He was suddenly fifteen again, body flushed with uncontrollable hormones, his cock growing hard unpredictably often. She’d stepped out and his blood had turned to lava, his skin had felt like it was on fire, and then she’d walked towards him in that slow, deliberately seductive way and he’d felt like he’d stepped off the ledge of a skyscraper.

The whole time she was tying his tie, he’d wanted to grab her by the hips and throw her down on the bed, to rip that silk shirt from her body and use it to tie her hands to the ancient bedhead, to make love to her until they were both breathless with passion. He’d wanted to do more than make love—he’d wanted to fuck her, a purely animalistic urge that caught him completely by surprise because sex had never been just sex with him. He’d always ascribed a greater meaning to it, thinking that a deeper emotional connection made for better physical pleasure.

But if a single touch of Tia’s fingers to his jaw could elicit this kind of heat, what would actually sleeping with her be like? The wisest course of action would be not to think of that, but as they moved down the stairs of his family home and her heels connected with the tiled floor of the hallway, and she turned to face him with those beautiful eyes hooking straight to his, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

He didn’t want to go and drink cocktails with his messed-up family. He wanted to push Tia against these wallpapered walls and wedge his knee between her legs, splitting that skirt all the way up. He wanted to kiss her and feel the weight of her breasts in his hands, he wanted…

“Which way?”

He realised he was just standing there, breathing heavily, staring at her goddamn perfect mouth again. Fuck. He was lost. Her lips quirked and he knew she knew. She was reading him like a book. Playing him like a violin.

“Tia,” he said, the word deep. “You’re starting something we both know we should avoid.”

For a moment he thought he saw insecurity cross her features but that was impossible. This was Tia Stallone. She didn’t feel insecure. She was a force to be reckoned with and she knew it.

“I don’t know if I’m starting something or just acknowledging it.”

She was so smart; he loved that about her. And she was right.

“The important thing is that we control it,” he said, after a beat. “We agreed to keep this simple.”

They had. And it had mattered a lot at the time, but now, he felt like the two people—virtually strangers—who’d inked that marriage contract were completely different to them.

“And you can’t separate sex from something complicated.”

He didn’t answer.

“Have you ever tried?”

It took a moment to absorb her words, longer to come up with a response. He shook his head, slowly.

“Because I’ve had sex with men before and had it mean absolutely nothing more than I found them attractive.” She leaned closer, and he loved that she was so close to his height, especially in the heels she wore. Her lips brushed his jaw, and he muttered a curse. “You should think about trying it, Hamish. It’s fun.”

“Fun,” he repeated, unable to think. If he turned his head, he could capture her lips, give in to the fantasies that were playing through his mind. He knew they’d be good together, regardless of not being in love.

“Lots of fun.” And then it was Tia who pushed her knee between his legs, the split in her skirt leaving nothing but bare skin. He was powerless to resist. How could he not touch, and see if her skin was as soft as the silk of her shirt? His hand shifted infinitesimally, gliding over her exposed thigh, and now it was Tia who was powerless, her eyes flaring wide, pupils flaring in response to his slow, curious exploration. From just above her knee, trailing higher, groaning at just how beautifully soft she was, indeed, all the way up to where the fabric came together and he was at a dead end. But he didn’t want to be, and so his fingers took a little dive to the side, nearer to her hip and then under her skirt, cupping her bottom before he could even think through the wisdom of this. He pushed her closer against him, swearing again as their bodies connected and his cock jerked against the constraints of his pants, and all he could do was stare at her, breath heaving, wanting with every single cell in his body.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” The crisp voice seemed to come from a long way away, and it took him several beats to realise it wasn’t Tia who’d spoken, then to connect the dots that they were no longer alone, and finally to recognise who’d walked in on them. Walked in on them? It wasn’t as though they were in a bedroom. This was a central corridor of the house and everyone was going to the same destination: interruption had been inevitable.

Had Tia thought about that? Had she planned this? He glanced at her face; it was impossible to know. She’d make an excellent poker player.

He pulled his hand away and it tingled from his palm to his fingertips and then up his arm, right through his body. Tia stepped back, moving to his side, so he could no longer see her beautiful face, a slight flush on her cheekbones the only giveaway that she’d been as turned on as him.

Cressida didn’t meet his eyes as she walked towards them; nor did she look at Tia.

“Sorry about that,” Tia said, a smile in her words. “You remember what it’s like when you’re a newlywed.”

It was like the throwing down of a gauntlet. Old habits died hard and he felt a need to protect Cressida. While she was also smart, educated and confident, she was no match for Tia, for the simple reason that Cressida had been handed absolutely everything in life she could ever want—until now. She’d never had to fight for anything. Whereas Tia had forged herself from the fires of desperation and emerged as some kind of incredible phoenix, shining with the brilliance that only adversity could reveal.

“Vaguely,” Cressida responded, and now she did look at Hamish, her pale eyes probing his before sliding to the painting on the wall.

“Which way?” Tia asked, glancing up at Hamish and then laughing, lifting her finger and smudging it across his lip. “Lipstick,” she said, which was, of course, a lie, given that they hadn’t been kissing. But it was another jab at Cressida, and he saw it hit its mark.

It was going to be a long weekend, and quite possibly an even longer night…