But how did she tell him the rest—that she was more afraid of herself. She didn’t want to let anyone into her life, to need or be needed by anyone. The only thing she needed in her life was herself.
He reached his big broad hand across the table and took hers, wrapping his fingers around it. She tried to pull it back but he held on.
‘I’m going to do the right thing. I know you’ve no reason to trust me, but I want to help. I’m not the guy you think you know.’
And I’m not who you think I am, she thought. I’ll be no good at this. I’ll let us down...
Everything he said made her feel worse inside. She could see that he meant every word—and she believed him, she really did. But he thought she was like other women, wanting a baby and a family and all those things.
When they were the very last things she wanted.
She looked around the boat, a sudden sense of panic engulfing her like a blinding, heavy sea fog, even though it was the clearest, freshest day she could ever imagine.
‘Ruby.’
She felt a tug on her hand.
‘Ruby,’ he said, tugging again and dragging her gaze around to him. ‘Don’t worry. I would never, ever leave you alone with this. That’s not who I am. And we haven’t spoken yet about your family—telling my mother, your mother. We can do that together, if it helps?’
‘I’ve already told her,’ she said woodenly. She poured some water into a glass, then pushed it away.
‘And?’
She looked at him. ‘And what?’
‘Was she happy for you? Is she going to be around when the baby’s born?’
She wiped her hand in the air as if she was swatting away his silly idea. ‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. She’ll be caught up with her own stuff.’
‘How do you two keep in touch? Does she come to London much? You said she lives in Cornwall, right?’
‘We manage on the phone.’
She didn’t need to look up to see the frown cross his eyes. She felt his judgement unfurl like a blow and kept her eyes on the horizon.
‘Right... I see. I suppose it’s quite a commitment for her to travel up, but we’ll work around that—and you’ve met my mother, so you know she’s not the average stay-at-home type, although she’ll want to play her part. But, hey, there’s plenty of time to work all that out too. More tea?’
She shook her head.
‘She’ll be all right about it, you think?’ she said, an image of his mother coming into her mind. She wasn’t the type of woman who’d let herself get into trouble. She was a super-powered, super-organised over-achiever whose every second seemed to be planned and executed with complete precision.
Coral Rossini was going to judge her too, and at best she would look like an idiot, at worst a scheming gold-digger.
This whole situation was getting worse and worse.
‘Can we start to go back to shore now?’ she asked, looking round. ‘I have to get back.’
He stood up. The look on his face was something she couldn’t quite read. Frustration?
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘We’ll stop at one of the little islands on the way. It’ll only take an hour or so and they’re so pretty. Seems a shame not to show you this part of the world while you’re here.’
She opened her mouth to complain.
‘No buts. You’ve come all this way. You’re my guest and I want you to have a little fun before you go back.’
He walked around the table, his big frame and long legs somehow stepping gracefully between the chairs, until he was right beside her. She looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun until he stood directly in front of it, casting a shadow, close enough for her to see the creases in his T-shirt and the links in the strap of his watch.
‘I’m not really in the mood for fun.’
He held out his hand. ‘Come on, stop trying to punish me. I know you’re mad at me—and yourself. But we had a good time. And now we need to manage the situation as best we can. We’ll be fine.’
He pulled her to her feet. He encircled her in his arms. Held her close.
And she closed her eyes and let the sway of the boat and the heat of his body hold her still. Between them was the little life they had made, sleeping and growing, blissfully unaware, blissfully safe.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE LAST TRACES of the Mistral whipped at the pines, sending green waves rolling across the tip of the island. Cicadas relentlessly announced themselves from bushes, and overhead the pealing calls of gulls carried tales of what they’d seen and warnings of what was still to come.
Matteo, sitting in a striped deckchair, put down his papers and raised his sunglasses for a moment, straining to see a yacht that was dropping anchor out in the bay. Tiny figures scuttled around, then one by one jumped into the dinghy that would take them ashore.
Ashore to this haven—the exclusive Ile-St-Agnes, ten square kilometres of verdant land, home only to teeming wildlife and the ultra-rich. Its single hotel, reached only by chartered yacht, was where Ruby had eventually agreed to come ashore, to have a little stroll and now to rest stretched out beside him, under a parasol on a fat-cushioned lounger.
It had been years since he’d been here—years since the annual holidays he’d spent there in his early childhood. He glanced at the little pool where children splashed noisily, and at the few people lying on loungers around the edges. That had been his parents once, with Claudio and his ‘girlfriends’. Drinking martinis and smoking cigarettes, laughing and having fun together—the glamorous couple and their glamorous friends, the toast of the Riviera in their day, intact in their little bubble of happiness, years before the whole thing fell apart.
A waiter walked across the scene with a silver tray. He stopped to serve wine to an older couple on the terrace, sedately dressed, enjoying their lunch. Below them, on the loungers, a movement caught his eye—two women, sleek in their Saint Tropez tans. They’d been discreetly staring over at him, and were now doing it indiscreetly. They sat up provocatively, flirting, topless.
He turned his face deliberately away and looked at Ruby, who was watching with undisguised disdain.
‘Friends of yours...?’ she said, her dark eyebrows shooting up.
She scowled, turned her back and began to ease the red chiffon wrap from her shoulders, revealing a modest bikini beneath. Her waist was slightly swollen with their growing baby and her slim limbs glowed beautifully pale, obviously unfamiliar with hot sunshine. His heart surged with pride as he watched her.
‘...they certainly look as if they’d like to be.’
He smiled at her snippy comment, watching as she squirted a dollop of sun cream on her hand and began to smooth it down her arms. As she attempted to rub her back the twin blades of her shoulders flexed accusingly.
‘Allow me,’ he said, reaching round and lifting the cream from her hands. ‘And there’s no need to sound jealous. I don’t know those women and I don’t want to either.’
‘I’m hardly jealous,’ she snapped back, ‘It’s nothing to do with me. I’m merely stating the obvious. They find you attractive and they’re letting you know it.’
‘You know what’s attractive?’ he said, as he pooled the cream in his hands and rubbed it over her shoulders. ‘You being jealous and not admitting it.’
She lifted her ponytail and said nothing, compliantly allowing him to rub cream down over the twin blades of her shoulders and along the rim of her bikini. The fine bones and the ripple of muscle under her skin was a soft-strong combination he found completely seductive.
‘Your skin is flawless,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘Hmm...’ she mumbled.
He bent lower and smoothed all the way down her bumpy spine, fanning his hands out to cover her back.
‘I’ll be getting a lot more of it these next few months.’
‘More beau
tiful, then,’ he said, and he popped a little kiss on her warm cheek, lingering for a moment to savour the sensation of her hair and her ear as they brushed against him gently.
Oh, how he would have liked to linger there, he thought. But this was the exclusive Hotel St-Agnes, and she had already drawn her boundaries. Breaking them down was going to be a very enjoyable task.
He stood back and pulled off his T-shirt.
Twenty laps ought to cool things down for now.
He powered through the water, aware of the muffled voices of the children and the occasional snippet of conversation as he came up for air. Spending this time was a luxury he hadn’t factored into this week. The aftermath of the Cordon d’Or was supposed to be spent tying up other bits of hospitality and calling in more favours.
He had some solid clients he needed to line up before he met with Arturo. Their influence would be crucial as he went forward with his negotiations. But all that was on hold because right now another plan was forming in his head.
Ruby was obviously pregnant. If he was lucky the media interest in him would soon have faded and no one would be any the wiser until after the event. But if he was unlucky, the ex-boyfriend of Lady Faye would still gather some mainstream press column space, and the last thing he needed was the media or the very devout Arturos casting aspersions on his character because of his pregnant girlfriend.
His mind was whirring with ideas and scenarios. His stress level was pumping higher and higher. He could feel it, buzzing around his body. All the while he was caught up with Ruby, who knew what Claudio was plotting down in Saint Tropez? It was enough to drive him slowly out of his mind.
He hauled himself out of the water and sat on the edge of the pool, feeling sunbeams hot on his shoulders. Ahead, one of the topless women sat up on her elbows and lowered her sunglasses to stare. To his right, a waiter served Ruby a glass of water. She lifted the glass and beamed her beautiful smile in thanks. His eyes fell again to her blossoming figure. Their child was there, growing. This on top of everything else.
The timing was like a torrent. Everything was coming together and he could sink or swim.
He had to conduct this like the symphony of his life. Save the bank. Keep Claudio at bay. And find the best possible solution for the new baby that would soon be in the world. Of everything, he felt this the keenest of all. Because he would not let the child down. It was unthinkable.
‘Hey, come on, I’ll teach you a little water confidence,’ he said, leaping up and walking towards her, dripping water all over the terrace.
* * *
Ruby looked up from her daydream and saw the man who filled her mind. He was everything every woman would want. His body was protector and warrior and lover all at once. Water droplets were coursing down from his shoulders over his pecs in the way her fingers had that night—joyously, greedily. The hair on his legs hugged every building muscle in wet tendrils. His shorts were soaked, outlining him, and she could feel herself respond.
She wanted him. As fiercely as she had wanted him that first time. Yes, she was jealous of those other women, and probably all of the other women to come, but right now—today—he was hers, and she was going to claim him.
‘I can’t swim,’ she said, staring up at him.
‘Did nobody ever teach you? Doesn’t matter—it’s just confidence. Come on.’
He reached for her hand and tugged her gently to her feet and she walked with him, feet slapping on the warm tiles, over to the edge of the pool. Steps disappeared into the blue water and she stood, looking at them.
‘Come on, dancer girl. Try it.’
‘I’m not sporty like you,’ she said, pausing. ‘You seem to be able to swim and sail and play rugby. The only thing I’m good at is dancing.’
‘The only thing you’ve tried is dancing,’ he corrected, and he was right. ‘There’s more to life than ballet. Come on—trust me.’
He stood beside her, held her hand in his as she walked down into the water, her feet slipping slightly on the mosaic tiles.
‘All you have to do is get in all the way up to your waist...’
They walked together into the empty pool. She started to laugh. Thankfully the little children had all gone for shelter from the harsh midday sun. Only a couple of sun-worshippers remained, toasting their bronzed bodies on the loungers.
‘And keep walking until it comes up to your chest. Feel good?’
The water was gloriously cooling on her hot skin, and his hand round hers was rough and strong.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said.
‘Feel the water drag at your legs. Now, let’s walk in a circle...just get used to how it feels. OK, now hold on to the edge of the pool and flutter your legs up.’
She clutched on to the edge and stretched herself out, kicking hard against the water.
‘And soak me too—that’s no problem at all,’ he said, laughing.
She turned to see him covered in spray from where she had splash-kicked.
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ she said, and automatically let go of the side to reach for him.
As she did so she slipped towards him, and he caught her, there against his chest, holding her safe in his arms. Their bodies slid together, wet and smooth, and then it happened. Eyes met. She saw his mouth open for her kiss. She put her arms around his neck as he lowered his head down and kissed her. His wet lips and wet face found hers and it wasn’t a gentle kiss—not for long. It was a branding. It was a demanding mark that said she was his.
She felt it deep within her heart even as her brain called a little warning. She was getting in way over her head again. But she couldn’t fight it—didn’t want to. Words formed and died in her throat as she let the waves of passion pull her under, as she let his lips taste and his tongue plunder.
‘We have to take this somewhere else,’ he whispered, holding her close.
Her body was burning with sunshine and wet with water and passion, and she had to hold on or she felt she might slip out of his grasp and into the pool.
And then she was scooped up and into his arms, held taut against his chest as he walked them out of the pool.
‘I seem to have this overwhelming urge to carry you. What the hell is this? I can promise you I’ve never lifted another woman before, and yet I seem to have carried you three times now. And counting.’
He waded out of the water and up the steps and she didn’t care if anyone was watching. It felt too good to hold on, to be nestled against the wall of this man.
But when he didn’t stop at their spot near the pool she lifted her head. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re going to take a little holiday, like I said. Beginning right now.’
They were inside the airy hotel foyer now. She could feel the water cooling on her skin.
‘Madame needs to lie down for a little while. In the Presidential Suite. Arrange for our luggage to be transferred, please.’
Discreet staff opened doors. His footsteps sounded dull and heavy on carpet. The light changed from bright to soft. Sounds were muffled, then disappeared altogether as the door of the vast room closed behind them.
‘Shower first,’ he said, his voice a gravelly growl.
Still carrying her, he walked them through to the bathroom. It was decorated as if from a previous century. Pale pink tiles and towels and white ceramics. Brass feet and taps. The shower was over the bath, encircled in a white curtain, and it was there that she found herself standing as warm water began to drizzle and then pour over her body.
She looked at him, his dark hair drying in waves around his face, a smear of stubble on his jaw, and hunger in his brown berry eyes.
‘You drive me wild, woman,’ he said.
‘Just how wild do you mean?’ she asked, staring at his shoulders and his chest, and at the forest of hair that ran across it and down to his shorts.
A
nd then he put his hands on them and tugged them down. She bit her lip at the sight of his magnificent arousal.
There was no way to stop now, even if she wanted to.
‘That wild?’ she said. ‘May I?’
She dropped to her knees and held him in her hands. Water slid over her back and she slipped slightly on the surface of the bath in her rush to have the whole of him in her mouth.
He groaned aloud as she suckled him, her lips and tongue tugging furiously, somehow knowing just how to drive him on. Her other hand gripped his buttock and pulled him closer still. And she felt her power, was invigorated by it. Emboldened.
‘Ruby, please. You have to stop.’
She pulled back, still licking and sucking, her eyes roaming up his fierce body to his dark tortured gaze. Then he reached for her and she was lifted to her feet. He undid her bikini top and released her tender breasts. Her nipples were erect and he put his lips to one, gently.
‘Is this OK? Not too painful?’
She bit back a whimper and shook her head.
‘Pain like this I can take all day long,’ she said.
‘Take these off. I want to see all of you. See if I had you right in my dreams.’
She paused as she shimmied out of her bikini briefs.
‘You were dreaming about me?’ she whispered mischievously.
He smiled that little half-smile and looked almost bashful.
She held his head in her hands, ran her fingers through the thick shock of hair, emboldened by each moment.
‘Tell me. Were you dreaming about me?’
‘Once or twice,’ he answered, smiling up into her eyes. ‘Probably not as much as you were dreaming about me, though.’
‘I never gave you a second thought.’
He lathered soap in his hands, began to stroke all over her body, warming her and washing her.
‘I didn’t make much of an impression?’
She felt his hands slide over her tummy, her breasts, then gently in between her legs.
Her head fell back as he slid his clever fingers slowly backwards and forwards, rubbing exactly where she was swollen and longing for his touch. The sound of his hands slipping and sliding on her wet, naked body brought every bundled nerve screaming to life.
The Tycoon's Shock Heir Page 12
