Rival's Challenge

by Abby Green

  He’d only just managed to pull back from stripping off her shorts and taking her right here, like two primal animals. Arousal was heavy in his body.

  She stood up and glanced at him with that half-belligerent look that said, What? She was still grouchy from being pulled back from the brink. He smiled and he realised that he’d probably smiled more with this woman than he had … perhaps in his whole life.

  An impulse came to him then and he acted on it before he could think about it. ‘I want to show you something.’

  ‘OK.’

  Antonio’s chest went tighter. OK. Just that. No moaning about dusk drawing in or the fact that she had to be tired and hot and sweaty.

  Before he could change his mind, Antonio pulled Orla through a gap in the nearby bushes, until they emerged into another clearing. She stood beside him on the bluff. This had another equally stunning vista out over Saint-Raphaël, and he felt Orla’s hand squeeze his. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Antonio knew that he could very easily just pretend that he wanted to show her the view. But he wanted to tell her. ‘Do you see that long low building down there?’

  He pointed to a building almost covered over with trees. Orla shaded her eyes, brought her view back into the land. She pointed too. ‘The place that looks like a monastery … or a convent?’

  It had a church steeple on one end.

  ‘Yes, that’s it. I bought it about a year ago.’

  ‘Oh … OK. Why?’

  Antonio deliberately kept his gaze from hers; he could feel her looking at him. ‘I want to open it, as a centre to help rehabilitate soldiers after their experiences at war … in conflict zones. It needs a lot of work though, as I’d like it to double up as a medical facility for physiotherapy rehab too. It’ll be a couple of years before it’s even close to functional.’

  Orla was quiet and Antonio was grateful. He’d noticed her glancing at his patchwork of scars at various moments, but she’d said nothing. Most of his other lovers seemed to have a desire to know the lurid details when he knew they would get sick into their designer handbags if he told them the true facts.

  Eventually she said huskily, ‘It’s a beautiful place for such a facility.’

  He stared down at her and almost lost his footing; her eyes were like sapphires. ‘Yes … it is.’

  To his intense relief she didn’t ask any more about it and Antonio felt a little light-headed.

  He’d bought it out of gut instinct. A desire to help others when he’d struggled alone to cope with his own demons in the aftermath of walking away from the Legion.

  ‘Come on … we should head back before it gets too dark.’

  Just before Antonio turned, Orla squeezed his hand again.

  ‘Thanks … for showing me.’

  Antonio pulled her from the bluff before she could see how off-centre he felt.

  Much later that evening, after they’d returned from the arduous hike and showered together which had inevitably led to spending even more time in the shower, they were sitting outside on the terrace near the pool, drinking wine. Orla looked at Antonio and his face was turned away, giving her his strong and patrician profile. So proud.

  The urge to know about him was almost overwhelming. ‘Why did you leave, in the end?’

  She saw him tense, predictably. He turned his face to hers. He was wearing a white shirt that was haphazardly buttoned, showing the magnificence of his broad chest. Shorts. Hair messy and overlong.

  ‘The Legion?’

  Orla nodded and realised that he could have thought she was asking about his family too. She was suddenly ravenous for knowledge about him.

  Antonio waited for the inevitable sense of intrusion to come, whenever anyone probed into this subject. Especially women. But it didn’t. He sensed again that Orla wasn’t the same. That she genuinely wanted to know and that she wasn’t interested in the superficial. Antonio almost cursed her then for not being like that. It would be easier if she were.

  However, he found it surprisingly easy to start talking. There was something incredibly peaceful just sitting with her like this. He took a breath. ‘We were on a mission in Afghanistan. I was a commander of the parachute regiment. We were dropped behind enemy lines in the mountains and we found out too late that our intel was flawed. We were surrounded by rebels. Once they knew we were elite legionnaires, we became a high-priority target.

  ‘Miraculously they weren’t very well organised, and my men managed to escape, but only because I stayed behind as a decoy.’

  Antonio wasn’t looking at Orla but he could sense her tensing.

  ‘They held me captive for a month. They tortured me almost out of sheer boredom more than anything else, wanting information. Angry that the others had got away. My men managed to launch an attack and freed me the night before they’d told me I was going to be executed.’

  Antonio heard Orla’s breath quickening; he saw her fingers go white around the stem of her glass of wine.

  ‘The torture was unbearable … of course. It sent me a little mad.’

  Antonio knew that was an understatement. He could still recall the looks on his men’s faces when they’d finally recovered him. One man had vomited.

  ‘The circular marks on your chest?’

  He nodded. ‘Cigarette burns among other things. I was in hospital for nearly four months, recuperating.’

  Orla’s voice was almost hopeful. ‘And that’s when you left?’

  Antonio shook his head, smiled, but it was mirthless. Because of course that was when he should have left. ‘No, I went back.’ Because he’d had to prove to himself that he could. Fighting the demons that would eventually overpower him.

  ‘I left after another year, and was eventually diagnosed with PTSD. I’d been having increasingly severe panic attacks … not knowing what it was.’

  ‘Post-traumatic stress disorder …’

  He nodded again. ‘I came here to this place. Marie-Ange and Dominic probably saved my life. They tended to me, made sure I had food. Dominic is ex-military and he knew what I was going through. He was the one who insisted on me seeing a therapist … and I found Tobias in London. He saved my life too.’

  Antonio took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been lucky. I have no permanent physical damage apart from a few scars. The mental damage was worse. There are those much less fortunate than me who are led to believe that nothing is wrong with them. That’s why I want to open a place … for people to be able to go, free of charge. It’ll be a charitable organisation.’

  Orla said nothing for a long time and then Antonio heard her stand up. He couldn’t look at her. He felt broken. Dirty.

  She came into his line of vision though, where he couldn’t ignore her, and put two hands on the arms of his chair and bent down, face close to his, eyes glittering like precious gems. And then she just pressed a kiss to his mouth. Sweet and not asking for more. But like an inferno, need swept up inside Antonio, so much that he shook with it.

  Still without saying anything, Orla just stood up and held out her hand. Feeling as if something momentous was happening that he couldn’t quite grasp, Antonio put his hand in hers and let her lead him upstairs. When they came together in bed, it was all the more profound because of Orla’s silence. Antonio couldn’t help but feel as if she’d helped cleanse something inside him. As if her silence held a wealth of compassion and understanding about something that she couldn’t even possibly know, but just did.

  When Antonio woke, it was to find himself alone in bed. He was immediately awake and immediately aware that Orla wasn’t near him. It was a sixth sense that seemed to have become honed and developed in just the past few days.

  Antonio dropped his head back to the pillow. He felt … curiously light. And then he recalled what he’d told Orla, and that he’d showed her the property yesterday.

  What was it about her that so easily slipped under his guard? But even now he couldn’t truly analyse that. All he could see was an image from the other day—Orla and
Marie-Ange in bikinis splashing in the sea with the children. The way Orla had had Lily on her hip and had gently ducked her in and out of the water, as the little girl had clung to her and squealed with delight, had made something in Antonio’s gut clench.

  A very alien yearning for something he’d never even dared to think about stole over Antonio now, in his half wakefulness, before rationale could stamp it out. A yearning for a life. An existence. A normality he’d never known.

  Just then he heard a soft noise and glanced up to see Orla in the doorway of the bedroom looking fresh and awake. Dressed in shorts and a halter-neck top. Pert breasts pushing against the fabric provocatively. Immediately, Antonio’s body stirred and he growled softly, ‘Come here.’

  She didn’t move though, and her face was serious. A trickle of foreboding went down Antonio’s spine.

  Orla held up her mobile phone. ‘I just spoke to my father. He’s back in London and wondering where I am and trying to get a hold of you. I didn’t tell him that I was here with you. I have to get home, today.’

  For a long second Antonio just looked at her. And then the full magnitude of what she’d said and her serious demeanour burst into his head and spread through his body, making him feel clammy and cold. Exposed. Dousing desire.

  He’d forgotten. Everything. Even the text he’d received from Lucilla only a couple of days ago: Gaining control of Kennedy Group still our priority. Please don’t lose focus now. x L.

  He’d lost focus. And yet clearly Orla hadn’t. Even now she was moving to the wardrobe to pull out her case. Something hot and black rose up inside Antonio to see her preparing to go home without any further ado, but he pushed it down, aware of that sense of exposure eating his insides.

  Instead he pushed the bedcovers aside and stood up, pulling on his jeans. He said coolly, ‘I’ll call the pilot and get the plane ready.’

  Orla let out a shuddering breath as soon as she heard Antonio leave the room. Her eyes stung with tears. She’d been downstairs, preparing a very rudimentary breakfast, humming a tuneless song, daydreaming about what they might do that day, after a long morning spent in bed … feeling all soft and tender inside after what Antonio had told her last night. And then she’d nearly jumped out of her skin when her phone had rung.

  She’d even forgotten that she’d left her phone on a side table and had been surprised that the battery hadn’t died. That was how little she’d cared about being contactable. How little she’d cared about her work. And it had been her father, wondering incredulously where she was.

  For someone who had never rebelled, Orla had felt like a teenager right then. The outside world and all its responsibilities had slammed into her gut like a freight train. Her whole life had been spent focused on one thing: the family business.

  But when her father had asked her where she was, the only thing that had risen up inside Orla had been resentment. Resentment that something was intruding on this sensual idyll.

  When Orla had heard herself woodenly assuring her father she’d be home later that day, she’d had to come to terms with the fact that she’d woven a fantasy out of nothing. A fantasy out of a hot affair with the man who wanted to take over their business. For heaven’s sake, she’d even been imagining herself here, with a child! Envying Marie-Ange for her air of domestic bliss, her beautiful kids.

  She’d lost herself completely. Forgotten who she was. Thought for a minute that she could be someone else. That she could have a different life.

  And worse … thought that she’d fallen in love with Antonio Chatsfield. When she’d woken that morning, she’d spent long minutes just looking at him. Her heart feeling full enough to burst.

  To recall that now was the worst humiliation of all. Was she so starved of male company and sex that she fell for the first man who offered her some?

  As if someone like Antonio could ever really offer her anything; he had effectively cut himself off from his entire family. He was a man who had seen and experienced the worst this world had to offer. He might have been dealing with his demons very effectively but she could see that they lurked not far behind his dark, dark eyes.

  And he was clearly committed to one thing right now: the takeover for his sister’s sake. Orla didn’t doubt that he must hope that by doing this, he’d find a way back into his family after all these years. No wonder it was so important.

  Antonio Chatsfield was the most self-contained person she’d ever met. He didn’t need anyone. Had she really thought that she could be the one to soothe his soul? How many women before her had wanted that and tried? God, she was such a cliché!

  Orla tried to reassure herself fiercely that she hadn’t fallen for him as she dashed away the tears. She hadn’t. It was just hormones. But the assertion sank into a very hollow spot inside her. The sooner she put this whole experience behind her, the sooner she’d be back on track, where she belonged. Building their business from the ground up again.

  So why, when her business was her life, did that prospect make her feel so empty and bleak?

  Orla heard Antonio’s return into the room behind her and tensed. She wasn’t ready to see him. She felt raw. Exposed. Humiliated. Stupid.

  Anger rose up, with herself, and him, for making her feel so out of control. The words came rushing out before she could stop them. ‘I should never have said yes to coming here.’

  She could almost sense his tension behind her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  She shrugged minutely, not even bothering to fold her clothes which told of her agitation more than anything else. ‘Just that—we should never have come here. It was indulgent and selfish.’

  She heard Antonio moving and then he was right behind her and every little hair stood up on Orla’s body. Her hands tightened around some clothes.

  His voice was low and definitely angry. ‘Do I need to remind you that you took all of five minutes to decide to be indulgent and selfish? I didn’t have to twist your arm, sweetheart.’

  Something pierced Orla to hear him use the same tone he’d used when they’d first met. She still refused to turn to face him, almost scared to. ‘Well, I think it’s safe to say we fulfilled our remit, and now it’s time to leave. Past time. We’ve forgotten our priorities.’

  Big hands were on her shoulders and then she was being whirled around to face Antonio and her heart palpitated painfully. He was bare-chested, and she was aware of his jeans clinging sexily to those lean hips. His eyes were like blazing coals and their feral heat seared her alive.

  ‘Fulfilled the remit? I should have realised that this exists somewhere on a chart for you of things to check off a list. Your weekly progress report.’

  Orla gasped, but before she could say a word, his mouth was covering hers and he was stealing her words. Orla fought against the way her body just wanted to go up in flames.

  She bunched her hands to fists against his broad chest. She tensed up. But he was too skilful—his mouth was like a torture device of pleasure. Moving against hers, his rough tongue stroking, teasing. All of the sudden and intense anger that had blown up was fading, treacherously.

  He pulled back, breathing harshly, eyes almost burning her alive. ‘You say we forgot our priorities? Well, you might have, but I never did. This was always about getting you where I wanted you.’

  Before Orla could respond or even acknowledge the incredible pain that seemed to twist her heart in her chest, Antonio’s mouth was driving down onto hers again, so passionately bruising that she had no defence for it.

  She growled her frustration deep in her throat but now Antonio was stripping off her shorts and top and Orla’s brain turned to heat. He laid her down on the bed and stripped off his own jeans.

  Electricity crackled between them. Sanity tried to break through; Orla struggled up on her elbows but Antonio was lying beside her now, his hand roving down her belly, under her panties, fingers seeking and finding where she seemed to be perpetually aroused. For him.

  Gutturally he said, ‘This
is why we came here, Orla. For no other reason.’

  Equally gutturally, Orla replied with a fierceness that shocked her. ‘Then this is it.’ She didn’t have to elaborate. After this—it’s over.

  He just looked at her and she couldn’t decipher the expression on his face but it was as fierce as her words, spoken and unspoken. And then he just said, ‘Yes.’

  Orla tried to stifle a sob that seemed to erupt from deep within her, just as his fingers moved within her and his mouth fastened over the tight bud of her nipple. She masked the sob of emotion as a sob of need. Orla despaired that she didn’t have the strength to push him away and say no.

  And when Antonio moved over her body, pinning her hands over her head with one of his, she could do nothing but arch her back and widen her legs around him, and bite her lip to stop from crying out when he entered her. And know that this would be the last time.

  Orla was as tense as a board on the plane home. She could still feel the burn of Antonio’s lovemaking between her legs. It had been so intense. Antonio’s voice on the other side of the small plane cut through the numbness that seemed to have enveloped her since they’d made love and left.

  ‘Patrick Kennedy is back in London. Yes. I’m on my way back. Set up a meeting for a week’s time. That should give us both time to get everything in order.’

  Orla steeled herself and looked across at Antonio to find his dark enigmatic gaze on hers. Her skin prickled with need, even now. When she knew it shouldn’t.

  ‘I’ll talk to you later, David.’ He put down the phone.

  Orla tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, the angry emotion she still felt to think of how this man had turned her world upside down so comprehensively. And how she’d been unable to resist him, right up until the last moment.

  ‘So, you’re all set, then?’