Tilly shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, shrugging her shoulders, deciding to stick as close to the truth as possible. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’
He strode across the kitchen, putting a hand briefly under her chin so that her face was lifted towards his. ‘I do not care that you enjoyed too much wine. I care that you made yourself vulnerable. I care that you exposed yourself to danger. I care that you probably do that often and that any number of men would have revelled in what you offered. You begged me to sleep with you, Cressida. How many times have you done that? How many men have taken advantage of you in that state?’
He swore angrily and moved away again, towards the coffee machine. He slid a pod into it and pressed the button, watching as it burst into life.
Tilly couldn’t look at him. She stared straight ahead. ‘I can take care of myself,’ she said quietly.
‘I don’t believe that.’
He pulled the cup out and handed it to her. She caught its aroma with a stomach-flip of relief. Coffee. Essential. She sipped it quickly, enjoying the pain when it scalded her throat.
‘Thank you for last night,’ she said softly, changing the subject. ‘For not...not...’
His eyes were mocking as they trailed over her body, but he said nothing.
The silence stretched between them, punctuated by the sharp crack of lightning and the rattling of the windows. She curled her fingers more tightly around her coffee cup.
‘As tempting as I found you,’ he said, and the words were a thick admission, ‘I would not have forgiven myself.’
She sipped her coffee, tasting the sweet balm with relief. She should have been grateful for his chivalry, but she felt empty inside. Her longing was enormous and it had been ignored.
‘We will be stuck in the house today,’ he said. ‘The storm is setting in.’
‘It’s pretty intense,’ she agreed, moving towards the windows at the back of the house and peering out, pretending she wasn’t still awash with mortification at the scene she’d made the night before. ‘Are storms like this common?’
‘No. Very rare,’ he responded, propping his hip against the kitchen bench.
‘You think it’ll be like this all day?’ She turned to face him and her heart gave a little lurch.
‘Si. At least.’ He crossed the room, pausing beside her, following her gaze. ‘We just have to wait it out.’
Just what she needed. To be locked in a tiny house with the man she’d begged to make love to her the night before.
Her smile was weak. ‘Great.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
TILLY WAS GOING to burst.
Besides the lashing of the rain and the bursting of thunder the house was silent, and had been all morning. He’d worked, and she’d read—or pretended to read. All she’d been able to do was replay the mortifying moments of the previous day, cringing inwardly as she remembered each little bit of information.
Had she actually been stroking him when they were on their way back?
Her cheeks flushed pink. She would never forgive herself. And she’d sure as hell never touch wine again.
She shifted on the couch, curling her legs beneath her and flicking a page.
He had been the perfect gentleman. Was that surprising?
No.
It wasn’t.
It was Rio.
Well, so far as impersonating Cressida went she’d nailed it. At least that was some consolation.
He hadn’t said a word. And nor had she—though curiosity over what he was doing had begun to fill her, distracting her from the book.
Finally she set it in her lap, her eyes lifting to him.
‘Yes?’ he murmured, without looking up.
Embarrassment flushed through her once more. She felt like a naughty child caught snacking from the cookie jar. ‘Nothing.’ She bit down on her lip. ‘What are you working on?’
He turned to face her now, his eyes like granite in his handsome face. ‘Evaluations.’
‘For insurance?’
‘No. For purchase.’ He pushed back from the table a little, stretching his arms above his head.
Tilly nodded, but she wasn’t really thinking about his work. Before she could find another topic a sharp, bright burst of lightning cracked overhead, and was followed immediately by the rumbling of angry thunder so loud that the windows shook. And then the lights began to flicker, before going off completely, plunging them into an eerie semi-darkness.
Though it was the middle of the day, the island was wrapped in grey, the sky thick and unyielding, the sun nowhere to be seen. The cabin almost glowed.
‘What happened?’ she murmured, standing up instinctively.
He frowned. ‘My guess is the generator blew a fuse.’
She blinked. ‘Something you can fix?’
‘Sure.’ He scraped his chair back and moved to the window, peering around the corner of the cabin. ‘I’ll take a look.’
He’d pulled on a shirt at some point, and now he slipped his shoes on and pushed out through the front door. Curious, she followed—though she stopped on the deck and moved to the side, so she could see him without getting wet.
The generator was apparently round at the side of the house. She peeked around the wall, and more specifically at him. Rain was lashing against him; he was saturated. His clothes were plastered to his body, his hair a dark pelt against his head. He moved confidently, his fingers testing the switches in a box.
He shook his head, his eyes scanning the house before resting on her. ‘It’s the generator.’
She nodded. Wasn’t that what he’d said he’d fix?
He moved closer, standing just beneath her and shouting so she could hear him above the aggressive storm. ‘The generator is over there.’ He nodded towards a small structure she hadn’t noticed before. ‘There’s a key in the kitchen. Would you get it?’
‘Yes. Where?’
‘In the drawer with the cutlery.’
She nodded, already moving back into the house. She located it easily and jogged back to the deck. But instead of handing it to him she skipped down the steps. The rain hit her like a wall. Within seconds she was as saturated as he.
He swore under his breath. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Helping.’ She handed him the key and he took it with a small shake of his head.
‘Go inside! I don’t need help.’
She compressed her lips and turned her back on him. She didn’t go inside, though. She picked her way over the muddy ground, towards the timber construction he’d indicated.
She waited for him, so wet that she barely felt the rain now. But it was still hammering into her, enormous drops falling thick and fast.
‘Fine.’ He spoke loudly, but she still had to lean forward to catch his words. ‘Seeing as you’re here, hold the door open for me.’
He crouched down and unlocked a padlock, then pushed at the slatted door. She hooked her fingers over the top and pulled it wide, holding it even as the wind grew and tried to pull it away from her.
He leaned further into the box, his hands pushing at various things, and Tilly wondered how the heck he knew what he was doing. Or maybe he didn’t, and he was going to break the generator and they’d have to leave the island.
The idea pulled at her in a strange way. She hadn’t wanted to come away for a week, and yet now, four days in, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. Was that all it took? Four days? Four days to become so hooked on someone that the idea of waking up without knowing you were going to see them filled you with despair?
He stood up again, pulling the door out of her grip and slamming it shut. He locked it and then nodded towards the house.
He didn’t speak until they were on the deck, drenched and dripping. The rain was just as loud there, though, the roof doing little to block out the sound.
‘Something’s fried it. Could have been the lightning. Could have been an animal running scared. I’ve rebooted it, so with any luck it will be on ag
ain in a few hours.’
A shiver ran down her spine. ‘And if it’s not?’
‘We’re stuck here until the storm passes. We will just have to make do.’
Stuck here. In a dark cabin. With Rio. All she needed was candles and music and she’d be about ready to step straight into fantasy.
‘There are some candles in the bathroom,’ he said, thinking aloud, his eyes scanning her face. ‘You need to get dry.’
‘So do you,’ she pointed out belligerently.
‘You are shivering.’
‘I know.’ She nodded, her teeth chattering together.
‘Go. Get dry.’
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.
‘Check the perimeter,’ he shouted, as another flash of lightning slammed through the air around them. ‘Make sure the roof is secure.’
‘Then I’m coming with you.’
‘Dio! For once can you just not argue with me?’
She crossed her arms. ‘Which way?’
‘No!’ He reached for the door of the cabin and held it open, waiting for her to go inside.
But Tilly was stubborn—especially when she was right. And even more so when she was in love.
‘I will work quicker if I am not making sure you don’t fall over or bang your head. Go inside.’
She stared at him, her temper spiking. Sure, she was accident-prone, but he didn’t need to be so unkind about it!
The memory of the day before—the way she’d crashed out of the boat and into the water—was at the top of her mind.
‘I want to help,’ she said loudly, but the words were uncertain.
‘Then go inside. I will be five minutes.’
She glared at him angrily, her chin tilted defiantly. ‘Unless you physically push me inside, then I’m going to follow you.’
He muttered something under his breath—something she didn’t quite catch.
‘What?’
‘I said, don’t tempt me!’
Thunder crashed, breathing urgency into the situation. Apparently thinking better of arguing with her, he shook his head and stormed off down the steps. She followed, bracing herself for the rain a micro-second before it began to hammer against her head.
Rio was so fit—so strong. She marvelled at the way he reached up and pushed at the windows, then overturned an old crate and stood on it, pushing a thick piece of wood into the gutter and freeing clogged leaves. He moved around the back of the cabin then, still checking windows.
When they’d almost looped back to the front, he sent her a look that was fulminating with anger. Tilly didn’t understand it—though that was perhaps because she hadn’t realised that her skin was white and her teeth were shaking in her mouth as she shivered unstoppably.
He stood abruptly and moved towards her, putting a hand in the small of her back and propelling her towards the deck. She turned to face him, but one look at his profile kept her silent.
At least it did until they were on the deck, with the rain lashing in sideways.
‘What is it?’ she shouted. ‘Why do you seem so angry with me?’
‘Angry with you?’ He pulled the door to the cabin inwards. ‘You think I’m angry with you?’
‘You’re shouting at me!’ she yelled back. ‘Why?’
He shook his head; water droplets fanned out, splashing against the walls. ‘Because!’
‘That’s not an answer. What is it? I’ve already... I said I was sorry about yesterday.’
He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them she felt as if he was trying to get a grip on his temper. His eyes were a storm that raged as intensely as the one outside. He swore sharply—a sound that tore through the house as he moved towards her quickly, crushing her body with his far bigger one, pushing her back until she connected with the wall.
His kiss had the strength of an ocean. His tongue drove into her mouth, clashing with hers, his hands pushed at her shoulders and his legs kept her pinned to the wall.
‘I am not angry with you, cara,’ he muttered into her mouth.
The words came to her from a long way away. Her senses weren’t capable of absorbing anything but this—this feeling that was tearing her body apart with a need she had never known possible.
Her fingers pushed at his wet clothes; they stuck to his body stubbornly and she groaned into his mouth, pushing her body forward, needing closeness, wanting more. So badly wanting more.
He had far more success—tearing the dress over her head, breaking the kiss for the smallest moment possible in order to shift the fabric over her face. Her mouth chased him, seeking him, needing him, hating his absence. Her pulse was louder even than the thunderstorm.
His hands ran over her sides and she shivered.
‘You’re cold,’ he said, lifting his head.
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘You are covered in goosebumps,’ he pointed out thickly, the words dragged from him.
‘Not cold.’ She shook her head and pulled at his shirt, bringing him back to her.
His kiss was everything that had been building up inside her since she’d arrived on Prim’amore. It was all the longing and wanting, the needing and watching. It swirled around them both, churning them, changing everything.
Her fingers tangled in his hair and he groaned into her mouth—a guttural sound that perfectly expressed what she wanted. He pushed at her, guiding her, pulling her, until she was through the door to her bedroom. But he didn’t stop. His body kept pushing at hers until she fell backwards onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and desire.
His mouth on hers was demanding; she gave him everything. But then he moved, dragged his stubbled jaw down her body, pushing at her bra so that he could take a nipple in his mouth.
His tongue flicked at it relentlessly, and the pleasure was so intense it was almost too much. She cried out, her hands needing to touch him, to feel him. She pushed at his shirt and finally he paused, so that he could remove it for her. She drove her nails along his back, feeling his supple skin as he turned his attention to her other breast, his fingers picking up where his mouth had left off. She arched her back as pleasure throbbed hard in her abdomen.
‘I am not angry with you,’ he said again, though she was no longer worried he was.
She nodded, words failing her. He brought his mouth to hers and his kiss was gentle. Slow. Deep. As if he could taste her soul and wanted to cherish her.
It was the most erotic thing she’d ever felt.
‘Rio...’ she whispered, her skin flushed, her heart thumping.
Rain lashed at the window and lightning struck, but it was mute to them. Only the thundering of their own need registered. He kicked at his trousers; they didn’t move easily. He stood, his eyes pinning her, his hands pushing at his clothes so that finally he was naked.
And spectacular.
Tilly stared at him, her eyes hungry for his nakedness, her body needing him. And he understood that need for it was eating him alive too.
He bent forward and pulled at her underpants, but he forced himself to move slowly, to drag them from her with a tantalising, torturous thoroughness, his hands grazing her legs as he went. Legs that were quivering with need.
Impatient, she pushed onto her elbows, but he was standing again, his eyes running over her with such obvious hunger that her whole body flushed.
‘You are perfect, Cressida.’
The sentiment was beautiful, but how it pained Tilly to hear another woman’s name on his lips at this moment.
‘Call me cara,’ she said, forcing a smile to her lips. ‘I like it when you do that.’
‘Then it is what I will always call you...cara.’
Always? She liked the sound of that.
‘You are sure about this?’ he asked, reaching down and stroking her face.
She nodded. She was. She absolutely was.
His laugh was uneven. ‘Good.’
Then he stood once more and shook his head.
‘A momen
t.’
When he returned, it was with a foil wrapper.
‘I nearly forgot,’ Tilly whispered, her eyes wide.
‘You and me both.’ He opened it and sheathed himself, then brought his body over hers. ‘I have wanted you from the first moment I saw you,’ he said seriously. ‘You have a power over me...’
Her heart squeezed in her chest.
It was the same for her.
Except it was a lie.
Everything she was turned out to be a lie.
He’d been burned by a lover in the past, and the last thing Tilly wanted was for that betrayal to colour what they were. Because her name didn’t matter, did it?
She shook her head and reached for him. Of course it didn’t. This wasn’t a lie. What her name was didn’t matter—nor what he thought it to be. This thing between them had nothing to do with a name. It was inevitable and it was them. Him...her. Their bones, blood, hearts and souls.
His weight was heaven. His body was warmth. He kissed her—gently at first, and then with desperation as his manhood moved towards her, nudging her entrance slowly, gently, cautiously.
Waiting was agony; her body was on fire and only he could douse the flames. She arched her back, lifting herself higher, inviting him wordlessly inside her, and he groaned as he thrust deep, stretching her muscles, plunging to the core of her being.
She cried out in ecstasy, throwing her head back and banging it on the timber wall. He reached up, concern on his features, but she laughed.
‘Maldestra...’ he whispered, and the word ran over her skin.
She didn’t know what it meant, and she had no time to ask. He gripped her hips and pulled her lower on the bed, then thrust into her again, sending her body into a spasm of awareness that travelled through her.
A low murmuring was filling the room; it was her. Tilly was crying out, over and over and over, indecipherable words, simply needing to express what was happening to her. She had never felt more amazing or more afraid. It was almost too much pleasure.
He brought his mouth to hers and his tongue lashed her in time with his body, so that her soul had no chance to recover. She was trembling, digging her nails into his back and even then failing to stay on earth. She was floating high above it. Then she was flying, soaring to heaven, her body barely holding together as release from sexual tension radiated from her.
Innocent in the Billionaire's Bed Page 10
