‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘the accident was a long time ago. I try not to dwell on the past.’ She brightened her voice. ‘Lunch was lovely. Thank you. Can we go and see the old ruins now?’
His thick brows drew together. ‘You really want to see a crumbling pile of ancient stones?’
‘I thought we were doing what I want to do today?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You are a stubborn woman, Marietta Vincenti.’
She raised her chin. ‘So I’ve been told.’
* * *
Nico stepped onto the terrace with a bottle and two glasses in his hands and a strong sense of déjà vu.
Tonight, however, the bottle was an expensive Burgundy rather than cognac, and the mood in the air—if not entirely tension-free—was an improvement on yesterday.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent almost an entire day with one woman. Marietta was beautiful and he couldn’t deny she made his blood heat, but she also fascinated him on a level most women didn’t. She was strong. A woman who’d fought her way back from a major life-altering trauma—a survivor.
She was different from the women whose company he normally sought and that was the attraction, he assured himself. Nothing more.
And he couldn’t deny that today had been...pleasurable.
She had charmed the entire Bouchard clan, including old Henri, and though the incident with the young couple had seemed to shake her she’d bounced back—enough to demand he take her to see the old fortress.
Her fascination with the ruins had bemused Nico. The ancient stronghold that had once defended the island against marauding pirates was, to his eye, no more than a dull, crumbling edifice, and yet Marietta had taken the time to snap photos from every vantage point her wheelchair had allowed her to reach.
Then she had asked him to piggyback her up the spiral staircase of the stone tower to see the view.
It had been torture. Sweet, exquisite torture.
Those soft, lush breasts pressed into his back. Her slender arms looped around his neck. Her warm breath misting over his nape.
He had thought that lifting her into and out of his Jeep throughout the day had tested his control. Carrying her on his back, all that feminine warmth and vanilla and strawberry scent enveloping him, had been a hundred times more challenging.
She was wheeling out of the house now, a platter of cheeses, olives and cured meats expertly balanced on her lap. A bread basket filled with the fresh mini-baguettes Josephine had given them this afternoon already sat on the table.
A minute later she was piling thick slices of cheese into a baguette. ‘I shouldn’t be hungry after our enormous lunch,’ she said. ‘It must be all the sea air.’
Nico watched her bite into the baguette. He liked it that she wasn’t overly dainty in the way she ate. She tackled her food with enthusiasm. Appreciation. A sign of her Italian heritage, perhaps?
‘The air quality here is pristine,’ he said. ‘I crave it when I’ve been in Paris or New York or any major city for too long.’
She swallowed. ‘Do you have homes in Paris and New York?’
‘Apartments.’
She nodded—as if that didn’t surprise her. Her head tilted to one side. ‘So, what does a man who runs a multi-billion-dollar global security company do with his time off?’
He fingered the stem of his glass. Tried not to notice how her mouth wrapped around the end of her baguette. ‘That depends,’ he said finally.
‘On what?’
‘On what kind of recreation I’m in the mood for.’
He enjoyed the sudden bloom of pink in her cheeks more than he should have.
Her gaze thinned. ‘Holidays,’ she said. ‘Where do you go on holiday?’
‘I don’t.’
She frowned. ‘You don’t take holidays?’
‘This is where I come to unwind.’
‘Alone?’
‘Oui,’ he said. ‘Alone.’
Her eyes widened. ‘So you don’t bring your...friends here?’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Do you mean to ask me if I bring my lovers here, Marietta?’
The colour in her cheeks brightened. She picked up her wine glass, took a large sip and sat back. ‘Do you not get lonely here on your own?’
He shrugged. ‘I like the quiet.’ Which wasn’t strictly true. He craved the isolation more than the quiet itself. The disconnection from the world and the people in it.
Marietta looked towards the ocean and the setting sun. Half a dozen shades of orange and gold—colours she would no doubt give fancy names to—streaked the sky. ‘It is peaceful here. And beautiful.’ Her gaze returned to his. ‘Are there no other places you’d like to visit, though? Things you’d like to see?’
He shifted in his chair. ‘I’ve seen more things in this world than you can imagine,’ he said. ‘And most of them I never wish to see again.’
He heard something dark and bleak in his own voice then. Marietta studied him, and he shrugged off the notion that she could somehow see the darkness inside him...the emptiness he’d never been able to fill since losing his wife.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I haven’t seen enough of the world. There’s plenty of places I’d like to see...things I’d like to do.’
‘Such as...?’
‘The pyramids in Egypt.’
His brows dropped. Was she kidding? ‘Do you have any idea how volatile that region is?’
She lifted her shoulders. ‘Isn’t the whole world “volatile” these days?’
‘Oui. Which is why travellers need to be more selective about the destinations they choose. More safety conscious.’
‘I agree. But no one can live in a protective bubble, can they? If people did they’d never go anywhere, never do anything. Living involves risk, whether we like it or not.’
‘Risk can be minimised through sensible choices.’
Marietta sighed. ‘You sound like my brother.’
‘That’s because Leo is a smart man,’ he clipped out.
She flicked her hair over one shoulder. She wore another halterneck top tonight, this one red and floaty and partially see-through. Nico kept his gaze above her collarbone.
‘None of that diminishes my desire to see the pyramids,’ she said. ‘In fact it doesn’t change anything on my wish list.’
His brows sank lower. ‘You have a list?’
‘Si.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Her chin notched up a fraction. ‘I’m not sure I want to.’
‘Tell me,’ he commanded.
Something flashed across her face. Annoyance, he guessed. She took a slow sip of her wine, fuelling his impatience.
‘Okay—I want to do a tandem skydive.’
Mon Dieu.
‘No.’
The word shot from his mouth of its own volition.
Her eyebrows rose. ‘I don’t need anyone’s permission, Nico.’
His jaw tightened. ‘It’s dangerous.’
‘So is getting into a car and driving on the autostrada,’ she said, and the significance of that statement didn’t escape him. ‘Besides...’ She flung a hand in his direction. ‘I bet you’ve jumped out of a plane plenty of times. Don’t elite soldiers do that sort of thing?’
The reference to his soldiering days gave Nico only brief pause. His service in the French Foreign Legion was no secret. The Legion’s flame-like emblem and motto—Honneur et Fidélité—were inked on his upper left arm and had been for eighteen years. He had knocked on the Legion’s door—literally, because that was the only way to gain entry—on the day of his eighteenth birthday, gone on to serve his five contracted years, and then got the hell out.
No doubt he’d mentioned his service to her brother at some point, though Nico never spoke of those years in any detail. Trekking through humid, insect-ridden jungles and dry, shelterless deserts, defending himself and his unit against lethal attacks from rebel forces and random insurgents, policing war zones where their allies had been indisti
nguishable from their enemies and they hadn’t known who to trust—none of it made for idle conversation.
Still, those five years had put into perspective the many childhood injustices he’d suffered as a ward of the French state—had made them seem almost trivial. Insignificant. And, yes, during his time as a legionnaire—and as a military contractor—he’d jumped out of a few planes.
‘Irrelevant, Marietta. What else is on your list?’
She sipped her wine, took her time again. ‘A hot air balloon ride. Let me guess,’ she added. ‘That’s dangerous, too.’
‘You think floating two thousand feet above the ground in an oversized picnic basket is safe?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘This from the man who flies a helicopter?’
He scowled. No comparison. His chopper was a solid machine, designed and built by aeronautical specialists to exacting safety standards. A hot air balloon was nothing but yards of silk filled with...hot air. It would be a frosty day in hell when he climbed into one of those things.
‘Is there anything remotely sensible on your list?’
Her lips curved, as if she were actually enjoying this conversation. ‘Sensible isn’t any fun, is it? But, yes—there are things you’d probably consider low-risk.’
‘Like?’
‘Swimming in the ocean...’ That little smile continued to play about her mouth. ‘Naked.’
And just like that, the steady, persistent hum of awareness in his blood intensified—until he felt as if a high-voltage current arced through his veins.
‘Somewhere private, of course,’ she said, and then her eyes widened as if she’d had an enlightening thought. ‘Your beach would be perfect!’
All at once an image of Marietta floating naked in the clear seawater at the foot of his cliff flashed into his head. Heat and lust ignited in his belly, along with the certain knowledge that she did feel the same pull of attraction he did. He could see it—in the sudden hectic colour in her cheeks. In the way her eyes glittered and held his in silent challenge.
She was provoking him.
Playing with fire.
He lunged up out of his chair, strode to her side and seized her chin. The dark look he gave her should have subdued and intimidated. Instead her lips parted, soft and inviting, as though she were anticipating...a kiss.
Dieu.
He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to crush his mouth onto hers and let her feel the full, unleashed power of the lust she was deliberately inciting. Wanted to punish her for dangling temptation in front of him like an enticing treat he didn’t deserve.
He held himself rigid. Controlled. ‘Be very careful what you wish for, Marietta.’
And then he released her and stalked into the house, back to his study—where he should have stayed in the first place.
* * *
Nico stood near the edge of the vertiginous cliff and stared down at the small crescent-shaped beach he had never set foot upon.
On this side of the island the coastline was rocky, precipitous in places, but here and there the cliffs formed inlets with sandy sheltered beaches and calm channels of crystal blue water ideal for swimming.
Yesterday he had told Marietta the steps carved into the ancient rock face might be eroded, but in truth they appeared sturdy—probably as safe now as they had been a century ago. Until this morning he’d never thought about using them. Had never given the beach more than a passing thought.
Had he been in a war zone, he’d have cast his trained soldier’s eye over the isolated cove and deemed it a death trap—the perfect location to fall prey to ambush—but he wasn’t a soldier any longer and the island wasn’t a war zone.
And he wasn’t standing here right now thinking about danger hotspots and military manoeuvres.
He was thinking about the woman he had wanted to kiss last night and her damned wish list. About the sand down there on his beach and whether it was coarse or soft. About the temperature of the water—and Marietta’s skin... How she would feel pressed against him if they swam together naked.
Ridiculous, insane thoughts.
Thoughts he would not normally entertain.
But, by God, she’d got under his skin. Ignited a hunger that hadn’t relinquished its grip but rather had burned hotter, fiercer, during the night.
Did she understand what kind of man she was toying with? What sex with him would mean and—more importantly—what it wouldn’t mean?
He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets.
He was not a tender, romantic man. He was an ex-soldier with a grisly past. A man who had loved and lost and vowed he would never again tumble into that soul-destroying abyss. His liaisons with women served one rudimentary purpose, and for that reason he chose experienced women. Never innocents.
And yet Marietta was no ingénue. She was smart and confident. Strong and resilient. A woman who didn’t fear the world, who understood what it meant to accept the consequences of her actions. A woman who knew what she wanted.
Did she want him?
He closed his eyes, searched the dark, twisted labyrinth of his conscience. Which would make him the better man? Indulging her? Or keeping his distance?
He opened his eyes and studied the ancient steps.
Were they as solid as they appeared?
He pulled his hands from his pockets and moved closer to the cliff’s edge. Only one way to find out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARIETTA CLUNG TO Nico’s back as he paused at the top of the cliff, her belly a cauldron of excitement and nerves. She couldn’t believe they were doing this.
She peered over his shoulder, all the way down to the crescent-shaped strip of white sand at the foot of the cliff. It was a very, very long way down, and the steps hewn into the rock face were much steeper than she’d imagined. Her arms tightened reflexively around his neck.
‘I’ve got you, chérie.’
His deep voice seemed to resonate through her chest, and the unexpected endearment made her pulse hitch.
‘Ready?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
As ready as I’ll ever be.
And then he started down the steps and the buzz of anticipation turned into a wild flutter. They were doing this. And she really couldn’t believe it. Not after last night, when he’d stormed off and she’d been certain she had pushed him too far.
She’d sat by the pool, watching the rich golds and ambers and deep purples of the sunset bleed into one another, and tried to attribute her uncharacteristic behaviour to having had too much sun during the day. Too much wine with her supper.
But neither of those excuses was valid.
The truth was she had wanted to provoke him—because a reckless yearning had been building in her all day. A yearning to find out if a man like Nico could be attracted to a woman like her—a woman whom society largely viewed as disabled.
She knew the wheelchair frightened most men. Some wrongly assumed she couldn’t have sex or wouldn’t enjoy it. Others, she guessed, were repelled by her useless legs. Davide had been different in that regard, and their sex-life had been healthy, satisfying—though not the kind of passionate, all-consuming sex she’d fantasised about as a teenager.
She had a feeling deep in her belly, where the butterflies had gathered en masse now, that sex with Nico would be the kind of wild, passionate sex she’d long ago resigned herself to never experiencing.
And Nico was attracted to her. She had seen the evidence as soon as she’d made that provocative suggestion about swimming naked at his beach. Had seen it stamped on his face—a raw hunger her body had instinctively responded to with its own powerful throb of need.
He had almost kissed her. Standing there grasping her chin and glaring down at her, anger and desire pulsing off him in waves, he had looked like a man fighting for control.
And, oh, she had wanted him to kiss her. Even knowing that if he did it wouldn’t be gentle. That there would be fire and fury behind his kiss. When he hadn’t—when he’d walked away
from her instead—her disappointment had been so intense it had felt like a physical blow against her ribs.
He’d negotiated the last few steps now, and Marietta’s eyes widened as he carried her across the sand to where a blue-and-white-striped awning stood in a sheltered lee off the cliff. Beneath the awning lay a picnic rug and a bunch of big, comfy-looking cushions, and on a corner of the rug, shaded from the direct heat of the midday sun, sat a large wicker basket.
‘Nico!’ Her voice came out breathless. ‘How many trips did this take you?’
‘A few.’
He knelt on the rug and she slid off his back, the friction between their bodies teasing her already over-sensitised nipples into hard, aching nubs. She plucked her tee shirt away from her breasts before he turned, glad that she’d put the loose-fitting white tee on over her yellow bikini top. She slipped her hands under her legs and straightened them out in front of her.
Nico propped two cushions behind her back. ‘Comfortable?’
She nodded, looked around her. ‘It’s beautiful, Nico.’
She ran her hand through the warm sand. The pearly-white granules felt luxuriously soft as they sifted through her fingers. She looked towards the calm water in the inlet. It was a clear, stunning turquoise—the kind seen on postcards of exotic locales that most people only ever dreamed of visiting. Best of all, the cove was utterly, totally private.
‘I can’t believe you’ve never been down here before.’
Nico shrugged and kicked off his sneakers. He wore khaki shorts and a black polo shirt and he looked big and vital and masculine. He lifted the lid off the hamper. ‘I didn’t know what you’d want to eat...’ He started pulling out items. ‘So I brought a bit of everything.’
He wasn’t joking. There were fruits, olives, crackers, breads, pickles and a variety of meats and cheeses in a small cooler, plus water, soda and two bottles of wine—a red Cabernet and a chilled white. Cutlery, plastic plates and glasses emerged as well, along with condiments and a packet of paper serviettes.
Marietta couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I bet you never go anywhere unprepared.’
Nico opened a water bottle and handed it to her. ‘Who’s the guy you want to be with when disaster strikes?’
Defying Her Billionaire Protector Page 8
