One Night In Collection

by Various Authors

  Dropping the towel to the floor, she slipped on the wretched bikini bottoms and picked up Angelo’s shirt. Pressing the soft linen against her face, she could still discern the faintest trace of his scent.

  That would soon fade, like she would from his memory.

  Briskly she did up the buttons and regarded herself dismally in the mirror. She wanted to make an impression on him as she left, make him admire her poise and sophistication and maturity. Instead she looked like a schoolgirl. Her hair, tangle free and straight, fell down past her shoulders in a dark silky waterfall, obscuring the streaks of pink. The sun had tanned her skin to a deep olive brown and her eyes, without their usual dark smudging of kohl, looked wide and vulnerable.

  She was hardly going to attract more than a cursory glance from him like this.

  Looking around, she caught sight of Fliss’s little sequinned evening scarf on the back of a chair and tied it round her hips in a desperate attempt to make it look as if she wasn’t dressed for bed. It made the shirt rather shorter, displaying a little bit more of her long tanned thighs than she was comfortable with, but she pushed her doubts away.

  She was hardly dressed to kill. She’d be lucky to inflict even minor injury. But it was the best she could do. She jumped at the knock on her cabin door.

  ‘Signor Emiliani is waiting, signorina. If you’d like to follow me?’

  Now she had to go out there and hold her head high while she said goodbye to the man who had changed her life.

  The sky had darkened to a quiet indigo-rose. Stepping out on to the deck, Anna felt the caress of the warm sea-scented air on her bare legs and blinked.

  It was so quiet.

  She looked around in confusion, searching for some familiar landmark from which she could get her bearings. Instead she found her gaze coming to rest on Angelo.

  He was leaning against the deck rail, dressed in faded jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, and he straightened up as she approached. Across the darkening space between them, his eyes met hers and held them.

  She felt her pulse surge and her stomach tighten. Desperate not to show him how much she wanted him, she frowned.

  ‘Where are we? This isn’t Cannes …’

  He took a step towards her, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans, dipping his head and looking at her from under his hair. Newly washed, it was white-gold and tousled. Her fingers itched with the longing to touch it.

  ‘No. We’re not far away—St Honorat.’ She recognized the name of the tiny island just off the coast. ‘I wanted to apologize for this afternoon before you left. I said some harsh things.’

  Anna straightened her spine and lifted her head to meet his gaze squarely. ‘There’s no need. You were absolutely right,’ she said stiffly. Unable to look at him any longer, she turned her face to the sea, letting the warm breeze whip her hair across her cheeks, giving her a welcome curtain to hide behind. ‘Please don’t feel you have to waste any more of your precious time on me. You’ve lost two days already.’

  ‘I don’t think they could be called entirely wasted,’ he drawled softly, reaching out his hand. She closed her eyes. Please don’t touch me. Please don’t be nice or I won’t be able to stop myself from crying, or kissing you, or telling you I—

  She felt his fingers close around her chin, turning her head towards him with infinite gentleness. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor as she spoke, desperately trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. ‘It’s been … fun,’ she finished lamely, as misery washed over her.

  ‘Fun? You have a very odd idea of fun, Anna Field. But it’s not over yet.’

  She glanced sharply up at him. Eyes glittering with amusement, he stood aside and swept an arm in the direction of the shore behind him.

  ‘Dinner?’

  She gasped. A crescent of deserted beach stretched out on both sides, and in the mauve twilight she could see candles glittering around a blanket spread out on the silver sand. ‘Wh—what do you mean? I can’t—I mean, I shouldn’t. I have to get back to Cannes, I—’

  He sighed, taking her hand and lacing his long fingers though hers.

  ‘You really are the most contrary, difficult, rebellious girl I’ve ever met. Do you realize how idiotic I’m going to look in front of my crew if I have to ask them to pack all that away and sail on to Cannes now? Not to mention the irresponsibility of letting all that food go to waste.’

  His tone was light and mocking, but the touch of his hand was sending X-rated messages right to the core of her. Trying to control the dizzying waves of desire that lapped through her, she pulled her hand away. Blushing, she mumbled, ‘I probably can’t eat it anyway. I’m vegetarian.’

  ‘Do you think I hadn’t worked that out?’

  ‘I’m not dressed …’

  ‘What’s new?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Stop arguing. Come on.’

  The long wooden jetty that stretched from the beach to the yacht tender was too narrow to walk along side by side, so Angelo let Anna go in front of him. A mistake, he thought wryly, unable to take his eyes off her long bare legs. She looked sensational—relaxed and soft and almost unrecognizable from the wary, aggressive girl he had met at the château. She seemed different too, he mused silently. Quieter, more subdued. More grown up somehow. Maybe removing her from the influence of those hippy wasters had done her a favour.

  Their bare feet sank into the soft sand as they reached the end of the jetty and she hesitated, looking round at him. A light sea breeze caught her hair so it streamed back from her face, showing the streaks of pink.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  He smiled. ‘I was just thinking the same thing,’ he said lightly, taking her hand. She was trembling, he realized with a slight lurch inside his chest. All of a sudden she seemed very young and vulnerable.

  Dammit.

  This was his last chance, he reminded himself as he led her across the uneven sand towards the cashmere rug his crew had laid out and weighed down with heavy stones. All around they’d set hurricane lanterns containing thick church candles, and had left a basket containing the picnic and a silver bucket containing a bottle of vintage champagne and one of local rosé nestling in ice.

  They’d done well.

  He’d spent the last two days exploring all the avenues he could think of, trying to find out exactly who this girl was and what she was up to, and he’d come up against dead end after dead end. It had been partly frustration that had made him lose it so spectacularly this afternoon. Afterwards he’d realized he had missed the very thing that had been right under his nose all this time.

  Her.

  He’d been so busy fighting with her it hadn’t occurred to him to get the answers to everything he wanted to know straight, as it were, from the horse’s mouth.

  He handed her a couple of glasses and slid the bottle out of the ice bucket. Easing the cork out with his thumbs, he held it aloft as a plume of foam cascaded out and splashed over her feet, making her gasp.

  He looked directly into her eyes, noticing the blush that spread across her cheeks in the soft evening light. Easy. This was going to be easy.

  She held out the glasses and, without taking his eyes from hers, he splashed champagne into them. It spilled over, running down her arms.

  He took one of the glasses from her and with his other hand picked up her wrist and held it to his mouth, running his tongue along the rivulet of champagne, to her elbow.

  ‘To getting to know each other,’ he said softly.

  The champagne bubbles sparkled against her tongue, but that was nothing to the rocket-bursts of shooting stars that exploded in the pit of her stomach as his warm mouth moved down the inside of her arm. She gritted her teeth against the ecstasy that threatened to erupt from her in a whimper of pleasure.

  ‘What’s the point of getting to know each other?’ she rasped. ‘We’re about to say goodbye.’

  He lifted his head and gave her a smile that went straight to her knees.


  ‘Ah, come on, Anna. You’re not making this easy. I’ve behaved like a pig, and this is my way of making amends. We’ve become pretty well acquainted in some ways over the last couple of days, but I’m aware I don’t really know the first thing about you.’

  ‘But that was never part of the deal, was it, Angelo?’ Anna took a few steps away from him and turned to look out over the sea so he couldn’t see the pain in her eyes. The lights of the yacht reflected on the flat silky water and it was almost impossible to tell where the sky began and the sea ended. ‘You took me on to the yacht because you wanted to change my mind, not become intimately acquainted with it. Anyway—’ she sighed ‘—I don’t know why you’re suddenly suffering an attack of conscience. I bet you hardly bother to ask the names of most of the women you sleep with. There’s absolutely no need to make an exception for me.’

  For a long moment all that could be heard was the soft sigh of the ocean. And then he spoke and in the warm twilight his voice was rough and low.

  ‘It was your first time. I think that makes it exceptional. And did it occur to you that I might just want to make an exception for you?’

  She turned slowly round. The candlelight turned his skin to burnished gold and emphasized the deep hollows beneath his hard, high cheekbones. He was looking at her steadily, his face for once not showing any signs of mockery or amusement. Her blood seemed suddenly to have been replaced with warm syrup.

  She tore her eyes away from him and shook her head.

  ‘No. I don’t believe you. You hate everything I stand for. You hate everything about me.’

  Very gently she felt the glass being taken from her hand. He put them both down, then took her hands in his. ‘Anna, Anna, Anna, does the word paranoid mean anything to you? I confess, on paper we’re hardly soul mates—’

  ‘That has to be the understatement of the century. I’m a member of the environmental action group that intends to put a stop to your development of the château, Angelo. Let’s not pretend we can be friends.’

  ‘We’ve been lovers.’

  ‘No. We’ve had sex. I think there’s a difference.’

  He laughed, but it was tinged with irony ‘You’re right, of course, but maybe I’d like to make up for that. I should have shown a little more restraint last night, but I must confess I had no idea you were a virgin.’ He tucked a strand of pink hair behind her ear and smiled ruefully. ‘Which just goes to prove my point—we need to get to know each other a little better. Look, I confess that environmental activists aren’t amongst my favourite people, but it could be worse … When I saw you at the hotel I had a sudden horrible thought that you might be some spoilt little rich girl with a title and a trust fund.’

  She felt the blood freeze in her veins. ‘That would be worse?’ she said flatly.

  ‘Much worse. Now …’ He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his. ‘Either you relax and stop behaving as if you’re being force fed toads, or I’ll …’ he hesitated, his mouth curving into a wicked half-smile ‘… I’ll have to do something about it.’

  ‘You could try,’ she said coldly, tugging her hands from his. ‘But I don’t like being told what to do, Angelo. Look, I really think we should just go—oh!’

  In one deft movement he had swept her up into his arms and was holding her against his chest. ‘Angelo, what are you doing? Let me go! Put me down, now!’

  ‘No. Not until you accept my apology and stop sulking. Otherwise—’ he had begun to walk towards the sea, crossing the soft sand with long, loping strides ‘—you may just find yourself taking another dip.’

  ‘No!’ she squealed. ‘No, Angelo, please! I haven’t any more clothes!’

  He stopped, and she felt the deep rumble of laughter within his chest. ‘Is that supposed to put me off?’

  Looking up, she could see the lean outline of his jaw, the hollow at the base of his throat. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry.

  ‘Put me down,’ she croaked.

  He looked down into her face. ‘Are you going to be a good girl?’

  God. The look in his eyes sent a tidal wave of lust smashing through her, breaking down every flimsy defence and barrier and inhibition.

  ‘No,’ she whispered hoarsely, with a gasp that was meant to have been a laugh.

  He whirled around, making her shriek and thrash in his arms as the world spun and only the hardness of his chest was real and solid.

  ‘Stop! Stop, Angelo!'She felt dizzy and breathless with laughter.

  He stopped, looking down at her with a deliberately deadpan expression. ‘Are you going to be nice and polite now, Anna, or shall I…?’

  ‘No!’ she squealed. ‘Don’t you dare …!’

  ‘Are you going to be good?’ His mouth was inches from her own. Gradually she stopped thrashing in his arms and in the sudden stillness felt the torment of a desire that needed to be sated. Soon.

  ‘No,’ she breathed. ‘I don’t want to be a good girl. I want to be very, very naughty.’

  His mouth came down on hers and the breaking of the waves was drowned out by the sound of the blood crashing through her veins. He was still holding her against him, so she could feel the heat of his skin through their clothes, the hardness of his body. Dimly she was aware that he was walking back up the beach with her, but she was lost in a world of flesh and fire, where the undulation of his stomach against her hip-bone spoke of something far more intimate. She felt him stoop, felt the softness of the rug beneath her, then he was standing over her, his eyes dark and unreadable.

  She writhed, arching her back upwards, pulled towards him by invisible cords of instinctive longing. ‘Angelo … you can’t just stop …’

  He laughed softly and lowered himself on to the rug beside her, languidly leaning over to the picnic basket beside them. ‘Now, listen here, Anna Field or whoever you are. I can do what I like because I’m the host of this party and you’re the guest, and you’re supposed to be behaving yourself.’

  He pulled out boxes and began to open them. Anna lay back and gazed up at the sky. Dark lilac and velvety and scattered with a million brilliant stars, it was as beautiful and opulent as a designer dress.

  ‘Do you eat fish?’

  She was about to say no—like all the other GreenPlanet members she’d been a strict, label-reading, nothing-with-a-face-on vegetarian. But suddenly she didn’t care. She loved fish.

  ‘Yes. I think tonight I eat just about anything.’

  ‘Good. Close your eyes.’

  Rolling over on to her side and propping herself up on one elbow, she looked at him. In the soft flickering light he looked like a young prince from one of the fairy-tale books she used to adore as a child.

  ‘Anna,’ he said with mock warning, ‘do as you’re told or I swear I’ll …’

  ‘OK! They’re closed!’

  She waited, her senses on high alert, her breathing fast and shallow, a giggle rising irrepressibly in her chest.

  Something brushed against her lips. She opened them, questing, wanting, and bit down on something soft and delicious. Langoustine.

  ‘Mmm … more.’

  ‘Good girl.’ His voice was very close to her ear, his breath caressing her neck. She opened her mouth again and was rewarded with another bite of fragrant langoustine, this time dipped in cool, creamy mayonnaise.

  She groaned, lost in deep, greedy, sensuous pleasure.

  ‘Good girl, that’s better.’

  She let her eyes drift open. His head was bent and the sun-bleached gold of his hair looked almost white in the candlelight. She slowly levered herself up into a sitting position and reached for her champagne. Taking a long mouthful, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his, filling his mouth with cool liquid silk.

  A drop ran down her chin as they pulled apart.

  ‘This isn’t supposed to be happening like this,’ he said hoarsely. ‘We’re supposed to be getting to know each other.’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘Not like this. We’v
e introduced ourselves this way already.’

  ‘So ask me a question.’

  Who are you?

  Angelo pushed the thought away. Slowly. Don’t rush her. Don’t scare her. Picking up another delicate curled langoustine, he dipped it into the mayonnaise and offered it to her quivering lips.

  ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

  She leaned back on her elbows and looked at him consideringly. ‘I don’t know. Black.’

  He rolled his eyes and gave her a stern look. ‘You have to be sensible. Honest answers only. Or you have to do a forfeit.’

  She laughed, and it was such a sweet, happy, musical sound that it took him by surprise.

  ‘How will you know if I’m being honest?’

  ‘You forget, tesoro, he growled, ‘that I have carved out a business and an extremely large fortune on instinct alone. I can tell when you’re lying. Now, what’s your favourite colour?’

  ‘Pink’

  ‘Good girl.’ He held out another prawn, watching with satisfaction as her plump pink lips closed around its soft flesh. ‘Middle name.’

  She groaned. ‘Josephine. After my French grandmother.’

  Angelo felt a tiny dart of triumph. Good. Carefully now. Keep going.

  ‘Best subject at school?’

  She wiped mayonnaise off her lip. ‘None of them. I hated school with a passion. I suppose I hated games marginally less than everything else. Look, shouldn’t I be asking you some questions as well?’

  ‘Go on, then.’

  She hesitated, suddenly shy. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Milan.’ He spoke abruptly.

  ‘And did you …’ She faltered and started again. ‘You said something this afternoon about being brought up by nuns. What did you mean?’

  ‘I was brought up in a convent orphanage.’

  ‘I see.’ She kept her head down and didn’t look at him or attempt to touch him. Interesting, thought Angelo wryly. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of women he had told about his childhood, but all of them had reacted in the same way—with suffocating affection, as if their kisses could somehow make up for those years.