Seasons of Sin: Misbehaving in summer and autumn... (Series of Sin)

by Clare Connelly

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Saphire intended to shower quickly, but the water was so divine against her flushed skin that she leant against the tiles and enjoyed the sensation of being needled by the jets.

  When she emerged, there was a crisp white tee shirt and a pair of grey shorts on the bed. Both were far too big for her but they were modest and clean; beyond that, she didn’t really care.

  She pinched her cheeks to bring some color to them and then slipped her feet into the only shoes she had – slightly painful Louboutin pumps. Saphire Arana had no idea what she was getting into but she felt strangely excited given the mess she’d left at home.

  * * *

  “Thad, you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.” Rocco’s tone was heavy with concern, just as it had been at the funeral the day before.

  “I’m fine,” Thaddeus reclined against the railing of the balcony.

  “Your grandfather – a man who raised you as his own child – just died unexpectedly. You buried him only yesterday. I was there, remember? You are not fine.”

  Thad pressed his lips together. “He was ninety. It was hardly a surprise.”

  “Are you kidding? Aristotle Konstanides was so stubborn everyone thought he’d live forever. You included.”

  Thad stared out at the glistening ocean, his handsome face grim. “Yes. And yet that’s life, isn’t it?”

  Far away, Rocco nodded. “Si, forse. You can’t live forever.”

  “But you can make every day count.” He thought of Saphire and his chest compressed in response. They’d only just met, and yet already he knew that she made him feel … alive. She made him feel completely alive when death was all around him.

  “So how long are you on the island for?”

  Thad frowned. “A week? Maybe two.” How long would she stay? How long could he have the pleasure of her company and her body? She was the perfect answer to him at this time in his life. An angel sent from heaven; or a very sexy distraction sent by his grandfather, who had the sickest sense of humor he’d ever come across. It brought a smile to his lips.

  “I’m in Rome. I can come to you any time.”

  “No.” Thad’s answer was swift and definitive. “No,” he softened the tone of his voice. “You’re busy. So am I. I … I will tell you, Rocco, if I need you.” He paused. Gratitude, though he felt it deeply, did not translate to words easily. “I appreciate your concern.”

  Far in the distance he could see a fishing trawler pulling its nets in. It was late in the day; too late to be catching. Perhaps they’d hit an unexpected clutch of scampi.

  “What’s it like?”

  “What?” Thad didn’t immediately understand his friend.

  “Being on the island without him.”

  His breath was a long, slow contemplation. “Strange,” he admitted for the first time. “Aristotle is everywhere I look.” He shifted, so that his back was to the beach and his eyes could roam the mansion. “He is in the trees I used to climb; the ocean I used to swim in; the steps I used to run. I lived with him here for sixteen years. How can I be back and accept …” He shook his head decisively. “But he is gone.”

  Rocco nodded. He understood his friend’s pain. “You had your reasons for staying away.”

  Thaddeus squeezed his eyes shut. “Such good reasons,” he agreed with a chill tone to his voice. “Until he died. And then I was left wondering why I let stubborn pride waste so much of our time?”

  “Stubborn pride?” Rocco repeated. “There was no stubborn pride in your rift.”

  “There was no rift in my rift,” Thad corrected angrily. “Aristotle would have made his peace with me at any time I chose. But no; I was determined. He had cut my father out. My mother too. And he had raised me in ignorance of that.” He shook his head. “If it had not been for my father’s will, I would never have known …”

  “And you would have continued to love Aristotle as a father.”

  Thad sighed. “I do love him as a father. Anger does not negate love.” He dragged a hand through his hair and tugged at its black ends until it hurt. “He loved me and so he erred. He feared losing me and so he lied. He forgot his scruples because he found his heart.” Thad shrugged. “I would not make those mistakes, and yet I understand them.”

  Rocco stared at his laptop screen without seeing. “What a waste.”

  He noticed her first from the periphery of his vision. Saphire emerged, wearing casual clothes and spiked heels, her shining dark hair shimmering about her shoulders, and her lips a bright, cherry red. The color, then, was natural too, like her curves, her hair, her thick black lashes.

  He wanted to forget Aristotle, and here she was. His perfect vehicle for memory lapse; the one single woman who had managed to obliterate his ever-active consciousness and plunge him into a state of ‘present’ living.

  “I’ll have to call you back,” he muttered, disconnecting the call to his oldest friend without a second thought. He straightened and slipped his phone into his back pocket. “Something much more important has come up.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said as she approached, her smile truly breathtaking.

  “Have you?” He waited for her to continue; Saphire came to stand before him and put her hands on his chest. He loved the way that felt; she connected to his heart and his core.

  “I don’t want to know the rest of your name. I like Mr Konstanides. Or, I was thinking, MK for short.”

  He arched a brow. “Why? Would knowing my name offend you?”

  The slightest hint of color marked her face. “No, not at all. But this is just one of those temporary things,” she said with an attempt at careless whimsy. “Knowing your name makes it weird. Not knowing makes it … crazy.”

  His silence was a weight, urging her to continue.

  She sighed. “I can just say, one day, when I’m old and grey, that I met this beautiful, sexy stranger. My grandkids will say, ‘That’s so romantic! What was his name?’ and I’ll laugh and say, ‘I don’t really know.’”

  Thad grinned. “You have grandkids?”

  “I might. One day.” Her smile was lopsided. Jordan and she had agreed on having children. They were waiting a year or two, but Saphire had always known she wanted kids.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra. He could see the outline of her breasts through her shirt; he regretted having given her something white to wear. It was way too distracting. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Breakfast is this way,” he waved towards a table on the corner of the expansive balcony. Saphire hadn’t noticed it.

  “Did you book out this area for our private use?” She queried as she moved with unconscious grace towards the setting.

  He pulled a chair backwards for her. “I have a confession to make.”

  “You didn’t want to know my name either?” She teased, for he’d already referred to her as Saphire. As she sat, he placed a kiss on the top of her head. It was a gesture of such familiar affection that her heart flipped achingly in her chest

  “I love knowing your name,” he corrected.

  He settled himself opposite her, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity as they scanned her face. How would she react? What would she make of his statement? “This isn’t a hotel.”

  But Saphire had always been quick. Only the several glasses of alcohol she’d imbibed on the flight had impaired her from putting two and two together. “You’re the Konstanides, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes were the most stunning shade of blue. He’d never met anyone with such gem-stone like irises.

  “The airline. The plane. That’s you.”

  He nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

  She expelled a slow breath and cast a speculative glance around the balcony. It was enormous, with large potted palms, shining white marble furniture and a never-ending view of the ocean sparkled beneath them. “This isn’t Athens,” she said again, and now the impression of having been on a boat came to her more sharply. She scraped h
er chair back and glided towards the railing. Beneath them, cutting a dark brown line in the middle of the water, was a pontoon. A luxury speedboat was tethered to it.

  “I thought I had dreamed the boat part,” she said, turning around.

  His eyes were darkly watchful, as though he was weighing her up.

  “Where are we?” She continued, not bothered that he hadn’t spoken. After all, she didn’t need him to confirm her statements. They were facts, clicking into place effortlessly in the morning’s radiant sunlight.

  “L’isola Ourano,” he said the words in such a way that spice and magic wrapped around her soul. She couldn’t help but smile.

  “You kidnapped me,” she murmured, but her smile was belying the seriousness of the words.

  “Yes,” he shrugged. “Or saved you.”

  “Saved me?” She moved back towards the table, but instead of going to her seat, she went to him. He was a magnet and she his perfect polar opposite. “How do you figure?”

  She was close enough that he could smell her sweet fragrance; like coconuts and vanilla. He lifted a hand to her hip and almost groaned at how good it felt just to touch her.

  “The state you were in? If I’d left you at the airport, I doubt you’d have made it to the city in one piece.”

  She dipped her eyes forward, shame at how drunken she’d become assailing her out of nowhere. Strange that she should feel guilt and remorse over that, but nothing at all when it came to her willingness to cheat on her husband. Then again, Jordan had really established the precedent there.

  “How very chivalrous of you,” she observed with a hint of sarcasm.

  He made a noise of assent. “I’m quite the gentleman, I think you’ll find.” He pulled at her waist a little, so that she fell forward, onto his lap.

  “And tell me, MK, do you make a habit of bringing very, very drunken women to your island paradise?”

  A frown pulled at his lips. He had only come to the island a handful of times in the last fifteen years, since he’d argued with Aristotle and stormed away in a puff of adolescent fury. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re like some kind of Greek James Bond,” she laughed. “With all of these perfect seduction tricks up your sleeve.”

  “Really?” He murmured. She was so alive in his arms; so gorgeous and willing.

  “Really,” she nodded. Her eyes were suddenly guarded as she turned to study him carefully. “I have to tell you something.”

  There was a gravity in her statement that had him instantly on the alert. He lifted a grape from his plate and traced it around her lips, and then bit on it. “Go ahead.”

  She shielded those spectacular eyes from his face. “I’m way, way out of my depth with you.”

  His laugh was soft. “Why do you say that?”

  She swallowed. “I’ve never done anything like this.”

  “You said that last night. And again this morning,” he murmured, lifting another grape to her lips. This time, he pushed it inside, watching as she chewed its plump sweetness.

  “Did I?” She swallowed. “Oh, right. Did I say … anything else? Last night, I mean.”

  “Such as why you were pounding back champagne as though it could obliterate all memory and sense?”

  She grimaced. “Something like that.”

  “No.” He stroked her cheek. “You did not. But I presumed you were running from something.”

  Her breathing had quickened. “Is that a problem?”

  He pretended to think about it. “That depends. Am I hiding a fugitive? Did you rob a bank? Steal a car? Shoot someone?”

  She burst out laughing. “None of the above.”

  “Good. Then I don’t care what you are running from.” He lifted his lips to hers and tasted them briefly. “I care only that you are here.”

  Her heart turned over in her chest, squeezing painfully. “It’s nothing that a bit of time won’t fix,” she said, frowning so that a little line formed between her brows.

  “And if we are to stop you turning into a full-blown alcoholic, we shall have to think of other ways for you to relieve your worries, no?”

  It was a thinly veiled promise and she ached to fulfill it. She squirmed a little on his lap, wriggling closer to him. “I’d like that.” The admission was a sultry whisper.

  “Me too.” He lifted a hand and brushed it over her hair. “You need to eat first. And then you need to rest.”

  She pouted with assumed disappointment. “Why?”

  His laugh sent shivers tilting down her back. “I might have kidnapped you, but I’ll have you know I am a very kind captor. I want my hostage to have her strength restored fully before we begin … getting to know one another better.”

  Even that innocuous statement sent her pulse skyrocketing. It was the promise of what would come. It flooded her system with anticipation and need.

  There was a part of Saphire’s brain that wanted to ask questions. She wanted to know how long this would last? How long was he on the island for? Did he want her for a night? Or more?

  And how long would it take to erase the pain of her husband’s infidelity? How many times would she sleep with Mr Konstanides before the betrayal began to sting less?

  He lifted a piece of watermelon and placed it against her lips. She bit the top off the triangle and chewed it gratefully. It tasted like sugar and sunshine; it was the perfect antidote for the headache she’d been grappling with.

  “Delicious,” she murmured.

  “They grow wild over the cliff,” he said, nodding a little way down the shoreline. “So many that they can’t possibly all get picked each year. The ones that are left crack with age and sunshine and leave their juice and seeds on the rocks. The next year, they spawn more vines, and then more, and so now they are almost a pest.”

  His words rambled through her consciousness like those vines on the sun-warmed rocks. “I could eat nothing but watermelon,” she said after a moment. “And coffee.”

  “Ah.” He leaned forward and lifted a pot from the middle of the table. He poured out two measures of a thick, black liquid and then slid a cup nearer to her.

  “You don’t mind that I’m using you as furniture?” She asked after she’d let the first sip work down her throat and begin to spread life back into her body.

  “Mind? I think, Saphire Arana, I’d mind more if you didn’t. Perhaps while you are here you could sit on me always.”

  She laughed. And because the question was burning at the edges of her brain, she bit down on her lip and gathered her courage. “This is a slice of heaven,” she said honestly. “But it’s also a slice out of life.” She furrowed her brow. “It’s strange to think that reality is out there, waiting for me to get back to it.”

  His sharp sense of disappointment caught him off-guard. “When?” He didn’t bother softening the question with false disinterest.

  She expelled a soft breath. “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she said honestly, and Thad instantly relaxed.

  “Good. So that settles it. You don’t think about it. Not while you are here. You are running from something. Let this be the place you have run to.”

  It was the last thing a man like him would generally offer. Losing Aristotle had weakened him. No, it had knocked him side-ways, completely out of his regular groove of life. He was floundering. Floating. In free-fall.

  He didn’t care. Thaddeus Konstanides trusted his instincts and in that moment every fiber of his being was telling him that he had to keep this beautiful woman close.

  “Do you know what’s really weird about this?” She said, so quietly he hardly heard.

  “What?”

  “I feel like … I feel like I’ve known you forever. I don’t feel awkward or strange. I thought I would.”

  He scanned her face. Her words perfectly echoed his own impression. It gave him a moment’s pause.

  “Anyway,” she shrugged, perhaps a little awkward to have revealed so much. “Let’s just see how today goes, h
mm? We might discover we have no … chemistry.”

  He laughed, and dropped his head to her shoulder. “Not possible. You forget, dear Saphire, that I have already seen how perfectly your body responds to mine. Do not make the mistake of thinking that I do not wish to control every tiny part of you. Were I not attempting to be considerate of your sore head, I would be making love to you against these sun-warmed tiles right now.”

  His words instantly aroused her, as they’d been designed to do. “My head’s not that bad,” she promised, spinning a little more so that she was closer to his arousal.

  “I don’t want ‘not bad’,” he groaned. “I want you at your best when I move within you.”

  Did he? Saphire wasn’t prone to doubt, but having just seen proof of her husband’s lack of interest in her, she felt her confidence to be at its lowest ebb. And suddenly, she doubted she had anything to offer a man like Thaddeus Konstanides. Was he already regretting bringing her to the island? Was he trying to send a subtle cue to her that she should leave?

  She couldn’t handle the anxiety. She was one step away from a complete breakdown. “I came here with you because I wanted to sleep with you,” she said, completely bowled over by the bold declaration. “I don’t want to eat fruit with you. I want to sleep with you. Now.”

  His eyes were wide. He stood, dislodging her from his lap, and he pushed her against the wall in one movement. It was gentle, but firm. He physically dominated her, but his eyes were studying her face with apparent concern.

  “You do not know what you are talking about,” he ground out, pinning her to the warm marble with his hard body. “You want me to have sex with you? You say it as though you have a disease that only sex can cure. You say it like you doubt it will happen.” His eyes flashed with an emotion she didn’t recognise. “Let me tell you why I am giving you some time to recover.”

  He gripped her hand and dragged it towards his pants. He pulled them down easily and wrapped her fingers around his arousal. She let out a small moan as she felt his hot virility in her palm.

  “When I take possession of you, I am going to do it so often and so well that you will forget your own name. I am going to torture you with pleasure. I am going to move inside you until you are incoherent with delight. I am going to suck on your breasts and lick you all over; I am going to make you breathless, and then I am going to let you sleep just long enough to recover, then I am going to wake you up by thrusting into you. You say you came here for sex? Believe me, Saphire, that’s going to happen.”