CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SIX
S YDNEY COULD FEEL his heart pounding beneath his ribs.
Tiger hadn’t moved but the tiny hut seemed smaller, she seemed closer. But maybe that was because every single one of her senses was homed in on him so that she could practically feel the pulse that was beating haphazardly in his throat. Could see the flecks of both green and amber in the gold of his irises and the unchecked desire. The same desire she knew was mirrored in her eyes.
For a moment, they just stared at one another and then she leaned in or maybe he did, afterwards she couldn’t remember, perhaps because it didn’t matter. Because they both wanted the same thing.
His mouth on hers. Her lips on his. Soft. Unimaginable. Irresistible.
Miraculous. Because for so long, she had felt neutered, fearful of intimacy and touch, and it felt like a miracle to want sex, to want a man.
No, not a man. This man. She wanted Tiger. And he wanted her.
A shiver of anticipation rippled across her skin as he reached behind her neck and loosened the band, tugging it free so that her hair tumbled down her back.
He slid a hand up to cup her cheek, his touch rough and tender, and she took a shallow breath like a gasp and he pulled back a fraction, but then she pulled him close and he was fitting his mouth to hers, opening her and answering the hunger spilling from her lips.
She had never been kissed like this.
Pleasure was fluttering in her stomach and her lips parted, and she breathed him in, then licked inside his mouth, tasting him on her tongue, her hands tugging at his waistband, fumbling clumsily for the button, then the zip. Yes, she thought, as she freed him.
Her head was spinning. He felt amazing. Hard and hot. She could feel the pulse of his blood beating against her fingers.
‘Sydney.’ He breathed her name against her mouth and the ache in his voice sent something through her, something she had never felt before, something fast and primitive, and she couldn’t swallow the whimper rising in her throat.
Jerking his mouth away from hers, he lifted her up onto the window ledge, then dropped to his knees, pushing up the skirt of her dress.
Her heart pounded against her ribcage as he slid her panties down over her legs, then brushed his lips against the triangle of flame-coloured curls. It was like a match meeting kindling. She felt a flare of heat and need and possibility and she moaned then and her hands splayed against his shoulders, pressing down, holding him steady as he flattened his tongue against the pulse beating between her thighs. She rocked against him, moving her hips back and forth.
Heat was swelling inside her; a feverish, dizzying heat that was changing her, transforming her like alchemy from flesh and bone into something eager and liquid. Her fingers bit into his arm and she was pulling him to his feet.
‘Inside me,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I want you inside me.’
‘Are you—?’
‘Yes.’ She cut him off, her pupils flaring, and he grunted as her fingers curled around him and he slid a hand under her bottom to raise her slightly, using his thumb to part her thighs and then he pushed upwards, entering her smoothly, filling her with heat.
Through the doorway outside, just a few feet away, Tiger could hear the soft rush of the waves as they tumbled onto the beach. The sand, the sea, the breeze...all were there waiting for him.
And it wasn’t too late. He could stop this now. He knew that. He had never wanted any woman so much that he couldn’t stop and pull back. He had the willpower and the strength of mind to resist.
But he didn’t want to resist Sydney.
A groan of pleasure climbed up his throat and out of his mouth and he pressed his knuckles into the rough stone edging the window, leaning into the slight pain, needing it to offset the flickering heat that was rolling through him in waves and stop himself from ending things too fast.
Because even though he badly wanted to let go, he wanted to savour this more.
But then she moaned again, arching against him, her hands seeking his face, panting as she pressed a desperate kiss to his mouth.
He couldn’t fight both of them and, clasping her hip, he began to move, thrusting rhythmically, using his free hand to protect her head as she reared up against him, her muscles tightening around him, spasming again and again, her breath hot and scratchy as she cried out. No longer conscious of the act itself, he clamped her against his shuddering body, surging inside her with molten force to claim her as his own.
He let his head fall forward, breathing raggedly. His skin felt as if it were on fire and he leaned into the damp curve of her throat, his heart raging.
For a few fragmented seconds, neither of them moved, they just clung to one another like survivors of a storm. Then he felt Sydney’s hands slide shakily over his torso, almost as if she was checking that he was real and that what had just happened was not some fever dream. And he understood that because he couldn’t quite believe that it had happened either.
Finally, he pulled back and out, steadying her as he did so, although he felt less than steady himself.
‘I’m fine.’
Her voice momentarily caught him off balance. He had forgotten that they were thinking, speaking creatures, that he was, in fact, a CEO in charge of a global business. Right now, he didn’t feel in charge of anything and, glancing down at Sydney, he felt an unfamiliar mix of relief and responsibility as he saw that she looked as shell-shocked as he felt.
Although in some ways, was it that surprising that it had happened?
They had been dancing round that kiss in the kitchen like jittery teenagers. Which was not the image he had of himself ordinarily. There was something about this woman that made him feel younger and less complicated than he had in a long time.
‘Excuse me.’ She reached past him to pick up her panties, which had somehow ended up on the floor. Now that she was standing up, he could see the stone windowsill and it looked uncomfortably hard and their coupling had all been so frantic, so urgent.
‘You’re bleeding.’
He frowned. ‘What?’
‘Your hand.’ The softness in her eyes made the dust spirals quiver in the air and he felt suddenly and intensely vulnerable.
‘It’s nothing.’ His voice was harsh, too harsh in that tiny room, but it was an instinctive reaction to feeling anything. Feelings, caring, bonding on anything but a purely physical basis were dangerous. He shrugged. ‘I just—’
Just what? His pulse jerked as he remembered the moment when he’d had to push his knuckles into the wall to stop himself from climaxing too soon.
‘I caught it on the wall. It’s just a scrape. What about you? Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
Shaking her head, she smoothed down the skirt of her dress and it was far too easy for him to imagine those slim fingers smoothing other things. As she straightened up, her eyes found his. ‘That probably shouldn’t have happened.’
‘It’s a little late to worry about that,’ he said softly.
Which was true.
But he didn’t have any regrets. That simmering tension between them had been chafing at him and clouding things for sure. No wonder they’d had that stupid bust-up about what she should wear. Now they had got it out of their systems, everything would go more smoothly.
As if their thoughts were running on parallel lines, she said stiffly, ‘I don’t regret it, but it shouldn’t happen again. It was just one of those things.’
He nodded. ‘I agree.’
At this point in his life, one-night stands or their daytime equivalent were a little too rogue. He might not be as instantly recognisable as a movie star or pop singer, but having a name like Tiger meant people were more likely to put a value to his face and that made for complications that he didn’t need in his life. And this was no different.
Okay, it was different in some ways, he conceded, remembering that hunger that was so unlike any that he’d felt before. It had consumed him and his orgasm was more than just release or relief or ecstasy. It was all those things but it was also a kind of oblivion, and an acknowledgement, a feeling that he was being seen and known completely.
He felt a muscle in his jaw knot. Which was nonsense, of course. Nobody got to know him, he made sure of that.
But this whole arrangement with Sydney was hardly a normal set-up. It was unsurprising, therefore, that he was struggling to make sense of it or that his mind was coming up with left-field explanations.
But really, was it that complicated?
With hindsight, being cooped up with Sydney was obviously going to trip some switches because it was several weeks since he had broken up with Alexandra and sex was a primal need. And while he might have a near mythical status in the business world, he was still just a man.
But this hook-up had scratched the itch, which meant that now he could concentrate on the week ahead. And afterwards, when she had served her purpose, he would despatch her back to New York on the first flight out of Venice.
Because this didn’t change anything, he told himself, feeling calmer than he had for days. It had simply tidied up a few loose ends.
Walking into the bedroom, Sydney shut the door and leaned back against the cool wood, letting it chill her overheated skin.
The beautiful dresses were still hanging from the rail. The window was still slightly open just as she had left it. The curtains were still fluttering in the light, warm sea breeze coming from the lagoon.
Everything looked exactly as it had when she’d stormed out of the room just over an hour ago. Only how could that be?
It should look different. Changed. There should be some external evidence to reflect the transformation inside her because that was what it was. A transformation.
She scowled, suddenly furious. No, it was just sex, she told herself, pushing away from the door and walking across the room to the rail of clothes. Only describing what she and Tiger had just done in the fisherman’s hut as just sex was like calling the Sistine Chapel just a ceiling.
There had been a moment when she had looked up from that graffiti to find him watching her and she had known that it was a choice. She could choose to walk away if she wanted to.
But everything she’d wanted had been in that room.
And he had wanted her, she thought, her hand closing around the rail. Not to own her or stifle her or simply to prove that he could. He had wanted to kiss and touch and caress and lick—
She felt her thighs clench.
Gazing down at his dark head, she’d felt like a goddess.
But her thoughts had been more prosaic. So that was what the fuss was all about. Because it felt momentous. Miraculous and, oh, so good that she had almost forgotten to breathe.
She still wasn’t quite clear on how it had happened. It wasn’t as if she’d woken up this morning and thought today would be a good day to have sex.
And she had done more than have sex. She had orgasmed. For the first time in her life.
She had faked it every single time with Noah. He was five years older than her and, coupled with his certainty about everything, that had been thrilling enough for her to ignore the way sex had been mostly uncomfortable and unsatisfactory. For her anyway. Which he had made clear was her fault, not his.
She knew what passion was now, and pleasure. What was less clear was why her body had chosen to discover both those things with Tiger McIntyre.
It wasn’t that unclear, she thought, her pulse twitching as she pictured Tiger’s astonishing face. He was beautiful, undeniably so with those flawless contoured features and those mesmerising gold eyes. Plus, he clearly knew what he was doing when it came sex. Only it was more than just technical expertise—he had wanted to please her.
And before that, he had wanted to make sure she was okay.
She felt her body tense at the memory of when she’d realised he had come after her. With Noah, running, hiding from him, had always been a last resort. Mostly she’d just wanted it over with, but also it would increase his rage tenfold.
‘Don’t make me have to look for you—’ he would threaten down the phone on his way home. And sometimes she hadn’t. But other times she hadn’t been able to stop herself.
A shiver ran over her skin.
Her body had taken charge just as it had in the bedroom with Tiger. Because she’d thought she had gone too far, pushed him too far, and he had been angry, and exasperated, but he’d been controlling his anger. It hadn’t been controlling him.
Instead of raging he had asked questions and listened to her answers. They’d had a conversation, and that in a way felt as climatic as her very first orgasm.
She trailed her fingers over the smooth silk, remembering the smoothness of his skin. It was a lot to take in, but not as much as she had revealed. Was it too much? It was certainly more than she had ever shared or wanted to share before. Even just the thought of doing so had made her feel naked, flayed by the curiosity and judgement in people’s eyes, but Tiger hadn’t judged.
There had been an intensity to his focus, as if he couldn’t look away, as if he’d liked what he’d seen and she had liked the way he’d looked at her. Of course, back in the States it would be different. In the real world, she wasn’t ready to let someone get close, but this wasn’t real, and maybe that was why she had felt safe enough to open herself to Tiger physically and emotionally.
Gazing up at the pale sun that was sliding smoothly up through the cloudless blue sky, Tiger checked the timer on his watch. Two minutes left.
Easy, he thought, accelerating across the grass to the beach and the shimmering sea.
He had slept badly then woken early and decided to run around the island. Because why not? The sun was shining. There was a soft, warm breeze. It was going to be a beautiful day, which was good news because today was the day of the Regata Storica.
It was also, give or take, eighteen hours since he had been inside Sydney’s body.
He swore as he lost his footing and stumbled forward onto the sand. Because it wasn’t the first time he had lost his footing over the last eighteen hours, metaphorically speaking at least. And the reason for his clumsiness was no doubt still sleeping. In his bed.
Gritting his teeth, he glanced at his watch. That stumble had cost him thirty seconds. Which meant that now he could add time to the list of things that Sydney Truitt had stolen or tried to steal from him.
Walking back to the villa with her yesterday morning, he had confidently assumed that things would go back to normal. Normal being a state where he had already moved on. Variety was good, and control. Relationships, for want of a better word, only happened on his terms, so when Sydney had said that they shouldn’t have sex again, he had been completely on board with that.
Or so he’d thought.
Everything had been fine at first. Over lunch, he’d felt calm, relaxed even, but then his body had still been suffused with post-coital endorphins. Then afterwards, Sydney had disappeared upstairs to try on some of the clothes and he had taken some calls from work, but he had found it difficult to concentrate because he could see Sydney from the window of his office. She’d been sitting by the pool, and most women, particularly a woman he’d just had sex with, would be not just wearing a bikini but languidly smoothing sun lotion on herself. He’d seen it all so many times. And the more they tried to tempt him, the less interested he got.
Because he wasn’t Gerald McIntyre.
Not even close.
Only Sydney hadn’t been rubbing sun cream onto her skin. Nor had she been wearing a bikini. She had been not quite fully dressed, but not far off it, and yet he hadn’t been able to look away. He kept remembering the parts of her body he had so briefly glimpsed when they had reached for one another in the half-light of the fisherman’s hut.
The curve of her shoulder. That doe-soft skin of her inner thighs. The pale swell of her breast.
But that was it. That was all he was going to get. A glimpse, because Sydney was not looking for anything to happen again.
Was that why she had got under his skin and into his dreams? That was certainly a first for him, this feeling of wanting more. He had never wanted to be the kind of man who could be controlled by his desires, because that would take him dangerously close to becoming like his father.
But despite this arrangement supposedly being on his terms, Sydney seemed to be full of ways to make him question who he was and what he wanted.
The trouble was he knew what he wanted.
He felt his legs slow beneath him.
It was strange to admit it, given that he’d had any number of sexual partners since he’d lost his virginity in high school, but he had forgotten how pleasurable sex could be. For as long as he could remember, sex had been about satisfying a physical need.
And yet here he was, up at dawn after a night spent feverishly stripping Sydney in his dreams, his body hard and aching and jangling with a need that he couldn’t still or stifle, and it felt very personal.
But that would change today, he realised with a rush of relief. The regatta was always rammed. They would be surrounded by people and after the regatta there was lunch and then cocktails and dinner so, basically, the opposite of personal.
Looking down at his watch, he stopped and reset the timer. If he ran fast enough, he would still have time to lap the island and shower before they had to leave. It would be cutting it fine but that was what he did, who he was. He didn’t just meet, he welcomed a challenge, and, starting the timer again, he began to run.
Shifting back against the leather upholstery, Tiger gazed at the brilliant, saturated blue water as Angelo guided the speedboat across the waves. The lagoon had its own unique character. It was part of the Adriatic and yet it was separated from the vast expanse of sea, protected by seawalls and the prayers of the population. To him, it felt like an oasis, and Sydney clearly thought so too.
He let his gaze drift over to where she was looking across the water, transfixed almost.
‘Are you okay? I can get Angelo to slow down.’
She turned, her forehead creasing above her nose. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘I thought you might be feeling sick. You didn’t eat much at breakfast.’
Her eyes found his, startled, the soft brown irises huge in the sunlight. ‘No, I’m fine. I was—’ She gave him a small, stiff smile. ‘I am a bit nervous, but I don’t feel sick.’
‘Don’t be nervous. You’ve got this.’ His eyes moved over her face then dropped to her short-sleeved silk shirt in wide horizontal stripes of sky blue and white and the pleated blue skirt she was wearing. She had put her hair up in some kind of soft, muddled updo and the whole effect was very pretty, very sexy.
‘So stop worrying and enjoy the view.’
He watched her head turn. Her lips parted.
‘Welcome to Venice,’ he said softly.
Her smile snagged at his senses. ‘I couldn’t really see it properly when we arrived because it was dark.’ In the sunlight, she looked excited, her nerves forgotten. ‘It doesn’t look real. It looks like a mirage.’
‘I know what you mean. But we’re still some way out. Up close, it will all feel a lot more real.’
Tiger was right, Sydney thought as they made their way through the palazzo to the balcony where they would be watching the races. There were a lot of people. More people than she had ever seen in one place and the noise and the energy felt in-your-face real.
As they walked towards the sponsors’ balcony, Tiger was welcomed like a returning monarch, fresh from a victorious battle, although, so far, he hadn’t introduced her to anyone. Not that it mattered. He was the one they wanted to get close to, and it seemed as if everybody wanted to greet him and, although she had been telling the truth when she said that she didn’t feel sick, she felt dazed by this sudden reminder that he was a big deal. The main event.
He looked the part, all golden eyes and tanned skin and yet another suit that fitted every curve and angle of his body. She wasn’t the only one to notice either. Women watched him like hawks. Except that made him sound as though he were a rabbit or a mouse, and he was neither. He was a tiger.
‘Tiger, how are you? I thought I heard screaming.’ A dark-haired man wearing an artfully crumpled linen suit grabbed Tiger by the arm and pumped his hand enthusiastically. ‘I heard you were a sponsor this year. Thought I might see you here for the film festival. Lot of beautiful women—’
He glanced at Sydney as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes narrowing appreciatively. ‘But I see you’re already covered in that department. Scotty Aldridge, and you are?’
‘Heading out to watch the races. Gotta watch my team,’ Tiger said smoothly, cupping Sydney’s elbow in his hand and sidestepping her past Scotty Aldridge as he leaned forward.
‘Is there a problem?’
Tiger frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You haven’t introduced me to anyone. I might as well not be here.’ It shouldn’t matter. This wasn’t real. He wasn’t her ‘boyfriend’, but he had been off with her.
She glanced down at her blouse and skirt. ‘Is it what I’m wearing? Do you not like it?’
‘I do. I did. I should have said something before. I wanted to,’ he said. ‘You look beautiful. Too beautiful to be pawed by some man old enough to be your father.’
She bit her lip. ‘My grandfather, actually. My dad got my mum pregnant when they were fifteen. It was a shotgun wedding. No, really, her brothers turned up with actual shotguns.’
‘Is that a family tradition? I mean, should I be expecting your brothers to roll up at some point?’
‘That would be unlikely.’ She gave him a small lopsided smile. ‘As I haven’t told them about us. I haven’t told anyone about us.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘And there you were accusing me of being ashamed of being seen with you.’
‘I didn’t accuse you of that,’ she protested as he took her hand and pulled her closer.
‘You were thinking it,’ he said softly. ‘How could I be ashamed? You look beautiful. You are beautiful.’ His eyes were dark and steady on her face, and it would be easy to believe him, and for a moment she did. But, of course, he was just saying the kind of things a man would say to his girlfriend.
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘I feel like an imposter. But I suppose you think that’s some kind of hubris.’
‘What I think is that you’re talking nonsense. Every single person in this room is playing a part. Everyone has a hidden agenda. So just because you and I have one, doesn’t mean you don’t belong. And you are beautiful, Sydney.’
His words made her feel light-headed. Noah had made her feel so ugly and worthless. He had made her believe that she was the problem. That everyone saw what he saw, and that it wasn’t good enough. And she knew that wasn’t true but hearing Tiger say it out loud made her feel as if she were filling with light that was brighter and warmer than the sun.
‘I wanted to tell you before but Silvana and the maids were there and I thought it would look as if I was doing it for their benefit. But I thought it, I still do. You believe me, don’t you?’
And the crazy thing was, she did. Because Tiger didn’t need to say it. They’d already had sex. Nor did he need to keep her sweet, because theirs was a finite, transactional arrangement. But most important of all, she could see the admiration in his gaze, feel it as it touched her skin, hot and bright like the lick of a flame.
Impulsively she leaned forward and kissed him. For a second, she felt his body tense with surprise and then he was kissing her back, and the heat and the noise from the regatta felt like a separate place.
Her lips parted and she felt his tongue, and she made a soft noise against his mouth as his hand moved to the nape of her neck, and she felt his thumb, sure and firm, holding her steady, which was lucky because her legs were all out of steadiness.
‘Get a room, McIntyre,’ someone shouted and she pulled back, her breath jerking in her throat, her hands tight in his shirt.
Tiger’s eyes held and for a moment he just stared at her, breathing unsteadily, as if he was as thrown by the taste of her as she was by him.
‘We should go and watch the race,’ he said finally.
‘Yes, we should.’
The balcony was heaving with people but the crowds parted like the waves for Tiger and he guided her to the far left corner.
‘You’ll get the best view here.’
‘Can you see? It’s your boat.’
‘I can see everything I want to,’ he said softly, moving behind her, his hand resting on her waist.
She barely noticed how many boats there were or who won. She was only aware of the places where Tiger’s body grazed hers. Her waist. Her hip. Her throat when he leaned in to kiss her neck and she leaned back into him, her breath catching as he held her close.
‘This is our race,’ he said finally as another cluster of boats waited for the starter’s gun to fire. ‘Can you tell which one is our crew?’
That was easy. Even among the bright colours, the orange and black of The McIntyre stood out. There was a band and the crowd roared as the crews began rowing smoothly through the rippling blue water.
Behind her, Tiger was still, but she could feel his tension beneath her own quivering excitement.
‘They won. You won.’ She turned towards him as the balcony erupted into cheers, her chest tight and swollen with pride and happiness and then Tiger was kissing her fiercely.
‘You won,’ she said again as he broke the kiss and pulled her against his chest.
He was pleased but he shook his head. ‘They won. I paid.’
They watched the last race and then everyone started to drift downstairs.
‘What happens now?’ she whispered.
‘Drinks, canapés, a lot of pointless conversation.’
‘Scusi.’ A beautiful dark-haired woman glanced up from her phone, smiling approvingly, her cat’s eyes flaring at the corner as she caught sight of Tiger. ‘No, darling. Let’s go to Corbucci’s. I heard Harris Carver was there and I want to see if he’s as delectable in person as everyone claims.’
Sydney felt her face freeze.
Harris Carver.
He was here.
She felt sick. Looked sick too, she realised a moment later as she looked up and found Tiger staring at her steadily.
‘You know Harris Carver.’ His eyes were narrowing, and she could sense him moving pieces of a puzzle around, turning them, rearranging them.
‘Signor McIntyre, would you like to join the winning teams for a photo?’
It was one of the event organisers, beaming.
‘I would.’ Tiger cut him off smoothly. ‘But unfortunately something has come up. Another time maybe.’
His arm tightened around her waist and he began to frogmarch her through the crowd.
‘We don’t have to leave.’
He jerked her round to face him. ‘Oh, but we do. You see, I saw your face back there. You know Harris Carver, and right now all that matters to me is finding out how.’