Chapter 5
APRIL
The clothes he’s picked out for me are surprisingly demure.
When I pull back the wardrobe door, I expect to see a selection of clingy, provocative outfits to pull me further out of my comfort zone, so fingering through the beautifully cut, classy designer garments gives me both a thrill of pleasure and relief.
While I hate the idea of him dressing me, I can’t help but feel grudging approval at his good taste.
Not that I should allow that to affect my opinion of him.
I’ve always known he’s one step above most men I’ve ever met, but he’s also self-obsessed and wily, and I need to keep my guard up around him at all times.
Even though I know he’s taking great pleasure in ‘teaching me a lesson’, I can’t help but wonder whether there’s more to his demand that I stay on his island, cut off from outside communication.
I’ll need to stay vigilant, just in case he’s trying to sneak something past me while I’m here. I wouldn’t put it past him.
I’ve experienced too much betrayal and disappointment in my life not to be paranoid at every turn.
After taking a refreshing shower in the aquamarine-tiled en suite bathroom, I use the powerful showerhead between my legs to try and relieve some of the sexual tension that’s been plaguing me for the last hour, but to my frustration I can’t quite get there.
Something’s stopping me from reaching that peak and I get out of the water with the craving for release still clawing through me.
Once I’ve dried my sensitised skin, I select a simple but elegant silky-feeling slip dress in royal purple. As promised, it’s in my size, and when I slip it over my head and do up the zip at the back it fits perfectly. Like a second skin.
I dry my shoulder-length hair, which takes longer than usual in the humid heat of the Greek evening, then twist it into a neat bun and pin it up, leaving my neck exposed. It feels good to have the cool air from the open window breeze across it.
Okay, I’m ready.
Body humming with nervous energy for the battle of wills I’m sure I’m about to face this evening, I make my way down the stairs to find Jamie.
My taste buds tingle as I make my way deeper into the house to where I imagine the kitchen to be. There’s a delicious smell wafting from that direction and it lures me towards it like human catnip.
But when I step inside the large, lived-in-looking room, with its terracotta-tiled floor and whitewashed walls, it’s free of human presence. The oven is on, with a couple of dishes on the shelves inside, and there are plates laid out ready to be filled. Cooking is still in progress, it seems.
So I go in search of Jamie, not wanting him to find me dithering about in there, looking out of place and uncomfortable.
There’s a warm glow coming from a room opposite the library and I stroll towards it, hyper-aware of the kitten heels of my shoes clicking on the polished tile floor.
I walk into a large, simply decorated sitting room and look around.
Nothing in this house is for show, it all has a useful purpose, though I’m sure it’s all top-quality merchandise.
On the other side of the room there are bi-fold doors pushed wide open, giving a stunning view out across the sea.
A warm breeze plays over my skin as I make my way towards them, and I see there’s a terrace out there with a large dining table and chairs set out on it.
The sun is beginning to set in the distance and there are lanterns hanging from two posts that are holding up a canopy of sweet-smelling grapevines heavy with their purple fruit.
The flames from the lanterns flicker gently in the breeze as I move towards them and I experience a sudden uplift in my mood.
It feels good to be out of the city, I realise, breathing the fresh sea air deep into my lungs.
‘Come and join me,’ Jamie says as I walk further onto the terrace. He’s lounging in one of the cedar-wood dining chairs with a glass of what looks like gin and tonic in his hand, watching the sun setting in the distance.
‘Thank you,’ I say stiffly. I take a seat opposite him, then turn to look out to sea too.
‘Here, I fixed you a drink. G and T,’ he says, pushing a cut-glass tumbler towards me. The liquid fizzes and glints in the early-evening sun, a slice of vibrant green lime jostling against ice cubes on the surface.
‘Thanks,’ I say, picking up the glass and taking a tentative sip.
‘Don’t worry, I haven’t poisoned it,’ he jokes, his eyes alive with wry mirth.
‘I should hope not. You’ll never get to soothe that poor ego of yours if you do away with me first,’ I retort, not quite able to match his relaxed tone. Again, I wonder what sort of game is afoot here. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t out-and-out friendliness from Jamie.
‘That dress suits you. I knew it would,’ he says.
I clear my throat, disconcerted by the compliment.
‘I have to say, I’m impressed. You did a pretty good job of picking out the sorts of clothes I’d choose for myself,’ I say, forcing myself to join in with the friendly banter. To be honest, it’ll probably make this evening so much less stressful if we’re not sniping at each other the whole time.
And I can do civilised. No problem. I’ll just follow his lead. But I’m not going to allow myself to get too comfortable, because that’s when he’ll go in for the kill. I’ve experienced it before, so I know what I’m talking about.
He nods, his gaze fixed on mine, his firm lips drawn into a playful smile.
‘Well, I figured I owed you a dress,’ he murmurs, his voice warm with flirtation.
He’s referencing tearing off the last one he saw me in, of course, and the memory of it has my body right back on high alert, craving a repeat performance.
‘What’s for dinner?’ I ask, in an attempt to distract my thoughts from wandering that way. But all I can think about now is the naked desire on his face as he thrust into me, pinning me against that wall…
Oh, God, I know I’m going to have real trouble eating tonight when he’s sitting so close. His musky scent is in my nostrils and I’m so very aware of those long, skilful fingers of his wrapped around the glass. I know exactly what he can do with those hands. How much pleasure he can give me.
Stop thinking about it!
‘It’s baked white fish with roasted Mediterranean vegetables,’ he says.
Despite my nerves my stomach still growls as I remember the delicious smell in the kitchen.
‘Sounds great.’
He stands up. ‘Speaking of which, it should be just about ready.’
I go to stand up too.
‘No, you stay there and enjoy the sunset. I’ll bring it out to the table.’
So he’s cooking and serving the meal himself. As I’d started to suspect, his staff aren’t just discreet, they’re not actually here. It seems we’re totally alone on the island.
An electric prickle rushes over my skin, and I sit back heavily in my chair again.
I watch him walk away, hyper-conscious of his athletic grace.
It looks as though he’s taken a shower since I last saw him because he’s changed his clothes and his hair is shiny and swept back from his closely shaved face.
He’s still casual, in a short-sleeved linen shirt and navy combats, but seriously, the man can make anything look a million dollars when it’s on that incredible body of his. He’s so bloody virile it’s sickening.
It appears he can cook, now, too. Something he’d never done when we were together. We’d always gone out for meals, choosing to spend our time together in bed at each other’s houses.
I have a suspicion he’s deliberately trying to impress me, but I have no idea why. He’s the one holding all the cards here.
The idea of spending the next few days in his company is frankly unsettling, so I take a big swig of my drink to calm my nerves before he comes back, then another. The alcohol warms my chest then hits my empty stomach, immediately filling me with a false sense of wellbeing.
I should be careful how much I drink. I don’t want to compromise my control over this situation.
I wonder if he’s thinking the same way. Is this his first drink, or one of many?
He used to drink a fair amount when we were together at university, though not to extremes, but after we split up there were some stories in the tabloids about him being drunk and obnoxious in a few London nightclubs.
Not that I allowed myself to pay much attention to them because there had always been a beautiful party girl involved and it had been too painful to think about him being with other women.
But, come to think of it, I’ve not heard about any bad behaviour on his part since then, so I guess he must have pulled his drinking back.
On a whim, I lean forward, pull his tumbler towards me and take a tentative sniff. It doesn’t smell alcoholic. I frown, then pick up the glass and take a small sip. Nope. There’s no gin in here. It’s just tonic.
Interesting.
Footsteps sound behind me and I hurriedly push his drink back across the tabletop to where he was sitting and turn around just as he walks out of the living area and onto the terrace with plates loaded with food in each hand.
He puts one in front of me and one at his place, then reaches into a side pocket in the leg of his trousers to produce cutlery.
‘Voila,’ he says, waving his hand with a proud flourish towards the meal.
‘It smells delicious,’ I say, because it does. Despite the fact my stomach’s jumping with tension, my mouth still waters with anticipation.
‘Would you like some wine to go with it?’ Jamie asks, gesturing towards a silver bucket at the other end of the table with the neck of a bottle of white wine peeking out of it.
‘No, thank you,’ I say, ‘But don’t let me stop you if you want some.’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t drink any more.’
I blink at him. ‘You don’t drink wine, or any alcohol?’ I ask, wanting clarification on that point.
‘Alcohol. Not since my early twenties.’
‘Why did you give it up?’ I’m intrigued about the reason for this.