Chapter 11 #2
“I get it,” Dante said, gently. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to ruin it for you. We just want to meet her, that’s all. Show her that she’s got our support, too.”
Raf disconnected the call shortly after, wondering if that would actually help the situation, as Dante seemed to suggest. Maybe Elodie would see his family as a plus?
Maybe she’d enjoy meeting them. After all, it wasn’t just his brothers, cousins, and Sofia, his aunt and uncle, but all the wives and children too, King Ares, the whole bit.
It was a huge tapestry of people with one common thread: love, and the sort of never-ending support that came from that—even when severely tested, as Raf had been testing them all since his divorce.
A hint of guilt flushed through him, as he turned back to his desk.
He wanted to go see Elodie, but the temptation to pull her into his arms was still too strong.
So, he told himself he’d work for one more hour and join her right before dinner.
How much trouble could that get him into?
Sharing a meal was easy. They could keep it light, like he’d done the night before, for the most part.
With a little discipline, he could make this work, exactly as they both needed it to. He was sure of it.
If absence made the heart grow stronger, then Elodie now realized the same could be said for its effect on one’s libido.
A whole day without so much as a sight nor sound from Raf, except for that charged glimpse while she’d been swimming, had made her pulse start to reverberate at a truly frenetic pace.
Every cell in her body seemed utterly attuned to his, so she felt the moment he stepped into the spacious lounge area, even before she’d seen him.
She pressed a finger into the book she’d been reading and glanced across at him.
She’d thought her pulse was rushing before; now it started to run so fast she wondered if it would damage her vascular system.
His eyes locked to hers and everything skittered into silence. It was like the world had stopped spinning.
As with this morning, they simply stared at each other. Elodie’s mouth went dry and her body wouldn’t cooperate; she couldn’t stand up, even when she wanted to. Her limbs were heavy; her insides churning with recognition and need.
“How are you?” His question seemed to come from a long way away.
She swallowed, tried to bring moisture back to her mouth, to think of what to say. “I—fine,” she husked, finally, blinking quickly.
“Happy to eat out on the terrace again?”
Her stomach lurched. She had started to think about dinner, to wonder if she should go and investigate her options. She hadn’t even thought to check the terrace.
“Of course,” she said with a nod, still inert.
He strode across to her then, slowly and deliberately, holding one hand out. A simple gesture, a sign of old-fashioned manners, to help her from the deep leather sofa.
She laid the book down with care, slower than was necessary, to give her time to steel herself for his touch, and then, lifted her hand into his.
Sparks exploded through her at the simple connection and her eyes skittered to his once more, to find him watching her with an unfathomable expression on his face.
“Are you hungry yet?”
She nodded because she didn’t know what else to say or do. It seemed safer to say yes, though. To focus on a meal, rather than the other feelings that were zipping through her.
He pulled on her hand lightly, encouraging her to stand, but he didn’t step backwards, so when her feet connected with the ground and she was upright, they were body to body, chest to chest, so close she was sure he must be able to feel the frantic pulse of her heart.
“We should eat,” she said, the words barely a whisper.
God, she’d craved him. All day. Seeing him at least answered some part of her temptation. Being deprived of that was like an addict being left to starve.
“I was thinking about a swim first. It’s still early. But if you’d prefer…”
“No, a swim sounds good,” she said, too fast. Too eager. But she was eager. The desire to be close to him was swamping every modicum of common sense she possessed. “Now?”
His nod was barely a shift of his head. The thought of separating to get into swimsuits was agony. “I think the swimmers are still wet,” she said, with no idea if there was another pair in the wardrobe or not.
“Do you need swimmers?”
Her jaw dropped.
His lips twisted with a hint of a smile, a teasing look on his features, and a seriousness in his eyes that made her feel completely side-swiped.
“You can swim in your underwear, can’t you? Although, I hate to break it to you: I have seen you naked, bella.”
“Yeah,” she said, voice gruff. “But you have a heap of people working here…they haven’t.”
“That’s true.” He leaned closer then, his eyes roaming her face before landing on her lips. “But guess what?”
“What?” It was barely audible.
“They’re my staff. They do what I say. If I ask them to go, they will.”
“Oh.”
“Shall I ask them to leave us?”
Her heart clunked her ribs. Her mouth dried out again. She no longer cared about the integrity of her vascular system; there was no way she could control her pulse.
“I—no,” she said, somehow finding a strength she didn’t know she possessed. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”
Something like disappointment was discernible in the depths of his eyes, but then he was nodding, taking a single step back from her. “Shall we?”
He told his staff to leave them, anyway. He had no idea why he’d suddenly developed the prudish manners of a Jane Austen hero, but he one hundred per cent didn’t want anyone seeing the mother of his child in her underwear.
Which was absurd. A year ago, he’d hosted a summer party on his yacht that had included a whole host of celebrities, many of whom had stripped down to just their knickers, parading around topless the whole day for all and sundry to see.
It hadn’t bothered him one bit. Raf didn’t care about anything so arcane as modesty.
But with Elodie, it was different.
It wasn’t about modesty, so much as possession, he realized, with a familiar sense of guilt swirling through him. He didn’t want to feel like this. He didn’t want to misrepresent what they were—even to himself.
But as she slowly stripped out of her t-shirt and flowing skirt, revealing a matching black lace bra and briefs, he was glad beyond belief that he’d had the sense to make sure they wouldn’t be interrupted.
He stood with his feet planted wide, his own shirt balled in his fists, now wearing only his boxer shorts, and apparently unable to look anywhere but at Elodie.
He watched as she glanced at him, saw the way her eyes widened, and cheeks flushed.
Saw the way she bit into her lip and dropped her hands to the side.
Saw the way she looked quickly at the pool and then back at him, as though weighing up her two options, before walking, slowly, like it was the wrong direction and she knew it, towards him, one hand extended.
Inwardly, he cursed, the words flying through his brain in his native tongue. He wanted to resist taking her hand, but how could he? She’d been brave earlier. He had to show the same courage and control. He extended his, wrapped hers in it, and let her pull him, towards the pool.
“The water’s beautiful and warm,” she said, voice a husky whisper. She glanced over her shoulder at him, a shy smile on her lips. “Or it was, when I was in here this morning.”
“It’s always heated,” he heard himself say. As though he were some kind of realtor.
“Ah.” Her voice trembled a little on that single syllable. Do the right thing. “Fancy.” Her lips wobbled quickly with a hint of amusement, like a leaf on the breeze.
The vista from his terrace was always stunning, but at this time of day, at this time of year, it was beyond description.
The way the dusky sun hit the green of the fields, the shadows cast by the cypress trees, the palette of the sky, it was all mesmerizing.
But that was nothing to the way her touch made him feel, or the way her smile ignited something deep in his soul.
They walked into the water together, and it lapped around them in a way that was reminiscent of what they’d shared that night, feelings overlapping, pleasure shared. Get a grip.
Once in the water, she let go of his hand though, and kicked away from him a little, into the deeper middle of the pool.
He stood where he was, watching as she dipped beneath the surface and emerged, hair wet, like a glossy curtain that hung down her back.
Her lashes were dark and clumping together, and water droplets ran over her face when she glanced at him.
“Coming?” she asked, one brow raised.
His gut twisted. Do the right thing. “Certo.” He walked across the bottom of the pool, taking his time to reach her in the hope that sanity and self-control would reassert themselves by the time he got to her.
Only, as soon as he was close enough, his hand reached out and connected with her naked hip beneath the water, then, his other followed suit, holding her to save Elodie from needing to paddle.
Except the contact had nothing to do with altruism and everything to do with a deep, desperate urge to be close.
Her nostrils shifted as she breathed in quickly, and then, she moved ever so slightly, kicking in the water to bring herself close to him.
He didn’t even bother telling himself to take control now. He was fighting a losing battle, and he’d never been so happy about it. It was the one instance he could think of where losing was actually winning.
But for Elodie’s sake, he needed to be strong. To remember the cogent argument she’d made, the day before. This was potentially a disaster to their future. There was too much at stake to let sexual attraction rule.
“Elodie,” he said, frowning, as her eyes moved from his forehead to his mouth and then to his shoulder, as though she was fascinated by the snake tattoo.
“Is she why you got this?” Elodie asked, lifting a hand to the inscription and tracing along it.
All he could do was nod. “Marcia, and a bottle of scotch,” he quipped, earning another quick flicker of a smile from her. Her finger had already traced the letters, but she kept it there anyway, running over his skin in a way that made his whole body catch fire.
“It suits you.”
He supposed it did but hearing that from her was somehow jarring.
Her hand moved sideways, to the top of his arm.
She began to draw invisible circles over his bicep, and now when she looked at him, her gaze was focused squarely on his mouth, her own lip pulled beneath her teeth, as though she was trying to physically restrain herself.
Just like he was. Except, he was doing a terrible job of it.
The hands that were holding her hips were practically melting off his arms, from the heat she was generating.
His fingers began to move, just as hers were, stroking her flesh beneath the water so he heard her sharp intake of breath, and understood it. Understood what she was feeling, the currents she was navigating, because he was feeling exactly the same.
“Elodie,” he said again. Her eyes flared to his, her expression pensive.
“I know,” she said, unevenly. “This is stupid.”
He held his breath, his whole body tense. “What exactly?”
“This,” she whispered. And a second later, she was kissing him, her mouth wet from the pool, her lips demanding, insistent, and utterly heavenly.
He could no longer even remember the reasons for thinking he should stop what they were doing; he abandoned himself completely, and it was quite possibly the best feeling of his life.