The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (203 page)

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Authors: Helen Bianchin

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Erotica, #Collections & Anthologies, #Contemporary Women, #General

BOOK: The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections)
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It was, Suzanne determined from a quick glance at her watch, almost five. Allowing thirty minutes to shower and wash her hair, then dress for dinner, she had half an hour to spare.
‘Want to try out the pool?'
Had he guessed she was hesitant to return to their villa? Determined the reason why?
Tension created knots inside her stomach, and a tiny bubble of faintly hysterical laughter rose in her throat. She was fast becoming an emotional mess. A wicked irony considering she was almost entirely to blame.
It was the
almost
part that bothered her most. Sloane's participation couldn't be ignored, and she could only wonder why. The convenience of casual sex for old times' sake? An attempt to show her what she was missing?
Somehow neither reason seemed to fit the man, and introspection didn't help at all.
Suzanne turned towards Sloane with a brilliant smile. ‘Why not?' Suiting words to action, she moved towards the tiled surround area bordering the pool, shrugged off her shirt and shorts, and executed a neat dive.
The water was deliciously cool, and she stroked several lengths with leisurely ease before turning onto her back and allowing her body to float at will.
She could close her eyes and shut out the world. It was so quiet, it was almost possible to believe that everything was right, and here on this idyllic island they were inviolate from the pressures of business and social obligations. No one could get to them, unless they chose to allow it. Paradise, she mused.
A splash sounded loud in the stillness, and seconds later a dark head surfaced a short distance from her own.
‘Sleeping in water isn't a good idea,' Sloane drawled, flicking cool, salty droplets onto her midriff.
‘I wasn't asleep.'
‘First one out gets exclusive use of the shower.' He lifted a hand and trailed idle fingers across her cheek. ‘Unless you feel inclined to share?'
Heat suffused her body and pooled deep within, a sensual flaring over which she had no control.
Suzanne caught his dark, gleaming gaze, glimpsed the faint curl of humour tilt the edge of his mouth. Dammit, he was enjoying this.
She offered him a languid smile. ‘Do I get a head start?'
His mouth widened and showed his even white teeth. ‘I'm feeling generous.'
She jackknifed into racing position. ‘First one out, huh?'
She was a strong swimmer, but Sloane had the superior advantage of height and male power. They reached the pool's tiled edge together, and in one synchronised movement levered themselves up onto its perimeter.
‘A perfect finish,' Sloane accorded with indolent amusement as he rose to his feet, watching as she smoothed back the streaming length of her hair while matching her movements with his own.
Suzanne bent to collect her clothes. ‘Now why doesn't that surprise me?'
‘No shared shower, I take it?'
Her fingers stilled at the sudden graphic image, then shook slightly as she thrust first one arm into a sleeve of her shirt, then the other. ‘In your dreams, Sloane.'
“That's the problem—they're remarkably vivid.' His voice was silk-soft and dangerous. ‘What about yours?'
Glorious Technicolor complete with sound and emotional effects.
Without a further word she turned and stepped quickly towards the path leading to their villa, uncaring whether he followed her or not, grateful that she'd had the foresight to pick up the duplicate key on their way out.
Inside she made straight for the upper level, collected fresh underwear and a silk robe, then entered the
en suite.
She set the temperature dial to warm, stripped off her clothes, then stepped beneath the cascade of water.
Ten minutes later she emerged into the bedroom, a towel wound turban-fashion around her hair, to discover Sloane in the process of selecting casual trousers and shirt.
‘Finished?'
He'd discarded his shirt, if in fact he'd opted to put it on when leaving the pool area, and the cotton-knit shorts moulded firm-muscled buttocks, gave credence to the power of his manhood, and accentuated long, heavily muscled thighs. To say nothing of the exposed breadth of chest and shoulder.
Suzanne dragged her eyes away from him. ‘I need to use the hair-drier when you're done.' She crossed to the wardrobe and extracted an elegant trouser suit in deep aqua, added matching heeled sandals, and slowly expelled the breath she'd unconsciously held as she heard the
en suite
door close behind him.
Just when she thought she had a handle on which way he would move and when, he did the opposite. If she was of a suspicious mind, she could almost swear he was being deliberately unpredictable.
Suzanne discarded her robe, stepped into the trouser suit, then slid her feet into the sandals, and reached for her make-up bag, only to realise she'd left it in the bathroom earlier.
Damn. What would be Sloane's reaction if she invaded his privacy? After all, it wouldn't be anything new. They'd shared a lot more than a bathroom in the past. Except then the game had been love and they'd been unable to keep their hands off each other.
Whereas now... Now, it was an entirely different ball game. The rules had shifted, and both players had regrouped.
Almost ten minutes later Sloane emerged, showered and freshly shaven, a towel hitched low on his hips.
One eyebrow rose in silent query as he examined her bare complexion. ‘Too shy to share the bathroom with me, Suzanne?'
She wanted to hit him. ‘You allowed me sole use.'
His husky laughter brought a soft tinge of colour to her cheeks. ‘Only because you'd have fought me tooth and nail if I hadn't.' He reached for briefs, loosened the towel, and stepped into them. Trousers followed, and his eyes met hers as he slid home the zip fastener. ‘And there isn't enough time to enjoy the fight.' He reached for his shirt and shrugged into it. ‘Or its aftermath. If we're to make dinner.'
Anger flared, deepening her colour to a rosy hue, and her eyes assumed the brilliance of dark sapphire. ‘There wouldn't be an aftermath,' she vouched with unaccustomed vehemence.
His gaze didn't waver for endless seconds, then he conducted a slow, sweeping appraisal of her body.
Suzanne felt as if he touched her. Her skin tingled beneath his probing assessment, and her pulse leapt to a faster beat she was sure had to be visible at the base of her throat. Even her breath seemed to catch, and she had to make a conscious effort to prevent her chest from heaving in tell-tale evidence of his effect on her.
His eyes when they met hers again were dark, faintly mocking and held vague cynicism. ‘No?'
Sloane wondered if she knew just how appealing she looked with her hair all damply tousled, her cheeks flushed with an intriguing mix of temper and desire.
It made him want to tumble her down onto the bed and show her,
prove
that what they had together was good. Too good to allow anything or anyone to come between them.
Except afterwards she wouldn't thank him for it, and only hate herself.
He wanted her. Dear heaven,
how
he wanted her. His body ached, painfully, with need. But he was after the long haul, not a short transitory ride.
Suzanne drew herself up to her full height and glared at him balefully. ‘If you think that sharing this villa, this
bedroom,
means I'll agree to sex, then you can go to hell!'
Did she imagine he hadn't been there? Ever since the evening he'd entered his apartment and discovered she had gone.
‘Go dry your hair, Suzanne. Then I'll take a look at your hand.'
His voice was deceptively quiet, and didn't fool her in the slightest. What she'd perceived as being a dangerous situation had just moved up a notch or two.
Five minutes with the hair-drier was sufficient, a further five took care of her make-up, then she emerged into the bedroom.
Sloane was waiting, standing at the full-length window, and he turned as she crossed the room.
‘I have some antiseptic in my wet-pack.'
‘It's fine.' She dismissed his offer, and her breath caught as he reached her side. ‘Really. There's no need to play nurse.'
‘Humour me.'
‘This is ridiculous!' Exasperation was a mild word for describing how she felt at being shepherded back into the bathroom, and having her hand examined and dabbed with anti-bacterial solution.
‘There. All done,' Sloane said with satisfaction.
‘I could easily have done that myself!' She wanted to hit him.
‘Don't,' he warned with dangerous softness, reading her mind.
‘Or you'll do
what
?' she flung, incensed.
‘Take all your fine anger,' he threatened in a voice that was pure silk, ‘and ensure you expend it in a way you won't forget.'
Her stomach executed a torturous somersault, and for a few endless seconds she forgot to breathe. ‘By displaying masculine strength and sexual superiority?' She managed to keep her voice even. ‘I don't find caveman tactics a turn-on.'
His eyes were dark, so impossibly dark she found them unfathomable. ‘Make no mistake, Suzanne,' Sloane drawled with hateful cynicism. ‘There would be no need for coercion of any kind.'
Tension filled the room, an explosive, dangerous entity just waiting for the trigger to let a certain hell break loose.
With considerable effort she banked down her anger, then she turned towards him and marshalled her voice to an incredibly polite level. ‘Shall we leave?'
‘Wise, Suzanne,' he taunted silkily.
How long would such wisdom last? she wondered with a sense of desperation. Sooner or later she was going to lose control of her temper. With every hour that passed she could feel the pressure of it building, and she hated him for deliberately stoking the fire.
They walked in silence to the main complex and joined Georgia and Trenton for a drink in the lounge before entering the restaurant
Dinner was a casual meal eaten alfresco on the terrace, their choice a selection of varied seafood with delicate accompanying sauces. They enjoyed salads, fresh bread brought daily onto the island, and they settled on fresh fruit from a selection of succulent pineapple, cantaloupe, sweet melon, and strawberries, served with a delightful lemon and lime sorbet, for dessert.
They declined coffee, and lingered over tall glasses containing deliciously cool piña colada.
‘We thought we might take a walk along the beach,' Trenton declared. ‘Care to join us?'
And play gooseberry? ‘I've challenged Sloane to a game of tennis,' Suzanne indicated, casting the source of that challenge a singularly sweet smile. ‘Haven't I, darling?'
Sloane reached forward and brushed gentle fingers down the length of her bare arm. And smiled as he glimpsed the way her eyes dilated in damnable reaction. ‘Indeed. I'll even grant a handicap in your favour.'
‘How...' she hesitated fractionally ‘...kind.' She touched a hand to his, and summoned a doting look. ‘Especially when we both know you could run me off the court.'
He didn't miss an opportunity, and his eyes were openly daring as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each finger in turn.
‘We need to go change first.'
There was hardly any point in saying she'd changed her mind. ‘We should wait half an hour.' Her eyes took on a wicked gleam. ‘Exercise so soon after a meal isn't advisable.' Her mouth curved into a winsome smile. ‘I don't want you to collapse with a heart attack.'
Trenton laughed, and Georgia's eyes twinkled as she rose to her feet. ‘I don't think that's likely, darling. Come for a walk with us. That'll fill in some time.'
‘Sloane?' Suzanne deferred to him, sparing him a level glance.
‘An excellent suggestion, Georgia.' He stood and together they strolled along the path leading down to the beach.
Suzanne slipped off her sandals and held them in one hand, watching as Sloane followed her actions with his shoes, aware that Georgia and Trenton did the same.
It was a beautiful evening, the sky a deep indigo with a clear moon and a sprinkle of stars. The sort of night for lovers, Suzanne perceived as she stepped onto the sand and felt its firm crunch beneath her feet.
There wasn't much she could do about the hard, masculine arm that curved along the back of her waist as they formed a foursome and began following the gentle curve of the bay.
‘Do you have everything ready for tomorrow, Mama?' Suzanne queried, conscious of the man who walked at her side. The arm that bound her to him would tighten if she attempted to put some distance between them. For a moment she almost considered it, simply for the sake of enforcing her position, only to discard it as she thought of the consequences.

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