you other than keeping company with me. Spending easy time—leisured time—time out from our working lives, our busy lives. Time to lie here beneath the palm trees, time to enjoy this wonderfully beautiful place, time to savour the scent of flowers and the sight of the sea and the sound of the birdsong. Time,’ he finished, ‘to gaze up at the night sky filled with tropical stars.’
He paused.
‘Will you give me your trust and spend that time with me?’
She did not answer. Did not accept or refuse.
He let his eyes rest on her a moment. Her features had stilled and she had closed her eyes against him. Letting her silence be her assent.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘W HICH RESTAURANT WOULD you like to dine at?’ Rafael’s courteous enquiry came as they reached the foot of the steps leading back up into the atrium.
‘I don’t mind,’ Celeste answered.
She was not in her right mind, she knew—because how could she be if she was allowing what was happening? What she had allowed to happen all afternoon.
She had allowed Rafael Sanguardo to say those things to her, to settle himself on the sunbed next to her, keeping her company, asking her about the hotel, what she had done so far. She had allowed him to suggest trying the sea together, which she had declined, and so she’d watched him peel off his T-shirt and run lithely down across the hot sand to plunge into the waves, ploughing out through them with a strong forearm stroke before returning to land eventually, dark hair wet like a glossy raven’s wing, water droplets glistening off a bared torso that had been every bit as muscled as she’d known it must be, the shoulders just as broad, the back just as sculpted, his thighs just as steely...
She’d been unable to peel her eyes away from his lean, toned body, unable to stop the strange flush of heat that went through her as she had gazed as though the sun had gained an extra fierceness and started beating in her veins...
She’d allowed it all—allowed him to sit beside her on his sunbed, quiveringly aware of his presence, as they’d watched the sun turn to gold as it sank into the cobalt sea...allowed him to help gather her things and scoop up the used towels to drop them into the canvas box by the beach kiosk, to pad with her along the warm stone pathways across the dusky gardens, back towards the hotel.
Allowed him to stand here now and consider which restaurant to take their dinner in.
Together.
And she would allow that, too, she knew, because she didn’t want to have to think about this any more. Didn’t want to feel the pressure or the temptation to say no, to send him away, to banish him.
She knew, with the strangest feeling inside her, that she didn’t want to do anything right now except go on allowing him to be with her.
She also knew, however reluctant she was to admit it, that she didn’t want to try and reject that quivering awareness of him, that flush, that rush of heat in her veins that came just at his nearness to her...
‘Then I’ll choose,’ he said. ‘Why not meet at the terrace bar in an hour or so?’
He smiled, the lines around his mouth deepening, and watched her go along the pathway that led to her wing of the hotel. He was on the other side of the complex, in one of the cabana-villas that had their own secluded garden areas and their own private plunge pools.
Would he be taking her there one evening? Rafael found himself thinking. Would there be a time when they would not go their separate ways after lazing on the beach, but instead wander, arms entwined, to find a private hour together? The hour between sunset and moonrise...an hour filled with desire and passion and the fulfilment that he longed for—that had brought him here, across two oceans and a continent, to find her...woo her...win her...?
As he set off in his own direction he knew the answer was still unspoken. However much he hoped for it and sensed that Celeste hoped for it, too.
Yet later, as he walked up to
He paused.
‘Will you give me your trust and spend that time with me?’
She did not answer. Did not accept or refuse.
He let his eyes rest on her a moment. Her features had stilled and she had closed her eyes against him. Letting her silence be her assent.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘W HICH RESTAURANT WOULD you like to dine at?’ Rafael’s courteous enquiry came as they reached the foot of the steps leading back up into the atrium.
‘I don’t mind,’ Celeste answered.
She was not in her right mind, she knew—because how could she be if she was allowing what was happening? What she had allowed to happen all afternoon.
She had allowed Rafael Sanguardo to say those things to her, to settle himself on the sunbed next to her, keeping her company, asking her about the hotel, what she had done so far. She had allowed him to suggest trying the sea together, which she had declined, and so she’d watched him peel off his T-shirt and run lithely down across the hot sand to plunge into the waves, ploughing out through them with a strong forearm stroke before returning to land eventually, dark hair wet like a glossy raven’s wing, water droplets glistening off a bared torso that had been every bit as muscled as she’d known it must be, the shoulders just as broad, the back just as sculpted, his thighs just as steely...
She’d been unable to peel her eyes away from his lean, toned body, unable to stop the strange flush of heat that went through her as she had gazed as though the sun had gained an extra fierceness and started beating in her veins...
She’d allowed it all—allowed him to sit beside her on his sunbed, quiveringly aware of his presence, as they’d watched the sun turn to gold as it sank into the cobalt sea...allowed him to help gather her things and scoop up the used towels to drop them into the canvas box by the beach kiosk, to pad with her along the warm stone pathways across the dusky gardens, back towards the hotel.
Allowed him to stand here now and consider which restaurant to take their dinner in.
Together.
And she would allow that, too, she knew, because she didn’t want to have to think about this any more. Didn’t want to feel the pressure or the temptation to say no, to send him away, to banish him.
She knew, with the strangest feeling inside her, that she didn’t want to do anything right now except go on allowing him to be with her.
She also knew, however reluctant she was to admit it, that she didn’t want to try and reject that quivering awareness of him, that flush, that rush of heat in her veins that came just at his nearness to her...
‘Then I’ll choose,’ he said. ‘Why not meet at the terrace bar in an hour or so?’
He smiled, the lines around his mouth deepening, and watched her go along the pathway that led to her wing of the hotel. He was on the other side of the complex, in one of the cabana-villas that had their own secluded garden areas and their own private plunge pools.
Would he be taking her there one evening? Rafael found himself thinking. Would there be a time when they would not go their separate ways after lazing on the beach, but instead wander, arms entwined, to find a private hour together? The hour between sunset and moonrise...an hour filled with desire and passion and the fulfilment that he longed for—that had brought him here, across two oceans and a continent, to find her...woo her...win her...?
As he set off in his own direction he knew the answer was still unspoken. However much he hoped for it and sensed that Celeste hoped for it, too.
Yet later, as he walked up to
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