He held her to him till she stopped, though a shudder still ran through her every now and then.
Too much, he began thinking. This is all getting too much.
‘I have to go to the bathroom,’ he told her a bit brusquely.
‘No, don’t leave me,’ she begged, clinging to him.
‘Sorry. Nature calls.’ He was out of her and off the bed in a flash, lurching across the sea matting floor and into the bathroom. Closing the door, he leaned against it for a few air-sucking seconds before staggering over to the toilet, not really needing it except to do some essential personal housekeeping.
When he went to do just that, he stared down at himself in horror.
‘Oh, no…’ he muttered.
Not once had Rafe had a condom break before on him. Not once!
Till now…
His heart sinking, Rafe inspected the damage and it was the worst scenario possible. The darned thing had totally failed. Ripped asunder. Right across the tip.
Immediately he thought of Isabel and in his mind’s eye he could see millions of eager little tadpoles careering through her cervix and into her womb, swimming around with more energy than the Olympic water-polo team, watching and waiting to score a home goal.
What were the odds of their doing just that? he wondered frantically, his mind scouring his memory to recall what Isabel had said to him that Sunday just over two weeks ago. Something about her period being due that week. Probably early on in the week, he guessed. She’d said something about suffering from PMT that day.
Rafe did some mental arithmetic and worked out that if Isabel was a normal regular female with a normal monthly cycle, then she had to have already entered, or be entering, her ‘most likely to conceive phase’ right now.
Rafe sank down on the side of the spa bath. He might have just become a father!
His head whirled. So did his stomach. She was going to kill him when he told her.
Then don’t tell her, came the voice of male logic. It will only spoil everything. And there’s nothing you can do about it now. Besides, it might not happen. It might not be the right time. Even if it was, couples sometimes tried for years—hitting ovulation day right on the dot—and the woman didn’t fall pregnant. Let’s not be paranoid about this.
But what if Isabel had fallen pregnant. What then?
Cross that bridge when you come to it, Rafe.
Right. Good advice.
Rafe stood up, jumped into the shower and turned on the water. Picking up the shower gel, he poured a generous pool into his hands and slapped it onto his chest.
But a baby, he began thinking as he washed himself. His baby. His and Isabel’s baby.
Talk about the best plans of mice and men.
Isabel lay there listening to Rafe in the shower and thinking she could do with a shower herself. She felt icky. But no way was she going to join him in there, not after the way she’d just carried on, clinging to him and pleading for him to stay with her like some lovesick cow.
How typical of herself! And how humiliating!
No wonder he’d bolted out of the bed.
Rafe was right. It was high time they did something else instead of have sex. She was beginning to fall into old ways.
Isabel sighed. If only he was less skilful in the lovemaking department. If only he didn’t know exactly the sort of thing which excited her unbearably. If only he didn’t always turn the tables on her such as just now.
She’d thought she was being the boss in the bedroom, as she’d used to be sometimes with Luke, but in a flash Rafe had whipped control out of her hands and she’d become his willing little love slave again, as she’d been last night.
Isabel’s face flamed as she thought how crazy it had been of her to let him tie her up like that. But, ooh, it had been so deliciously thrilling. And really, down deep, she’d never felt worried. There’d been no fear in her, only excitement.
It had been a game, an erotic game. Just as this holiday together was a game. Rafe knew that. And she knew that.
So why did she keep forgetting?
No more, she resolved. From now on she would stick to the rules. And to the agreed agenda. As for any silly idea she’d been harbouring of seeing Rafe occasionally after this fortnight was over… That was not on. Experience warned her if she saw Rafe outside of this fantasy setting she was sure to fall in love with him, or start relying on him for her day-to-day happiness. She’d been there, done that, and she wasn’t ever going there again. Heaven help her, if she couldn’t learn from her past mistakes!
Isabel was lying there under a sheet, feeling relatively in control once more, when Rafe emerged from the steaming bathroom, rubbing his brown hair dry with a bright orange towel, a lime-green one slung rather hazardously low around his hips.
Wow, she thought as her gaze ran hungrily over him. He really was gorgeous, even more so now that he was sporting an all-over tan. She loved the long lean look on a man, loved broad bronzed shoulders which tapered down to a small waist. Loved tight little buns.
Not that she could see his buns at that moment. But she had an imprint in her memory bank.
‘It’s time you got up, lover,’ he said, draping the orange towel over his shoulder and finger-combing his hair back from his face. ‘It’s just gone five. I want to be gone from here by six.’
‘Fine. I was just waiting for you to finish,’ she replied, but, when she swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat up, Isabel hesitated. There wasn’t anything for her to put on at hand. She hadn’t worn any clothes all day and the sarong she’d been wearing last night was still tied to the hammock. The rest of her clothes were in the walk-in wardrobe, and it was actually further to walk over there than it was to the bathroom.
It was silly that walking around naked in front of Rafe should bother her. He’d seen every inch of her up close and personal. Too silly for words!
Gathering her courage, she tossed aside the sheet she’d been clutching and stood up, wincing a little once she started walking. Oh dear, she was icky. That was another thing she found a bit embarrassing. How wet she was all the time.
Not that Rafe minded. He said it was a real turn-on.
Still, once Isabel reached the shower she lathered herself up down there with some degree of over-enthusiasm, as if by removing the evidence of her ongoing heat, she could better keep her cool around him. A waste of time, she realised on remembering she had nothing to wear to dinner tonight but the choice of three highly provocative outfits, all bought to tease and tantalise, herself as well as Rafe.
Which one would do the least damage? she wondered. The little black dress?
No. It was way too little, halter-necked with no back and a short tight skirt which looked as if it was sewn on, owing to the material being stretchy.
What about the blue silk petticoat-style number with the swishy skirt?
No. Not with her nipples standing out all the time like ready-to-fire cannons. The material was too thin and the bodice too clingy.
It would have to be the emerald and gold trouser suit. Although still provocative, she at least got to wear a bra, of sorts. But the outfit did have other hazards. Such as the fulfilling of an old fantasy of hers to look like a harem girl. The pants were harem-style, and the emerald material semi-transparent, shot with gold thread. The outfit was only saved from indecency by being overlaid with a thigh-length jacket. The bra of sorts was a strapless corselette, heavily beaded in green and gold glass beads and designed to manoeuvre even the smallest of breasts into a cleavage. Isabel’s breasts, though not large, were not small either. The result was eye-catching