Perhaps, as her mother promised, time did heal. Maybe she was ready to take a chance on life.
Rosalie stared through the plate glass doors to the terrace and, beyond that, the vivid aquamarine of the sea.
It had been a momentous thing for her, deciding she wanted what Arik offered: the chance to experience passion, to ease the unceasing hollow ache deep inside her that told her she wanted a man—wanted him. That had been a revelation of her own femininity. Proof that she really had moved on from her troubled past.
In the long ago days when she’d indulged in daydreams she’d pictured a future with a man by her side. Someone she could rely on, who’d love her always. But times had changed and she knew that what Arik offered was perfect for her now: a way to explore her feelings, assuage these new found sexual cravings in safety. For he would be tender. He could be trusted.
And he was experienced enough to teach her all she longed to know. She shivered and crossed her arms at the thought of what she wanted from Arik.
Too bad he’d obviously changed his mind.
She was ready for more. But now he behaved like a perfect distant gentleman. He avoided so much as touching her hand, had clearly pulled back from intimacy. Dully she’d wondered if she’d kissed so badly that he’d decided she was no longer worth the effort of seducing. It wouldn’t surprise her.
But he was a man to whom a promise was important and it seemed he was determined to stick to their bargain. Lunch yesterday had been a short affair. Then in the afternoon he’d driven her round part of the coast road, pointing out towns, historic sites and scenic vistas that should have caught and held her imagination. But she’d been too deep in disappointment to care.
How did you tell a man you wanted him to make love to you? Was it really that simple? And what if, like Arik, he’d clearly decided he was no longer interested?
Last night in her lonely bed had been the worst. She’d been so edgy she hadn’t slept. Even after a long phone chat with her mother and Belle. Even after a relaxing bath. All that had achieved was to remind her that her body was…aroused. Ready for Arik’s touch.
Heat scalded through her. Even now, after a second morning of polite decorum from Arik while she’d painted, she couldn’t banish her craving for him. It was shaming, this relentless need, the breath-stealing suspense as she watched his every move and hoped he’d reach out to touch her.
Sensual awareness had come late to her and she hadn’t yet mastered the art of controlling it. Why else was she standing here, breathless with the forlorn hope that even now, after two days of scrupulous distance, Arik might continue where their kiss had left off?
Blindly she groped for the door handle, swung open the glass door and stepped out. She needed air. She needed sanctuary. She’d been an idiot to agree when Arik had suggested they lunch at his home today. What she really needed was to get away while she had some shred of self-respect left.
She leaned heavily on the stone balustrade, her fingers gripping tightly, her chest constricting as she fought for control.
Laughable, wasn’t it? Finally to decide to take up Arik’s seductive promise of a no-strings affair and then to discover the option was no longer on offer. She shook her head miserably. Just another of life’s disappointments.
In the overall scheme of things, this surely didn’t rate such profound regret.
‘Rosalie?’ He stopped just a pace behind her and saw the tension stiffen her spine when she realised he was so close. The sea breeze fanned her hair and he shoved his hands deep in his pockets rather than reach out and fondle the silken tresses.
‘It’s a magnificent view. You’re so lucky to have this.’ Her gesture encompassed not only the beach far below but the ancient fortress that was his home. Yet he was more interested in the high uneven tone of her voice and in her averted profile.
She was doing it again, shutting him out.
Damn it! After two days of superhuman restraint, he deserved more. He’d read the pain so clear in her expression after their kiss and he’d respected her need for space. It had almost killed him, reining in the drive to claim her. To bind her close in his arms and not let her escape till he found satisfaction. That kiss, a mere taste of her treasures, had only titillated.
He needed more. Far more.
What had begun as an idle amusement had become a raw compulsion. He’d recognised her wariness, her fear, and gone slow. But he’d seen the hot desire in her unconscious responses and now it was time to act.
‘Yes, extremely lucky.’ He took another step towards her, close enough to feel the heat she generated and hear the hasty breath she sucked in. ‘My ancestors fought long and hard to win this territory and keep it safe for their people.’
‘And now you enjoy the benefits.’
Still her head was averted. Was she afraid of what he might read in her face? The thought spurred him. He leaned forward and placed one hand on the balustrade beside hers. There was a neatness to it—her hand, small and delicate, yet, he knew, clever and capable, beside his own. She’d be like that all over: skin pale and soft, dainty and feminine. In his mind’s eye he could picture his own darker, larger hand moving slowly across her bare flesh, sliding, caressing, discovering. He could almost hear her sighs as he located each sensitive spot on her body and claimed it for himself.
‘I make it my policy always to enjoy the benefits on offer.’
Her head swung round then, her eyes wide and confused. Her lips parted and he wanted to duck his head and taste her. Instead he took a slow breath and reached for her hand. It slid into his unresistingly and he felt his mouth kick up in a tight smile of satisfaction.
‘Come, Rosalie. Our lunch will be ready. You can admire the view later.’
She was silent as he led her into the house. Silent as he took her through room after room, giving her a potted history of the fortress-cum-palace that had been built by one of his ancestors hundreds of years ago. He had no idea if she took in his words; he barely registered them himself. He was more absorbed in the feel of her, hand in his, the proximity of her so close beside him as he took her deeper into the palace.
‘Your home is huge,’ she said at last as they approached the end of a long passageway.
He didn’t tell her that they’d eschewed the public dining rooms, all three of them, in favour of a meal in his private suite. Even with his well-trained staff, he had no intention of being disturbed this afternoon.
His fingers tightened fractionally round hers, then released their grip as he gestured for her to enter his chambers.
‘After you, Rosalie.’
For an instant her eyes lifted to his and he felt the now familiar jolt, like a bolt of electricity, sizzle through him. Then she stepped over the threshold and into the suite. He fought to keep the anticipatory smile from his face.
Her exclamation of delight masked the soft click of the door closing behind them and he turned to see her standing in the deep semi-circular window embrasure that jutted out over the cliff-line. She reached out to brush her hand across the continuous round seat that lined it and then lift to the silk hangings, tied back to reveal the view.
His body thrummed an urgent message of need. He’d imagined her here so often, naked on that padded seat, or leaning back against the window frame, her bare arms outstretched invitingly towards him. The images were almost his undoing. Tension knotted his muscles and he felt the strain of imposing control in every cell of his body.
Deliberately he turned away and walked further into the sitting room, towards the drinks tray positioned beside one of the sofas.
‘Would