His Final Bargain(15)

'But of course.' Marella shooed her away. 'It will do you good.'

The sun was deliciously warm as Eliza strolled about the gardens, the  scent of roses thick and heady in the air. Was it her knowledge of  Alessandra's blindness that made the colours of the roses seem so  spectacular all of a sudden? Deep blood reds, soft and bright pinks and  crimson, variegated ones, yellow and orange and the snowy perfection of  white ones. Even the numerous shades of green in the foliage of the  other plants and shrubs stood out to her as she wandered past. She went  past the fountain and down a crushed limestone pathway to a grotto that  was protected by the shade of a weeping birch. It was a magical sort of  setting, secluded and private-the perfect place for quiet reflection.  She slipped off her cardigan and sat on the wrought iron bench,  wondering how many couples through the centuries had conducted their  trysts under the umbrella-like shade of the lush and pendulous branches.                       
       
           



       

The sound of a footfall on the stones of the pathway made Eliza's heart  give a little kick behind her ribcage. She stood up from the seat just  as Leo came into view. He looked just as surprised to see her. She saw  the camera-shutter flinch of his features in that nanosecond before he  got control and assumed one of his inscrutable expressions.

'Eliza.'

'Marella told me to take a break. She's listening out for Alessandra.  She's got the monitor. I didn't know you had one; otherwise-' she knew  she was babbling but couldn't seem to stop '-she told me it would be all  right and-'

'You're not under lock and key.'

Eliza tried to read his expression but it was like trying to read one of  the marble statues she had walked past earlier in the long wide gallery  in the villa. She wondered if he had come down here to be alone.  Perhaps it was his private place for handling the difficulties of his  life. No wonder he resented her presence. She was intruding on his only  chance at solitude.

'I'd better head back.' She turned to pick up her cardigan that she'd left on the seat.

'What have you done to your arms?'

'Um-nothing.' She bunched the cardigan against her chest. It was too late to put it back on.

His frown brought his brows to a deep V above his eyes. 'Did I … ?' He seemed momentarily lost for words. 'Did I do that to you?'

'It's nothing … really.' She began to turn away but he anchored her with a gentle band of his broad fingers around her wrist.

His touch was like a circle of flame. She felt the shockwave of it right  to the secret heart of her. Her skin danced with jittery sensations.  Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird and her breath halted in her  throat like a horse refusing a jump.

'I'm sorry.' His voice was a deep bass-deeper than organ pipes. It made  her spine loosen and quiver. It spoke to the primal woman in her,  especially when he ever so gently ran one of his fingers over the marks  he had made on her flesh. 'Do they hurt?'

'No, of course not.' She was struggling to deal with her spiralling  emotions. Why did he have to stand so close to her? How could she resist  him when he was close enough for her to sense his arrantly male  reaction to her? If she moved so much as an inch she would feel him.

Oh, how she wanted to feel him!

Could he see how much she ached for him? How desperate she was to have  it taken out of her control, to be swept away to a world where nothing  mattered but the senses he awakened and satisfied.

'I'd forgotten how very sensitive your skin is.' His fingers danced over  her left forearm, leaving every pore screaming for more of his  tantalising touch.

Eliza swallowed convulsively. This was going to get out of hand rather  rapidly if he kept on with this softly-softly assault on her senses. She  could fend him off when he was angry and bitter. She could withstand  him-only just-when he was brooding and resentful.

But in this mood he was far more dangerous.

Her need of him was dangerous.

She pulled back from his loose hold but it tightened a mere fraction,  keeping her tethered to him-to temptation. 'I … I have to go … ' Her words  sounded desperate, her breathing even more so. She fought to control  herself. She didn't want him to see how close to being undone she was.  'Please … let me go … '

'That was my mistake four years ago.' He brought her even closer, his  hands going to the small of her back, pressing her to his need. 'I  should never have let you go.'

'It wasn't a mistake.' She tried to push against his chest but he  wouldn't budge. 'I had to go. I didn't belong with you. I don't belong  with you.'

His hands gripped her wrists, gently but firmly. 'You keep fighting me  but you want this as much as I do. I know you do. I know you want me. I  feel it every time you look at me.'

'It's wrong.' Eliza was close to breaking. She couldn't allow herself to  fold emotionally. She had to be strong. She had to think of poor Ewan.  It was her fault he had been robbed of everything. He would never feel  love again. He would never feel passion or desire.

Why should she feel it when he no longer could?

'Tell your fiancé you want a break.'

'I can't do that.'

'Why not?'

'He wouldn't understand.'

'Make him understand. Tell him you want a month to have a think about  things. Is that so much to ask? For God's sake, you're giving him the  rest of your life. What is one measly month in the scheme of things?'                       
       
           



       

Eliza tried to control her trembling bottom lip. 'Relationships can't be  turned on and off like that. I've made a commitment. I can't opt out of  it.'

His dark eyes glittered. 'Are saying you can't or you won't?'

She forced herself to hold his challenging look. 'I won't be used by you, Leo.'

One of his hands burned like a brand in the small of her back as he drew  her closer. 'What's all this talk of me using you?' His voice was still  low and deep, making her resolve fall over like a precariously  assembled house of cards. 'You want the same thing I want. There doesn't  have to be a winner or a loser in this. We can both have what we want.'

Eliza could feel the slow melt of her bones. She could feel that sharp  dart of longing deep inside her body, the need that longed to be  assuaged. Was it wrong to want to feel his passionate possession one  more time? To explore the intense heat that continued to flare between  them? But would one month be enough? How could it ever be enough?  Experiencing that earth-shattering pleasure again would only leave her  frustrated and miserable for the rest of her life. She would always be  thinking of him, aching for him, missing him. It had been hard enough  four years ago. He had lived in her body for all this time, making her  even more restless and unhappy with her lot in life.

But it was her lot in life.

There was no escaping the fact that Ewan's life had been destroyed and  that she had been the one to do it. How could she carry on with her life  as if it didn't matter?

Of course it mattered.

It would always matter.

With a strength Eliza had no idea she possessed, she pushed back from  him. 'I'm sorry … ' She moved away from him until she was almost standing  in the shrubbery. 'You're asking too much. It's all been too much.  Finding out about your daughter's blindness … seeing how hard it is for  her and for you. I can't think straight … I'm confused and upset … '

'You need more time.'

She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment as if that would make all of  this go away. But when she opened them again he was still standing  there, looking at her with his unwavering gaze.

'It's not about time … ' She bit down on her lower lip. 'It's just not our time … ' It was never our time.

He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Her skin shivered  at his tender touch, the nerves pirouetting beneath the surface until  she was almost dizzy with longing. 'I've handled this appallingly,  haven't I?' he asked, resting that same hand on the nape of her neck.

Eliza wasn't sure how to answer so remained silent. His hand was strong  and yet gentle-protective. She longed to be held by him and never let  go. But the past-their past-was a yawning canyon that was too wide and  deep to cross.

He let out a rough-sounding sigh and, stepping away from her to look out  over the rear garden, that same hand that had moments ago caressed her  was now rubbing at the back of his neck as if trying to ease giant knots  of tension buried there. 'I'm still not sure why I came to you that day  in London. I needed a nanny in a hurry and for some reason the first  person I thought of was you.' His hand dropped to his side as he turned  and looked at her again. 'But maybe it was because I wanted you to see  what my life had become.' His expression was tortured with anguish and  frustration. 'I've got more money than I know what to do with and yet I  can't fix my child. I can't make her see.'