An hour after trying to get to sleep Rowan still lay tossing and turning. Images, memories, emotions—all were swirling through her head. And most vivid of them all an image of Isandro. Tantalising and torturing her. The air in the room seemed oppressive, and she noticed that her French doors were closed. She heard another roll of thunder. She craved air, a breeze—something. So she got up and went to open them.
The air outside was dense, warm and unbearably heavy, redolent with the imminent storm which still hadn’t hit. Rowan stepped out and looked up. Almost unbelievably drops of rain started to fall, as if they had been waiting for her cue. She stretched out a hand as they fell, heavier and heavier. Within seconds it was a torrential downpour, and jagged lightning lit up the sky.
Rowan stepped out farther, the rain drenching her in seconds. She didn’t care. The moment was magical, the kind of thing she’d dreamed of over her long and hard recent months. She went down the steps and stood in her nightdress, her face tipped up to the menacing black clouds as the rain teemed down over her, plastering her hair to her head. She felt as if she were being cleansed. An intense joy filled her.
She had survived an unspeakable nightmare and she was with her son. Despite the pain of knowing Isandro wanted a divorce, she could ask for no greater happiness than that. Lifting her arms, she welcomed the rain like a benediction.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Rowan dropped her arms feeling instantly silly and whirled around, her heart thumping heavily. She could barely see Isandro through the driving rain, although she could sense his tension, his irritation. He stepped closer. She could see that he was dressed in nothing but brief boxers. Rain was running in rivulets down his chest. He was already as soaked as she was.
‘I … I’m standing in the rain,’ she answered lamely.
‘I can see that.’
He could also see that her short nightdress clung to her body like a second skin and had become translucent. His eyes dropped. He couldn’t help himself. The outline of her body was clearly shaped, from her waist to her hips, down long, long legs. The dark shadow of promise between them was a tantalising invitation. The drenched material moulded to her breasts, still high and firm, their tips hard. Desire beat through his blood, hot and insistent.
‘Sandro …
He looked up. ‘What did you call me?’
There was a look on her face, a yearning look that slammed into him. He’d seen that look before. His eyes were drawn to where her chest was rising and falling rapidly. He couldn’t hear the rain any more. All he could hear was the beating of his heart. The beating of his pulse.
‘I said Sandro.’
Isandro shook his head. He had to break out of this spell. ‘No one calls me that.’
‘I did,’ she said simply.
A pain gripped him inside, and he was reminded of his instinctive move to comfort her earlier. ‘Rowan … go back to bed.’
She moved a step closer, but not to move past him.
Feeling a surge of intense irritation, Isandro closed the distance and took her by the shoulders. ‘Dammit, woman, what’s wrong with you?’
Rowan was being guided by a stronger force than she could resist. It went beyond mere desire, although that was there too, burning her up so that she couldn’t even feel the rain. She put her hands on his waist and felt him stiffen. She prayed it wasn’t in rejection.
‘Sandro … please …’
‘Sandro, please what?’ He knew he shouldn’t even be engaging in dialogue, should just walk away. But there was something about her, something … different. Earnest. He felt he’d never met this woman before—or he had … but in the past, when he had believed—
‘I want you.’
The three simple words exploded into his head. He tried to move but he couldn’t. Her hands were on him and he wanted them on him, all over him, around him, touching him, caressing him. Her hair was plastered to her head, huge drips falling onto her shoulders. And yet some self protective instinct kept him from acting on the strongest desire he’d ever felt in his life.
‘Rowan …’ His voice was hoarse.
Rowan moved closer. Close enough for their bodies to touch lightly. It was as if they were both filled with attracting ions—she could feel the force of how strongly they were being pulled together. It had to be real. It couldn’t be her imagination. The electricity in the air wasn’t just coming from the sky.
‘Please.’
He shook his head. But please sank in and reverberated through his aching body. He could see her eyes. The rain was stopping, water drops glistened on her skin, clung to her long lashes, and he wasn’t strong enough to try and pull back, analyse what was going on.