And yet something was wrong.
Deep down inside her, on some fundamental level, something gnawed away at her; something wasn’t right.
Rafe turned then, capturing her expression as he unbuttoned his shirt, a small crease appearing between his brows. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, her pulse skittering suddenly as her mind tried to get a handle on her unease. She pushed herself up to sitting and wrapped her arms around her knees, feeling ridiculous trying to hold a conversation lying down, while she watched his progress with the buttons down the shirt.
She hadn’t meant to watch. Hadn’t meant to take any notice. But the way that beautiful sweat-sheened column of olive skin grew longer, as one by one his skilful fingers brought them undone, what choice did she have?
He had beautiful fingers, long and tapered, and what he could do with them …
Oh, my, she rationalized, remembering—who wouldn’t feel distinctly shaky when they’d just climaxed in spectacular fashion and a man like Rafe was only now getting around to taking his clothes off?
In preparation for a repeat performance? One could only hope.
He frowned, his face angling to look more closely at hers in the soft light. ‘Did I hurt you? Are you feeling unwell? I didn’t think to take it slow.’
Distracted by the sudden concern in his voice that brought with it a return of the strange gnawing feeling in her gut, her head got lost between a nod and a shake. ‘No. Yes.’ She closed her eyes and shook it, this time more decisively. ‘Really, you didn’t hurt me. I’ve been fine lately, so long as I avoid certain things.’
And that was the truth. The day she’d arrived at the island, and the following day when she’d tried to leave—those days had been the worst. Since then her morning sickness had been precisely that, a morning phenomenon, and if she was careful, limited to no more than a general queasiness, with no repeat of that early illness. How much of that had been down to stress and the tension of having this man back in her life?
He gave a shrug of his shoulders and peeled the shirt away, letting it drop to the floor, and in the process revealing the full glory of his muscle-sculpted chest, from the wide shoulders and the taut skin to the dusting of hair that focused to a line and drew her eyes down to where it disappeared at his belt. ‘I was worried I was too eager for you. I promise this time we’ll take it slower.’
She looked up. ‘This time.’ She repeated the words like a mantra, and he smiled.
‘I told you I couldn’t wait to remove that dress. I haven’t changed my mind.’
Sienna swallowed as he pushed his pants down past hips lean and strong, carelessly stepping out of them. She watched, wide-eyed, as his sleek-fitting black underwear met the same fate, and she stopped breathing altogether when he moved closer. Of course once wouldn’t be enough. On their one previous night together, Rafe had shown he had stamina to burn. He knelt on the side of the bed, reached out, and lifted one foot in his hands. Deftly he undid the tiny diamante-studded buckle at the side of her shoe and, holding her ankle in one hand, swept the shoe from her foot with the other, tossing it and the best part of several hundred euros carelessly to the floor behind him.
Vaguely she registered that he must have no idea how much shoes cost, or didn’t care, but after a moment, she didn’t care either, not when his thumbs started their dance over the ball of her foot. She groaned.
She’d read articles where people had claimed the feet could be erogenous zones, and she’d largely discounted them as fanciful and fictional, but the graze of his fingers, the brush of his skin against the silkiness of her stockings, had her trembling and rethinking her ideas. Or maybe it had nothing to do with her feet and everything to do with the way he looked at her while his fingers worked, dark eyes made darker with desire, more insistent with need.
Or maybe not, she thought, as the other shoe met a similar fate and Rafe stroked the underside of her foot with his thumbs, causing her back to arch and a sigh of pleasure to erupt from her lips.
‘Do you like that?’ he said, repeating the action, and she licked her lips and nodded.
‘It’s … nice.’
‘Only nice?’ He sounded disappointed. ‘Then do you like this?’ His fingers trailed up her calf, disappearing beneath a sea of green silk that lapped around her legs like the incoming tide, his fingertips tracing circles higher and higher up her leg.
‘It’s all good,’ she conceded, ‘although I can’t help but feel a little overdressed.’
He laughed, low in his throat, and the vibrations and the sound were almost enough to bring her undone. He reached up a hand and undid the jewelled clasp at her neck. Instinctively she reached up a hand to prevent the bodice falling down, but he stopped her arm and the fabric slid unrestrained to her waist, releasing her breasts to the air, and to his gaze.