Now they were both naked, the burn inside her turning to lava.
His mouth closed back over hers, large hands running over her back, tracing the arch of her shoulder blades and up, digging into her scalp, dragging through her hair. And all the while the tension within her grew. She'd never known desire could be a living thing.
And then she remembered where they were. And remembered that Pascha had lost his shorts in the pool. Even if he carried condoms with him they would be gone.
It took every ounce of her control to break away from his kisses and the heavenly things he was doing to her, grab his wrist and pin him to the grass.
Still straddling him, she gazed down at the face she could never grow tired of staring at. 'I'm not on the pill.'
The intensity in his eyes concentrated, a pulse firing from them that made her belly somersault.
'Emily, I can't...' He swallowed. 'All my treatment as a child left me sterile. I promise I am clean and I promise you'll be safe.'
Her heart twisted. She returned the strength of his stare, trying to reach through and read his mind. Read his heart.
He was sterile...?
He was asking for her trust...?
She did trust him.
She might have been forced to the island but he was doing everything in his power to keep her safe while she was there.
Pascha did not take risks. Making unprotected love definitely constituted risky by anyone's standards, but doubly so for him.
Her heart twisted again as she realised that this promise meant that he must trust her too.
He'd trusted her enough to make the jump...
He'd trusted her enough to share his secret-one which, instinct told her, haunted him.
Unable to stop herself, she released his wrists and planted her lips on his, a hard yet tender kiss that he responded to with a growl, his arms snaking around her waist.
The tip of his erection pressed against her opening, almost teasing her. She raised her groin a little higher, consumed with the need to be consumed.
The strong thud of his heart hammering against his chest reverberated through her skin, matching the unsteady tempo of her own.
Slowly she sank onto him, finding his lips, his breath flowing into her pores and filling her mouth with his heat just as he was filling her.
Skin on skin.
There were no words.
Nothing could ever describe the total bliss filling her.
With Pascha's hand steadying her, she started to move. Gripping the sides of his head, her sensitised breasts brushing against his chest, she ground against him, a steady, almost lazy tempo, the pulsations within her deepening.
A glazed look came into his eyes but the total connection between them remained, fusing them so deeply that she lost any sense of where he began and she ended.
Pure, pure pleasure.
Her orgasm started out as a low surge rippling through her, setting alight every atom of her being. Higher and higher it climbed until it peaked in an explosion of colour.
A strangled groan escaped his lips and he bucked into her, holding her tight against him, prolonging the moment for them both.
She rode the crest for as long as she could before floating back to earth, the softest landing.
Emily expelled a contented sigh.
Her face was buried in his neck, his strong hands stroking her back, holding her tight to him,
Pascha twisted onto his side so he could look down at her.
A lock of ebony hair lay damp across her forehead. He smoothed it away, pressing a kiss to the newly exposed skin.
'Why are you staring at me like that?' she asked, tracing a lazy finger up and down his forearm.
'Because I like staring at you. You're beautiful.'
'I think you're beautiful.'
'A very macho description,' he said with a laugh, and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him
The sun's rays were increasing, bathing them in a warm pool of light. Pascha could almost imagine it was just the two of them on the planet. If it were just the two of them left on Earth, Pascha reflected, he doubted he would ever be bored. Emily kept him on his toes.
'What possessed you to make the jump?' he asked after long, serene minutes had passed. 'Anything could have happened to you.'
'But it didn't.'
'But it could have.'
She raised her head and smiled. 'Pascha, this waterfall has clearly been evolving for hundreds of thousands of years, and the pool with it. I knew it would be deep.'
'But you couldn't have known what was beneath the waterline. There could have been rocks or anything. You could have killed yourself.' A coldness crept into his bones at the thought.
'But I didn't.'
'But what if you had? Where would that leave your father? Your brother?' Me, he almost added, the thought coming from nowhere.
'I don't know.' She bit into her lip and stared at him. 'They have each other. It was on James's watch that my dad got out of bed.'
'You've been there the rest of the time.' From what Pascha understood, Emily had been there the whole time. She'd given up the independence of her home and put her job in jeopardy for her father.
'From what's happened since I left, it's obvious that the only person my dad needed was James. Not me.' She broke the stare and tugged herself out of his arms, sitting up. 'I've tried so hard. All my life I've tried.'
'Tried for what?'
She turned her face back to him and raised her shoulders. 'To be enough.'
'Enough for what?'
'For him to hold on to.' She shook her head. 'In all honesty, Mum was the only one he really responded to when he was ill, but James would tell him a joke and sometimes Dad would smile. I'd tell him a joke-normally the same one as James-and he never responded. Never. When he was well, he was wonderful with me, but when he was ill it was as if I didn't exist. I was never enough. I guess I'm still not.'
'I don't believe that,' he said carefully, rubbing a hand over her naked back. She had the softest skin. 'Your father loves you.'
'I know he loves me.' Her voice was sad. 'It's just not enough, is it? Not if I can't help him.'
He placed a kiss to the small of her back. 'You've done more for your father than anyone could have wished. It is time for you to forget about your relationship with him as a child. Focus on the future.' He kissed her again, a little higher. 'I would sell my soul if I could have a future with my father.'
'I know. You're right.'
'Of course I'm right.'
'Your arrogance never gets old.'
He swiped at her nose before wrapping his legs around her and pulling her so she leant back against him.
'Can I ask you something?'
'You're asking my permission?' He was certain she was going to ask about his sterility. As if there was anything to be discussed. It was a fact of life-a fact of his life-something he'd long ago accepted. Just as he'd accepted it prevented him from having the future he'd always craved.
'It was something you said before about you and your father building Plushenko's between you. I always thought it was a really old firm, like Fabergé.'
'That was clever marketing-we wanted people to believe that.' He breathed in a sigh of relief as he realised it wasn't the subject he'd thought she was going to broach. At that moment, wrapped around Emily, he was as close to peace as he'd ever been.
He couldn't regret making love to her again. He would never regret it. For now, all he wanted was to hold onto it for a little longer.
As he inhaled, he captured the scent of her hair. Even with her swim in the pool and the spray of the waterfall he could still catch the faint scent of the light, fruity shampoo she favoured.
'In a way, you can thank my leukaemia for the founding of Plushenko's,' he said. 'I had to undergo five years of chemotherapy and steroids and a host of other medicines. To keep me alive cost money. The only way to afford it was for Andrei-the man I called Papa-to work all the hours he could. At the time he was earning minimal wages as a jewellery maker for a middle-of-the-road Russian jeweller. He started to produce his own bespoke pieces, working every spare hour in the workshop he built at the back of our house. Those pieces paid for my medications and, unwittingly, formed the basis of the company known today as Plushenko's.'
'He sounds like an amazing man.'
'He was,' Pascha agreed.
'Do you think all the attention Andrei paid you, and all the hours he spent working to earn money for your treatment, made Marat jealous?' she asked.
He breathed her in deeply. 'I don't remember Marat ever liking me.' Knowing how much Marat loathed his very existence had done nothing to stop Pascha's idolisation of him. For years he'd wanted nothing more than Marat's acceptance. A part of him still longed for it.
'Have you thought of trying again with him?' she said. 'I know you said you offered to buy Plushenko's a number of years ago, but you were probably both feeling raw; it was so soon after your father had died. Maybe time has mellowed him.'