“To an enjoyable dinner, then.” She sipped, barely registering the taste of the superb wine.
“And absent wives and sisters.”
“To Jan,” Fiona whispered, throat constricting.
To Jan, who is always with us, and is always going to be with us, however much I might want us to be alone.
She bit her bottom lip and sipped again. “I came here to be useful to you,” she reminded him. “To look after Nicky, not to get taken out to fancy dinners and so on.”
“And so on?”
She deliberately ignored him and lifted the hissing flute to her nose, inhaling the yeasty fruitiness.
“I suppose this is something special?” she asked, feigning interest in the rising bubbles.
“Only the best for you, Blondie. Only the best of everything, if I had my way.”
She stared up at him, lips wet from the wine. Desire crackled through her, swift as lightning.
“It’s lovely,” she croaked, turning away and making a dash for the wide-open doors. “I’m going to run a big hot bath and enjoy my drink there.”
His soft laugh followed her across the terrace.
Fiona ran the water very deep. The heavy glass shelf over the vanity unit displayed extravagant toiletries in Pounamu Lodge packaging. She ran a thoughtful finger over the green and gold label of the bath gel. Pounamu—the Maori word for the precious dark green jade sometimes found in the fast-flowing mountain rivers of New Zealand.
She unscrewed the lid and inhaled the exotic fragrance, then tipped some into the rapidly filling bath. The bubbles started to foam up as she sipped her champagne, set the flute down, and began to undress.
“Decent?” Christian enquired, tapping on the door some time later. Fiona lay well-submerged, but uneasy at the prospect of him invading her privacy.
“Still in the bath,” she called back, hoping she’d achieved the right tone to keep him away.
He opened the door anyway, and a long tanned arm dangled the champagne bottle through the gap.
“Top-up?” he invited, waiting a few seconds before pushing the door any further ajar.
Fiona’s eyes blazed open. Christian had already showered. His hair was damp, his eyes possessive, and he’d wrapped a forest-green towel low around his hips. He’d tucked one end in to secure it. Fiona felt it could unravel at any second, and then wished it would so she could enjoy the sight of his whole long, taut, lean-hipped body again.
She held up her nearly empty flute.
“Just another half, thanks.” Could he hear the tremor in her voice? “I’d better leave some room for dinner.”
Christian sank down onto the marble bath surround. The towel parted enough to reveal a hard muscular thigh, but otherwise remained secure. He took the glass from her unsteady hand and set it beside him to pour the wine. Fiona sensed the bath water growing suddenly hotter around her very bothered body.
He hesitated, then moved the glass to the far end of the bath where it was safely out of the way. Very deliberately, he set his thumb onto the bottle opening so only a partial cascade could escape. And up-ended it to pour the pale wine in a fizzing stream over her half-exposed breasts and shoulders.
She surged up out of the water with surprise, gasping at the chill on her heated skin.
“Yes, sit up,” he urged her, voice husky and quiet in the secluded cottage.
Fiona glanced down. The wine washed away the bath-foam, exposing her breasts, shocking her nipples into tight dripping peaks. Christian’s eyes roved all over her, and then he lowered his head to her nearest breast.
“No!” she exclaimed as his hot tongue joined the cold wine in a sensual counterpoint. The sensation was extreme—the burning slippery caress of his mouth...the icy trickle of prickling wine. He lapped at her, eyes closed, savoring the taste of her warm flesh through the assault of chilled champagne, sucking her nipple so it lengthened and hardened even further.
Fiona trembled with extreme desire. She drew in a huge breath and leaned backwards in helpless invitation as the shafts of sweet intensity ricocheted chaotically from breast to brain to belly. She managed only a breathy moan of pleasure when he turned his attention to her other nipple and drew it deep into his mouth. The heavenly suction soon had her raising a dripping hand to cradle the back of his head and pull him even closer. Her fingernails scraped down over his neck, and out along a broad shoulder. Automatically her hand started to knead and stroke in time with his mouth.
The last of the wine drizzled away. He drew back, gazing at his handiwork.
“Look at you,” he whispered, setting the bottle aside so he could touch a fingertip to each throbbing nipple in turn. “So beautiful, so female, such a turn-on.” His dark eyes found hers and he shook his head slightly. “So dangerous,” he added.