Visconti's Forgotten Heir(22)

‘The e-mail can wait,’ he advised, in a tone that was quietly impatient. ‘Go and change. Or didn’t you do as I suggested yesterday and bring a swimsuit?’

‘I did what I felt comfortable doing,’ Magenta told him pointedly, letting him know from the outset that she wasn’t going to be bullied or browbeaten into doing anything she wasn’t happy with. That over with, she tagged on, ‘Yes, I brought a swimsuit.’

‘Then will you be my guest, Miss James...’ his dark head tilting, he all but bowed ‘...and kindly consent to join me in the pool?’

‘Don’t overdo it.’ His excessive attempt at courtesy lent her mouth a wry twist as she pushed herself to her feet and started towards the door.

‘And Magenta?’

She glanced back over her shoulder, her hair a rich ebony curtain against her face.

‘Get rid of the scarf.’

It was only a whisper of cream gossamer silk, which she had worn to complement her bronze collarless blouse and cream suit, but it was obviously irritating him immensely.

‘Get rid of it,’ he said softly. ‘Otherwise I really will be obliged to remove it myself.’

The suggestion of his touching her, in any way whatsoever, sent a throb of tension pulsing along her veins. It had been second nature once to have him undress her. She remembered that much—and vividly. Now, though, the excitement generated by the thought of letting him was overlaid with an almost sickening fear. Fear of her vulnerability. Of knowing that if she did she would be playing right into his hands. Fear of his seeing the marks on her body that would give rise to a lot of questions, and fear that in a weak moment she might even tell him the truth about Theo.

And if she did that...

She had survived a lot, but she didn’t think she would survive if he took her son away from her, and the only way to ensure that he didn’t was to remain immune. He didn’t like her, and therefore it was imperative that she resisted whatever plan of seduction he might be carefully mapping out for her, she thought, as she pulled on her swimsuit in front of the pearly wardrobes that filled a whole wall of the luxurious dressing area annexed to her bedroom. But as she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors she could see the way her body was betraying her in the flush across her pale cheeks and in the pink burgeoning peaks of her small breasts.

* * *

Andreas was already in the pool when Magenta came down. Chest-deep in water, his face upturned to the sun, he was leaning with his bronzed arms outstretched on the warm marble tiles behind him. His eyes were closed and yet he sensed her presence as tangibly as the sun that was caressing his face and the warm breeze that brought with it the evocative scent of his favourite honeysuckle. Lazily, his eyelids drifted apart.

He had seen her naked before, so it wasn’t as if there were any surprises in seeing her scantily dressed. But the years hadn’t tempered his hot-blooded desire for her. He had realised that in the wine bar, and again in the lift, when he’d been unable to contain how she made him feel. But never had he wanted her more than he wanted her at this minute, when she was wearing the most demure and yet the sexiest swimsuit his fevered brain could ever have imagined.

Virginal white, it encased her throat in a collar of see-through mesh that extended down across the upper swell of her breasts and continued in a tantalising ‘V’ which finished just below their silken valley. The stretch fabric of the garment emphasised her still-small waist and slender hips, and the legs were high and cut away, revealing her beautiful lean thighs and shapely calves. Add to that the stark contrast of her hair, which she’d swept up in a loose twist of ebony, and the rather moody, come-hither pout of her lovely mouth, and he was glad that most of his body was under water, so that she wouldn’t realise the effect her appearance was having on him.

‘Well? Are you going to join me or not?’ His voice sounded husky, even to his own ears, but she seemed as tense as he was and didn’t seem to notice. Or she was pretending not to, he decided with a wry smile.

The ripple of the water as she slid down off the poolside caressed him in a way that was wholly sensual.

‘I see you haven’t lost your touch,’ he remarked, watching the easy glide of her breaststroke and thinking how gracefully she moved through the water.

‘Did you expect me to?’ She didn’t even turn her head to look at him as she glided effortlessly past.

‘With you I learnt a long time ago never to expect anything,’ he assured her.

‘Anything?’

‘Except disappointment and—’

‘And what, Andreas?’ She kept on swimming. ‘Heartache?’