Visconti's Forgotten Heir(23)

‘Heartache?’ His laugh seemed almost to taint the peace and beauty of the perfect day as he started swimming after her. ‘Nothing so sentimental. I was going to say desire.’

‘Desire?’ She’d swum over to the side of the pool and now grabbed the tiled edge, using it to propel herself round to face him.

‘Sex, if you want it in its most basic definition.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Why not?’ A faster, stronger swimmer than she was, he was level with her now. ‘Are you going to try and deny that you weren’t as hot for me as I was for you? Even more so, if that were possible, judging by your insatiable appetite when you were in my arms.’

The slap that she had itched to administer to that hard cheek the other day now found its target with stinging precision. She heard it and regretted it the instant she saw the water from her errant hand running down his face.

‘So you prefer to play rough these days, do you?’ he rasped, and the darkening of his eyes promised retribution, sending her front-crawling away from him like a hunted fish.

Andreas’s laughter held no warmth as he sliced after her through the clear blue water, catching her easily and curbing her futile attempt to climb out.

‘No!’

It was an anguished little sound, strung with panic and something else—something that called to his most primal instincts and sent his testosterone rocketing sky-high. Her eyes were wary yet bright with the same excitement that was driving him as he pulled her round to face him, but the depth of tortured emotion he saw in her face was his total undoing.

‘Why did you pretend not to remember me when you saw me in that wine bar, Magenta? What was it you were hoping to gain?’

‘Nothing. Nothing,’ she emphasised, bluffing. ‘I was just hoping you would go away.’

‘Go away?’ He made a derisory sound through his nostrils. ‘Did it repel you to speak to me that much?’

Water ran into her eyes and distractedly she brushed it away. Then, standing on tiptoe, she reached up and gently pressed her lips to the spot where her hand had struck him. And that was a mistake, she realised, when he dipped his head and claimed her mouth with his, leaving her rejoicing in her folly as his arms tightened mercilessly around her.

She should stop this madness!

Magenta heard the warning bells clanging away inside her but took no heed of them as Andreas’s mouth became harder and more insistent.

She wanted this! She screamed it silently, in spite of herself, as her body moulded itself of its own accord to the hard planes and angles of his. That physical part of her knew him and was recognising its mate, acknowledging him as the other half of a whole that had formed the most fundamental bond, the half that had planted its fertile seed in her willing womb. And she could tell how much he wanted her.

His lips and hands were rediscovering her body and she welcomed them like a long lost-part of herself. She had been born to do this with this man, and to know his hands as completely as she knew her own. To carry on his DNA in the shape of her little boy and to be forever lost—her senses only half alive—without the stimulating possession of his kisses.

‘How do you get this thing off?’

He was breathing raggedly as he tugged at the restraining fastener at the nape of her neck. One slip of the clasp and he would have her naked in his arms. His to do whatever he wanted with. And she wouldn’t have the willpower to resist him. Only the thought of Theo and the resurfacing fear of losing him had her pulling out of those tormenting arms.

‘You don’t!’

With an immense effort of will she struck out for the side of the pool, only the thought of her son keeping her going, and she could already feel the sun-warmed tiles beneath her bare feet by the time Andreas had caught up with her.

‘What is it with you, Magenta? Exactly what sort of game do you think you’re playing?’ The sun was reflecting off his wet, near-naked body like burnished gold.

‘No...game.’ It was a struggle suddenly even to say that much, and she put a shaky hand to her throbbing head.

‘Do you get some warped kick out of turning men on and then switching off the instant you think you’ve got them hooked, like you did with me first time round? Is that what you did to Rushford? Is it? Is that why he couldn’t take any more?’

She knew nothing was further from the truth. How could it be? she agonised. Suddenly she was flinging at Andreas, ‘Oh, forget him, will you?’

One side of his mouth lifted in a less than friendly gesture. ‘I wish I could. But I’m sorry, darling. Bad memories do tend to die hard.’

Then you should be like me! Magenta screamed silently. With only half of them intact. See how much you’d like it!