As she went past him he saw that she was doing her best not to touch him, but even the most fleeting glance of her hip against his thigh sent shards of desire into his belly. He couldn’t help but smell her scent—cool and crisp, with a hint of something floral. That was what she was like—one minute spiky, the next as soft as a fresh rose. And as alluring.
She was taller than he had expected—about five foot seven...
When he’d sat down again, and she’d moved down the aisle to the bathroom, Alexio stuck his head out to watch her, his blood heating through every vein and artery at the way her skinny jeans hugged her slim, shapely legs and cupped her surprisingly lush derriere. To Alexio’s consternation he saw more than one other male head dip out to take a look too as she passed.
It felt as if he hadn’t taken a proper breath since he’d seen her take off that horrific sweatshirt. He’d happened to look at her for her response when the stewardess had asked if she wanted something, only to find her in the act of taking it off. He’d been unable to look away as Sidonie had fought with the voluminous material, gradually showing tantalising glimpses of pale flesh, slim arms, tiny wrists, delicate shoulders and collarbone.
She’d emerged flushed, and Alexio’s libido had been suddenly ravenous. She was wearing a vest top, with a loose singlet over it, so she was showing nothing that wasn’t completely respectable. But she might as well have been naked, the effect within Alexio was so violent. He felt like a Victorian man seeing bared arms for the first time; they were almost provocative in their slim, delicately muscled definition.
He’d sat there with a raging erection, trying in vain to concentrate on the conversation and those flashing expressive eyes and not let his gaze drift down to where her small but lush cleavage was revealed under those two tops. The hint of a bright pink bra strap every now and then had enflamed him more than the most expensive lingerie modelled by any of his previous lovers. The memory of his Latin lover of last night was being comprehensively eclipsed.
Alexio wanted to see her—all of her—with a hunger that might ordinarily cause him to stop and think. He could already imagine her perfectly formed breasts, made to fit a man’s hands like plump fruits. Would her nipples be small and peaked? Or large and succulent? He hadn’t been able to resist touching her hot cheek for a second. Her skin was as soft and unblemished as a peach.
This was the kind of desire he’d missed for so long. The kind he’d lamented not feeling last night. Urgent and hot. Utterly compelling. As if he couldn’t envisage not getting off this plane and taking Sidonie with him so that he could taste her all over. And Alexio had to wonder in that moment if he’d ever really felt like this. Or had it just been a figment of his imagination till now?
The revelation sent him reeling, and he wasn’t prepared at all when a soft voice said hesitantly, ‘Er...excuse me, Mr Christakos?’
He looked up and there she was, and just like that any semblance of clear-headedness was gone. He was reduced to animal lust again. Her breasts were in his eyeline and he could see the thrust of her nipples against the thin fabric of her two tops, like berries. He had to get up and let her back in, cursing his body, which would not obey his head.
One thing he was sure of as she brushed past him in the small space again and her scent tantalised him: he wanted this Sidonie Fitzgerald with her husky voice with a hunger he’d not known before. And he would have her. Because Alexio Christakos always got what he wanted. Especially women.
* * *
Sidonie sat down again and tried to hang on to the control she’d struggled to find in the tiny bathroom space just moments before. She’d splashed cold water on her face, as if that might wake her from the trance she seemed to be in.