Tropical Temptation: Exotic Seduction

Eight

Fitful moonlight shafted through a thick bridal veil of gauze festooning a tall sash window as Elena was set down on marble-smooth floorboards.

Nick shrugged out of his shirt, revealing sleekly powerful shoulders, a broad chest and washboard abs.

His mouth captured hers as he locked her against the furnace heat of his body. The hot shock of skin on skin momentarily made her head swim, but for all that, the kiss and the muscled hardness of his chest felt, oddly, like coming home.

Lifting up on her toes, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She felt the zipper of her dress glide down, the sudden looseness. Seconds later, she shrugged out of the straps and let the flimsy cotton float to the floor. Another long, drugging kiss and her bra was gone.

Bending, Nick took one breast into his mouth and for long aching minutes the night seemed to slow, stop, as heat and sensation coiled tight.

She heard his rapid intake of breath. A split second later she found herself deposited on the silken-soft bed.

Feeling a little self-conscious and exposed, Elena slipped beneath the red coverlet, unexpected emotion catching in her throat as she watched Nick peel out of his trousers. She was used to seeing him in a modern setting as masculine, muscled and hot, but cloaked in moonlight and shadows, his bronzed skin gleaming in the glow of light from the hall, he was unexpectedly, fiercely beautiful, reminding her of paintings of Medinian warriors of old.

Dimly, she registered a rustling sound, like paper or foil. The bed depressed as Nick pulled the coverlet aside and came down beside her. The heat of his body sent a raw quiver through her as he pulled her close.

His gaze locked with hers, the softness she had noted in the hall giving her the reassurance she suddenly desperately needed.

He propped himself on one elbow, a frown creasing his brow. “Are you all right?”

She cupped his jaw and tried for a confident smile. “I’m fine.”

One long finger stroked down her cheek. “Then why do I get the feeling that you’re not quite comfortable with this?”

“Probably because I haven’t done this in a while.”

Something flared in his gaze. “How long?”

“Uh—around six years, I guess.”

He said something soft beneath his breath. “Six years ago you slept with me.”

The breath caught in her throat. “I guess, given what happened that night, you’re not likely to forget.”

“If the accident hadn’t happened, I would still have remembered,” he said quietly, “since you were a virgin.”

For a split second she felt his indecision, the streak of masculine honor that had once been ingrained in Medinian culture. Abruptly afraid that he might abandon the whole idea of making love, that she might lose this chance to get him back in her life, she took a deep breath and boldly trailed a hand down his chest. “I’m not a virgin now.”

He inhaled sharply and trapped her hand beneath his, then used it to pull her close so that she found herself half sprawled across his chest. “Good.”

He rolled, taking her with him so that he was on top, his heavy weight pressing her down into the feather-soft mattress. Dipping his head, he kissed her mouth, her throat, and finally took one breast in his mouth.

Elena tensed, palms sliding across his shoulders, the sleek muscles of his back, as rivulets of fire seemed to spread out from that one point, culminating in a restless, aching throb.

He shifted his attention to her other breast, and in that moment heat and pleasure coiled and condensed, exploding into aching, shimmering pleasure as the night spun away.

Nick muttered something short and flat. Moments later his weight pressed her more deeply into the bed. She felt him between her legs, and relief flowed through her as slowly, achingly, he entered her.

The faint drag of what could only be a condom made her eyes fly open. The sound she had registered earlier suddenly made sense. Nick had sheathed himself, which meant he’d had the condom in his pocket.

The realization was like a cold dash of water. She shouldn’t think about the condom. She shouldn’t allow it to matter, but it did, because it meant he had been prepared to have sex with someone, not necessarily her.

Nick was oddly still, his expression taut as if he had gauged every one of the emotions that had just flitted across her face. “Something’s wrong. Do you want me to stop?” A muscle pulsed along the side of his jaw. “Yes, or no?”

The words were quietly delivered, without any trace of frustration or need—just a simple question. Although she could see the effort it was costing him in the corded muscles of neck and shoulders.

The blunt, male way he had presented her with the choice brought her back to her original reason for making love: because she wanted another chance with him.

At the thought of losing him, contrarily, she wanted him with a fierce, no-holds-barred need that rocked her.

For every reason that shouldn’t matter—because he was too elusive, too spoiled by the women he had dated and way too dangerous for her heart—he was the last man she could afford in her life.

And yet he was the only man to whom she had ever been truly, passionately attracted.

There was no logic to what she felt, no reason why he should smell and taste and feel right when no one else had ever come close.

Unless somehow, despite the frustration and anger and sheer loneliness of the past few years, she had somehow fallen for him, and he was The One.

She clamped down on the moment of shocked awareness. This was where she had gone wrong the first time with Nick—she had wanted too much, expected too much.

Every feminine instinct she had informed her that applying any form of pressure at this point would scare Nick off, and she couldn’t afford that. Framing his face with her hands, she drew his mouth to hers, distracting him from discovering that she might have done the one thing that seemed to scare men the most and fallen for him. “The answer is no, I don’t want you to stop.”

She promised herself she wouldn’t cry as relief registered in his gaze and gently, slowly, he began to move.

There was a moment of utter stillness when he was fully sheathed and they were finally, truly one, and then he undid her completely by softly kissing her mouth.

His thumb brushed away a trickle of moisture that had somehow escaped one eye, then he pulled her closer still, holding her with exquisite care and tenderness as if he truly did love her. A heated, stirring pleasure that was still shatteringly familiar despite the passage of years, gripped her as they began to move.

Locked together in the deep well of the night, the angst and hurt of the past dissolved. Nothing mattered but the way Nick held her, the way he made her feel, as the coiling, burning intensity finally peaked and the night spun away.

In the early hours of the morning, Elena woke, curled in against the furnace heat of Nick’s body. His arm was curved around her waist, keeping her close, as if even in sleep he couldn’t bear to be parted from her.

A surge of pure joy went through her. She had taken the risk, and it was working. Nick had been tender and sweet, and the passion had, if anything, been even hotter, even more intense.

She was convinced that this time they really had a chance.

The false start six years ago had muddied the waters, but the hurts of the past shrank to insignificance compared with the happiness and pleasure ahead.

She smiled as she sank back into sleep. All was forgiven. She couldn’t let the past matter when they were on the verge of discovering the once-in-a-lifetime love she was certain was their destiny.

A chiming sound pulled Elena out of a deep, dreamless sleep. She rolled, automatically reaching for Nick. The pillow where his head had lain was still indented and warm, but that side of the large, voluminous bed was empty.

Moonlight flowed through the window, illuminating the fact that Nick was pulling on clothes with the kind of quick efficiency that denoted he was in a hurry. Silvery light gleamed over one cheekbone and the strong line of his jaw as he glanced at his watch.

The bronzed gleam of broad shoulders and the strong line of his back disappeared as he shrugged into his shirt.

His gaze touched on hers as he buttoned the shirt with quick efficiency. “I have to leave now, otherwise I’ll miss my flight out.”

Elena jackknifed, dragging the sheet with her and wrapping it around her breasts. The memory of Nick explaining his schedule the previous evening flooded back. “The flight to Sydney.”

The side of the bed depressed as he pulled on socks and shoes. “I have a series of business meetings I can’t cancel. They’re important.”

“Of course.” More important than exploring the passion they had found together, or the spellbinding sense that they were on the verge of discovering something special.

She drew an impeded breath and killed the idea of suggesting that, since she lived in Sydney and was due back soon, maybe she could go with him. It was too soon to put that kind of pressure on their relationship.

She needed to remember one of the rules Giorgio had given her about dating: that men liked to feel as if they were the hunter, even if that wasn’t strictly the case.

She forced one of her professional smiles. “Of course. I understand completely.”

His gaze was oddly neutral as he collected his phone from the bedside table and shoved it into his pocket. A trickle of unease made her stomach tighten.

As if he had already distanced himself from what they had done.

Bending, he picked something up from the floor. When he straightened, she recognized the packet of love letters. “I’ll return these.”

“No problem. I’m sure your mother will be relieved to know that Stefano was helping Katherine find her adopted child.”

Another lightning glance at his watch, then Nick leaned across the bed and kissed her, the caress perfunctory. “Thanks. It was…special.”

Elena froze. The awkwardness of the moment expanded when she failed to respond, but she had quite suddenly reached the end of her resources.

She recognized this part. Nick had gotten what he wanted: closure for the scandal that had hurt his family and another night of convenient passion. Now he was trying to step away from any suggestion of a relationship by leaving as quickly as possible.

Her fingers tightened on the beautiful sheets as Nick strode from the room. She heard his step on the stairs, then the sound of the front door quietly closing. A few seconds later, the rumble of the Jeep’s engine broke the stillness of early morning.

She blinked back the burning heat behind her eyes and resolved not to cry. She could see why Nick’s relationships ended so easily. He had concluded a night of passion in the same way he conducted his business affairs: briefly and with his gaze fixed on the next goal.

The full folly of returning to the scene of her last mistake and sleeping with Nick again settled in. Dragging the silk sheet with her, she wrapped it around herself and walked to the freestanding oval mirror. The moonlight was incredibly flattering. She was actually, finally, attractive in the way she had longed to be.

Although that hadn’t seemed to matter to Nick. It hadn’t tipped the balance and made him fall for her.

Which, she realized, was exactly what she had secretly hoped when she had started on the whole process of improving her appearance.

Admitting that pleasing Nick had been her motivation to change was painful, but if she wanted to move on she had to be honest.

She had been stuck in relationship limbo for years. Just when she was on the verge of forming a positive, rewarding romantic friendship with a nice man, she had thrown herself at Nick again.

Hitching the sheet up, she walked to the window and dragged the thick drape of white gauze back. A pale glow in the east indicated that the sun would soon be up. She needed to shower, get dressed and make a plan.

She had made the mistake of allowing Nick to get to her, again.

But the fledgling love affair that had dogged her for six years was finally finished. There would be no replays.

She was finally over Nick Messena.

Nick grimly suppressed a yawn as he sipped an espresso during his flight to Sydney.

Kyle, who was with him to represent the bank’s interests in the partnership deal he was negotiating with the Atraeus Group, turned a page of his newspaper. “Did you find the ring?”

Nick took another sip of coffee and waited for the caffeine to kick in. “Not yet.”

Briefly he filled Kyle in on the love letters and the adoption papers they had found, and that he had stopped by and spoken to their mother before he had left Dolphin Bay.

That had been a priority. The stark relief on Luisa Messena’s face had told him just how much she had been holding out for the information.

There was a small vibrating silence, which finally broke through the grim flatness that had gripped Nick ever since he had driven away from Dolphin Bay.

Kyle put his newspaper down. “You and Elena looked like you were getting on. Last I heard, she wasn’t returning your calls—”

“We found some common ground.”

“Something’s happened.” Kyle’s gaze had taken on the spooky, penetrating look that was a legacy of his time in the SAS, New Zealand’s Special Forces. Something about Kyle’s calm neutrality inspired respect and actual fear in the high-powered financial magicians he dealt with on a daily basis. When he turned up with the scary eyes the deal usually got done in minutes.

Kyle shook his head. “You slept with her again.”

Nick’s fingers tightened on his coffee cup. “I shouldn’t have confided in you six years ago.”

Kyle shrugged. “Dad had just died. You were understandably emotional.”

Nick finished his coffee and set his cup down on the seat tray with a click. “According to the family, I have the emotions of a block of stone.”

“Whatever. You’ve slept with Elena Lyon twice. That’s…complicated.”

Wrong word, Nick thought. There had been nothing complicated about what they had done or how he had felt.

He had been caught up in the same visceral hit of attraction that had captured him the night his father had died. An attraction that had become inextricably bound up with loss and grief, and what he had believed was his father’s betrayal.

With the knowledge that his father and Katherine had not been involved, he should have been able to view Elena in the same way he viewed other past lovers. As an attractive, smart woman who was in his life for a period of time.

But the realization that Elena hadn’t ever slept with anyone but him had sounded the kind of warning bells he couldn’t ignore.

His reaction had been knee-jerk. As addictive as those hours with Elena had been, after years of carefully avoiding emotional entanglements and commitment, he’d found he couldn’t do a sudden, convenient U-turn.

As much as he had wanted to spend more time with her or, even more crazily, take her with him, the whole idea of being that close to someone again had made him break out in a cold sweat.

Kyle signaled to a flight attendant that he wanted a refill for his coffee. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool, but you might need to take a look at this.”

Nick took the tabloid newspaper Kyle had been reading and stared at the piece written about Gabriel and Gemma’s wedding. The details of the ceremony were correct, but it wasn’t his brother and his new bride in the grainy black-and-white wedding photos.

Someone had made a mistake and inserted a photo of himself and Elena kissing on the steps of the church. It was flanked by a shot of him helping Elena into the limousine when they were on their way to have the official photos taken. A third snap as they had left the reception together rounded out the article. Apparently they were now on their way to a secret honeymoon destination.

A trolley halted beside his seat. A pretty flight attendant offered to take his cup. Absently, Nick handed it to her, barely noticing her smile or the fact that she was blonde, leggy and gorgeous.

According to the tabloids, according to Elena, the flight attendant was his type.

Although not anymore.

Now, it seemed, he had a thing for brunettes. Fiery brunettes with hourglass figures and issues.

Just as the flight attendant was about to move on, she glanced at the newspaper and sent him a brilliant smile. “I thought I recognized you. Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Uh—I’m not actually married.”

She looked confused. “That’s not you?”

“It’s him,” Kyle supplied unhelpfully. “They’ve split up already.”

There was a moment of shocked silence. The flight attendant dredged up a brilliant, professional smile that was cold enough to freeze water. “Would you like me to get you anything more, sir?”

The words, like marriage guidance or an actual heart, hung in the air.

“He’s happy,” Kyle supplied, along with the killer smile that usually made women go weak at the knees. “We have everything we need.”

The attendant gave Kyle a stunned look, then walked quickly off, her trolley rattling.

Nick folded the newspaper and gave it back to Kyle. “Thanks for making her think that I ditched my wife of just a few hours because I decided to turn gay.”

Kyle disappeared behind his paper again. “Look on the bright side. At least now she thinks I’m the villain.”

Broodingly, Nick returned to thinking about the second night he had spent with Elena. Another passion-filled encounter that was proving to be just as frustratingly memorable and addictive as the first.

He hadn’t been able to resist her and the result was that Elena had gotten hurt.

Nick retrieved an envelope from his briefcase and stared at the faded copy of the birth certificate and the photograph of the toddler he had brought with him.

He had found the reason his father had been in the car with Katherine the night they had both died. Not because Stefano Messena had been having an affair, but for a reason that fitted with his character. His father had been helping Katherine locate her baby.

The reason he had passed the ring to Katherine was because it, and a sizable chunk of the Messena fortune, belonged to his long-lost cousin. His birth year was the same as Nick’s, which would mean Michael Ambrosi would be his age: twenty-nine.

An image of his father the last time he had seen him alive flashed through Nick’s mind. His chest went tight at the vivid picture of Stefano Messena tying down a sail on his yacht, his expression relaxed as he enjoyed the methodical process. It was the picture of a man who liked to do everything right.