Something flashed across her face. Annoyance, he guessed. She took a slow sip of her wine, fuelling his impatience.
‘Okay—I want to do a tandem skydive.’
Mon Dieu.
‘No.’
The word shot from his mouth of its own volition.
Her eyebrows rose. ‘I don’t need anyone’s permission, Nico.’
His jaw tightened. ‘It’s dangerous.’
‘So is getting into a car and driving on the autostrada,’ she said, and the significance of that statement didn’t escape him. ‘Besides...’ She flung a hand in his direction. ‘I bet you’ve jumped out of a plane plenty of times. Don’t elite soldiers do that sort of thing?’
The reference to his soldiering days gave Nico only brief pause. His service in the French Foreign Legion was no secret. The Legion’s flame-like emblem and motto—Honneur et Fidélité—were inked on his upper left arm and had been for eighteen years. He had knocked on the Legion’s door—literally, because that was the only way to gain entry—on the day of his eighteenth birthday, gone on to serve his five contracted years, and then got the hell out.
No doubt he’d mentioned his service to her brother at some point, though Nico never spoke of those years in any detail. Trekking through humid, insect-ridden jungles and dry, shelterless deserts, defending himself and his unit against lethal attacks from rebel forces and random insurgents, policing war zones where their allies had been indisti
nguishable from their enemies and they hadn’t known who to trust—none of it made for idle conversation.
Still, those five years had put into perspective the many childhood injustices he’d suffered as a ward of the French state—had made them seem almost trivial. Insignificant. And, yes, during his time as a legionnaire—and as a military contractor—he’d jumped out of a few planes.
‘Irrelevant, Marietta. What else is on your list?’
She sipped her wine, took her time again. ‘A hot air balloon ride. Let me guess,’ she added. ‘That’s dangerous, too.’
‘You think floating two thousand feet above the ground in an oversized picnic basket is safe?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘This from the man who flies a helicopter?’
He scowled. No comparison. His chopper was a solid machine, designed and built by aeronautical specialists to exacting safety standards. A hot air balloon was nothing but yards of silk filled with...hot air. It would be a frosty day in hell when he climbed into one of those things.
‘Is there anything remotely sensible on your list?’
Her lips curved, as if she were actually enjoying this conversation. ‘Sensible isn’t any fun, is it? But, yes—there are things you’d probably consider low-risk.’
‘Like?’
‘Swimming in the ocean...’ That little smile continued to play about her mouth. ‘Naked.’
And just like that, the steady, persistent hum of awareness in his blood intensified—until he felt as if a high-voltage current arced through his veins.
‘Somewhere private, of course,’ she said, and then her eyes widened as if she’d had an enlightening thought. ‘Your beach would be perfect!’
All at once an image of Marietta floating naked in the clear seawater at the foot of his cliff flashed into his head. Heat and lust ignited in his belly, along with the certain knowledge that she did feel the same pull of attraction he did. He could see it—in the sudden hectic colour in her cheeks. In the way her eyes glittered and held his in silent challenge.
She was provoking him.
Playing with fire.
He lunged up out of his chair, strode to her side and seized her chin. The dark look he gave her should have subdued and intimidated. Instead her lips parted, soft and inviting, as though she were anticipating...a kiss.
Dieu.
He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to crush his mouth onto hers and let her feel the full, unleashed power of the lust she was deliberately inciting. Wanted to punish her for dangling temptation in front of him like an enticing treat he didn’t deserve.
He held himself rigid. Controlled. ‘Be very careful what you wish for, Marietta.’