His smile should have alarmed her. It bordered on grim, but a light of excitement behind his eyes made her tremble with anticipation. He really did want her.
Blood rushed in her ears so she barely heard him speak to a petite q as they made their way back to the main floor.
“Early checkout?” she repeated as he led her through the door the petite q released with a thumbprint and security override card.
“Gold membership has its privileges,” he said drily. “But they’ll only let me leave early. They won’t allow us back in.”
“Oh, but what about my things—?” She paused on the ramp down to the marina, where several eye-popping luxury yachts bobbed like toys in a bathtub.
“Our luggage would be packed for us regardless. That’s the level of service we pay for, Tiffany.” He waved and called something in Bregnovian to a young man as they approached a catamaran. It was called the Luiza and had an orange sail wrapped around its single mast. The body was such a brilliant white she had to squint.
“We’ll remain docked a few hours yet,” Ryzard said in answer to a question from his crewman. “Unless we have to move to let someone out.” He nodded at the boat they’d traversed to reach this one. “Tell the captain we’re aboard and will order lunch when we’re ready, but we don’t wish to be disturbed.”
Tiffany blushed behind her mask, thinking Ryzard was making it incredibly obvious what they were about to do. He didn’t seem concerned, however, as he led her through the interior salon of sleek curved lines, the colors a soothing mix of bone and earth tones. Panoramic windows slanted over the lounge and bar, bringing splashes of turquoise water and cerulean sky into the room. Bypassing a short staircase that led to an elevated pilothouse of some kind, he brought her down a half flight of steps into the master stateroom.
“This is amazing,” she couldn’t help blurt. No stranger to the finer things in life, she was awestruck by the simple elegance and understated masculinity in the surprisingly spacious room. Drawers and cupboards in blond teak lined the space below the windows that provided a one-eighty view. A door led to an exterior deck on this side and into a well-organized head on the other. One curved radius corner of the room was a scrupulously efficient work space, the other a rounded sofa that looked to a flat-screen television set into the wall offset from the bed.
The bed itself was a king-size statement of power, tall and stalwart, its linens almond colored with a bold chocolate stripe across the foot. She dragged her eyes away from it as she heard a whispery sound and the light changed.
Ryzard moved with deliberation to draw woven shades down into a clip, allowing filtered sunlight to penetrate, but giving them privacy.
Her stomach swooped and she put out her hand, not sure where to find purchase when the floor was dipping at the same time.
“I thought we’d go to a room in the club,” she said, linking her hands before her to hide that she was trembling with nerves. And excitement.
He turned from the last window and brushed away his mask, tossing it aside. “As I said, I don’t want to be interrupted.”
By staff wanting to pack their belongings, she imagined he meant, but couldn’t speak because he came close enough to remove her mask.
She stopped him.
“I’ve seen your face, Tiffany.”
“I don’t want you to see how scared I am.”
He frowned. “Of me?”
“Your reaction.”
He shook his head, dismissing her fear as he trailed light fingertips over her clothing, grazing the sides of her breasts and settling warm hands on her waist. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you again. I wish you’d warned me the other night. I wasn’t nearly as gentle as I could have been.”
“I know pain, Ryzard. That was nothing.”
“It was something,” he told her, pulling her close enough to brush his mouth against hers, not properly kissing her. Teasing. “I’ll never forget it.”
An odd expression spasmed across his face before he controlled it, as if he hadn’t meant to admit that to her, but she drew in his confession like air, deeply affected, wanting to hold on to this special feeling he provoked in her. Everything in her yearned so badly to please him, and she was so sure she wouldn’t.
Get it over with, she told herself. She had to let him see and judge and reject before she climbed too high in optimism and desire. A long fall from excitement to disgust would be more than she could bear. If she did it now, before they’d gone too far, she’d still be able to dress and trudge into the nearest town to phone her brother—the one she kept forgetting about.
For now, she had to gather her courage.
Gently removing Ryzard’s hands from her waist, she took a step back. The mask seemed like a tiny bit of necessary protection so she kept it, reaching first for the single button that held her linen jacket closed.
Removing it exposed her arm, marbled in streaks of red and pink, some parts geometric patterns from the grafts, other edges random and white. Not looking at him, she opened her pants and stepped out of them. Her left leg was as bad as her arm, and the top of her good right thigh was peppered with rectangles where they’d taken skin to patch the bad. Her stomach had the same types of scars. She threw off her sleeveless silk top and stood there in her cherry red bra and underpants and gold gladiator sandals.
For the life of her, she couldn’t lift her chin. Her eyes were glued to the floor, her mind full of the rugged road map her body had become. No ivory virgin here.
“You do know pain, Tiffany,” he said quietly.
That brought her eyes up. He studied her gravely, all the way to her toes, and gradually climbed his gaze back to her face. Stepping closer, he touched her chin to bring her face up and looked into her eyes. His were somber, but glowing with something fierce.
“You humble me. I don’t know if I could have fought through such a thing.”
She had to bite her lips to keep them from trembling.
Gently he removed her mask and let it fall. She felt incredibly vulnerable, standing before him nearly naked when he was clothed.
“Do not be ashamed of your courage to survive.”
She had wanted to be told she was pretty despite her scars, but what he said was better, filling her with an emotion she couldn’t describe. Tipping into him, she hugged him tight.
And realized he was aroused. His hand swept her bare back down to where her thong exposed her naked cheek. With a purposeful clench of his fingers into the firm flesh, he tilted her hips into pressing where he grew harder by the second.
“You’re turned on,” she breathed in wonder.
“I’ve got you naked next to a bed. How the hell else would I react?”
That made her laugh, then she squealed as he picked her up and lightly tossed her onto the mattress. Coming up on her elbows, she accused, “Caveman.”
“Believe it,” he confirmed, yanking off his shirt and dropping it away. His pants came off with similar haste. “Off with the rest,” he ordered, jerking his chin at her lingerie. “This time we’re both naked.”
He was, in record time, and pulled off her shoes without ceremony.
“Don’t wreck them. I like those,” she protested, pausing in finding the clip between her breasts to reach for the strap of her shoe.
“What about these?” he asked, hooking two fingers in her panties at her hip. “Special favorite? Because I’m out of patience.” He snapped them.
“Oh!” Why his primitive act turned her on, she couldn’t imagine, but the way he loomed over her, practically overwhelming her with his strength, gave her a thrill. Probably because she felt totally safe despite his resolute expression and proprietary touch. He was impatient, but not without discipline. He threw away her bra, but then he simply held her, his weight on one elbow as he studied her breasts.
“Does this hurt?” he asked, tracing where her scar licked like a flame up the side of her breast.
“I can barely feel anything. Just a bit of pressure. Nerve damage. You know how your face feels after the dentist and the freezing is just starting to come out?”
“Good to know. I’ll focus where you can feel it.” He cupped her breast and flicked her nipple with his thumb.
The sensation was sharper than she anticipated, and she flinched.
“No?” he prompted.
“I— No, it’s good, just really...” She blushed. This was surreal, lying in full light with a gorgeous man naked against her. Twin desires to curl into him and to stop and give herself time to take it in accosted her.
He lowered his head to lick, and her inner muscles clenched like a fist, tearing a sound of reaction out of her.
Almost experimentally, he switched to her other breast, teasing and making her shift restlessly. It felt incredible, but wasn’t quite as intense as the other.
He moved to her left one again and another shot of extreme sensation went through her, flooding her loins with a heated rush of pleasure. She didn’t know if her nerve endings were compensating for others nearby that had ceased to work, but the way his tongue toyed so delicately made her pinch her thighs together.