Until at last he’d seen her, standing back and apart from the rest, the drink in her hand full and untouched. Her own gaze riveted on him.
She’d remained watchful as he’d taken off his helmet and approached, his pulse hammering through his veins at her glorious beauty. With the sunlight from the back of the terrace streaming onto her lightly tanned skin, she’d been bathed in an angel-like halo.
Everything had taken on a surreal quality. The guests on the terrace had receded beyond his periphery, like shadowy figures in the background of a painting. The only thing he could focus on, think about, was the need to reach her, talk to her, touch her. He hadn’t dared to blink, fearing she might disappear, a figment of his imagination.
At last he’d reached her, and with a single shaky breath he’d known he had to have her. From the start, the chemistry had sizzled red-hot, and he, well, he was no monk. But apart from the familiar sexual tug, he’d sensed something else. In her eyes a deeper knowledge had probed, touching a deep, dark place within him he didn’t like to explore too often, if at all. It had disturbed him a little, but not enough to curb the spark of intense interest. He’d wanted to know her, find out what made her happy, what made her sad. Simply put, he’d wanted her.
Before he knew it, he’d opened his mouth.
“There you are.”
She’d blinked, as if awakened from a trance, her stunning blue eyes widening a touch. “Yes. Here I am.” Her voice held a soft, draping huskiness that warmed his senses and kicked his pulse up another notch. No, he was most certainly not a monk, he’d acknowledged as his blood rushed south.
Her gaze had left his and journeyed slowly down his body. Just in time, he’d lowered his helmet, knowing his excitement would be evident courtesy of his tight white jodhpurs. A look of amusement crossed her face, and she looked up.
“Don’t you need to change?” The corners of her pink lips tilted up, awareness of her effect on him gleaming in her eyes.
“Not until you tell me your name.” He’d go nowhere until he had that information, even if it meant shocking her with his rampant erection.
She’d tilted her head to one side, her golden hair falling in a heavy curtain over one slender, creamy shoulder.
“My name is Belle Winkworth-Jones.” She’d said it in a rush, as if to get it over and done with.
“Belle.” He’d loved the silky taste of her name on his lips. “Is that short for Isabelle?”
“No.”
“Annabelle?”
“No. It’s just Belle.” Her irritation had amused and intrigued him. His normally astute brain had been fruitlessly searching out other variations of her name when her lilting voice had interrupted his thoughts.
“Shouldn’t you be thinking of a shower?” She’d wrinkled her cute straight nose, reminding him he smelled of horse and sweat.
He’d curbed his desire to invite her to join him. No, they had all the time in the world for that.
“All right, Just Belle. I’ll go. But only if you promise to be here when I get back.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort. I don’t even know who you are. I’ve told you my name, but I don’t know yours.” The tilt returned and exposed her slender throat and the pulse beating there, which his fingers had itched to explore. He’d fought the urge and held out his hand instead.
“I’m Nikolaos Andreakos. You can call me Nick.”
She’d paused before placing her hand in his, and when she did, he knew why she’d hesitated. The sizzle that went up his arm at the touch of her warm skin had stunned him. The instant darkening of her eyes told him she’d experienced it, too.
From that moment, he’d been hooked.
And even after their problems began, he’d thought the bond between them couldn’t be broken.
How wrong he’d been!
The strong, courageous woman he’d believed he married had turned out to be a deserter, a woman capable of abandoning her marriage when the going got a little turbulent. He’d given her ample time to return, to realize the futility of trying to live without each other. What he should’ve done was followed his instincts and gone after her immediately.
He’d come too damned close to losing her.
But he was nothing if not determined when he wanted something. Or someone. And once he possessed what he wanted, he never let it go. He had given her enough space, and she’d gotten herself captured and almost killed in the process. The time had come to figuratively knock some sense into his wife.
With a grunt of firm intent, he gathered her closer, laid his head back against the side of the plane, and finally felt the adrenaline drain from his body.
…