His body still ached and he felt as tightly wound as one of the yacht’s engine coils. Lunch would have had to consist of food that could only really be eaten with fingers, wouldn’t it? All that licking and sucking…
And those whimsical little smiles…
If he’d had a superstitious bone in his body he’d have sworn Phoebe had been sent deliberately to torment him. He’d underestimated the madness of letting her on board his boat. The attraction he’d been doing so well at ignoring was getting harder to resist. He wanted her badly. Maybe more than he’d ever wanted anyone before. Which in the general scheme of things was nothing to worry about. Attraction was, after all, a simple question of compatible pheromones.
What worried him considerably more was that he’d found himself liking her. Admiring her guts, her tenacity and her ability to have survived growing up with so much pressure.
Searing chemistry and liking were a dangerous combination. He’d spent pretty much the whole of the past hour fighting back the increasingly insistent urge to toss aside the table, bundle her into the cabin and get her naked and hot between his sheets.
On more than one occasion during that seemingly interminable lunch he’d been struck by the hammering urge to open up and tell her everything she wanted to know.
The thought doused the heat in his body more effectively than any quantity of ice-cold water. Spilling his guts out to Phoebe, or to anyone for that matter, was never going to happen.
Alex turned round and started ploughing through the water back to the yacht. As soon as he reached it they’d be heading back to the island and the safety of numbers.
His boat definitely wasn’t big enough for both of them. He had the uncomfortable suspicion the island wasn’t either.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PHOEBE STOOD IN front of the mirror and assessed her reflection with a critical eye. Outwardly she looked exactly as she’d intended. Immaculate, groomed and unflappable. The dress she’d chosen was a reliable favourite, her make-up was flawless and her hair was poker straight.
But her eyes held a worrying sparkle and her cheeks were tinged with pink and inside her stomach churned and her heart raced. Try as she might to persuade herself otherwise, deep down she knew perfectly well it had nothing to do with the thrill of the challenge she was about to face.
Apart from a curt ‘it’s getting late, we should be heading back’, she and Alex hadn’t exchanged a word on the journey back to the island, but the care with which they’d kept well out of touching range and had avoided eye contact had spoken volumes. The tension had reached an unbearable level by the time they’d reached the island and neither of them had been able to get off the yacht fast enough.
The minute they’d reached the house Alex had dashed off muttering something about seeing to any last-minute arrangements. Phoebe had holed up in the safety of the guest wing where she’d spent so long analysing the attraction she seemed to have for Alex and worrying about what might happen if it spiralled out of control that it had given her quite a fright to realise that she only had half an hour to get ready.
But now she was. Armour-plated, prepared for battle and in total command of herself.
It wouldn’t get out of control. She simply couldn’t let it.
She glanced out of the window and couldn’t help smiling at the magical scene that spread out below. In the distance a brightly lit ferry was making its way to the island. Flaming torches lined the path from the jetty up the steps to the house and strings of fairy lights looped from tree to tree. Tables had been set up around the pool and groaned with food. A string quartet had parked themselves in one corner and were busy tuning up.
Whoever had organised all this had done an amazing job, thought Phoebe, idly casting her eyes over the scene. Such a shame that there’d be no press here to witness the results.
Then her gaze snagged on the man striding across the terrace and her breath hitched in her throat. Before she had time to jump back, Alex stopped and turned and looked straight up at her. Her knees wobbled and she felt a shiver race down her spine despite the warmth of the evening air drifting in through the open window.
Alex tilted his head and softly called, ‘Show time,’ before swinging round to go down and greet the guests who were spilling off the ferry and onto the jetty.
Phoebe took a series of deep fortifying breaths and ordered her stupidly hammering heart to calm down. So he looked devastating in black tie. Big deal. A lot of men did. Not many, though, had such a debilitating effect on her nervous system.
Phoebe pulled her shoulders back. She really didn’t need a palpitating pulse and a frazzled brain right now. If she wanted to achieve anything tonight, she thought, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in her glittering dress as she made her way downstairs, she’d better avoid Alex at all costs.
Alex knocked back the rest of his champagne and then ran a finger around the inside of his collar.
What was Phoebe playing at?
The rational side of his brain knew exactly what she was doing. He’d been watching her for the past couple of hours, working her way into circles of guests, smiling, chatting and no doubt persuading her targets to part with vast sums of cash.
He ought to be impressed. Delighted that she was devoting so much effort to his challenge. One of his contemporaries had even made a point of coming up to him and telling him he thought Phoebe was smashing and was tempted to hire her himself. Above all, he ought to be relieved that Phoebe was proving herself to be as committed and capable as she and Jo had claimed.
So why, instead, was he irritated beyond belief? Why had he had to grit his teeth to stop himself snapping at his colleague that Phoebe wasn’t for hire? And why the hell couldn’t he take his eyes off her?
Yes, she looked beautiful. Her skin glowed in the warm light. Her eyes sparkled and her dress clung to her curves like a second skin.
But that was no reason why every move she made should burn into his head. Nor why every smile, every laugh, every touch she bestowed on his guests should send white-hot needles shooting through h
im.