She didn’t need long, though. Unlike Cressida, Tilly generally threw on what she had to hand and finger-combed her hair to make it slightly less wild. The most she ever dressed up was on the occasions when she was pretending to be Cressida Wyndham.
She showered, scrubbing her skin until it was pink, then wrapped a towel around her body. She peeked down the hallway, making sure he wasn’t nearby, before stepping out of the bathroom. She moved quickly to her room, but just at the second she reached the door he stepped out of his, and his powerful frame connected with hers—hard.
She had the brief impression of his head having been bent, his mind distracted—enough to convince her that it was an accident.
‘Ow!’ she snapped, forgetting momentarily that beneath the towel she was naked and wet. ‘Watch where you’re going!’
But he was watching. In that moment he was watching every single movement on Tilly’s face, seeing so much more than she was aware she was showing. The way her eyes clouded, turning a darker green when they met his. The way her pupils dilated under his watch, spinning into big black orbs. And the way her lips parted, revealing a moist tongue that nervously traced her lower lip.
Rio lifted his hands to her shoulders, his expression dark.
Her breath was rasping and fast. She stared at him, and all thoughts of being strong and keeping him at arm’s length fled her mind. Only desire was left.
His eyes probed hers and his fingers on her wet flesh were gently insistent as they stroked. She moaned, low in her throat, and swept her eyes closed.
Without make-up, her skin glowing from the shower, her hair pulled up into a messy bun, and with a tiny towel barely covering her, she was the most desirable woman he had ever seen.
Rio glided his hands over her upper arms, but he wanted more. His hand moved to the back of her towel, pushing her towards him. She connected with his body—by design this time. She was soft and small, her curves fitting perfectly to him, as though they’d been designed for one another.
Her lashes were dark, feathered fans against her flushed cheeks. And the small moan she made sent his pulse into overdrive. Would she moan when they made love? Would her pillowy lips part, breathing those sweet sounds into the air?
His need was a tsunami inside him, crashing inexorably towards land. She was the shore...she was the anchor...and he was powerless to fight the pull of her tide. Rio had never considered himself powerless before. But he didn’t care. What did power matter when there was the delight of Cressida Wyndham to be had?
He lifted his hand to her face, cupping her cheek and sweeping the ball of his thumb over her lower lip. Her eyes flew open, pinning him with a look that held the same tsunami of need that was ravaging his defences.
‘We shouldn’t do this,’ she said quietly, but her hips pushed forward, moving from side to side in an ancient silent invitation.
His fingers moved through her hair, pulling it from the bun, running through the ends. ‘We shouldn’t,’ he agreed darkly.
‘I don’t...just sleep with guys,’ she whispered, closing her eyes on the confession.
And it was a confession, he realised. There was guilt and shame in it—as though she had been keeping it a secret. It confused the hell out of him, because he would have put money on Cressida sleeping with pretty much anyone she found attractive.
Curiosity flared and challenge lay before him. Not to sleep with her so much as to find out more about her before he gave in to temptation.
‘Do you kiss them?’ he asked.
She smiled, but before she could answer his mouth was crushing down on hers. It was a kiss driven by a passion that had burst out of their control; it was its own force, enormous and undeniable. His tongue was fierce in her mouth, and she surrendered to him willingly. She melted against him, her whole body catching fire.
Her hands pushed into his hair. His body was a weight against hers. He moved her easily, pushing her back against the wall. The pressure of his frame kept her standing, his strong legs pinning her on either side, his mouth making her forget anything except this. This moment, this need.
The world seemed to stop. His hands reached lower and it wasn’t until they curved over hers that Tilly realised she’d been about to unhook her towel, wanting to lower it, to be naked for him and with him. His hands held it still, though, and he broke the kiss just enough to look down at her.
‘No.’ He shook his head, and his expression was so serious that she wondered for a terrifying moment, if she’d mistaken his interest in her. But he’d kissed her? Hadn’t he? Or had she kissed him?
Doubt and worry replaced desire, dousing it quickly. ‘Oh, I thought...’
‘You don’t just sleep with men, remember?’ he prompted, his breath strained, his chest moving quickly.
Her eyes clouded, almost changing colour as she reached through the strands of memory to recall what he was talking about. ‘Oh, right,’ she muttered, wishing she could eat those words.
‘And if you take this towel off I don’t think either of us will be able to stop what was about to happen from happening.’
She nodded, but embarrassment was making it difficult to accept his explanation. Because Tilly didn’t want to stop. She wanted to give in to this—them—here and now.
‘I am only human, cara,’ he said gently. ‘And already I find I cannot get you out of my mind.’
She drew in a deep breath at the admission. ‘Really?’