She was asleep when he returned a minute later, glass of water in hand. He placed it quietly on the bedside table then left her in peace—before his will-power finally deserted him.
He deserved a bloody medal of valour for that act of self-torture.
After a month of celibacy a gorgeous woman offered her beautiful, perfect self on a platter and he walked away? Hell, it was two glasses of wine—not even half a bottle. How many times had he slept with a woman who’d drunk champagne at a party?
But she hadn’t just had two glasses of wine. Or rather, she had, but they’d had the effect he would have expected two bottles to have. She’d been completely addled. Cressida Wyndham, he had been led to believe, was a sophisticated woman who moved in socially elite circles. A couple of glasses of wine over lunch should not have affected her like that. And yet undeniably they had.
The moment they’d stood up from the table he’d realised that she was no longer herself. It had become more apparent as they’d made their way through the marina and he’d practically had to carry her past the shops. Then there had been the boat ride. The way she’d stroked his thigh the whole way. He’d been tempted to throw the thing into neutral and make love to her then and there.
Had she any idea how much stamina it had taken to turn her down?
And what had happened to make her so utterly affected by the wine?
He added that question to the pile of things that simply didn’t make sense.
Cressida Wyndham was a mystery. And he was going to solve her.
* * *
He’d been right.
She felt awful when she woke. Not least of all because of the sense of temporal disorientation that had made her jerk awake. It was dark, but it didn’t feel like the middle of the night. She reached for her phone, pressing the button so that she could see the time.
It was just after nine o’clock.
Why was she asleep so early?
And what was that furry feeling in her mouth?
And just like that it all came flooding back to her.
‘Oh, God.’ She squeezed her eyes shut.
Embarrassment curdled her blood. She screwed her eyes up tight, but that only made it worse. With her eyes closed, the whole day played out like a movie reel. She’d fallen in the water. Again! And... Her skin burned. She’d practically begged him to make love to her. And he’d told her he wasn’t interested!
Tilly jerked her head around, her eyes landing on the glass of water. She lifted it up and drank from it quickly.
The only problem was that then she needed to use the restroom.
And that meant leaving her bedroom and possibly facing him.
She could hold it.
Or not.
She stood up and tiptoed towards the door. The handle was an old Bakelite one and she turned it slowly, so slowly, wincing as it creaked a little. She kept her eyes shut as she pulled the door inwards and then poked her head out quickly.
Left, right—he was nowhere in sight.
Phew.
She practically ran to the bathroom. She felt as fresh as a ten-year-old toothbrush, and a cursory inspection in the mirror showed she looked little better.
She ran her fingers through her hair and splashed water on her face, pinching her cheeks before brushing her teeth and rubbing in face cream. Her skin was warm, perhaps from the sun...or embarrassment. With a grimace, she pulled the door inwards, forgetting to be quiet.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Rio was lounging against the wall opposite, his lips twisted in the hint of a knowing smile.
‘Don’t,’ she said quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor. ‘Don’t lecture me.’