Knowing she was playing with fire, that they were on the precipice of a very, very steep ravine, that she was one crazy decision away from falling head-first into it, she nonetheless nodded. Her eyes latched to his as he lifted, so slowly that impatience ran through her, guiding the fabric along her body, brushing it over her flesh as he balled it at her waist, pausing there, his knuckles glancing across her skin. Higher still, he teased the sensitive flesh at the side of her breasts so that she bit down on her lower lip, wondering if he’d touch her and what she’d say if he did.
‘Hands up,’ he said with a smile that sunk her stomach.
She complied readily, her eyes still clinging to his, as if held there by an invisible magnetic force. She reached for the heavens and he lifted the fabric the rest of the way, leaving her standing before him in just a simple lace thong.
He tossed the fabric aside carelessly, hooking it onto the edge of a sunbed before returning his full attention to Skye.
The moon slid silver across her flesh, across his face, bathing them in the magic of that moment.
‘May I?’ The same question, but his voice was deeper, huskier, and she wasn’t sure what he intended.
She nodded anyway, watching as he pressed his palms to her stomach first, his fingers splayed wide, as if looking for proof of the pregnancy in her abdomen. As if seeking confirmation, his eyes found hers, and she felt the swirl of emotion between them—the hunger, the need, the anger, the betrayal. It was all around her, making it impossible for Skye to know what she felt and what she wanted. Only she knew she shouldn’t want this. That she should put an end to what was happening.
His hands moved higher, cupping her breasts, running over her nipples. It was an achingly familiar touch. Though it had been more than a month since she’d been naked with him, she had never forgotten the perfection of this.
It was hard to forget when memories haunted your dreams.
‘I want to kiss you,’ he murmured, moving his hands back to her hips, holding her still, needing her as much as she needed him. He was wet, his body slick with the pool water. Skye’s eyes dropped to his chest. His heart was in there.
The heart that was cold and ruthless and hurtful. The heart she would never hold in her hands, as he held hers in his. She swallowed, danger swirling around her.
Could she sleep with him anyway?
Could she fall back into his bed, knowing that he didn’t love her?
Whenever they’d been together in the past she’d truly believed that they’d been making love. That their desire was a physical representation of their emotional commitment. But Matteo had never loved her. She doubted he was even capable of the emotion.
Could she ignore that fact? Could she let sex slowly ease that pain? Wasn’t it better than nothing?
‘What’s stopping you?’ she asked softly. But the words were rich with her doubt and uncertainty.
Matteo lifted his thumb, padding it over her lip. ‘What do you want?’
Skye’s smile was a pale imitation of the real deal. ‘You didn’t care what I wanted this morning.’
‘You wanted me to kiss you then.’
Skye blinked, looking away, swallowing, trying to untangle the knot of her desire and thoughts.
‘And now?’ she prompted.
His smile was loaded with self-deprecation. ‘I can’t hear what you want over what I want. I need you to tell me.’
She sliced her eyes back to his face, her breath forced as she struggled to take stock of that moment. ‘What do you want?’ she asked with a quiet intensity.
His face cracked with an unfamiliar emotion. ‘I want it to be like it used to be.’
Surprise spread through her, until she realised he was just talking about sex. Again. He wanted her whenever need overtook him. He wanted her willing, compliant body at his command.
Her response was throaty. ‘It’s not possible.’
He looked as though he was about to say something, but apparently changed his mind. ‘Swim with me.’
It wasn’t an invitation; it wasn’t a command. It was simply an idea, one that moved through her. They’d swum together so often in the past. Was there anything wrong with doing so one last time?
She nodded jerkily, moving closer to the water’s edge. Skye dove in with an unconscious grace. The pool wasn’t long, only ten metres, but it was very deep. She had always enjoyed trying to swim down and touch the bottom, dragging her fingertips over the smooth tiles, tracing the lines of grout, holding her breath until she’d felt like her lungs might burst. She did so now, gliding right to the base, where it was dark and quiet, and she felt the bottom like it was a touchstone that could take her back.
A touchstone that had the power of rewind. That could slide her through the veils of time into the past. The past where she’d been happy—where she’d believed their marriage to be real.