But, after a pause, Sam laughed.
Ifshe’dhave said that, he’d have sulked for a week!
CHAPTER SIX
ONEOFTHEexperiences Tilda wanted to take away from her short stint as a billionaire’s bride was that of getting to fly in a private jet. Once would do; she had travelled on the odd occasion with Ezio, but never outside the UK.
She had seen Angelos private jets with the discreet gold logo on the runway on several occasions when Ezio had requested she meet him at the airport to fill him in personally on the way to a meeting.
She’d often speculated what they looked like inside, and the luxury and space in the private jet was not a let-down. While Sam was trying to con himself a place up front with the pilots, she took a seat. Baggage allowances were not an issue but Tilda had brought on board a small carry-on containing some fresh clothes.
She intended to enjoy the novelty of using the on-board shower room facilities, which she knew existed, because she’d asked about Ezio’s wet hair on one of the occasions she’d met him coming off a flight.
An image flashed into her head of him immaculately suited and booted, his dark hair slicked back, striding through the foyer towards her, drawing every single eye in the place and seemingly totally oblivious to the fact.
She pushed away the image and didn’t try to stifle her yawn, partly to prove to herself how relaxed she was, but mostly because the tensions of the day were catching up with her and the creeping exhaustion was enveloping her like a blanket.
She stretched out her legs and pushed her shoulder blades into the seat, only to reverse the process abruptly and sit bolt upright when an attendant appeared with champagne in a bucket and two glasses. She nodded her thanks and smiled at him, wondering if this was simply normal practice when Ezio travelled with a woman, though she doubted many of Ezio’s travel companions had come with a teenage boy in tow.
A drink was either a very bad idea or a very good idea but, as she sat there staring at the bottle, she decided that, bad or good, she was going to say yes... It had been a long day and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
‘Wh-what...? Wh-where...?’
Ezio glanced up as a deep sigh left Tilda’s parted lips, her lashes fluttering like butterflies against her lightly flushed cheeks as her luminous green eyes opened. Her eyes darted back and forth, the unfamiliar surroundings deepening her panic until she encountered a face that anchored her.
‘It’s you...’ She studied Ezio’s starkly beautiful face and smiled.
Ezio caught his breath at the invitation glowing in her eyes. His physical response was instant and painful. Her mouth was just the most... He had no idea where he got the strength not to accept the invitation in those incredible eyes. He could feel his sense of time and place fade fast, along with his resistance, as she lifted a fluttering hand towards his cheek. His chest was heaving as he struggled to draw in oxygen through flared nostrils and he felt his control slipping through his fingers like sand grains.
Their mouths were inches apart when, just as unexpectedly as it had been offered, the invite was withdrawn, a light seemed to switch on in her head and the slumberous promise went cold.
He remained hot.
She sat bolt-upright, almost knocking heads with him.
Ezio straightened up in pain.
Theos...If Tilda ever learnt the power those eyes had, no man would be safe.
What man would want to besafe...? What was safety compared to the lush promise of the lips?
The thought surfaced out of nothing, or at least deep frustration, and once there fed on the oxygen of his need. Packing it away would take more focus than he could tap into at that actual moment so it stayed there at the back of his thoughts, bedding down, inviting him to rationalise the needs he was denying...askingwhy?
He focused on thewhy nots.It was not a cold shower but it was all he had.
How about we have great sex for six weeks but then what for the rest of the six months...? Sure, that is really a good idea.
How about six months isn’t enough...?Tilda was not like any of the women who had drifted in and out of his life leaving no ripples in its smooth, efficient running.
What if he hurt her? There was noifabout it. He was enough like his father to know that he would. This argument with himself was the clincher. He might be selfish but he was already using her, but to hurt her... He felt the rejection of that at a cellular level.
‘We’re here—why didn’t you wake me?’ It was less a question and more an accusation.
‘You were exhausted and it’s been a long day.’
‘You snore.’ This was Sam, who walked down the aisle with a back pack slung over this shoulder. Presumably his suit was crushed in it, as he’d changed into a pair of khaki chinos and a tee shirt. His comfort made Tilda aware that she wasn’t at all comfortable—she was wearing a dress she had slept in, which no doubt looked it.
‘Thank you, brother dear, I love you too,’ she responded with a grin.