‘What’s the matter, Bianca? You reckon you’re so irresistible I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘No, but it’s what you implied.’
Their eyes clashed and Xanthos knew he had to come clean, because what other choice did he have? He couldn’t just walk away from her. Couldn’t plead business, or a meeting, or the need for an early night—or any of the other strategies he used whenever a woman was starting to burrow beneath his defences. ‘Look, I can’t deny finding you attractive,’ he admitted slowly. ‘Why wouldn’t I? You’re a very beautiful woman and you’ve got a lot going for you. But you’re not my type—and I don’t have sex with women just for the sake of it. I grew out of that a long time ago.’
She was shaking her head with what looked like fury, so that her hair rippled like glossy jet in the firelight. ‘You think I’d ever have sex withyou?’ she flared back. ‘Why, I’d rather walk barefoot through the snowy mountains of this godforsaken country to try to find my way back to Monterosso before I did that!’
‘Perfect. Then we’re both of the same accord. You don’t want to have sex with me and I don’t want to have sex with you. What could be simpler?’ He splayed out his palms and held them in front of the flicker of flames. ‘Which means we can share that bed over there with impunity.’
CHAPTER FOUR
HISBODYWASwarm and hard and strong. His arms were clasped tightly around her waist.
It felt like heaven.
It felt like hell.
Bianca sucked in a disbelieving breath as her eyes fluttered open and she took in the full extent of her predicament—if such a situation could ever be described as a predicament.
She was in bed with Xanthos Antoniou. Lying wrapped in his arms, actually, beneath a pile of blankets whose cashmere luxury was at odds with their derelict surroundings. She could feel hard, honed muscle pressing against her. The circle of his arms enclosing her. Keeping her safe. Because—against all the odds—hadn’t she just enjoyed the most incredible sleep of her life, despite the fact of being stuck out in the middle of nowhere?
The middle of nowhere.She stiffened.With a man who was dangerously sexy.
‘Relax,’ came a rich voice from beside her. ‘It wasn’t that bad, was it?’
She turned to see his face mere inches away from hers, strong jaw shadowed with new growth, black eyes narrowed and watchful. Desperately, she tried not to let her panic show, but the panic was there, all right, and it was rising by the second. And who could blame her? She’d slept with a man for the first time in her life and couldn’t remember a single thing about it.
Surreptitiously touching her palms to her thighs, she was relieved to discover she was still wearing her jeans. She wriggled her toes. Bed socks, too. And her thick jumper. And even... Her fingertips moved exploratively over her torso as they began to explore an unfamiliar fabric. It felt like a fleece, which must belong to him because she had never owned such a thing.
‘What wasn’t that bad?’ she demanded, her imagination still playing tricks on her.
‘Sharing a bed with me.’ His black eyes glittered. ‘Don’t worry, Bianca, your honour remains intact.’
‘That’s not what I meant!’
‘Sure it was.’ He gave a lazy smile. ‘So why not look on the bright side? We kept warm and we stayed alive, and that was our main objective.’
She supposed he was right. Fractured memories of the night returned to haunt her, like a shattered mirror being pieced back together. She remembered a bizarre supper of caviar and chocolate. A cup of champagne, which had tasted like toothpaste. The awkwardness of who was going to use the bathroom first. Well, awkward for her, since she’d never shared a bathroom with a man before but she hadn’t liked to say so. And then there had been the bed. She remembered him stating how they must conserve fuel and it would lower their chances of survival if they halved the meagre supply of blankets and then froze to death as a result. He had made sharing body heat seem like a necessity rather than a pleasure.
But ithadbeen a pleasure, hadn’t it? That was the awful truth of it. It still was, even though they were bundled up in warm clothes and their faces and their hands were the only pieces of flesh on show. She knew she ought to get out of bed, but she felt so deliciously warm and secure that she was reluctant to move anywhere. Her position could almost have been described as comfortable, were it not for the distracting thud of a pulse at her groin and the small matter of her breasts. Well, not so small actually. They seemed to have swollen to twice their normal size and were extremely tender as she lay glued against him.
She wondered what he would say if she asked him to kiss her, then silently cursed herself for thinking such a thing. Because hadn’t he stated most emphatically last night that she wasn’t his type, which was presumably why he hadn’t touched her in any way which could be considered inappropriate. She chewed on her lip. He had somehow managed to turn what could have been a very awkward encounter into something which had left her wistful and aching for something she seemed to have been denied.
‘I suppose we ought to get up,’ she said half-heartedly, hoping he might try to change her mind.
Xanthos nodded, forcing himself to pull away, resisting the temptation to explore the compact little body which had been pressing so provocatively against him all night long, sending out the unmistakable message that she was as aroused as he was. Her green eyes were wide, the pupils dark and dilated, and her bottom lip was trembling, no matter how hard she dug those little white teeth into the rosy cushion to try to curtail it. He thought how easy it would be to kiss her. And then? His mouth hardened, rivalling the persistent ache at his groin. Did he really want to complicate an already complicated situation by having sex with her, despite all his protestations that she wasn’t his type?
He nodded. ‘Good idea. Why don’t you go and...?’ Was that really his voice? So slow and so heavy, as if he were speaking underwater. ‘Use the bathroom first?’
‘Okay.’
He missed her softness the moment she slid from the narrow bed, forcing himself to close his eyes as she made her way towards the bathroom—because visual stimulus was the last thing he needed to add to his already overloaded senses.
When the door had slammed shut behind her, Xanthos remained exactly where he was, willing the exquisite aching of his erection to subside, though for once his body was refusing to obey him. He wondered if Bianca had any idea of the torture she’d put him through during what had felt like the longest night of his life. She had slept deeply. He had not. After an initial tense silence when he had joined her on the narrow mattress, she had fallen asleep surprisingly quickly, her head falling innocently against his shoulder. And that was when his torture had begun.
He had endured her cosying up to him as if he were a giant hot-water bottle and pressing herself against him. Endured? Who was he kidding? It had been the ultimate sensation of frustration and fantasy—and a surprisingly potent mix. The gravity of their situation had temporarily dissolved as he had inhaled the shampoo sweetness of her hair and felt her dewy cheek resting against his. He wondered if his newly awoken desire had anything to do with the fact that she had confounded all his expectations of her, proving herself to be both resourceful and not afraid of taking on her share of the work.