For tonight, at least, there was no escape from the green-eyed temptress and he was just going to have to get by the best way he could.
He struck the first match.
Because no way was he going to have sex with her.
CHAPTER THREE
HELITAfire and it was the sexiest thing Bianca had ever witnessed.
Her throat tightened and so did her breasts. She knew Scouts were supposed to be able to create fire by rubbing two sticks together and she’d always thought it a bit of a myth.
But Xanthos was doing something on exactly those lines. Not with sticks, but with some alcohol-soaked wood from the chair he’d smashed up, along with bits of rubber he’d retrieved from the plane. One minute the temperature had been sub-zero and the next, he’d conjured up roaring flames which were licking at her skin with seductively warm tongues. As the flames engulfed the whisky-soaked pieces of wood the dank interior of their shelter suddenly felt almost luxurious. Warm colours of coral and gold were splashed over the walls and the fire’s crackle was almost hypnotic.
‘Wow,’ she said, her voice full of unwilling admiration as he stood up from his crouching position.
‘You like that?’ he questioned softly, stepping back to survey the result of his endeavours, and Bianca wished he hadn’t because now he was standing beside her and her body had begun to react to the proximity of his. The fire had magnified his shadow and thrown it into stark relief, so that it dominated the room with its darkness. He was so tall and so muscular, radiating a powerful energy she’d never come across before, and she could feel the slow curl of something sweet and insistent deep inside her, something she realised was desire.
She nodded. ‘It’s amazing,’ she said, through lips which had grown annoyingly dry.
She still couldn’t really relax around him, but she couldn’t deny that his behaviour was a dramatic departure from her expectations of him. She’d had him down as yet another arrogant man with more money than was good for him, who just waved an entitled hand to get people to do his bidding. She’d pictured his life as smooth and effortless—screened from the nitty-gritty of the real world in some chic New York penthouse. Yet here he was in this derelict old building, creating fire out of practically nothing but the dextrous flick of his fingers.
Fire-making was a primitive skill, she acknowledged reluctantly. It spoke to her on an elemental level she couldn’t seem to understand. Everything seemed to have slowed down, and her senses had become raw. She could hear the crackle of the fire and smell the woodiness of the smoke. She thought how ironic it was that fire could be their saviour as well as their enemy. For the first time since the plane had crashed, she felt warm—and safe. That was the craziest thing of all. With him she felt safe.
But the planehadcrashed, she reminded herself. Surely they shouldn’t just be lazing around like this as if they were on some unexpected glamping vacation? So do something. Take back some of the control you seem to have relinquished so willingly to Xanthos Antoniou.
Because independence was the only thing she’d ever been able to rely on, after her father’s terrible accident. Her mother and sister had been in bits and started to lean on her, until it had become a habit for them all. Yet she recognised that there was a certain comfort to be derived from being the one who always made the decisions. It was Bianca who had concluded at a family conference that it was best to switch off her father’s life support after years of being hooked to a ventilator, with her mother tearfully agreeing. After that Bianca had concluded she could survive anything life threw at her, if she had all the facts at her fingertips and kept her emotions in check.
She cleared her throat. ‘Shouldn’t we be trying to attract attention?’
He shot her a questioning look. ‘And how do you suggest we do that?’
‘I don’t know. Have you...um...’ she shrugged her shoulders a little helplessly ‘...thought about lighting a fire outside?’
‘No, I haven’t. Because only an idiot would do that. It’s dark, it’s deserted and we’re in the valley of a mountain, in case you hadn’t noticed. Even in the unlikely event that someone might see us, I’d probably freeze to death making the effort.’ His dark eyes glittered with an emotion she couldn’t make out. ‘And while I appreciate I’m not your ideal choice of companion, presumably even you aren’t hard-hearted enough to wish me dead?’
His remark hit home. Of course it did. Quickly, Bianca glanced out of the window, determined he shouldn’t see her expression and realise that he had the power to hurt her. Did he think she was hard-hearted? A flicker of insecurity ran through her. Was that the person she had become? A cold and controlling robot? She clenched her fingers, trying to quash her suddenly rampant feelings of self-doubt. No, it was not. She was just careful, that was all. She protected herself against the heartache which other women just seemed to lay themselves open to, because she’d learnt that nothing was as bad as emotional pain. But maybe she had taken self-protection just a step too far and now was the time to be conciliatory. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘If you must know, I’m very...grateful for everything you’ve done.’
Their eyes met. Held. Was she imagining the flicker of something responsive in his? Some glint of fire in their ebony depths which made her heart clench with pleasure. For one crazy moment she thought he was about to reach out and touch her, but all he was doing was looking at her and she found his dark gaze immeasurably comforting. It felt like an innocent form of intimacy, if there was such a thing. Was that why she blurted out the first thing which came into her head?
‘Why don’t I make us some tea? When I was unpacking the provisions, I noticed you’d brought an ice bucket from the plane, presumably to hold water. We could boil some up on the fire and use some of those peppermint teabags.’
‘Resourceful,’ he murmured.
‘You sound surprised.’
‘Maybe I am. Maybe I’m used to women who like to be waited on.’ He slanted her a smile as she carefully positioned the bucket on top of the smouldering logs. ‘Why don’t I watch that for you?’ he suggested. ‘You might want to go and wash that smear off your face.’
Smear?Instinctively, she reached her fingertips to her face. What smear? Grabbing her soap bag, Bianca hurried into the bathroom and shut the door, her heart beating very fast as she stared into the tiny mirror and saw the large dark mark on her cheek, which must have resulted from her earlier close encounter with a cobweb. Not a pretty sight. Maybe that was why he had been staring at her so intently. Of course it was. In which case, she really needed to lose the schoolgirl fantasies about him, as of now. She washed her face—but the water was icy cold, the soap failed to lather and, of course, she had no towel. She patted her cheeks dry with her hands and then brushed her teeth, ignoring the taunting voice which demanded to know why she thought that necessary.
Then she freed her hair from its ponytail and began to brush it out, convincing herself it would be warmer to leave it loose. But there were other justifications for allowing the ebony waves to fall over her shoulders in a glossy tumble. She stared back at her grapefruit-sized reflection with a touch of defiant feminine pride. Wasn’t the truth that she wanted to look good, because that would make herfeelgood about herself and give her back some of the confidence which seemed to be in short supply? She felt awkward in the company of Xanthos—as if she didn’t quite know how to behave around him. Somehow, the powers of reasoning—which had always been her calling card—had slipped away from her. And she needed to get them back.
With a resolute air, she reknotted the scarf he’d given her and returned to find him sprawled on the floor beside the fire, as the water bubbled up to a boil. Did he have any idea how gorgeous he looked? His long legs were spread out in front of him—the faded denim pulled taut over the definition of powerfully-muscular thighs. Her heart gave a mighty kick and it took a huge effort to drag her gaze away, especially when he leaned over to remove the bucket of boiling water from the fire.
Focus, she told herself severely. Just focus.
Working as efficiently as she could with limited resources, she dunked peppermint teabags in two incongruously delicate bone-china mugs which must also have come from the luxury aircraft. She handed one to Xanthos, which he took with a nod of thanks, before perching with her own on the edge of the armchair, which he had pulled closer to the fire. She cradled the cup between her hands and took a sip, thinking how the simple pleasure of being warm again could make her temporarily forget the precariousness of their situation. ‘Mmm...good, isn’t it?’
But he didn’t respond as he sipped his own tea—he seemed lost in thought. And as Bianca put her cup down and sneaked a glance at her watch, a sudden sense of isolation hit her, along with a hefty dose of realisation. It was only just gone eight o’clock and although she was amazed how much time had passed, and even if they were rescued at first light—if—there were still hours to get through. With him.