Her heartbeat was very loud and very fast, and she wasn’t sure why she was so short of breath. She stared at him, unable to look away, watching heat glitter in the depths of his eyes, and something shifted inside her, a fascination gripping tight.
The scars on his face extended down his jaw and the side of his strong neck, disappearing beneath the material of his white shirt, and suddenly she wanted to see how far down they went, maybe explore the differing textures of his skin. The rough and the smooth. He’d be hot, though, she knew that, and he’d feel hard, even where he was burned. Did they hurt him, those scars? If she touched them, would he feel it?
He stroked the back of her hand gently with one callused thumb, the roughness of it pulling over her skin and scraping just enough to send the most delicious shiver down her spine. What would that thumb feel like stroking other parts of her? More sensitive parts?
You know how it would feel. Amazing.
She took a ragged breath, caught in his silver-green gaze, a distant part of her urging her to pull her hand away, while the rest wanted her to leave it exactly where it was, enclosed in his.
After what felt like an endless stretch of time, the air around her feeling too hot and too close, he moved again, turning her hand over so it lay cupped in his, palm up, a pale starfish against his darker skin. Then everything in her tightened as he bent and pressed his mouth gently to the centre of her palm.
She gasped, unable to stop the sound as all the air rushed out of her, her whole body drawing tight. Her palm throbbed, and even as he lifted his head, she could still feel the impression of his mouth. It was as if he’d burned her.
His gaze was relentless, his expression unchanging. But it was his eyes that gave him away. There were flames in them and he let her see them.
An ache pulsed inside her, a deep, heaviness between her thighs, and she could feel the press of her sarong against her bare skin, the brush of it over her sensitive nipples. They felt hard, tight, and her breathing was far too fast.
She wasn’t expecting it when Ares let her hand go, and she wasn’t expecting not to want him to. She almost protested, but bit down on the words at the last second.
He only sat there watching her. ‘That, little maid,’ he said softly, ‘is physical desire.’
She said nothing, her whole body alive and alight in a way it had never been before. Like Sleeping Beauty waking up, the world was different now and she didn’t know what to say or what response to give.
Because if this feeling was desire, then she’d underestimated every single decision she’d made since she’d got here.
Sleeping with him will change you. Irrevocably.
Rose didn’t know how or why, but she knew it was true all the same. It would change her. And it made everything she’d done so far, everything she’d planned for this evening, seem like the naive imaginings of a silly, sheltered girl.
She’d thought using his desire for her as a bargaining chip would give her power, but only because she hadn’t understood what wanting him meant. She did now, though, and that left her vulnerable.
You can’t sit here with him.
No, she couldn’t. Suddenly it seemed like the most dangerous thing in the world.
Without a word, she turned around sharply and left him sitting on the terrace alone.
CHAPTER FIVE
Autumn
‘IDON’TCARE,’ Ares growled. ‘Find her and find her now.’ He hit the disconnect button, thrust his phone back in the pocket of his suit trousers, then turned from the window he’d been staring through and strode out of the study.
He’d arrived at his Cotswolds manor the night before, hoping to have some good news for Rose when she arrived today, but everything had gone to hell in a handcart, and he was in a foul temper.
The time had come for Rose to visit for her two weeks, and after what had happened in Thailand three months earlier, he’d decided to do things differently this time.
That summer he’d allowed himself to get too busy and had arrived a week late, not thinking about her in any particular way, only to find himself brought up short by a beautiful woman with a stubborn spirit and a blunt, fierce nature who’d somehow reached inside him and flicked a switch. A switch he’d had very firmly turned to ‘off’ for at least the last decade.
It shouldn’t have mattered to him that she’d insisted on marrying him to pay back a debt. And he shouldn’t have cared that she’d thought paying him with sex in return for freeing her friend was a perfectly valid choice.
He shouldn’t have taken her small hand in his, intent on showing her that she’d lied and hadn’t the first clue what desire had meant. And he definitely shouldn’t have kissed her soft palm, making her turn on her heel and leave him sitting alone on the terrace.
Especially not when he’d known the night he’d taken her from Vasliev’s clutches, the night she’d told him she’d marry him, that she had no idea at all whatanyof it meant. Not being a wife, not having children and definitely not a single thing about sex.
What had caused her to walk away, he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t hurt her, and he’d been very sure that the glitter in her wide golden eyes as he’d kissed her palm had been as much desire as it had been shock. She’d had a physical response to him, that was clear.
He’d wanted to follow her to ask her, but he also didn’t want to force his company on her, so instead he’d kept his distance. If she wanted to talk, it would be her choice to come to him, but it was clear that she didn’t want to talk since at the end of the week she’d left without even a goodbye.