‘No.’ He lifted her chin a little higher and brushed his lips against hers, feeling her body tremble as it so nearly touched his. She smelt good, her perfume sweet and light. ‘No pretence at all, Georgie.’
He liked calling her that. It made her seem more real—warmer, somehow. Like the woman he’d glimpsed last night. And tonight he was determined to find her again. It was that woman he wanted—the woman who’d filled his dreams and every waking moment since.
He took the glass from her hand and without taking his eyes from hers dropped it onto a nearby seat. The yacht lurched as they headed out to sea, pitching her against him, and instinctively he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close.
‘You can let me go now,’ she said firmly, her breath feathering against his chin as she looked up at him. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think I’m throwing myself at you.’
He laughed and let her go. ‘I wouldn’t ever think that of you.’
She was so vibrant, so beautiful, and she was his wife.
As he faced her he saw shyness spread over her face—an emotion he would never have associated with the demanding woman who’d all but barged into his office last week.
Her fingers brushed his and his pulse raced in anticipation, just as it had been doing every time she came near him. It was almost torture, wanting a woman and not being able to have her. But tonight would be different. Tonight she would be his.
He watched as she walked away from him, the sandals she’d struggled with on the beach long since abandoned. The wind whipped at her dress, lifting the silk around her, allowing him more than a glimpse of long slender legs as she moved inside the yacht.
Pushing back the carnal thoughts that filled his mind, he followed her—and almost stopped in his stride when he saw the sadness on her face as she stood and looked out of the window. Was she thinking of her sister? Missing her?
‘I’m sorry there wasn’t anyone at the wedding for you.’ Uneasy guilt compelled him to say it again, despite her earlier assurances.
She turned and looked at him, blinking her lashes rapidly over her eyes. ‘It’s not as if it was a real wedding—if it was I’d have insisted on Emma being there.’ She shrugged and looked back out at the retreating coastline. ‘Besides, you only had your cousin.’
‘Raul is my family.’
‘I’ve never heard Emma or Carlo mention him before.’ She rubbed her hands on her arms as if cold.
‘He’s my mother’s brother’s son, so not a blood relation to Carlo.’ His clipped words caught her attention.
‘You make it sound as if having a stepmother and half-brother is a bad thing.’
This was the first window into his life he’d allowed her to see through, and it made him feel vulnerable, but he was strangely compelled to talk and continued.
‘My father and I were happy enough after my mother left, but when she died in an accident a few years later my father went to pieces. It was as if he’d been waiting for her to come back to him.’
He’d never told anyone that before. Talking of his childhood was something he just didn’t do. But memories rushed back at him now like a sea wind, keen and sharp.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly, touching his arm. ‘It hurts when a parent leaves. As a child you feel...’ She paused and his heart constricted. ‘Responsible, somehow.’
He looked down at her upturned face, at her soft skin glowing in the late afternoon sun, her eyes full of genuine concern. When was the last time anyone had been concerned about him? He wanted to talk to her, share his memories with her. After all she knew something of his pain—his research on her had proved that.
‘My father had a second youth—dating women as if they were going out of fashion. So when he met the woman who would later be my stepmother it was a relief. He settled down again. I just hadn’t expected to be excluded from the family when Carlo was born.’
She frowned slightly but said nothing, her steady gaze encouraging him to talk.
‘As time went by Carlo became the centre of everything and I stood on the outside, looking in. I refused to compete for my father’s attention. When I left university I began to take over the running of the investment business and my father spent more and more time with his new family.’
‘But surely they loved you?’
He could see pity in her eyes, the image he’d painted for her, and anger surfaced. He did not need her pity. Just as he hadn’t needed his father’s love as a boy.
‘Love, Georgina? What is that?’
His words were sharper than he’d wanted. He sensed her draw back from him, both physically and emotionally, and was thankful when she didn’t say anything else.