Capelli's Captive Virgin

Exactly when had she left? And why?

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed the experience. Remembering her soft cries and passionate response, he gave a slow smile. She’d definitely enjoyed the experience—which made her absence all the more strange.

Yanking open the door, he strode out onto the beach that had been the venue for her trauma the night before. A few pieces of driftwood had been washed up in the storm but the sea was now idyllically calm. And there was no sign of Lindsay.

A faint frown touching his brows, Alessio strode across the soft sand and followed the curve of the bay back towards the cove where he’d secured the boat. The sky was a perfect blue, the sun dazzling, it was as if the storm of the night before had never happened.

A splash drew his attention and Alessio saw a flash of blonde hair and creamy female skin. It was Lindsay, and she was swimming far out in the bay. As he watched she dived under the surface again and vanished.

In the grip of a serious attack of lust, Alessio strode purposefully into the waves, plunged under the water and powered his way over to where she was snorkelling.

‘Oh—’ She surfaced with a gasp, her hair sleek and wet against her head, a bright smile on her face. ‘You made me jump! It’s such a beautiful day.’

That was it? That was all she was going to say?

‘Buon giorno.’ He watched with masculine satisfaction as the colour bloomed in her cheeks, but still she made no reference to what had happened the previous night.

Instead she dragged her gaze from his and concentrated on staring down into the water. ‘It’s so clear—I’ve never seen anything like this. I just couldn’t resist having another go before we leave. Snorkelling is just the best thing.’

Not quite the best thing, Alessio thought to himself idly, his attention suddenly captured by the droplets of water on her soft mouth. Her lower lip was a full, generous curve. Remembering just how good she tasted, he was about to kiss her when she dived under the water again.

Simmering with frustration and tormented by the nagging throb of his body, Alessio cursed softly and wondered why it was that Lindsay continually surprised him.

During his walk from the cottage to the beach, he’d prepared himself to handle various different emotions from her—embarrassment, affection, regret?

The one thing that he hadn’t expected was that she’d make no reference to what they’d shared. At the very least, he’d resigned himself to a conversation about what had happened between them.

There were women, of course, who could enjoy the passionate encounter they’d experienced the night before and move on without a word.

But Lindsay wasn’t that sort of woman.

Frowning slightly, he watched as she surfaced again.

‘I saw a shoal of clownfish next to the reef! Honestly, Alessio, this is just the best thing I’ve ever done.’ Wiping the water from her face, she smiled at him. ‘Aren’t you going to swim?’

Swim?

Simmering with suppressed sexual tension, Alessio searched her wide blue eyes for signs that she was creating this torture on purpose. But there was no flirtatious twinkle or wicked gleam, and in the end he was forced to admit that she obviously had absolutely no idea of the effect she was having on him.

Which gave him a whole new problem. Usually at this point in a relationship, the woman in question was snuggled against him, already planning a future that wasn’t going to happen. Usually his problem was extracting himself, so it came as something of a shock to discover that he had no desire whatsoever to extricate himself from Lindsay.

Distinctly unsettled by just how badly he wanted to drag her back to the cottage, Alessio dipped down under the surface of the water, consoling himself with the fact that it was perfectly natural to want her again. While it was true that he didn’t exactly embrace long relationships, neither did he indulge in one-night stands. So everything he was feeling was entirely normal.

He just needed to get her back in his bed until—well, until he no longer wanted her in his bed.

Simple.

CHAPTER EIGHT

EXHAUSTED from the lack of sleep, a night of rampant sex and the stress of acting a part, Lindsay sat in the bow of the yacht, facing forwards. The energy required to behave in a bright, happy mood had completely sapped the last of her reserves.

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nbsp; She barely even remembered the storm. For her, the hurricane had been inside her, a wind of change, blowing aside her all her old beliefs and leaving them wrecked and in pieces.

She felt—she felt—

Lindsay lifted her chin and turned her face to the sun. She wasn’t going to ask herself how she felt. She didn’t dare ask herself how she felt because she didn’t want to know the answer.