Painted the Other Woman

An impossibility because of Marisa herself.

Even as he said her name silently in his head he could feel his response to it. Felt his arm tighten around her waist as she slept against him. Felt the rightness of her being there, in his arms …

I didn’t know it was going to be like this. I knew I wanted her, desired her—but I never dreamt that the possession would be so … incredible!

Everything had seemed to come together. The passion flaring between them, their hunger for each other, the perfection of their union—and not just that, he thought wonderingly, if ‘just’ could ever be a word applied to what they’d experienced in their intimate exploration of each other. No, ‘more’ was what he’d never foreseen.

The little things—the time we spend together when we are not making love. The ease of being with her. The laughter. The silences that are a tranquillity, not a strain. The companionship.

Whatever they were doing—whether it was eating under the stars or lazily lounging on the beach, or by the pool, or taking a boat out on the water, watching the sun set in a blaze of glory, or watching the moon rise through the palm trees—it was all just so … so easy …

And as for the sex—

His eyes flared and he felt his body tauten despite its satiation.

How could he want her so much? How could he feel what he did—such incredible intensity every time, reaching such an incredible peak? Feel afterwards as he did now, every time, as if there was nothing more in life that he could want except to lie here with Marisa in his arms?

And he was going to have to end it. Ruin it. Destroy it.

Denounce her as the woman threatening his sister’s happiness. That would end it, he knew with biting certainty. Once he had told her what his intentions for her had been all along there would be nothing left of what they had here—now.

His eyes stared at the chopping fan blades, slicing through time, slicing up his thoughts, his emotions.

I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to tell her, confront her, denounce her, accuse her.

But if he didn’t …

He hardened his heart against himself. How could he bottle out of it? How could he put himself in front of his own sister? Put his own desires, his own longings first?

I have to do it. I don’t want to but I have to. If I don’t I’m just a selfish, self-indulgent coward, who cares more about myself and what I want than about my sister.

That was the brutal truth of it. The truth he couldn’t deny. Couldn’t hide from. He had to do it—finish what he’d started.

In his arms Marisa stirred, waking from the drowsy sleep that came after physical fulfilment. He felt her body move against him, felt himself respond. Her eyes fluttered open, met his, entwined with his. She smiled slowly, sensuously at him.

Lifted her mouth to his …

He answered her invitation, and in the velvet pleasure of her mouth he banished the disquieting thoughts that beset him.

London was far away—an ocean away.

Here, now, was all his universe.

All he wanted …

CHAPTER FOUR

MARISA sat in the taxi heading from Heathrow into central London. She looked out of the window at the bleak view beyond of the outskirts of London encased in winter’s drear grip. A million

miles away from the caressing warmth of the Caribbean. The grim landscape echoed the feeling inside her. In her lap, her fingers clutched each other tightly. At her side Athan had got out his laptop and was frowning at the screen, his face closed. He was only a foot or two away from her—and yet much, much further.

Tightness gripped her. She knew what was coming. Knew it with a deep, stricken sense of dread—of impending loss. Knew exactly what was going to happen. It was what she had feared would happen. He was going to escort her back to her apartment and then, in whatever way he deemed appropriate, he was going to tell her that he wouldn’t be seeing her again.

The knot in her stomach tightened and her heart slugged heavily in her chest. She tried to blot out her thoughts, tried only to stare out of the window, not thinking, not feeling.

But thoughts came all the same. Of course Athan had been all over her while they were on holiday! Of course she had been the entire focus of his attention, the intensity of his desire for her would be his whole purpose. But it was only a holiday—that was what she had to remember. Nothing more than a holiday. He’d seen her, wanted her—got her. Not in any kind of exploitative way—she could never accuse him of that—but his interest in her was temporary. Inherently so. They had had a fabulous time together—but now it was over.

Time to move on.