‘Everyone judges,’ Skye assured him. ‘I learned that pretty quickly.’ Teachers, parents, school friends.

I don’t want her playing with my child.

But Margaret, she’s my daughter.

And that’s fine. For you. But she runs around here like a wild thing, with barely any clothes or care, and it’s not the way I will raise my son.

Skye hadn’t thought about the conversation she’d overheard between her father and stepmother for years. It sent a shiver down her spine, despite the thick damp heat of the forest around her.

She’d stopped talking about her childhood and her sisters when she realised a woman with three children by different men was called names. And the children? Her and her sisters? They didn’t escape either. But with Benoit she genuinely hadn’t felt such censure and it was an odd feeling.

‘Look, why don’t you have a shower? I’ll leave a towel and some clothes out—they’ll be mine, but better than what you have with you. I’ll stay inside until you’re done,’ he offered, standing up from the table.

A shower sounded amazing. She was contemplating the opportunity to get out of her two-day-old, sweat-soaked, muddied clothes, when she registered his words fully. ‘Stay inside? Where’s the shower?’

He nodded over to the corner of the patio. Of course this man would have an outdoor shower. Of course he would.

She heard him disappear into the house while her mind registered the implications of showering outside, naked amongst the elements where anyone—or Benoit—could see her.

It’s just a shower, Skye, she told herself sternly, disliking the way even the thought of it made her feel exposed, vulnerable...but hating the way it also sent a thrill rushing through her. As if it were something illicit, guiltily pleasurable. A thrill that she welcomed for blocking out all thoughts of her father, of her mother, her sisters...

She cut a glance to the shower and slowly pushed back her chair and made her way towards it, staring at it as if it were a challenge to her ‘conservative’ lifestyle—something her mother always bemoaned. Mariam Soames would have loved it.

Benoit returned with a towel and the clothing he’d promised before leaving again, but Skye waited for a good few minutes before she made her way across the decking towards the stunning outdoor shower surrounded by huge green leaves offering a sense of privacy. Small mosaic stones and turquoise-coloured tiles covered the floor in a beautiful pattern.

Toeing her shoes from her feet, her heart was racing to a different rhythm, a lighter one, faster. The idea that Benoit could—at any moment—catch a glimpse of her naked under the jets of water made her feel...alive.

She peeled her jeans from her legs, half fearful, half desperate to get rid of the clinging denim. Now that he wasn’t in front of her, her mind raked over and indulged in memories of Benoit by the fire without his T-shirt on. The way his shoulders had seemed like organic boulders, large and powerful, the sandy blond trail of hair dipping below the waistline of his trousers.

The blush that rose to her cheeks stung in its intensity and she doused her heated skin with an icy blast of water from the shower. Only instead of soothing her fevered imagination, it inflamed. As she ran her hands over her body, in her mind they belonged to Benoit and it was making her want things she never had before. Certainly not with Alistair, her one and only boyfriend.

She turned beneath the spray, the sight of something glinting in the forest further down the hill cutting off the direction of her thoughts. She frowned. That couldn’t be right. Benoit had said there was no one around here for miles. But then again, he hadn’t mentioned the motorbike she’d found in the garage either.

Had he lied to her?

Skye turned back to the rooftop she’d seen glinting in the distance. It was definitely a house. Surely they would have a phone. Knowing there was no way she could stay here for four more days, she reached for the towel and fresh clothes before she could change her mind.

Benoit was hiding in the house from the temptation that was Skye Soames. The house wasn’t very big but it was definitely clever. His ears strained for the sounds of the shower and he realised he hadn’t heard it running for a while. In fact, he hadn’t heard anything for a while now.

Frowning, he risked a glance outside his bedroom window and couldn’t see her. Unease stirring in his chest, he scanned the spare rooms on the mezzanine floor and made his way downstairs. Not seeing her on the lower floor, he went out into the garden towards the shower, where the floor was still wet from use.

He looked about and, catching sight of the roof of his neighbour’s house, he ran to the garage. His motorbike was gone.

He cursed out loud. She was going to get herself killed.

Or worse—ruin his damn bike.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE WHEELS SPUN on the hot tarmac and Skye grappled with the evil machine as it threatened to shoot off once again without her. She was shaking with fear and it wasn’t helping her control the bike, but she was determined to master the thing.

She’d made it at least two miles before she’d had to wobble to a stop when she’d hit one of the many cracks in the road and nearly toppled the whole thing over. It had been half that distance since she’d last seen the roof of the neighbour’s house but the road kept twisting her in the wrong direction and she was beginning to worry now.

How on earth did people ride these things? Underneath the shower she’d felt rejuvenated and determined but the road was dusty and having a go on Alistair’s moped seven years ago hadn’t seemed to have given her any real ability to handle Benoit’s motorbike.

She took in a shaky breath and told herself that she could get control of this blasted machine, of this damned situation. She had to. She desperately wanted to speak to her sisters but, more importantly, she didn’t want to turn back, humiliated and shame-faced, and see that I told you so look on Benoit’s face.

With trembling hands, she twisted the bike’s handle, her heart momentarily soaring as the engine spluttered into life, only for it to buck and stall beneath her, knocking her off balance. The weight of the machine pulled her downwards and she and the bike crashed to the ground, hot metal digging into her calf muscles and pressing her skin into the gravel on the road.

Tags: Pippa Roscoe Billionaire Romance
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