Defying Her Billionaire Protector

Marietta pressed her lips together. Touché, she conceded silently. Because shocking her into silence had no doubt been his intent. She uncapped her mineral water, filled her glass and took a long swig. But the cool liquid didn’t douse the heat in her cheeks. Or the embarrassment washing through her. She had pushed him—deliberately provoked a reaction. Because... Why? Because she was bored? Because she felt ignored? Because Nico was the most beautiful, aloof man she’d ever met and some needy, feminine part of her craved his attention?

Oh, now, that did not sit well.

Marietta did not need a man’s attention. She did not need a man, full stop. Her body might be broken beyond repair, but she had rebuilt her life regardless and it was everything she wanted. Everything she needed. Her job, her success as an artist...it was enough. It had to be enough.

Because she was done with wanting things she would never have. Things that couldn’t be. Things that were simply not written in her destiny.

You are a realist.

And Nico... Nico was just a fantasy.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE WEATHER IN Toulon was clear when they circled in for landing, the bright blue of the sky stretching as far as the eye could see along the Côte d’Azur, enhancing the beauty of a coastline that was coveted by holidaymakers and frequented year-round by the world’s famous and rich.

Nico had no interest in the glamorous beaches and glittering nightlife that gave the French Riviera its reputation as a decadent playground. Toulon featured on his itinerary

several times a year only because it was the nearest mainland airport to Île de Lavande, the quiet, secluded home he retreated to when he wasn’t residing in Paris or New York or travelling across continents for business.

On occasion, however, when his mind grew restless and his body demanded a certain kind of release, he’d linger on the mainland for a night and venture into a glitzy casino or high-end bar. He’d order a shot or two of something—whatever he fancied on the night—and wait for them to come. And they always did. Those women with no hidden agendas who, like him, were simply looking for a good time. He would choose one—only ever one...gluttony wasn’t his thing—and take her to a luxury hotel suite, order champagne and anything else she desired from the menu and let her flirt and tease for a while if that was her wont.

But not for too long.

He could be a gentleman when he chose, but he was no saint. Not when his thoughts were dark and his body primed and the only way to obliterate his memories was by losing himself in the pleasure of soft flesh and tight, wet heat.

Sometimes, if the sex was outstanding, he’d take a number, hook up with the same woman again, even indulge in the occasional dinner or outing. But only if she understood that pleasure was the only offer on the table. He had nothing more to give. Nothing beyond the physical certainly.

Julia had been his one love.

His one chance at a normal, happy life.

He didn’t deserve another. Didn’t want another only to have it brutally torn from him.

The jet touched down and he channelled his thoughts back to the present as they taxied to a stop on a private strip of Tarmac, close to where his helicopter awaited. He released his seat belt and stood, glancing over to where Marietta sat, as silent now as she’d been for the last hour of the flight.

He still didn’t really know what their conversation in the air had been about. He’d wasted no time shutting it down, sensing it was going nowhere good, nowhere safe, but in so doing he’d spiked his awareness of her, and that awareness was still humming in his body like an electric current he couldn’t switch off.

Was she upset with him? Hard to tell. Her gaze was focused out of the large oval window so that all he could see was her proud, elegant profile. Dieu, but she was lovely. High cheekbones. Straight nose. Flawless skin. Hair like burnished mahogany. And her lips were soft and full—ripe for tasting.

He clenched his jaw. Not helpful.

‘Marietta?’

He half hoped she was annoyed. A little reserve, a touch of coolness between them, might be a good thing. He had one objective and that was to keep her safe. This spark of attraction he felt—there was no room for it.

She turned her head then and his hopes met a swift end. She didn’t look angry. Didn’t even look mildly irritated. Hell, she was smiling at him.

‘Are we flying to the island in that?’

For a moment he didn’t register the question, blindsided as he was by that smile. The pretty flush on her cheekbones. The breathless quality to her voice that seemed to stroke right into him.

She looked out through the window again and he leaned down, followed the line of her gaze to where his chopper sat on the Tarmac, its long rotor blades and black paintwork gleaming in the sunshine. A man in blue overalls and a fluorescent orange vest moved around the craft, completing a thorough safety check that Nico himself would repeat prior to take-off.

‘Oui,’ he said. ‘The island is accessible by boat, but the chopper is faster.’

‘I’ve never been in a helicopter.’ Her gaze swung to his. ‘Will you pilot it?’

‘Of course.’