Rival's Challenge

Antonio’s mouth firmed as he caught his line of thinking and the direction it was taking. It had been a long time since he’d ruminated on such things as his parents’ failed marriage and he had never speculated about a lover and whether or not they wanted children. So why on earth was he thinking of this now when he’d resigned himself to the fact long ago that he had no intention of walking down that path himself? Just because a woman lay in his bed?

Not just any woman, spoke a rogue voice in his ear.

Antonio made a silent sound of rejection at that and instead of doing what he really wanted to do, which was to wake Orla and tumble them both over the edge again, he forced himself to get out of the bed and told himself a six-mile run would empty his mind of such unwelcome imaginings. And hopefully put a dent in his insatiable libido.

As Orla woke slowly through mists of consciousness, she became aware of the slight aches and muscle pains in her body. Antonio. Her eyes flew open and she squinted in the light of the early-morning sun streaming in the open window.

But she knew that the bed was empty beside her. She breathed out and then in. The tantalising scent of fresh-growing lavender tickled her nostrils.

As much as the bereft feeling registered, she also felt a tiny bit relieved. She couldn’t think straight when Antonio was near her. He seemed to short-circuit her brain.

She realised she was stark naked, and that the covers had long disappeared, but instead of reaching to find a cover, Orla let the feeling of half-uncomfortable wickedness wash over her. She felt wanton. And thoroughly satisfied. And in the morning light, all of the disturbing notions Marie-Ange’s children had precipitated felt very distant and silly.

Orla heard a rattle of noise downstairs and her body tightened even at that. She got up and saw that her bag and his had been brought in from the Jeep. She blushed to think of how they’d gone straight to bed and hadn’t even left it to eat or wash.

She took out some toiletries and found the huge en-suite bathroom with its wet-room shower. In an instant she was rewarded with a lurid fantasy of what it would be like to have Antonio lift her against the wall so that he could pound into her body while water ran over their bodies.

Cursing her rampant X-rated imagination, Orla quickly washed and dried herself off. She put on a pair of shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt and felt like a teenager all over again. It had been a long time since she’d worn such casual clothes and it tugged at something vulnerable inside her. Like when Antonio had mocked her gently for wearing jeans. Or how she’d felt when she’d admitted she’d been a tomboy.

Halting at the top of the stairs leading down, Orla had to put a hand to her chest for a second. Her heart was beating so rapidly. She had a sudden sense of just how dangerous this man was to her. How easily he was seeing into a part of her she’d not revealed to anyone. Fear gripped her. She vowed in that moment that when she saw him she’d tell him that she couldn’t afford more than a couple of days at the most in this place.

A couple of days … Surely she could keep herself immune from him in that time, and emerge intact?

Biting her lip, Orla made her way downstairs, dreading seeing Antonio because she knew she’d forget everything again and start drowning. But when she walked barefoot into the kitchen, her vow to herself of just a couple of days flew out the window and, as she’d feared, she drowned.

She was faced with the mouthwatering sight of Antonio’s bare back, tapering down to lean hips upon which a pair of battered cargo shorts hung precariously. A towel was slung around his neck and his hair was wet. He whistled softly as something that smelled delicious sizzled on a pan on the stove.

The only thing marring the idyllic picture were the copious scars that criss-crossed Antonio’s back. Some faint and silvery, others uglier raised welts of skin. Orla’s chest tightened and she must have emitted some kind of a sound because he turned around and his gaze swept her up and down so hungrily that she blushed, feeling shy. Which was ridiculous.

‘Hey, you looked so peaceful this morning I didn’t want to wake you.’

Orla came forward and something leapt inside her when Antonio reached for her and pulled her into his side. He was hot.

She looked up. ‘How long have you been up?’

He glanced down and winked at her salaciously and said, ‘I’m always up for you, honey.’

Orla mock-hit him and squirmed out from under his arm and stood back. This teasing Antonio was far too … seductive and disturbing to her equilibrium. Also, it hinted at that slightly rougher side of him. A side that was less in evidence now as she’d got to know him. Wanting to cover up her self-consciousness Orla glanced at the pan and said, ‘I didn’t know you could cook.’

Antonio diverted his attention back to the delicious-looking eggs and onions and mushrooms. ‘We all had to take turns cooking in the army and while it was nothing spectacular, barely edible, when I left I discovered that I wanted to learn how to do it properly.’

His face had tightened up, a tension appearing in his shoulders. But Orla didn’t push it. He was serving the food up now on two plates and instructing her to get the pot where fresh coffee had been percolating.

Orla repressed a smile at his inherently bossy tone. She’d been so naive when she’d accused him of being bossy the first night they’d met.

When Orla took her first mouthful of scrambled eggs and mushrooms and onions and garlic, she swallowed and said with not a little surprise, ‘This is good.’

Antonio shrugged modestly and quipped, ‘It’d be a bit of a disaster if I couldn’t manage something as basic as this.’

Orla coloured and bent her head over the plate but Antonio must have seen it and he said, ‘Don’t you cook?’

Orla speared some food and shook her head quickly. ‘Never had the opportunity.’ She chewed and swallowed. ‘I told you that we always lived at the hotel…. I wasn’t used to home cooking.’

Antonio had hoovered up his food and sat back now, cup of coffee in his hand, supremely relaxed. Supremely gorgeous.

‘So …’ he said lazily, ‘this house of yours, the one you always wanted. Do you know where it is?’

Orla couldn’t get any hotter. She took a quick sip of coffee herself as if that might help. But Antonio was just watching her, and waiting. Feeling something subside inside her, Orla gave in. ‘I do actually. It’s in Notting Hill.’