Modern Romance April 2019 Books 5-8. Chantelle Shaw
there, a smile on her face, listening, and a little while later he returned.
‘Are you asleep?’
She squinted one eye open and then realised he couldn’t see her. ‘No,’ she said, sitting up. ‘Are you taking a bath?’
He laughed. ‘No. You are.’
He reached for her hand and she wriggled off the bed, standing on legs that had suddenly turned to jelly. He understood and he lifted her once more, so she joked, ‘I could get used to this. Like some kind of Rajah.’
He stepped over the threshold, into the bathroom, and her breath caught in her throat. He must have found every candle in the house and the bathroom was glowing and warm, like something out of a fairy tale.
Don’t! she alerted her subconscious.
Don’t even think like that.
Fairy tales. Don’t. Exist.
How many times had she seen her mother go down the rabbit hole of thinking a man was her Prince Charming and that their ‘happily ever after’ was at the end of the next party or vacation or new home or fresh start? Only to wake up alone, miserable, depressed and looking for consolation in the bottle or vial of whatever drug she was into at the time.
Amelia was not Penny—and that meant knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that fairy tales didn’t exist.
Still, fairy tale or not, the bathroom was beautiful in this lighting. The tub was half-filled and an extravagant layer of bubbles sat on top of the water’s surface. There was an aroma of lavender in the air—so he’d found her bath oils.
He placed her over the edge of the tub, easing her feet into the water, and she smiled as the perfect warmth wrapped around her legs. She sank into it slowly, lying back against the edge and letting the water enfold her.
‘Heaven,’ she said softly and then blinked her eyes open to find him staring at her.
‘Enjoy it.’ His eyes sparked with something like promise and her heart turned over in her chest. ‘I’ll be waiting.’ He retrieved a towel and placed it within easy reach of the bath, then moved to the door. ‘Don’t fall asleep,’ he warned as he left and she smiled.
Fat chance.
She wasn’t going to fall asleep all night. Not when she had Antonio Herrera as her own personal pleasure centre. Having discovered what her body was capable of feeling, she wanted more. She wanted everything.
And she wanted him to show her.
* * *
He collected his scattered clothes from the kitchen floor, and he dressed with true regret. He didn’t want to put barriers up to more pleasure. He wanted to take her to bed and make love to her slowly, to seduce her all night long, like he would any other lover.
But there was danger in that—danger in forgetting why he’d come to her, why he’d spent a year trying to locate her. Why he needed her signature on the documents he’d brought with him, her agreement to sell her shares to him.
He had buried his father a month earlier and there was no way he was going to let his desire for a woman cloud his judgement.
He was so close to achieving his goal, and Amelia diSalvo was the key to that.
Sex with her had been a mistake. A stupid, careless mistake—because it had the power to confuse things between them. Because it muddied the water of what he needed from her.
With a grim expression on his face, he let himself quietly out of the house, walking towards his car with a growing sense of determination. The rain had stopped but the clouds were still overhead, covering the moon and the stars so everything was in pitch darkness.
The documents were on the front seat. He grabbed them out, tucking them under his arm before making his way back to the house. Silence came from upstairs.
He fought a desire to go and check on her, to see if she needed anything. A passionate encounter didn’t a relationship make—there was no need for him to play the part of the solicitous boyfriend. It was better for both of them if he focused on his reason for being in the cottage.
Revenge was close—so close he could feel it. And it would be better than anything he’d ever known—even the pleasure he’d just felt in the bed of his arch-enemy.
‘I THOUGHT I heard the door.’
She appeared in the lounge and at that moment the lights flickered to life—a stutter at first and then a burst, and her expression showed bemusement.
‘You’re dressed?’ She lifted a brow, padding across the room in only a silk robe. A robe that left little to the imagination, not that he needed to use it. He could remember every single curve and delineation of her body, every indent and hollow. Though he regretted now not making love to her in the brightness of this light, so that he could see her peaches and cream complexion all over, marvel at the contrast of her nipples to her skin.
Damn it—he tightened against his trousers, unwanted desire flooding his system once more.
‘What’s the matter? You’re suddenly struck mute?’ Something like uncertainty fluttered in her expression but she covered it quickly. ‘I mean, I know that was good, but surely not enough to rob you of the ability to speak.’
His smile was tight on his face. Her easy nature was at odds with the direction of his thoughts.
‘I came here tonight to talk to you about something important.’
Confusion clouded her expression. ‘Oh. Right. I’d...forgotten. Something to do with our grandfathers?’ She blinked, her expression still one of trust, and stepped across the room. ‘Surely it can wait?’ she implored, lifting a hand to his chest, her eyes meeting his in both a challenge and an invitation.
God, he wished it could wait. But being caught up in the moment, letting passion override common sense once was one thing. It would be quite another to keep exploiting her sensual need, an appetite he had awakened without realising her innocence.
‘Not really.’ He grimaced. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’
‘I’m fine.’ She shook her head as wariness crept into her expression. A wariness he couldn’t help but resent.
He nodded, a stiff movement, and lifted his hand to rub his neck. He hadn’t thought about what he would say. When he had come to Bumblebee Cottage, he’d expected this to be much like a standard business meeting.
She had something he needed, and he had something he could offer in exchange. Money, in the first instance and, failing that, a promise to bide his time with her brother’s business, not to bring him to his knees in a cataclysmic fashion. Blackmail, yes.
Would he still stoop to that, given what they’d just shared?
He straightened his shoulders, his expression tense. Sex was beside the point. It didn’t change the facts—he wanted what she had and he’d go to any lengths to acquire it.
Too much rested on his success here, and the hatred he felt for the diSalvo family went deeper than anything he’d shared with Amelia this evening.
‘I need you to sign this.’ He pulled the contract from his document wallet and placed it on the table—the coffee table they’d sat at only a couple of hours earlier, tension zipping through the room.
Well, there was tension again now, but a different kind altogether.
Her eyes showed confusion and then they skipped away from his. She crossed to the table, close enough that he could breathe in her sweet smell of lavender and vanilla, so close that he could simply reach out and pull her close, forgetting about the damned shares for a moment longer.
She