No wonder the world Ian moved in had seemed so tempting to her—no wonder she’d been so impressed by him, beguiled by him. Coming from a place like this, to her Ian’s world must have seemed glittering and luxurious beyond anything she could have hoped for.
It sobered him. He couldn’t deny it.
His gaze went back to her. His mind split instantly into two. One half was taking in just how shabby she looked—the other was simply drinking her in like a thirsty man in a desert. Even without a scrap of make-up, with wet, stringy hair and atrocious clothes, she still made his pulse leap!
‘Well?’
Her voice refocused him. ‘Do you need any money?’ The question came out more bluntly than he’d intended. Nor was it the question he’d wanted to ask her—but after seeing this rundown place it had come out of his mouth without thinking.
‘What?’
Athan looked slightly awkward. He really hadn’t meant to sound that blunt, but it was too late now. He took a breath.
‘Look, I’ve got eyes in my head. I can see there’s one hell of a difference between your lifestyle in London and what you’ve got here. So, if you need something to tide you over I can easily—’
He got no further. She slammed the mug she’d been about to fill with coffee down on to the wooden table.
‘No! I do not want your stinking money!’ Her eyes were like lasers, and he had to shield himself from their glare.
‘It was an offer—nothing more than that.’ He had to mitigate. ‘If Ian’s seen you all right then you won’t need anything from me.’
‘You’ll be glad to know,’ she said, as sweetly as acid, ‘that Ian does not continue to fund me.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said evenly, taking the fight back to her. ‘And it’s just as well—he is about to become unemployed. No,’ he said, holding up a hand to silence her, ‘it was not my doing. He’s resigned from the company.’ He paused. ‘He didn’t tell you?’
Marisa was looking pale. ‘No. But … but why?’
Athan spelt it out, keeping his gaze on her to assess her reaction. ‘He wishes to cut the apron strings from me. Assert his independence. Which is why,’ he went on, his voice tinged with sarcasm, ‘you will doubtless understand my concern that he has high-tailed it down to find you. I don’t want him thinking he is now free to take up with you again.’
‘Well, he isn’t, is he?’ she retorted. ‘You’ve seen to that. How can I possibly look him in the face knowing what his own brother-in-law did to me?’
‘Indeed,’ Athan’s voice was smooth now. ‘So—’ he took a breath ‘—he’s accepted he cannot see you again? You told him that? Made it crystal-clear?’
‘Yes.’ Her monosyllabic reply was clipped, unemotional. But her emotions were running all the same—like a deep, underground river, cutting through the rocks and obstacles in her mind. Obstacles she had to keep in place. Absolutely had to …
‘Good.’
He sounded satisfied. But there was something in his voice that alarmed her. It was not the satisfaction of a man who had disposed of an embarrassing and unwanted family problem.
‘In which case …’ he said, his eyes resting on her. ‘In which case,’ he repeated, ‘I have something else to say to you.’
She stared. Her heart-rate had started to quicken, but she didn’t want it to. As she didn’t want to see what she was seeing in his eyes.
He’s too close. This kitchen is too small. I can’t breathe—can’t find fresh air …
He was still sitting at the kitchen table, but his presence dominated the room—dominated her senses, her vision. She tried to think straight, but she couldn’t. Everything about him focussed her on him, and deep within her still that powerful subterranean river of emotion was coursing, seeking its way upwards, out of the depths of her mind …
‘It’s this.’
He was speaking again, and she heard his words—heard the accent in them that had so worked on her, drawn her to him, just as everything about him had drawn her hopelessly, ineluctably, irresistibly …
His sloe-dark eyes were resting on her, delving into her, winding her gaze on his like a spool, so she could only look back at him, her eyes widening, melting …
‘I want you back.’
His words fell into the space between them. The space that would soon no longer be between them …
Because it was quite clear in his head now. Crystal-clear. It had taken till this morning to crystallise—and it had done so instantly, irreversibly, when his phone had rung and he’d been told that Ian Randall was heading down to Devon.
In that instant he’d known—known with a spike of emotion that was like a punch to his guts—that he would never allow Ian or any other man to take Marisa from him. That whatever it cost he would take her back. However impossible, he would smash those problems to pieces and get what with every cell in his body over this punishing absence had grown more and more and more impossible to deny.
So he had let instinct—hot, overpowering instinct—take over. Take him from his desk, his office, London, and into his car, pressing pedal to the metal and storming his way westwards.
And now he was here—and so was Marisa, so was everything he wanted. Everything he was going to have.
No one and nothing was going to stop him. Not any more …
‘You’re out of Ian’s life now, and that was what I had to achieve.’ He looked at her, said what he knew he had to say. ‘I didn’t like what I was doing, Marisa, but I had to do it. Family is everything—and I had to protect my sister from the threat you represented to her. You can have no share in Ian’s life. But,’ he went on, ‘you’ve accepted that, and I’m relieved to hear it—drastic though my method was. I acknowledge that.’
He held up a hand again, as if to brush aside the means he’d adopted to part his brother in law from her, and continued, getting to the most important part of his communication. The essential part. The part he’d driven over two hundred miles to deliver.
‘Now we’re free—both of us. Free to do what I have wanted to do since the moment I left you in your flat on our return.’
He got to his feet, crossed towards her. The narrow space between them disappeared. He reached out his hand, sliding it around the nape of her neck. The tendrils of damp hair were like silk on his fingertips. The scent of her body was like incense. The flush in her cheeks like roses. Her parted mouth was like honey waiting to be tasted … claimed … reclaimed …
‘This,’ he said, and his eyes poured down into hers like a golden haze, so that she was dizzy, blinded. Triumph surged in him—triumph and sweet, sweet possession …
He lowered his mouth to hers and bliss consumed her. She had dreamt of his kisses, yearned for them,
