as she felt the fingers of his other hand travel lightly over her bare back. And then her stomach clenched as he parted her lips and kissed her open-mouthed, his tongue so warm and soft and teasing that she felt the lick of heat slide through her like a flame.
Her head was swimming.
She wanted more—more of his mouth, his touch, his skin—so much more of him. Reaching up, she clasped his face, kissing him back, pulling him closer, lifting her hips and oscillating against him, trying, needing to relieve the ache radiating from her pelvis.
Heat was spilling over her skin and, arching upwards, she felt his breath stumble, and then he was sliding a hand through her hair, holding her captive as he kissed her more deeply, his warm breath filling her mouth so that she was melting from the inside out.
Her fingers were scrabbling against his skin… She moaned…
There was a second of agonising pulsing stillness, and then slowly she felt him pull away.
His eyes were dark with passion. For a moment he didn’t speak, and she knew as he breathed out roughly that he was looking for the right words, looking for any words because he was as stunned as she.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.’
She stared up at him, an ache like thirst spreading outwards. ‘Me neither.’
‘So I suppose we should just forget it ever happened.’
He made it sound like a statement, but she knew it was a question from the dark and unblinking intensity of his gaze. Suddenly she could barely breathe.
Should they? Would it really be so very bad to press her foot down on the accelerator pedal and run the red light just once?
She could feel something inside her shifting and softening, and the urge to reach out was so intense and pure that she almost cried out. But her need for him couldn’t be trusted on so many levels—not least the fact that no man had come close to filling the emptiness that she’d been ignoring for four years.
‘I think that would be for the best,’ she said quickly, lifting her gaze, her green eyes meeting his. ‘Just be a father to him.’
His steady, knowing gaze made her heartbeat falter and she glanced away, up to a near perfect moon, glowing pearlescent in the darkening sky.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening, but I should probably go and check on George.’
And, taking a fast, hard breath, she sidestepped past him and walked on shaking legs towards the villa.
In the darkness of her son’s room she leaned against the wall, seeking solace in its cool surface.
She shouldn’t have agreed with him.
She should have told him that he was wrong.
Then remembering his open laptop, she tensed. They might have called a ceasefire, but she still didn’t trust him.
And it wasn’t just Aristo she didn’t trust. She didn’t trust herself either.
Four years ago she’d let her libido overrule not just her common sense but every instinct she’d had, and it had been a disaster. Nothing had changed except this time she knew the score.
Aristo might be the only man who had made her body sing, but she knew now that if she allowed herself to be intimate with him then she ran the risk of getting hurt—and she’d worked so hard to un-love him.
So that left friendship. Not the sort of easy affection and solidarity that she shared with Elliot, but the polite formality of former lovers now sidestepping around each other’s lives and new partners.
Her heart lurched as visions of Aristo with a new wife flooded her head and she felt suddenly sick. It had been hard enough getting over him last time. Far worse though was the thought of having to witness him sharing his life with someone else.
IT WAS THE most perfect peach Teddie had ever seen. Perfectly plump, sunset-coloured, it was half concealed by a cluster of pale green leaves, like a shy swimmer hiding behind a towel on the beach.
She’d spotted it yesterday evening, when she and George had joined the housekeeper, Melina, as she’d wandered around the garden, choosing ingredients for the evening meal. In the end they had collected fat, dark-skinned figs to go with the salty feta and thyme-scented honey that had followed a dessert of delicious homemade strawberry ice-cream—George’s favourite.
She let out a quiver of breath, remembering her son’s reaction as she’d told him that Aristo was his father. Watching his face shift from confusion to shy understanding, she’d felt her heart twist—as it was twisting now at the memory, although not with regret. And she knew George had no regrets either, for he was happily ‘helping’ Melina crack eggs for the strapatsada they were having for breakfast.
Standing on tiptoe, she stretched out her arm, her fingers almost touching the peach’s skin. If only she was just a little bit taller…
She breathed in sharply as a hand stole past her and gently pulled the peach free.
‘Hey!’ Turning, she stared up at Aristo in outrage. ‘That’s mine.’
He looked her straight in the eye and kept on looking. ‘Not according to the evidence.’
Her fingers twitched. She was tempted to make a grab for it, but already his proximity was sending her senses haywire and she didn’t want to risk reaching out to touch the wrong soft, golden flesh…
She swallowed. Her desire for him chewed at her constantly, and already her insides felt so soft and warm it was as if she was melting.
Watching the play of emotions cross her face, Aristo felt his body tense. He could sense the conflict in her and it was driving him crazy. For once they’d had only to be alone and they would be reaching for one another—his hand circling her waist, her fingers sliding over his shoulders…
His blood seemed to slow and thicken and his limbs felt suddenly light as he stared at her profile, at the dark arch of her eyebrow above the straight line of her nose and the full curving mouth. There was a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks and he wanted to reach out and touch each and every one.
Instead, though, he glanced down at the peach, turning it over in his hand, his thumb tracing the cleft in the downy flesh. ‘What will you give me for it?’ he asked softly, his mouth curving upwards.
Teddie swallowed. This was Aristo at his most dangerous. That combination of tantalising smile and teasing dark, dark eyes. And, even though she knew she shouldn’t, she held his gaze and said lightly, ‘How about I don’t push you into that lavender bush if you hand it over?’
Laughing, he held out the peach. ‘And I was going to offer to share it with you.’
His fingers brushed against hers as she took the peach and she felt a tremor down her spine like a charge of electricity. ‘So let’s share it,’ she said casually. ‘There’s a knife in that
