in his veins, and he’d never met anyone like her before or since.
Despite the undeniable attraction between them, Teddie had been keeping him at arm’s length. Until last night, when she had led him to his bedroom and he had felt like an exile returning to the promised land.
He breathed out once, then got up swiftly and walked into the bathroom. Stepping under the shower, he closed his eyes, tipping his head back under the warm water, and instantly he felt his body harden, his brain dazzled by the memory of Teddie naked, sliding down his body, cupping him in her mouth—
His eyes snapped open and he punched off the water. It still didn’t feel real: to be able to touch her again, to have her consent to kiss and caress her freely, to stretch out her body beneath his.
But it had happened.
And the relief was unimaginable—as intoxicating and potent as wine. And even more potent was the knowledge that she had felt the same way too. Even if she hadn’t stated her desire out loud, he’d have felt the urgency in her, felt a need as explicit and unequivocal as his own, and the tautness of her nipples and the slick heat between her thighs had been answer enough.
And holding her whilst she slept… He had liked it that she had curled against him, had enjoyed almost against his will the possessive feeling it had provoked, even though it was the kind of primitive he-man response he would normally despise.
But it was daunting, knowing how easy it would be to lose himself in Teddie. Look at how he was feeling now. Already he could feel the previously insurmountable barriers around his heart starting to crack apart, like pack ice feeling a spring sun.
Only, that wasn’t going to happen.
Not this time.
Yes, he wanted Teddie back in his bed full-time. But now, knowing now what he did about her childhood, he knew what was required to make her stay there—she needed stability and certainty, something vast and unshakable, and with his business about to go public he was in a position to give her and George what they deserved.
Because last night hadn’t been just about sex.
A muscle flickered in his jaw. It had been about momentum and, just like in business, once you had momentum that was the time to push on to the next step.
In Teddie’s case that meant convincing her to marry him.
Outside, he heard George’s voice and Teddie’s reply. Instantly his skin was prickling, his heart bumping against his ribs as he walked out of his bedroom, down the stairs and into the brilliant sunshine.
Teddie was leaning forward, laying the table, her dark hair swinging loosely across her shoulders, and in her pale pink sleeveless blouse and sawn-off denim shorts she looked like a very sexy castaway. Beside her, George was eating a bowl of yoghurt.
‘Daddy—Daddy, we’re having…we’re having…’ Looking up from his breakfast, George hesitated, a small frown of concentration creasing his forehead. ‘What are we having, Mommy?’
Glancing over to where Aristo was standing behind her son, Teddie felt her heart start to beat unevenly.
Waking for the second time, she had found it agonisingly hard to leave the lambent warmth of Aristo’s body. But she’d had no choice. Like most young children, George woke early and, although he’d been sleeping in longer since they’d arrived on the island, she hadn’t wanted to risk him waking up and discovering her bed empty.
Her pulse fluttered forward like a startled deer.
Or, worse, waking up and finding her in Aristo’s room.
Daylight hadn’t changed her mind. But although she was willing—eager, in fact—to share his bed, she had no illusions. Sublime sex hadn’t been enough to save their marriage four years ago, and it was not enough to rebuild their relationship now.
That didn’t mean that she regretted what had happened. On the contrary, she knew it would happen again and she wanted it to—because she wanted him: the one, the only man whose touch left her begging for release.
Especially here, on this beautiful island paradise. Here they were far away from the demands of real life, and it was easy to live in the moment and not think further. And when it ended, as it undoubtedly would, when they returned to New York, she would move on with her life.
So why expose George to this sudden temporary change to her sleeping arrangements? He was three years old. Plus, he’d only just found out that Aristo was his father and, although he’d taken it very well, she understood enough about children—and her son in particular—to know that it was a huge, permanent tectonic change to his life.
Besides, he had no understanding of sex, let alone the complex dynamics of his parents’ relationship, so how could she hope to explain that she and his father hadn’t loved each other enough to make their marriage work, but the sexual charge between them was too powerful to resist?
The thought of trying to do so made her brain feel as though it was being pressed in a vice.
She cleared her throat. ‘Pites—I think that’s what Melina said they’re called.’ She forced herself to look at Aristo.
He nodded. ‘You mean the little pies?’ Reaching down, he ruffled George’s hair. ‘They used to be my favourite when I was your age. They’re delicious.’
George twisted round to look at Teddie. ‘I want to have them now, Mommy.’
He tugged at her hand and she let him pull her from her chair. ‘Well, I don’t know if they’re ready…’
‘Can I go and ask Melina? Can I?’
Her arm tightened around her son but, resisting the urge to draw him against her leg like a shield, she nodded. ‘Don’t run—and don’t forget to say please,’ she called after him.
There was a small sea breeze shimmying across the terrace and she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She knew she should say something, only she couldn’t think of a single word.
As Aristo took a step closer she felt a rush of panic. What if he tried to kiss her and George saw?
Edging behind the table, she gave him what she hoped was a casual smile. ‘Did your mother make them?’
‘Make what?’
He stared at her in a way that made her muscles tense. Not quite hostile, but wary. Her smile stiffened, her heartbeat suddenly swift-moving, erratic.
‘The pies?’ she prompted. ‘You said they were your favourite when you were George’s age. I thought your mother…’ Her voice faded. His expression hadn’t altered outwardly, but there was a slight tension in his manner that hadn’t been there before.
Aristo shrugged. ‘My mother’s more of a hostess than a cook.’
He studied her face calmly. Last night she had not only acknowledged and accepted the irresistible sexual pull between them, but she had also shared her past with him, and he’d been hoping that if he could get her to drop her defences again then maybe, finally, she might consider sharing the future with him.
Only,
