soon the morning was over. Her canvas was taken to Arik’s home. They’d eaten lunch and now they were alone in the opulent marquee that passed for a beach shelter. For all their small talk about art and local sights, Rosalie was acutely conscious of their isolation. The undercurrents eddying in the lengthening silence unnerved her.
She shot him a look, relieved to find that for once his attention was elsewhere. He seemed absorbed in the view of sea and sand, the distant blue shadow of an island.
His profile was arresting, etched with stark, sure lines comprising a whole that was more than handsome. There was intelligence in his high brow, or perhaps that was because she’d learned how perceptive he was. His eyes were piercing, un-settlingly so when they rested on her. His mouth—there was something innately sensual about the curve of his lips—the way it quirked readily into a smile that invited shared laughter. Or pleasure.
Her stomach dipped. He was a man who understood physical pleasure. It was obvious in the way he caressed her hand, the sensuous light in his eyes when he spoke of desire. His look held a promise of gratification. And, if she wanted, he could share that knowledge, that expertise with her. She had only to say the word and Arik would take her to places, to pleasure, so long denied her.
The knowledge was heady, tempting. Frightening.
How could she even consider his proposition?
Because you’re lonely. Because there’s something missing in your life. Because there’s something about this man that overrides a lifetime’s caution and makes you long for the passion you’ve never had.
She looked at him and she felt hot. Her skin prickled as if it no longer fitted. Her lungs couldn’t process enough oxygen. There was a tingling, heavy sensation inside that kept her on edge, an aching sense of emptiness.
Suddenly his eyes were on her. Dark and gleaming with a heat that scorched her skin to a fiery blush. He knew what she felt, she realised in amazement.
He understood.
She read the reflection of her own burgeoning need in the haunted expression of his eyes. In the tic of a pulse at his jaw. Even the compressed line of his mouth mirrored the confused tension pulling her body taut.
His lips curved up in that sexy crooked smile but there was no humour in his gaze this time.
‘You feel it too.’ His voice was low and sure, sending a ripple of reaction through every nerve. ‘You feel what’s between us, don’t you, Rosalie?’
She shook her head in denial. But she couldn’t pull her gaze from his. It was as if some force trapped her.
‘There’s no need to lie,’ he said and there was a glimmer of amusement in his look. ‘You won’t be singed by a bolt of lightning for admitting the truth. There’s nothing shameful about desire between a man and a woman.’
Rosalie’s breath caught high in her throat as his words echoed through her head. Desire.
He was right. That was exactly what she felt. Raw, unadulterated desire for the man before her. She shivered.
‘But I’m not interested in becoming some playmate to keep a rich man from boredom.’ It came out in a rush.
His stare hardened to a laser-bright glitter, keen and cutting. She’d gone too far. His face drew tight with repressed anger, accentuating his aristocratic bone structure. The pulse at his jaw raced to a frenetic beat.
She’d blurted out the first thing that came into her numbed brain. But in this part of the world men called all the shots. Automatically she shrank back, expecting an explosion of outraged fury.
‘You Australians believe in directness, don’t you?’ One dark brow winged up at an arrogant angle. Then he frowned, as if noticing her shuffled withdrawal.
Instantly his expression of stifled fury eased, replaced by a watching stillness.
‘There’s no need to be afraid to express your opinions.’ His voice was calm but there was no mistaking its harsh rasping edge. As if he battled for self-control.
His eyes held hers and she knew he meant it. Relief relaxed her muscles. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wondering how he’d read her sudden fear. ‘That was insulting.’
‘You should not apologise.’ His words cut across hers. ‘You spoke the truth as you saw it.’
They stared at each other across the narrow space and once more Rosalie could have sworn he understood her confusion and fear. Understood far too much.
‘I regret that you see my interest as cheapening.’ He paused, as if the word left a sour taste. ‘I have always regarded my love affairs as liaisons between equals.’
What could she say? Embarrassment flooded her but she could survive that. She’d survived much worse.
‘Though I suppose,’ he murmured, ‘in this case it would be an unequal relationship.’
He was admitting it? Surely no man was that honest.
‘After all, the power is squarely in your hands.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Surely she was hearing things.
He shrugged those impressive shoulders. ‘Don’t be naïve, Rosalie. I want to become your lover.’ His voice dropped so low that she felt it resonate deep inside, creating a hollow, wanting ache. ‘I’ve said I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I’d stop at a single word.’
His eyes were so bright now they seared her.
‘So that means you have all the power in this relationship. You can ask for what you want. Whatever you want. And I’ll give it to you.’
There was no mistaking the look on his face. Sex. That was what he was talking about.
‘But,’ he continued, ‘you only have to say no and I’d be obliged to stop.’
Rosalie drew in a shaky breath, aware of moist heat blossoming across her skin. She bit her lip, striving for control against the illicit thrill coursing through her.
She shouldn’t want him. She didn’t need any man. Especially one as self satisfied and knowing as this one.
But that didn’t prevent a surge of excitement. She could ask for whatever she wanted. As much or as little as she chose and he’d respect her wishes. She’d be safe.
‘That wouldn’t be right or fair.’ Her voice was breathless, unsteady. ‘It’d be better if I left.’ But how would she find the strength to walk away and not look back?
‘I never took you for a coward, Rosalie.’ His deep voice fell like a stone in the silence between them.
She jerked her head around. ‘Just because I don’t want to play these games doesn’t make me a coward.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ Again one superior eyebrow lifted in query. ‘Then what are you afraid of, if not yourself?’
Rosalie sucked in a breath. She wasn’t afraid. She
