The Forbidden Mistress Read online

  Sighing, she set the coffee cup down on a low table beside a cushioned lounger and, stepping nearer to the edge of the pool, she dipped a tentative toe in the water.

  It was cool, but she’d expected that. Until the sun gained its full strength, the pool was never as warm as the sea. Lifting her head, she looked towards the vast expanse of blue that stretched towards the horizon and sighed again. It was all so beautiful, so peaceful. Why couldn’t she just relax and enjoy it?

  She had lifted her cup and was just about to walk back towards the house when she saw a man turn into the narrow lane that ran along the back of the property. From a distance, all she could really see was that he was tall and dark but, as the lane connected with several properties in the area, she wasn’t surprised to see someone using it as a short cut. He could be a Spaniard, she thought. He was certainly dark enough, and she wondered if someone new had moved into one of the villas.

  But as he drew nearer a paralysing numbness kept her rooted to the spot. He was no Spaniard—well, only half, anyway, and that half diluted by years of living in a colder climate. Was that what made him so cool, so controlled? Or had Sophie bled every drop of human emotion from him?

  Fortunately, there was a barrier of trees between her and the lane. It wasn’t wholly successful as a screen, but it did offer her some protection, and if she slipped away now he need never know she was here.

  But even as she attempted to move, to force some strength into limbs that felt oddly alien to her, he turned his head and saw her. She saw the recognition dawn in his eyes, saw his momentary confusion when he realised she had seen him, too, and wanted to die of shame.

  Then, instead of ignoring her as she’d half expected, he crossed to the fence that edged the property and vaulted over it. Pushing aside the scale-like leaves of a spreading conifer, he stepped onto the lawn and said in a low, disturbing drawl, ‘Well, well. Grace! This is an unexpected pleasure.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  H E WAS a liar, she thought, resenting the way her pulse raced every time he looked at her. She’d never seen a man who looked so good in shorts before, and his navy tank-top only accentuated the dark tan of his skin.

  His feet, like hers, were bare, his legs and his forearms lightly covered with hair. His skin had a sheen to it and she assumed he’d been sweating on the walk up from the village. For that was where she guessed he’d been. He had probably been on the beach, too.

  But although she’d never found a sweating man appealing in the past, everything about Oliver Ferreira attracted her. She had to drag her gaze from his lean, disturbing face before he saw something in hers that she didn’t want him to see.

  To her relief, she found her limbs would move now and, gathering the ends of her belt about her, she turned back to the steps that led up to the terrace. ‘I didn’t know you were planning on coming out here,’ she said half defensively. ‘Did Tom tell you I was here?’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Oliver was sardonic. ‘Believe it or not, I haven’t spoken to my brother in days.’

  In four days to be precise, she guessed unwillingly, but that was definitely not a topic for discussion. ‘Oh, well,’ she said instead. ‘I got the impression from your mother that you never came here.’

  ‘Or you wouldn’t have?’ he suggested drily, coming to stand at the top of the steps so that Grace abruptly changed her mind about climbing them. ‘I could say I didn’t know you were planning a holiday either.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’ Her response was far too revealing, however, and unwilling to give him the impression that he had had anything to do with her decision, she added swiftly, ‘But my mother and father are always urging me to take advantage of this place.’

  ‘Your mother and father are here?’

  ‘I—not—not yet,’ she stumbled awkwardly. ‘But they’re planning on taking a break in a couple of weeks.’

  And why had she had to tell him that? she chided herself irritably. He would think she wanted him to know she was on her own. And she didn’t. She didn’t.

  Oliver absorbed this in silence and then, to her dismay, he came down the steps towards her. He moved easily, lithely, his limbs moving in perfect harmony with one another, the denim of his shorts alternately tightening then loosening across his powerful thighs.

  But his eyes were on the pool now, thank goodness, and hoping it didn’t look too obvious, Grace eased away to where a couple of cushioned lounge chairs offered her some protection.

  ‘When did you get here?’ he asked, just as she had been beginning to hope that topic had been dealt with, and she blew out a nervous breath.

  ‘Um…’ There was no avoiding that one and Grace gave in. ‘I just got here last night, actually,’ she said, trying to remember whether Tom had spoken to his brother since her decision. ‘How—how about you?’

  ‘A couple of days ago,’ he answered, approaching the edge of the pool and dipping his toe as she had done earlier. ‘But you’re right. I’m not a regular visitor.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Grace nodded, trying not to notice that his tank-top left a wedge of smooth brown skin visible when he bent towards the water. His shorts slipped low on his hips and she found herself wondering if his was an all-over tan. It certainly looked that way.

  Then she realised he had straightened and turned back to her and she hurriedly directed her attention elsewhere. Dear Lord, she didn’t know what was the matter with her. She’d never found herself speculating about a man’s body before.

  But then, she’d never remembered every second she’d spent with a man before. Yet she could recall every moment of their encounter at Tom’s house in intimate detail. She’d wanted to be close to him, wanted to feel his hands on her body, wanted to give herself to him in a way that had terrified her by its intensity.

  But it hadn’t happened then, and it wasn’t going to happen now, she assured herself. Even if she was so lacking in self-respect that she was prepared to forgive him for the way he had treated her, Oliver was unlikely to change his mind about her.

  And who could blame him? she mused bitterly. Tom had done everything he could to give him the impression that they were having an affair, and short of saying, ‘Hey, Oliver, I’m not sleeping with Tom, you know?’ her hands were tied.

  In any case, did it really matter? Just because Oliver had kissed her she was imagining them having some meaningful relationship, when the possibility was that he had only been using her to bait his brother.

  ‘Pool’s cold,’ he said now, stepping away from the rim. ‘Do you use it?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ Grace tried to sound casual. ‘You’re welcome to use it, too, if you want to.’

  Now why had she said that? Grace stifled a groan as Oliver’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

  ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Why should I?’ That was sufficiently indifferent, wasn’t it? ‘It’s not my pool.’

  Oliver’s mouth compressed. ‘Right.’

  ‘I mean it.’ She straightened her spine. ‘But now I must go and get dressed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ She hoped she sounded less shocked than she felt.

  ‘Yeah, why?’ He took steps that brought him nearer to her. ‘Don’t get dressed on my account.’ His eyes darkened. ‘I like you the way you are.’

  Grace’s breathing quickened, but the memory of how he’d abandoned her when his brother arrived the other night stiffened her resolve.

  ‘You’re very kind,’ she said tightly. ‘But I know you don’t mean it.’

  ‘I do.’ He came closer so that now only the width of one of the lounge chairs separated them. ‘I do mean it. Why would you think I didn’t?’

  Grace gasped. ‘Why would I think that?’ she countered. ‘Oh, well, let me see, could it have anything to do with the fact that you couldn’t wait to get away from me the night you came to Tom’s house?’

  Oliver’s dark features hardened. ‘Do you blame me?’ He hooked his thumbs into the hip pockets of his short
s. ‘I prefer not to do my lovemaking with an audience. Or would you like me to have had sex with you in front of him? Forgive me, but I don’t think that was a goer, do you?’

  ‘You flatter yourself,’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘What makes you think I wanted to have sex with you under any circumstances?’

  ‘You didn’t?’ Ignoring her attempt to hang onto the back of the lounger, he jerked the chair aside so that she dropped the ends of her belt onto the ground again. Then he moved closer, studying her tense face with a lazy sensuous gaze. ‘I think you did,’ he said, bending to capture the errant cord and using it to pull her towards him. ‘Women like to tease,’ he added, his warm breath fanning her cheek. ‘Were you trying to make Tom jealous? ’Cos here’s a newsflash. You succeeded.’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to make anybody jealous,’ she retorted a little breathlessly, overwhelmingly conscious of his bare leg brushing her thigh. ‘I didn’t invite you to come to the house that night. You did that all by yourself.’

  ‘So I did.’ He looked down at her intently, his eyes lingering almost tangibly on her mouth. He was making it impossible for her to breathe normally, his behaviour projecting the same raw sensuality he had exhibited that night.

  ‘I ought to get dressed,’ she said again, wishing he would stop staring at her. Even in fraying denim shorts and a tank-top, he was in control. She, on the other hand, wasn’t. Her thin cotton top and the baggy boxers were hardly flattering and her robe was slipping off one shoulder. In addition to which, she was fairly sure her braid had broken free of its fastening in her sleep and was now spilling hair down around her shoulders.

  ‘Why don’t we go for a swim instead?’ he suggested huskily, tipping the robe off her other shoulder so that it fell to the ground at her feet. ‘You’re not wearing anything under that outfit, which is convenient, and I don’t like to swim alone.’

  Grace was dismayed at the way her body reacted to that invitation but she had no intention of letting him know it. ‘I’m sure you never have to do anything alone,’ she declared, backing away again now that she was free of the robe. ‘But contrary to the opinion you obviously have of me, I don’t go skinny-dipping with anyone.’

  ‘Why not?’ He came after her, fisting a handful of her top and using it to prevent her from retreating any further. ‘Surely you’re not a prude? Not with a body that was made to be seen and admired. Even the little rose tattoo.’ His eyes darkened, dropping down over her in a way that caused her skin to grow even hotter than it already was. ‘Show it to me again.’

  She swallowed, intensely aware of his knuckles digging through the cloth, hard against her stomach. ‘Show you what again?’

  But she knew what he meant, and remembering where the rose tattoo was situated, she was surprised it wasn’t already burning his fingers.

  ‘Take this top off and we’ll both be able to see,’ he countered, and she was shocked to feel his hand cupping the back of her thigh just beneath the hem of the boxers. ‘And these,’ he added. ‘You know you want to.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  But she did. Just the touch of those long, cool fingers against her flesh and she was alive to every palpitating nerve in her leg, aware of her own arousal in the wet heat that was pulsing between her thighs.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he retorted, bending towards her, his tongue tracing the dryness of her parted lips. ‘You want this every bit as much as I do. The other night—’ he shrugged ‘—it was all wrong. Wrong time, wrong place.’ He released her top and circled the nape of her neck with his free hand, his thumb nudging the sensory hollow beneath her ear. Then his mouth brushed hers in a kiss that was no less disquieting because it was feather-light. ‘This is right. This is good. And we’re not likely to be disturbed.’

  Grace raised one hand to his chest, trying, not very successfully, to hold him back. ‘How—how do you know that?’

  He looked surprised. ‘You said your parents weren’t here,’ he reminded her.

  ‘They’re not. But that doesn’t mean I’m alone,’ she insisted, knowing how he would interpret that, and breathed a little more easily when he lifted both hands to her face.

  ‘So who is it?’ he asked, his thumbs stroking the hectic splash of colour that darkened her cheeks. ‘Not Tom?’

  ‘No, not Tom,’ she retorted a little crossly, resisting the urge she had to slip her hand beneath his vest and explore the taut muscles she could feel through the fabric. ‘He’s not the only friend I have.’

  ‘Oh, I believe you,’ he mocked, and his tone did nothing to assuage her resentment towards him. ‘But something tells me you’re just whistling in the dark.’ His fingers threaded through the red-gold hair that was escaping in soft tendrils about her ears. ‘What are you afraid of, Gracie? That you might actually like it if you let yourself go?’

  Her teeth ground together, half in anger, half in frustration. ‘Don’t—don’t call me Gracie,’ she commanded angrily, both hands holding him off now. ‘It’s not my name.’

  ‘It’s what Tom calls you.’

  ‘And he knows I hate it, too.’

  ‘Okay.’ Faint amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘What would you like me to call you? Sweetheart? Darling? Baby? ’

  ‘Grace will do,’ she declared stiffly, even as his lips trailing sensually over the shoulder he had bared by pushing the shoulder of her tank-top aside caused her to shiver involuntarily. ‘Oliver, please…’

  ‘I try to,’ he murmured, deliberately misunderstanding her. His hands slid from her shoulders to the curve of her back and almost instinctively she arched against him. ‘Mmm, that’s nice.’ His fingers probed the waistband of her boxers, slipping inside to touch her bare bottom. ‘Very nice.’

  She wanted to stop him. She wanted to tell him that, no matter how experienced he thought she was, she was not the free spirit he believed her to be. And with anyone else, it would have been easy. It had been easy enough in the past to avoid awkward situations, but then, she’d always been in control. Now she wasn’t. Now her own body was betraying her, and there seemed to be very little she could do about it.

  And even as she struggled to find words to tell him he was wrong about her, his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was neither feather-light nor controlled. The instantaneous heat that flared between them prevented that, the contact deepening instantly into a sensual assault that weakened her knees and left her helpless and clinging to him.

  She heard him groan deep in his throat, as if even he had not expected such a shattering level of intimacy, and silently echoed his lament. She was very much afraid that if he hadn’t been cupping her bottom, she’d have melted onto the ground at his feet.

  As it was, she was conscious of every movement he made: his tongue plunging possessively into her mouth, his chest flattening her breasts, his bare legs brushing hers, his erection hard against her stomach. He couldn’t hide the primitive need he was feeling any more than she could, and it was some small measure of compensation for the devastating effect he was having on her emotions.

  ‘Hell, Grace,’ he muttered, drawing back to rest his forehead against hers. ‘Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?’

  She could imagine. And, amazingly, it didn’t scare her as it should. Indeed, right at this moment, she could think of nothing she wanted more than to let him have his way with her, and she didn’t know what she’d have said if he hadn’t chosen that moment to lower his head to her breast.

  Her nipples were hard and swollen, their distended peaks clearly visible through the thin cloth of her top, and when he sucked one into his mouth she felt a surge of sexual need that swept clear down to her toes. Even the cloth was no barrier to the sensual tug of his teeth, and the whimper she gave betrayed her surrender.

  She clutched the waistband of his shorts, loving the texture of the skin that covered his hips smooth against her knuckles. She wanted to slip her hands inside his shorts as he had done, but she wasn’t that daring. Instead, she contented hersel
f with lifting one bare foot to stroke the back of his calf, feeling his reaction in the convulsive thrust of his body.

  ‘You were going to tell me what you wanted to do,’ she reminded him in a strangled voice as he peeled the tank-top aside and took her already damp nipple into his mouth again. She caught her breath as waves of raw sensation washed over her. Then, in an effort to show that she could still think for herself, she whispered, ‘I think we ought to get out of the sun.’

  Oliver took a shuddering breath and she guessed he wasn’t finding it easy to think coherently either. His lips gentled, softened, drew back from her breast with a lingering reluctance that she shared as much as he. ‘Get out of the sun?’ he echoed huskily, and as if he couldn’t prevent himself, his hand moved to her breast in place of his lips, his thumb and forefinger tugging almost painfully on its swollen peak. ‘Is that what you want?’

  Grace sucked in a gulp of air. ‘This—this is too public,’ she murmured awkwardly. ‘You—you saw me through the trees. Someone else could do the same.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Oliver heaved a sigh and with an obvious effort, his hands moved to her hips and propelled her away from him. He shook his head then, his confusion evident. ‘I must be crazy. You—drive me crazy. I don’t know what I was thinking about.’

  Grace gazed up at him anxiously. ‘I thought—I hoped you were thinking about me.’

  ‘I was.’ But Oliver didn’t look particularly proud to admit it. His hands dropped to his sides. ‘But you were right to stop me.’ He stepped back, his tone flat when he spoke again. ‘Thanks.’

  Grace blinked. ‘I didn’t say I wanted you to stop,’ she protested. ‘I said—’

  ‘I know what you said and I’m grateful,’ Oliver retorted quickly. ‘And I’m not denying any of this. But—it should not have happened.’

  ‘Why not?’ She felt indignant now, uncertain of his meaning and desperate to justify herself. ‘We’re—we’re two adults, aren’t we? Why shouldn’t we—?’