To Love, Honour and Disobey (6 page)

He gripped her hips now, stilling her
writhing enough so he could extract more from her—more tension, more longing, more need.

But the need to touch him rose, too. She lifted her shoulders from the ground, reaching for him and yanking his shorts down. He groaned as he sprang free and she took advantage of his momentary stillness to move—to explore.

She stroked his silken, rigid length with her fingers and heard him swear. She kissed him and felt him shudder. Then he twisted in her hold, moving so he could touch her as intimately as she was him.

He matched his strokes to hers and she revelled in the freedom of giving her hunger free rein. She breathed in the scent of him, licked the salty taste of him, pressed the hardness of him beneath his smooth skin. She savoured the tension she felt rolling off him. Yes, she could torment him too and she relished it. Her actions grew bolder still, more aggressive, faster, frantic—she was desperate for the pleasures of the flesh and for the white-hot orgasm she knew was almost hers. But suddenly he was gone. Half a metre away from her.

‘Ana.’

She whimpered, body trembling with loss. ‘Why have you stopped?’

‘Because I want more than this.’ He tore the packet, sheathed himself with fast, jerky movements.

What more did he want? Mutual pleasure, physical fulfilment—what more was there?

‘I want it all.’ He rose above her, aligning his length to hers as he looked into her eyes. He laced their fingers together and she could feel him there, thick and heavy against her. So close.

Yes, there was more. There was intimacy, there was that baring not just of body, but of soul. That sharing of the most inner self—and the vulnerability that came with it. And he was seeking it—his ice-blue eyes on fire and searching deep into hers.

He thrust deep, sure, hard. She closed her eyes, tried to absorb the hit of feeling as they locked together again—but she couldn’t. Her breath shuddered from her lungs, catching her cry. And in those few moments he regained his control, but hers ebbed. She’d ached for this for too long.

‘Please, oh, please.’ Her fingers pulled at him, nails curled into the hard muscles, and her hips lifted, forcing the rhythm she so desperately craved, wanting him to drive into her.

And then he did, thrusting deep again, again, again.

Her hands swept over his broad, slick shoulders, revelling in the bulging muscles, savouring the incredibly hard body riding her, rocking into her with a faster, more powerful rhythm than she’d ever dreamed of. This couldn’t be wrong. It had to be right. Nothing had ever felt so right.

It didn’t take much; it was never going to take much when she’d been so on edge for him for so long. She panted, more audible, more hysterical until all too soon he caught her mouth with his and contained her scream, adding his own groan to it as they shook, reaching the summit and freefalling through the sensations.

A
NA
rose before the sun, slipped on a tee shirt and shorts, not bothering with a bikini underneath—just wanting to escape while he slept. Seconds later she left the banda and went for a walk along the beach, eventually succumbing to the temptation and wading into the warm water. She floated for an age, looking out to the horizon where the sky was lightening, and waited for the sun.

She sensed something, looked over her shoulder and saw him watching from the water’s edge. The splashes were gentle as he walked in. His arm curled around her, pulling her back against him before she had any chance of escape—not that she wanted to.

His hands spread wide, smoothing over her wet shirt, and then cupped her breasts. She couldn’t help herself, leaned back against him. One hand slipped lower, beneath her waistband to where she was really wet. It was mere moments, the fewest of seconds, but it wasn’t over. His mouth was hot on her neck, pressing passionate kisses between the words he whispered again, again. ‘One night is not enough.’

Until finally she answered him, acknowledging the
truth of it, and offering the only answer she could. ‘The rest of Africa. We can have the rest of Africa.’

‘Yes.’ He hauled her closer, touched her more deeply, and, as the sun rose, made her come.

A bit over an hour later Ana was enjoying fresh fruit and toast for breakfast, relieved to see Seb disappear with one of the island guys for a while. Instead of feeling any kind of release, she was now tenser, more aware than she’d ever been. It had been amazing. His body was that much leaner, stronger and his patience had filled her with awe. Because after those snatched moments in the sea she’d been begging as the void inside had needed to be filled again and he’d happily obliged. Twice.

But now the others were dotted over the beach—either reading in the shade by the restaurant, or soaking up the sun’s rays. She sat in an ancient lounge chair and watched the scene, almost drowsy after the total lack of sleep the night before and yet restless—aching for more. She didn’t know how long it was later that he appeared, but he pulled her from the seat and kept hold of her hand. Silently he led her across the sand to the water.

The kayak looked way too small and unstable.

He looked at her expression and laughed. ‘I’ll paddle.’

For the second time that day saying no to him was beyond her. He held the kayak steady and she sat in the front seat.

‘How can you do this in the heat?’ She pulled her hat lower on her head and felt him push the boat out. ‘You’re amazingly fit, Sebastian.’

‘Why, thanks.’

‘No, I mean really. Abnormally fit.’

He laughed. ‘I’ve been working on it.’

Carefully she twisted her head to watch him.

‘You really did stop hanging out in the city?

’ ‘I was the epitome of the faithful husband.’

She gave him a long look. ‘Are you honestly trying to tell me you’ve been celibate this whole time?’

‘It’s not something I’d joke about, Ana. Not ever.’

No sex for the best part of a year?

‘But what have you been doing with yourself?’ she spluttered. ‘I mean…come on, Seb.’

‘It wasn’t that difficult really.’ He pushed the paddle faster through the water. ‘I did sport. Multi-sport events.’

‘As in triathlons?’

‘Yes, something to wear me out.’ He nodded. ‘Something to focus on outside of work.’

Well, it sure explained the heightened definition his body had.

She sat still and quiet, listening to the water, looking back at the golden sand and the brilliant blue sky. Eventually she relaxed enough to let her fingers trail in the water, watching the island spread wide before her, until she couldn’t contain her rapture a moment longer. ‘It’s incredibly beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is.’

She glanced at him. ‘You’re not even looking.’

‘Yes, I am.’

Right at her.

She rolled her eyes. OK, so the out-for-fun Seb

was back in full force. ‘You’d say anything to get a leg over, wouldn’t you, Seb?’

‘Why don’t you believe you’re beautiful?’

Because she wasn’t. And she’d had years of her aunt emphasising the point. She didn’t fit in with the family’s perfect, petite, feminine form. She was the prune in the peanut jar. She was going to roll her eyes again but suddenly realised how far away from Zanzibar they’d gone. ‘You’d better turn back, Seb. I don’t care how fit you think you are, I don’t want to be adrift in the ocean for days.’

‘We’re not going back,’ he said. ‘We’re going there.’

‘What?’ She turned and saw how close they were to another, much smaller island.

Seb’s words were wicked. ‘You didn’t think I was going to spend another night on the ground or squashed up on one of those hard bunks, did you?’

She sat up so quick the kayak rocked. ‘But our packs—’

‘Are being transported by another boat. They’re probably there already. We came the slow, scenic route.’

‘You’re unbelievable.’

‘Oh, admit it, secretly you’re thrilled.’

She looked at the beach they were about to wash up on. Oh, yes. Not even secretly. ‘What is this place?’

‘This is Mnemba, an exclusive little island. We have our own luxury banda, our own bit of beach and our own butler.’

They had their own butler? That was crazy—what was the guy going to do all day? Besides her Africa trip was all but over. ‘Seb, we’re supposed to go back to Dar tomorrow.’

‘I’ve changed the bookings.’

‘What?’

‘We have another few days.’

Another few days? Oh, no. Another night she could cope with, but not more. ‘But I didn’t even get to say goodbye to the others on tour.’

‘They know my plan—at least, Bundy did. He’ll have told the others.’

‘But I have to catch my flight back to the UK.’

‘Give me the details and I’ll get it changed. We’ll fly back together.’

She hesitated. That wouldn’t be a good idea. But then she looked across the water to the beaming man waiting for them, evidently their butler, and beyond to the buildings dotted in the trees. As if anyone could say no to this?

Hamim, their butler, greeted them with true finesse and a wide smile. He offered his hand to Ana as she splashed through the shallows and led her straight to their private apartment. ‘You are a model?’

‘No.’ She shook her head and laughed.

‘We get a lot of models stay here. And you have the height, you are as beautiful—if not more so. So I thought…’ His smile was even wider.

Oh, please.

‘Actually—’ Ana smiled brightly back at him and pointed to Seb ‘—
he’s
the model.’

The butler took that one in his stride, inclined his head and left them to discover their accommodation alone.

Ana turned to face the laughing Seb. ‘How much did you pay him?’

Seb held his hands up in innocence. ‘Nothing.’

Yeah, right.

‘Come on,’ he challenged. ‘Let’s check out the facilities.’

In other words go straight to the bedroom.

The view out over the Indian Ocean was open and stunning, and yet there was complete privacy. The furniture was intricately carved and there was comfort in everything. But her bones melted at the sight of the bed—so wide and big.

But it could barely be halfway to midday. As if Seb cared. He ripped off the beautiful white coverings, leaving just the pure cotton sheet on the bed. He looked at the sheet, looked across at her.

‘What do you say, Ana?’

‘I say there’s still a bit of the pirate in you, Seb.’ But she couldn’t stop the smile. ‘Race you to the water.’ She flew out the open door down the small strip of sand and splashed into the water, uncaring about her shorts and tee getting another complete soaking. She heard his laugh and dive and licked her lips. Saltwater Seb was a flavour she adored.

Uncaring of the water streaming from her clothes, she walked back inside, peeled off her wet tee shirt and shorts and rubbed the sand from her feet—refusing to ruin the whiter than white linen on the magnificent bed. The sheets smelled so fresh and the bed was soft but not saggy and so easy to stretch out on. Irresistible. She closed her eyes, spread her arms wide and enjoyed the sensation as the faintest of breezes teased dry her damp skin.

Hands on her ankles pulled, yanking her body down over the smooth sheets so her feet dangled over the edge. She opened her eyes and found his laughing right into hers.

‘That’s what you’re used to, isn’t it?’ His hands slid higher up her legs, creating instant heat. ‘Your feet hanging over the edge of the bed.’

‘But they don’t have to in this one.’

‘No.’ He lifted her and put her back in the middle of the bed. Took each limb, one by one and spread them so she lay like a starfish. Mesmerised by the look in his eyes, she let him. He ran a finger under the instep of her foot.

‘They’re huge.’ She arched it.

‘If they were any smaller, you’d fall over.’

She laughed. Too true.

‘Your feet are perfect. Your legs are perfect. No one could resist the silken feel of your skin and your waist is so tiny, your ribs.’ He spread his hand across her. ‘You think you’re such a giant when, really, you’re very fragile.’ His fingers traced lower. ‘Like this, when did you get this?’

Her scar. His fingers underlined her scar. The pleasure she felt from his appraisal disappeared. She forced down the wave of panic. Could think of only one way to avoid the question. She rose to her knees. ‘I’m not fragile.’

He was already naked, already aroused and it took nothing to distract them both. Kissing did it—would always do it, she supposed—the physical chemistry was sublime. And in that moment every last one of her reservations fled. This was nothing but a fantasy fling and she refused to let the past reality destroy the moment. She would indulge, have what she wanted—and all of it—on this magical island. She stretched out, so hot, and gloried in his sexual demand.

As he took possession she let her head and shoulders fall, leaning over the edge of the bed, her long hair
hanging loose all the way to the floor. She let her arms fall too, feeling as if she were flying as he pounded into her. She curled her legs hard round his waist, and he anchored her core to the bed as the rest of her swung freely through the hot air. She was drenched in sweat—her lower body literally riveted to his and yet she felt so free.

‘Incredible.’ He groaned. ‘You’re so bloody incredible.’

Afterwards he grabbed her hand and pulled her all the way back onto the bed. Breathless, she felt insane with the bliss. He walked to the table, sliced some pineapple from the assortment of fresh fruit arranged on a platter. He held a piece to her mouth for her to taste. The juice was deliciously both sweet and acidic. She took the last of it into her mouth. He started to lick the juice from his fingers, but she grabbed his hand, and licked them for him—felt the kick inside again. She had let go of everything now, allowing nothing in her head but the desire—the animal need to be with him. All sensuality, no thought.

His eyes didn’t leave hers as, keeping hold of his hand, she lay back on the pillows and demanded, ‘Do it again.’

‘With pleasure.’

‘Maximum pleasure.’ She closed her eyes.

Seb looked out the wide open door frame and watched her sitting cross-legged on the sand combing her hair. As beautiful as a siren tempting a sailor to his death. He wished he were combing her hair. He wished she were sitting astride his lap and he were sinking deep into her, and having that glorious
hair trail across his face and those long legs wound round him.

She was an incredible lover. Hell, yes, she was incredible. He’d never felt so wanted, or felt such want for another in his life, had been surprised by her hunger and her aggression. Ana was assertive? Why, yes, she was now. If only he’d realised, he’d have come after her sooner.

Every fantasy he acted on he wanted an immediate repeat. And more ideas filled his brain, tantalising him. So now the siren called and he was helpless to resist. He walked out to the beach, took the comb from her hand and did what he’d been dreaming of.

The afternoon stretched long and lazy. He got a bao game and with Hamim’s help they learned how to play it. Her competitiveness came to the fore, especially when he proposed an adults-only kind of prize for the winner. He was intrigued by the way her mind worked, the way she skilfully strategised—and he wanted to know more. ‘You play chess?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who with?’

‘I used to play with Phil. And then at university—’ She broke off and coloured.

‘What?’

‘My ex-boyfriend thought he could play.’

‘You whipped him every time, huh?’ Because she was good, she was smart and there was much more to her than big blue eyes and intoxicating long legs.

She nodded. ‘He didn’t like it.’

‘What happened to ex-boyfriend?’

Her eyes dropped to the board. ‘He found someone else. Someone shorter. Someone blonde.’

So she’d been cheated on, huh? No wonder she didn’t believe him when he said he’d been single all this time. And there was that height thing again. ‘Someone crap at chess?’

She laughed. ‘I don’t know. Probably.’

‘That man was clearly an imbecile. When playing for this kind of reward it’s not a bad thing to lose to you.’

She looked at him slyly. ‘I thought you always played to win.’

‘Well, you have to admit this is a win-win situation.’

She dropped some kete into one of the grooves on the board. ‘What was it like winning the Robertson case?’

‘You know about that?’

‘It was in every national newspaper for weeks. Of course I know about it.’

The Robertson case had been ugly. The guy had let his TV talent show instant stardom go to his head. Had ditched his young wife of three years and their newborn babe and embraced the life of the rock star—and the starlet he’d met at the recording studio. He’d thought his newfound money and fame would swing it. Had appointed one of the biggest name divorce lawyers in the city—arguing his new wealth was his and not for sharing with his wife and child. His wife had appointed Seb. At the time it had been the biggest case of his career and had cemented his reputation. ‘Robertson had wanted his fight in court. He’d got it.’