‘Is this for real?’
Zara laughed at Amelia’s shocked expression. She stood with her business partner in front of a rack of designer gowns, in the master bedroom of the royal suite of the Savoy Hotel in London. A bottle of champagne stood chilling in an ice bucket and an array of exquisite cakes and tiny, perfectly cut sandwiches lay on a silver tray on a table by the window. A window featured a magnificent view of Big Ben and the Thames beyond. The room was bathed in a luminous golden light, a combination of afternoon sunshine flooding the space and a reflection of the rich furnishing of the room.
‘Yes, it is for real! And a stylist is arriving in an hour to help me dress, and she’s bringing a hairdresser and make-up artist,’ Zara said. Xavier’s PR manager had organised it all when Xavier had told her he was bringing a date. Xavier was caught up in meetings all afternoon so Zara had called Amelia, who’d dropped everything and raced to the hotel. ‘I need you to help me narrow down the options to the best three so I don’t end up in something hip but hideous.’
Amelia had an incredible sense of style. She’d studied fashion before switching fields. Zara had met her at the University of the Arts in London when they’d both been studying interior design. Their individual skill sets had complemented each other’s. After two years of working in established design firms, they’d come together to create a successful boutique consultancy.
But even though Amelia was probably the best friend Zara had, she’d never confided in her about Xavier and their history together.
‘And Xavier Hunt,’ Amelia said. ‘The sexy, gorgeous, billionaire Xavier Hunt organised all of this . . . for you?’ she asked, running her hand lightly over the satin, lace, sequins, silk and finery of the dazzling array of dresses.
Amelia would look incredible in any of the outfits on offer. She exuded American bombshell more than English rose. All masses of blonde hair, tanned skin and a lean six-foot frame.
‘Yes,’ Zara confirmed simply.
‘How . . . How did this happen?’ The disbelief in her voice matched the expression on her face. ‘It’s like some incredible fairytale.’
‘I know,’ Zara said, pulling a mini baby-doll dress from the rack and immediately discounting it from the shortlist.
Amelia took the dress from her hand, popped it back on the rack and grabbed Zara’s hand.
‘Everything,’ she said, leading Zara to the window. She gently pushed Zara into one of the ornate chairs. ‘I want to hear everything.’ She pulled the champagne bottle from the ice, eased out the cork and poured two glasses. ‘And don’t you leave out any tiny insignificant details . . . like, that you’ve slept with Xavier Hunt.’ She squealed out the words.
‘I haven’t slept with him.’ Zara masked her face with an indignant look to hide the memory of Xavier’s hands caressing her body. Well, it was true. They hadn’t slept together. But they were sharing this gorgeous suite, so that might be a moot point by the morning.
Amelia raised her two perfectly shaped eyebrows. She handed Zara a sparkling crystal champagne flute.
‘We’re just old friends,’ Zara insisted. ‘We knew each other as kids.’
‘Really?’ Amelia flopped into the other chair, kicked off her shoes and pulled her fabulous long legs under her. ‘Well, I’m still best friends with the boy who used to pull my pigtails in primary school and I can barely get him to buy me a drink.’
Amelia sipped her champagne. ‘And, if he’s such a good friend, why is it that this is the first time I’ve heard that you even know him, let alone you being such great friends that he’s taking you to the BAFTAs?’ The last few words came with another excited squeal.
Zara couldn’t help but smile. Having Amelia by her side was making the whole adventure more exciting and real.
‘We haven’t seen each other or even talked to each other for fifteen years. I knew him before he was famous. His father was our gardener.’
‘And what? He just pops up out of the blue? At Ravensdale? For no reason?’ Amelia threw Zara a don’t-be-stupid look. ‘Come on, honey. Wake up and smell the coffee.’
‘What do you mean?’
Amelia spread her arms to encompass their sumptuous surroundings. ‘Does this look like it’s come from a man who has nothing on his mind?’
Amelia had a point, but Zara simply shrugged. ‘He needed a date for the night and I was on hand.’
‘Well.’ Amelia drained her glass, placed it on the table and stood. ‘We’d better get cracking. I don’t want some stylist talking you into something stupid. By the time I’ve selected the perfect outfit and those professionals have finished with you, Xavier Hunt won’t want to attend the BAFTAs.’ She hauled Zara to her feet. ‘He’ll want to put out the “do not disturb” sign and make ample use of this.’ She threw herself back on the magnificent bed and almost disappeared in the layers of fine linen. She flung her arms and legs around as if making a snow angel in the sheets.
‘Amelia!’ Zara exclaimed.
Amelia giggled and rolled onto her tummy. ‘Hmm, nice thread count,’ she said, rubbing the linen between her fingers.’
‘Any chance we could focus on me not making a fool of myself in front of British entertainment royalty?’ Zara asked, a note of anxiety entering her voice. Although it was all desperately thrilling, her nerves were building. And not just for the intriguing promise of an evening of glitz and glamour ahead, but for what would come afterwards.
‘Right,’ Amelia said, climbing off the bed and making a beeline for the dresses. She drew a black, strapless, full-length gown from the rack. ‘Vintage Dior,’ she announced, holding up the dress.
Zara ran her fingers down the gorgeous silk fabric. ‘It’s perfect,’ she breathed.
‘And I bet this dress doesn’t even make it out the door,’ Amelia said with a wicked smile.
‘You are a bad girl, Amelia Appleton,’ Zara said, taking the dress and heading for the bathroom to change.
‘Not as bad as I hope you’ll be tonight,’ Amelia quipped.
Zara threw Amelia an exaggerated glare before she closed the bathroom door. But her body wouldn’t stop humming with anticipation.
Zara whirled around and around, drinking in the dramatic hum of London. The past few hours had been a completely incredible amazing blur. Movie stars. The cream of British television talent. Champagne. Awards. Glamour. Glitz. And everything in between.
She and Xavier were walking back to the Savoy from the Rosewood Hotel, where a top US film director had hosted an exquisite BAFTA afterparty. Xavier held Zara’s hand and a pleasant champagne buzz warmed her body.
She’d met some of Hollywood’s hottest stars and television celebrities. In fact, he’d been surrounded by people all night. Everyone seemed to want to be with, to talk to, to touch Xavier Hunt. All night, he’d held her close. He’d introduced her to everyone, and not for one minute had she felt intimidated by the glitterati, but only because Xavier was by her side.
She swung Xavier’s hand back and forth like a child. Xavier turned his dark eyes on her and smiled. A smile so perfect even Da Vinci would have wanted Xavier as a muse. Xavier’s humble days at Ravensdale seemed to have existed in another lifetime.
‘What an incredible night,’ Zara breathed. She glanced down at the BAFTA statuette he carried. He’d won the international category for his latest gardening series. ‘I can’t believe you won,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you know Oprah. I mean, I knew you’d been on her show a few times but . . .’
She stumbled slightly. Xavier caught her about the waist and held her firm. His touch made her feel as if nothing and no one could ever hurt her again.
‘Careful there, Tiger,’ he said.
She’d probably had a few too many champagnes. Xavier had barely touched a drop.
‘Lots of famous people are as passionate about gardening as I am.’ He held her tighter. ‘Barriers come down when people have their hands in the dirt.’
He kissed the top of her head. Lush warmth spread down her chest.
‘I like barriers coming down,’ she whispered, turning to face him. That’s what she hoped for, more than anything. That they could crash through their past.
‘So do I,’ he said, sliding his hand into her hair, tipping her face up to his. His eyes. Those beautiful eyes held a longing and a hunger. Her body buzzed with anticipation.
He lowered his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that spoke of heat, urgency and years of pent-up want. She returned the demand, communicating with her lips the desire she felt and what she wanted next. She ran her hands all over his back, wishing away the fabric separating them.
He pressed her up against the stone wall of a building. Her breasts crushed lusciously against his chest. The kiss deepened and deepened. She wanted more, so much more.
‘Get a room.’ A young high-pitched voice broke the passionate spell.
Zara broke from the kiss. A group of teenagers wandered by, giggling.
‘Wait,’ one of them said, pointing at Xavier. ‘Look.’
‘Oh no,’ Xavier groaned leaning his forehead against hers. ‘Get ready.’
‘Oh my God,’ another girl screamed. ‘It’s Xavier Hunt.’
They were quickly surrounded by the overly enthusiastic group, all calling his name and asking a babble of questions. Xavier placed Zara behind him, protecting her from the onslaught. He answered questions for a few minutes and signed autographs. One girl wanted him to sign her chest. He declined but agreed to sign her shoulder instead. Then he posed for endless photos, which would of course end up all over Twitter and Facebook. Xavier called a halt when the requests for kisses started.
‘Sorry, ladies,’ Xavier said, holding up a hand. ‘We have to go.’
Knotting his fingers with hers, he led Zara quickly from the tangle and into the hotel.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said.
‘Occupational hazard.’
He smiled. ‘Something like that.’
The hotel lobby, with its marble checkerboard floor, wood panelling and soaring marble columns, glittered with beautiful people. Within a few seconds a hush dropped over the space and people swivelled in their direction. Heads turned. Women gasped. People pointed. Xavier caused quite a stir, but he didn’t seem to notice the wave of astonishment flowing behind him.
They walked to the lifts. Summer flowers arranged in oversized vases exuded a subtle floral aroma. Xavier hit the button for the top floor.
The lift doors opened. They stepped in. She lay her head on his shoulder, exhaustion suddenly taking over. But she straightened quickly. She didn’t want Xavier to walk away as he’d done the other night. Nothing would keep her from his body this time.
‘You deserved this break,’ he said, putting his arm about her shoulders. ‘That tyrannical schedule . . . You’ve worked like a dog for months.’
‘Making Ravensdale pay its way was always going to be a hard slog.’
He held her a little closer. It seemed like a lifetime since she’d felt so supported.
They arrived at their floor and he unlocked the door to the royal suite. She stepped into the marble foyer and marvelled again at the amazing space. She’d read that the suite had recently been renovated to the tune of two and half million pounds, and every penny spent was exhibited in its luxury appointments.
‘This has been such a magical night, Xavier.’
He took her hand and led her into the living room. ‘You speak as though the night is already over, whereas I’m thinking, beautiful suite, more champagne, dim lights . . .’
Her heart beat a little faster.
‘So you sit right here,’ he said. ‘And I’ll order some room service.’
She sat, sinking onto the cream sofa. Xavier strode to the desk. The man looked incredible in his Alexander McQueen tuxedo, the outfit so different to his usual attire of jeans and T-shirt.
He stripped off the jacket and threw it over a chair, his broad shoulders barely contained by the classic white shirt. Picking up the phone, he ordered champagne and chocolates.
Something buzzed beside her. She forced her gaze in that direction. A mobile phone hummed. Must be Xavier’s. He mustn’t have taken it with him to the ceremony. She picked it up and held it for Xavier to see. He nodded and finalised the order. She glanced at the scene and her eyes widened. Fifty-three missed calls.
She pushed off the sofa. ‘Xavier, you have over fifty missed calls.’ It buzzed in her hand again and she read the caller ID. ‘Julia Templeton,’ she announced holding out the phone to him.
‘That’s my assistant.’ He took the phone gently from her hand and returned it to the coffee table. ‘I’ll call her in the morning.’
The screen lit up again. Another call.
‘But there must be something important going on,’ she insisted. People calling at two in the morning never brought good news. The muscles in her neck tightened. She’d learned that from experience.
‘It’ll just be people calling to congratulate me.’ He slipped his arm about her waist. ‘They can all wait. We’ve got more important priorities.’
Zara glanced down at the screen. ‘But that’s Julia calling again, and it’s the middle of the night. Assistants don’t do that unless it’s important.’
Xavier was still for a moment. ‘Later,’ he said again, kissing the line of her jaw. But she couldn’t move her mind from the phone and all those missed calls.
‘Please, Xavier.’ She pushed him firmly from her body. ‘Just call her back, make sure everything is okay and then I can relax.’
He looked down at her, an amused expression on his face. ‘Well, anything to make you happy.’
‘It would.’
He picked up his phone. The tension in her neck eased.
‘I’ll only call her back if you go into that bedroom and slip into something more comfortable.’
She smiled. ‘Your wish is my command.’ She turned and presented him with her back. ‘Unzip me,’ she asked in her best sultry voice.
His fingers touched the sensitive nape of her neck. The spicy tang of his aftershave teased her nostrils. He drew the zip down her back, oh so slowly, trailing his fingers over her skin. She sucked in a breath. His hands glided onto her shoulders to slip the dress from her body. She stopped him and turned.
‘Call first, then I’m all yours.’
‘You really are trying to kill me.’ The rise and fall of his chest showed he was already breathing hard.
Walking into the bedroom, she could feel Xavier’s gaze tracking her movements. Turning, their eyes met. He stepped forward.
‘No,’ she said, holding up her hand. ‘Good things come to those who wait.’ She allowed her dress to drop to the floor, giving Xavier a glimpse of her standing simply in her strapless black bra and knickers and high heels, before she pulled the door closed behind her.
An anguished groan sounded from beyond the door. She smiled and ran her hand down her body. He’d better be quick with that call.
‘Julia. It’s me,’ Xavier said into the phone without taking his eyes from the bedroom door.
‘Xavier. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.’
‘I left my phone at the hotel. What’s up?’
‘Hollywood,’ his assistant announced in an excited voice. ‘That’s what’s up.’
His head jerked back. ‘What do you mean, Hollywood?’
‘Your acceptance speech. It caught the attention of Walter Fields. He wants to discuss a movie around your life story. Poor son of a gardener turned billionaire.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not doing that.’
‘I knew you’d say that,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Why I’m really calling is because Comtel wants to create a series with you.’
His eyes widened. Now that would be worth talking more about. Comtel held over thirty percent of the US cable television audience. It was the holy grail of television, with a massive global distribution network. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly. ‘That sounds more interesting.’
‘Harold Edelstein’s been trying to track you down tonight. He’s worried you’re already in meetings with other companies. He wants to strike an in-principle agreement right now.’
‘Now! What did you tell him?’
‘That you’d meet, of course.’
He glanced at the bedroom door. ‘I can’t meet him now.’
‘Apologies in advance, boss, but are you crazy?’ Julia’s voice rose two octaves.
‘No,’ he walked to the bedroom door. ‘Actually, for the first time in a long time, I feel like things are. . . .’ He opened the door. Zara lay in the bed. She didn’t move when he walked into the room. He drew closer. Her eyes were closed. Her face looked pale against the stark white pillow. She was asleep. The night had obviously exhausted her. He drew in a deep breath and sighed.
‘Julia, I’ll call you straight back.’ He ended the call.
A sheet covered Zara only to her waist. A sheer, lacy fabric was the only thing between her and nakedness. He breathed slowly, trying to control the fire burning through him. His mind battled his body. It was after two in the morning and Zara was obviously still a little weak from her illness. He’d waited a lifetime for this moment; he could wait another few hours. Pulling the bed covers up to her shoulders, he sealed away temptation. She needed to sleep, to recover. He needed something very, very powerful to distract him.
He strode from the room, dialling Julia’s number as he went. ‘Set it up. I’ll meet Harold now.’ He pulled the bedroom door closed behind him firmly.
‘I’ll get him to come to you,’ Julia said.
‘No. I’ll go to him.’ Xavier needed distance. Lots of distance between him and the gorgeous creature in his bed. The creature who’d reignited a burning passion that might never again be contained.
Zara stared without seeing the English countryside. The return to Ravensdale was in stark contrast to the journey up to London the day before. No champagne. No outrageous flirting. No Xavier. But she wasn’t unhappy. Xavier’s star was rising ever higher, if that was possible. He’d called that morning to say he’d be tied up in meetings for the rest of the day and that she should head home. He’d follow as soon as he could.
She sighed. How could she have fallen asleep last night? Gorgeous hotel suite, champagne on the way, Xavier Hunt making his intentions clear, and what had she done? She rolled her eyes at her own ridiculousness.
The limousine slowed as it entered Ravensdale village. They passed the newsagent, the village store, the post office. The new owner of the Red Lion was rolling a keg to the back of the pub. The old travel agency building sported yet another new tenant, an Indian restaurant.
Zara waved at Mary Philpott. Mary waved back, eyes wide. Zara smiled. It wasn’t often stretch limousines rolled through the village. Xavier had organised a limo to bring her home.
She dropped back into the soft leather. Poor Mary. She’d done it tough since her husband had died ten years ago. He’d been the local policeman for over thirty years. A heart attack at fifty-five had taken him. Stress, they’d said. Of course Zara had helped where she could. That’s what you did in a tight-knit village. Funny. She rubbed her chin. Her father had been unusually generous with Mary.
Her father knew everyone in the village. At times, it was as though he knew more about the people here than they knew about themselves.
There’d been a time when the whole village had belonged to the Ravensdale estate, but small allotments had been sold off throughout the twentieth century to pay for mounting maintenance expenses and the crippling inheritance taxes. The Ravensdales’ holdings had been reduced to the original manor house and ten acres of grounds. But her father had maintained his ‘lordly’ presence in the region.
She put her elbow on the car door and leaned her cheek onto her palm. She loathed that her father thought himself better than everyone else, but he was born in a different time. He stridently believed in the natural rights of the aristocracy.
The driver turned the car into the stately Ravensdale entrance and drove past the coach house. She turned and stared back at the old building. She loved that place. The cook and her family had lived there while she’d been growing up.
She and Xavier had enjoyed hours and hours in the cook’s house. So much more homely and warm than the draughty, lonely manor house. The coach house had since fallen into disrepair. She looked away, unable to add the beautiful old building to her list of woes. But when revenue flowed again, she’d renovate the place and move in. It would be her oasis. She rubbed her thumbnail across her bottom lip. Her father would be appalled. She wouldn’t tell him. She closed her eyes for a moment. Her father’s grip on her life had been so tight and so strict. Her mother had been all cuddles and ‘follow your dreams’; her father all discipline and family honour.
She opened her eyes and pressed her lips together. Her father was her only living relative. The only one who had been standing next to her when their lives had fallen apart. Deep down he must love her, although she very rarely felt it.
The driver stopped in front of the house. He hopped out, rounded the car and opened her door.
‘Here we are, Lady Ravensdale.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. She pulled her purse from her handbag.
‘Oh no,’ the driver said, holding up his hands. ‘I’ve already been given a very generous tip by Mr Hunt. I couldn’t take any more.
Unlocking the manor door, she walked into her empty home. The driver placed her overnight bag on the hall table, the sound echoing through the house and intensifying the air of loneliness. The driver tipped his cap and left.
She dropped her handbag on the floor. A musty smell had already invaded the place and it had been locked up for less than twenty-four hours.
Walking from room to room, she threw open the enormous double-hung windows. But the fresh air didn’t eradicate the steady melancholy rising in her chest, stealing her happiness. The estate was so grand, so expensive to run. How would she ever save it all on her own?
The air seemed to thicken. She looked up. The eyes of myriad distant relatives stared at her from portraits on the walls. It felt as though they were judging her, reading her thoughts and finding them repellent.
You’re a Ravensdale. Her father had lectured her a thousand times.
This country was built by people like us. Hold your head high and remember who you are!
She pulled roughly on her ponytail. Sometimes she hated her heritage.
Her mobile phone sounded from the front hall. She ran back and pulled the device from her bag.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Zara Ravensdale speaking.’
‘Good morning, Lady Ravensdale, it’s Walter Burnside.’
Her private bank manager. Her ribs constricted. What did he want?
‘Morning, Walter. To what do I owe this pleasure?’
The man hesitated. ‘It’s not good news, I’m afraid. We’ve received a call that someone wants to buy Ravensdale, and the board has called in your loan. You now have two weeks to settle the debt. I’m sorry.’
Her legs lost their strength. She backed up until her body hit the wall and then slid to the floor. Two weeks?
‘Why?’ Her voice so tiny in the grandeur around her.
‘As I’ve explained before, since the GFC the bank has changed all its terms due to risk. With the economic outlook weakening further, the bank has made the decision to call in all high-risk loans. Unfortunately, you fall into that category. In this current financial climate, the bank can’t afford not to convert this strong interest into a sale. It’s very unlikely we’ll receive interest like this again from such a qualified buyer. Properties like yours are very hard to sell at the moment and we don’t see the economic situation improving anytime soon.’
She couldn’t speak.
‘I’m sorry.’ The man’s tone communicated that he was genuinely sorry. But what did that matter? ‘I tried to buy you more time, but . . .’
She croaked out some more words and ended the call. The people in the portrait seemed to come alive. Shouting, Failure, failure, failure.
She hauled herself up and bolted out the door. She blindly ran to the walled garden. Sliding the key from around her neck, she unlocked the door. She shoved her way in and locked the door behind her.
Walking into the middle of the space, she breathed deeply. But the garden she’d locked away for so long didn’t give her any of the answers she was looking for. Didn’t fortify her for what she had to do next. The space was the same as her heart, desolate. Just an overgrown mess surrounded by crumbling walls.
She rubbed the heel of her palm against her chest to alleviate the ghastly suffocating tension. She’d lose Ravensdale. She dropped down onto the grass.
A rustle sounded at the door. The muscles at the back of her neck jagged tight. The door rattled. She jumped to her feet. Someone was trying to get in. Who would invade her sanctuary?
A key slid into the lock. Her eyes widened. Impossible. She gripped the key lying between her breasts. It was the only key. She’d destroyed all other copies.
The key turned in the lock and the door opened. She stepped back, gasping.
‘Xavier.’
Xavier shoved the door of the stone-walled garden wide open. He’d been caught in meetings since the early hours, but he didn’t feel tired. He didn’t feel worn. All he felt was the incredible need for Zara. His Zara.
She stood where he knew she’d be. On that exact spot. The place where all those years ago her father had torn them apart.
‘You still have your key,’ she said, shock lacing her voice.
He closed the door and dropped his satchel on the grass. Striding to her, he clasped her body to his own. All the air left her lungs. The sound fired his blood.
‘Tell me you want this.’ He couldn’t stand another minute without her.
‘I . . . I . . .’
He drew her closer. Her scent . . . Always that intoxicating mixture of rose and a barely discernible note of intoxicating spice. His beautiful girl, with deeply buried fire.
‘Tell me now, Zara,’ he said, his voice harsh. He didn’t mean it to be. He wanted her even though she didn’t believe in his innocence. He hadn’t simply come here to buy and restore his father’s legacy. He’d come for her.
‘Tell me to walk away and I’ll leave you alone forever,’ he said.
‘I can’t do that.’ Her breathless voice sent a quiver of desire to his groin. He’d never wanted anything or anyone so badly.
He forced himself to kiss her softly although he burned to possess her body and soul. She returned the kiss deeper, harder. His body blazed, her passion lighting an inferno inside him. She wanted this too.
He ran his hands over her back and into her hair. His tongue probed and explored, discovering her sweetness and fire.
Pulling from her mouth, he kissed his way down her chest, moulding her breast with his hand. Her low moan took him to the edge. He wanted to see her. Drink her in. He drew back. Her gaze locked with his, the longing clear in her eyes.
He dispensed quickly with her T-shirt. She wore a white bra trimmed with lace, her nipples visible through the sheer fabric. He fought for control.
Taking her in his arms, he eased her onto the grass, covered her body with his. He slid down one of the bra straps, exposing her beautiful breast.
Oh God. He sucked hard on one nipple while toying with the other with his fingers through the material. Her breath stalled then came faster and faster.
Her hand glided down his body and reached for his groin.
‘No,’ he said. He was on a hair trigger as it was.
‘I want to touch . . .’
He grabbed her hand and pinned it over her head, plundering her mouth, smothering any further objections.
He pushed up her skirt, desperate to caress her and drive her wild as he’d done the day before. He wanted her trembling under his touch. She watched him with half-closed eyes. This time he stripped her knickers down her legs and threw them aside. He ran his finger between her slick folds and found the sensitive heart of her. She arched back, gasping. He wanted to do more, give her more, but he couldn’t wait.
He stood.
‘What are you doing?’ she panted, her eyes wide at his abrupt departure.
But he couldn’t speak. He walked to his satchel and seized a condom from a side pocket. He stood over her. Pulling off his shirt, trousers and boxers, his eyes never left her face. Her gaze ravished his body as the clothes hit the ground. His erection pulled even tighter, almost painfully.
‘Take off your skirt.’ An almost unbearable thrill ripped through him as she complied. She undid the side zip and shimmied out of it. He sucked in a rough breath.
‘Your bra,’ he rasped. He wanted her completely naked. He wanted to touch every part of her. He wanted it all.
She sat up, unclipped her bra. Her chest rose and fell with a shudder. She threw her bra on the grass, lay back and ran her hands down her body. She rested her hands on her luscious hips.
Holy hell. She was a goddess. He brushed his tongue over his dry lips.
‘God, you’re so beautiful,’ he said.
Her lips trembled but she didn’t speak, she simply held out her hand to him. He took it and came down over her. Skin on glorious skin. If heaven existed, he’d found it. She bent her knees up and his body settled perfectly between her thighs.
He kissed her long and deep, wanting to remember this for eternity. Whatever happened, he would have this moment. The moment he’d dreamed of nearly every night of his life.
‘Please, Xavier,’ she pleaded. ‘Now. I want you now.’
He entered her in one long, slow thrust. Fire ripped through his body.
Oh God.
So hot. So wet. So incredible. He shut his eyes, the intensity . . . For the first time he understood the word ecstasy. Blinding ecstasy.
He opened his eyes. Zara’s head was thrown back, her eyes closed. She gripped his butt and drew him closer, further into her body. He couldn’t believe he could feel so at one with another person.
With determined control, he moved. But her hands ranged all over his skin, encouraging more. Her touch infused a blazing lust-fuelled fever in his body, and he drove into her harder, faster. She matched his body, movement for movement, lifting her hips to take him deeper.
‘Yes. Yes. Yes!’ she screamed. She clung to him and her body orgasmed around him.
Holy fuck.
It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He upped his pace.
She groaned and pulsed and writhed under him. He gave himself over to the passion-induced madness. He tensed, his body strained and pulled rigid. Euphoria, exultation, delirium rushed through his body and his brain. He clung to the feeling, wanting the roar to last forever and ever and ever. It ebbed slowly. He collapsed over her sweet sweat-slicked body, the raw smell of hot sex all around him.
He was drunk. He was addicted. He was lost.
Things would never be the same again. Could never be the same. Not after this.
Nothing would ever again keep him from Zara.
Slowly Zara’s heart rate dropped to within normal range. Her body tingled with a potent afterglow. She wanted to sleep and to dance about like a crazy woman all at the same time.
Xavier lay on the grass next to her, holding her hand and staring up at the sky. His muscled body glistened with sweat. He was still hauling in deep breaths after their lovemaking.
Lovemaking? Or was it just the release of years of pent-up frustration that had now been vented?
She swallowed. She knew what it was for her. She’d loved this man forever. That’s why none of those blue-blooded toffs had ever touched her heart. But could they ever overcome their history? She shivered.
‘Come here,’ he said, pulling her into his arms.
His eyes burned so brightly it was almost difficult to hold his gaze.
‘I think every step I’ve taken since I left prison was a step back to you. To impress you. To wipe away the taint of the past.’
‘I used to dream we’d be together forever,’ she said.
He ran a finger softly down her cheek. ‘Perhaps we could start forever now.’
‘But you hate everything about Ravensdales.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t know about you, but this is not how I usually express hate.’
‘But does sex wipe away our past and all those years of separation?’
He stood and held out his hand. She took it. He hauled her to his chest. ‘It does for me.’
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to ruin this perfect moment.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘That roll in the grass has left me ravenous. Let’s have a shower, then eat.’
She frowned. ‘I thought you were supposed to be in meetings for the rest of the day.’
His face lit up with a dazzling, cheeky smile. He ran his finger down her chest between her breasts.
‘All that can wait.’ Her body responded instantly. God, she wanted him again, right now.
He collected their clothes and walked to the door.
‘Aren’t we going to get dressed?’
‘There’s no one to see us.’
She held her hand out for her clothes. ‘I’m not walking out that door naked.’
He held open the door for her but didn’t return her clothes. ‘If I had my way, you’d be naked twenty-four-seven.’
‘Clothes,’ she demanded.
‘Here.’ He held them out. ‘Take them.’
Before her fingers closed over the fabric, he pulled them from her grasp and strode from the garden.
‘You bastard,’ she said, racing after him. He stayed just out of reach. When they neared the front door, he slowed. She grabbed what she could and kept running, straight up the staircase.
‘I’ll get you,’ Xavier called from close behind.
She screamed and took the steps two at a time up to the first floor. Bolting into Xavier’s room, she didn’t even have time to turn. He caught her about the waist and they both landed on the enormous bed. Xavier covered her body with his and planted kisses all over her face.
‘You’ve got grass stains on your back,’ he teased.
She giggled. ‘That’s what happens when you have sex in the great outdoors.’
‘Time to get cleaned up, you dirty girl.’
Dirty girl? Her body heated. The words made her feel naughty and sexy.
‘What was that you called me?’
‘Dirty girl. You’re a dirty, dirty girl.’
She pushed off the bed and ran her finger down his thigh. ‘Perhaps you need to clean me up.’ She walked to the bathroom, swaying her hips in an exaggerated, provocative manner. Before she disappeared into the bathroom, she shot him a wink.
The bed creaked, announcing that Xavier was right behind her.
She turned on the shower and stepped under the warm spray. Xavier followed her in. He squeezed out some soap from the dispenser.
‘Dirty, dirty, dirty,’ he said, rubbing his hands slowly together, creating a lather between his fingers. ‘What are we going to do about that?’ He lifted his left eyebrow.
A tingle of pleasure ran down Zara’s body. She grazed her teeth across her bottom lip. Xavier’s eyes tracked the movement and his body responded in all the right ways.
She leaned against the travertine wall, placed her arms above her head and thrust out her chest.
‘I have no idea,’ she purred.
His eyes dropped to her chest and a smile spread across his face.
‘Let me see if I can think of something.’
He placed his hands on her waist and glided up and over her breasts in one smooth movement. Arrows of want shot through her entire body. His hands moved all over her wet skin. He finally slid his hands down her legs and trailed his finger softly over her inner thighs. She burned to have him inside her, pinning her to the wall.
She slid her hand down and curved it over his hard, erect shaft.
He groaned and his body tensed. She loved that her touch could elicit such a response. She repeated the movement. And again. He closed his eyes.
She dropped to her knees. His body snapped rigid.
‘Zara.’
She looked up at him, smiled and licked the tip of his erection. His head jerked back and a guttural sound erupted from his mouth. Her body burned. She ran her tongue up his shaft, then took him into her mouth. Xavier’s body tensed and he gripped her shoulders as though holding her for support. She took him in over and over. His hold on her shoulders tightened.
‘Enough,’ he growled and hauled her upright. ‘Don’t move.’
Striding from the shower, he returned a moment later with a condom. Ripping open the packet, he sheathed himself. She panted with anticipation.
He hitched up her leg, pinned it against the wall and in one smooth movement he entered her. Rapture pulsed from between her legs, radiating out and engulfing her.
‘Fast and hard,’ she breathed in his ear. ‘I want it fast and hard.’
He complied immediately, slamming the oxygen from her lungs and blinding her with intensity. She felt faint but more alive than ever before. It was as though the whole world had fallen away and there was only Xavier. Her whole being filled with Xavier. The potency of sensation climbed, built . . . increased until it was almost too much. Too much. With each thrust she cried out. She didn’t know it could be this way.
‘Yes . . . yes . . .’ The word so simple for feelings so incredible.
She hit the edge, teetered then tumbled over. Her body shattered. Her mind shattered. The world shattered. Her body pulsed and pulsed as wave after wave after wave of pleasure sliced through her.
Xavier came moments later. He slumped heavily against her body. Neither of them moved. They simply stood together, the water cascading down their joined bodies, breathing hard.
She didn’t care what Xavier had done. She didn’t care if he couldn’t face the truth. She didn’t care about the past. That was all washed away.
They were finally together.