What would she do if he suddenly closed the gap between them and laid his lips hungrily on hers? Would he taste as sinfully good as he smelled?
She could suddenly think of nothing else.
What felt like hours passed, when really it was a matter of minutes. All the while his hand remained where it was, scorching her skin. Branding her.
When he finally turned his face away she fought the urge to step closer. To take the moment back. But then she followed his gaze and spied the housekeeper, quietly tidying their dinner dishes away nearby, with all the practised quietness of a professional.
She took one deliberate step away and crossed her arms over her chest, covering herself. His hand fell to his side and the haze of open lust disappeared from his features almost as quickly as it had come.
She wondered how he managed to look both furious and guilt-ridden at the same time. What would have happened if she had given in to that impulse and simply leaned forward to close the gap between them?
As though he’d heard her thoughts, a furrow appeared on his brow. He cleared his throat loudly, turning back to his housekeeper without another glance in her direction. ‘Grab a towel for Miss Sandoval before she freezes.’
His cold, uncaring tone only added to the sudden chill that spread through her.
Without saying goodnight, or even looking in her direction, Roman disappeared through the terrace doors, leaving her standing alone, confused and embarrassed in her sodden clothes.
* * *
The walls of his master suite were bathed in a cold powder-blue light when Roman awoke. As usual he had not dreamed, but sleep had taken much longer than usual to claim him. And even then it had been fitful and broken at best. It was as though his entire body had thrummed with an intense nervous energy that refused to allow him any real rest.
Never one to remain in bed once his eyes had opened, Roman stood and threw on his jogging shorts.
In less than five minutes he was stretching on the steps that led to the beach. Within another ten he had completed two laps of the mile-long sandy inlet and worked up a healthy sweat. He ran barefoot on the damp sand until his chest heaved and his muscles burned with effort. And then he ran some more.
Usually a good run was enough to rid him of any thoughts strong enough to affect his sleep. A self-inflicted punishment of sorts, for those times when he knew his mind had begun to grow weak and was in need of strengthening. A weak mind had no place in his life—not when so many relied on his razor-sharp instincts to protect their homes and indeed their lives.
He prided himself on always being able to separate his personal and professional life—especially when it came to affairs with women. Lust never clouded his judgement.
The women he pursued were usually professional workaholics, just like him. Women who were sophisticated in and out of the bedroom and who weren’t looking for sweet nothings to be whispered in their ear once they had scratched their mutual itch.
He had a feeling a sheltered young princess wouldn’t be quite so worldly when it came to no-strings sex.
He picked up speed as he chastised himself for even entertaining the thought of a no-strings affair with Olivia. Guilt settled heavily in his chest as he thought of the night before, of the thoughts that had run through his brain as he had openly ogled his best friend’s intended bride. Stupid, weak fool. The words flew by along with his breath as he exhausted his body with a final punishing sprint.
He had always believed that he deserved punishment for the multitude of sins he had committed in his youth. That no matter how complacent he grew in his wealth, in his power and success, there was always a darkness in him just waiting to ruin everything. It was beginning to seem that Olivia had been sent into his life to tempt that darkness to the fore. To tease him with her elegant curves and squeaky-clean nature.
He had a certain code for how he lived his life—certain people he did not betray and certain things he did not do. A rule book, of sorts, that kept him on the straight and narrow when the impulsive bastard inside him threatened to rise to the surface.
Khristos...
He exhaled hard. He had never been more tempted to break his own rules than in these past two days. Olivia reminded him of one of those perfect, luscious cakes that had always been on display behind the glass of his local bakery as a child. He had stood outside in the cold, salivating over the idea of breaking through that glass and claiming the treat for himself. But at that stage in his life his innocent boyhood self had innately known that would have been the wrong thing to do.
The Roman Lazarov of the present day did not have that luxury. Telling himself to walk away last night had been like standing in front of that bakery window all over again—hungry and frustrated, but unable to do a damn thing but fantasise about how the icing would taste in his mouth.
A delicious torture.
With his breath hard and even, he turned to the horizon and watched as the first flickers of pink and orange began to colour the dawn sky.
One of his favourite things about Isla Arista was the unspoilt view of both the sunrise and sunset from various points on the island. In those few dark months after the tragedy in Zayyar he had often spent an entire day walking here. He could completely circumnavigate the island in a few short hours because he knew the right tracks to take. It was an island of many personalities—smooth and habitable in some places, but fiercely wild and impassable in others.
He turned to begin walking back up to the villa, stopping as he spied a familiar feminine silhouette emerge from the open glass doors onto the terrace.
* * *
Olivia had been unashamedly watching Roman’s progress up and down the beach with interest. It had been impossble not to stare at his broad, muscular form as he powered up and down the sand with seeming effortlessness.
She had debated hiding in her room all day, and avoiding breakfast with him altogether, but she’d decided that was something the old Olivia would do.