to clench her thighs together. And suddenly all she wanted was to be the focus of all that strength and power. He angled his head to the other side, and she watched as he drew the razor from his throat upwards and she could no longer hide from the pure desire coursing through her veins.
Sebastian felt it. The moment her gaze struck his skin. It had been a spark that jolted his heart, his pulse and his arousal at the same time. For just a second his hand shook, he nearly nicked his jaw but pulled away just in time. He took a deep breath and relished it, inhaled the electricity he could feel. He was hyperaware of every movement, conscious of every turn of his head, almost every hair the razor’s edge covered.
He delayed it until he couldn’t resist any longer. He wanted to see her, wanted to glean something, anything, in her reaction in that moment. Was she aroused like him? Did she feel every inch of her skin and senses? She had to, surely. Only mutual attraction burned this brightly.
The moment his eyes met hers in the mirror he was very glad he’d put his razor down. It had been like a tsunami, one giant wave crashing over him and drawing him under, pounding against him with shocking force, all of which suddenly disappeared the moment she dropped her gaze.
He was playing with fire and he knew it.
It took him the next twenty minutes to get himself under control. By which time he was ready and the package from Reception had arrived.
He stepped out onto the decking to find her looking out at the horizon again.
‘Your turn,’ he said and at first he thought it funny the way she avoided his gaze. Until he realised that it was most definitely not. Because, this close up, he could see that it wasn’t the act of an experienced tease, it wasn’t a play at being coquettish.
That was innocence. Pure and true. And he felt it like a slap to the face. Tangling with the enemy was one thing, but that? Not his style. He preferred women who knew the score, a few nights of incredible pleasure...but after? A very happy and equally willing adios. Easy, enjoyable but, most importantly, short and simple.
And there was nothing simple about Sia and nothing short about what he wanted to do with her. So he ignored the urge to turn and discover whether she had closed the gap in the wooden screen or left it open for him, the thought firing his blood and his determination to leave Sia Keating the hell alone.
What felt like only seconds later, the sound of heels on the wooden decking drew him round and he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from heaping praise on her. From head to toe she was exquisite. He’d chosen the dress knowing that it was different to her usual style, but she looked... Like everything he’d ever wanted.
He shook the thought from his head and instead said a different truth. ‘You should always dress like this.’
It was turquoise in colour, thin shoulder straps led to a V that hugged her breasts and dropped into a beaded bodice that was reminiscent of art deco in design. Flashes of turquoise-coloured square sequins flashed in the setting sun, nestled next to gold sequins so pale they matched Sia’s skin, giving the impression of bare skin. Waterfalls of silk fell from her waist which swayed with each step she took towards him.
He could have bitten off his own tongue. He never should have bought this dress for her.
‘It’s hardly suitable for the office. It’s very beautiful and generous, but I’m not sure it’s me,’ she said, fanning out the skirts around her legs.
‘It is bold, courageous and sensual, which makes me wonder if it’s the office that doesn’t suit? It certainly reminds me of the woman I met in Victoriana,’ he said truthfully.
‘That wasn’t me.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Well, that is a shame. Because Henri was impressive, passionate and powerful. Who stole that from you, Sia?’ he couldn’t help but ask.
‘The deal is that I ask you the question. We had no agreement on me answering yours.’
He could see that she was hurt and angry. He knew that he’d pushed a button, but her retaliation was swift, harsh and, once again, it caught him unprepared.
‘So, tell me what you see when you look at the Durrántez painting,’ she demanded.
‘My mother.’
Both the speed and