olive oil all over this suit, so would you mind giving me a hand undressing?’
‘That has to be the most trumped-up excuse I’ve ever heard.’
‘I thought it was quite a good one, actually.’ He gave her a wicked smile. ‘Come and have a shower with me.’
‘Now there’s an offer,’ she said, rolling her eyes. But she slid his jacket from his shoulders and hung it over the back of a chair. He hadn’t put his tie back on when he’d changed out of the toga, and he looked incredibly sexy in dark trousers and a white shirt with the top button undone.
She unbuttoned his shirt, and ran her hands lightly over his chest. ‘Mmm. The barbarian look. I like it.’
‘Do you, now?’ Alex’s response was to make short work of her clothes and the remainder of his own; then he picked her up and carried her into the bathroom.
Isobel laughed. ‘You really are a barbarian, Alex.’
‘Just living up to your view of me.’ He set her on her feet in the bath, stepped in next to her, and switched the water on.
Isobel shrieked. ‘That’s cold!’
‘Don’t be a baby.’ He grabbed the shower gel. ‘All righty—you’re Flavia the patrician matron and I’m your barbarian slave.’
She laughed. ‘Shouldn’t you have scented oil and a strigil if you’re my barbarian slave?’
‘This is much more civilised,’ he said loftily.
‘You? Civilised?’
‘I can be.’ He gave her a lascivious wink, then poured shower gel into his palms, lathered it, and glided his fingers over her skin. ‘Mmm. Bel. Your skin feels nice. Turn round.’
She did so, and he lathered her shoulders and her back, then drew her back against his body. She could feel his erection pressing against her; then he fanned his fingers across her abdomen and then stroked gently upwards until he could cup her breasts.
‘Better still,’ he whispered, kissing the curve of her neck as his thumbs and forefingers played with her nipples.
She wriggled against him. ‘Barbarian.’
He nibbled her earlobe. ‘At your command, my lady.’
She turned round again to face him. ‘I don’t think you’d be at anyone’s command except your own, Alex.’
He kissed her lightly. ‘You could command me to make love with you. I’d obey you.’
She slid her fingers down to grasp his erection. ‘Only because it’s what you want to do.’
‘It’s a win-win situation, Bel. Apart from the fact that you’ve turned round, which means we switch roles,’ he added with a grin.
‘We do?’
‘Uh-huh. You have to obey me, because I’m the patrician now.’
She gave him a wicked grin. ‘But you look like a barbarian. I’ll just get the tweezers to sort you out, my Lord.’
‘Don’t you dare.’ He lifted her up and pinned her against the tiles.
She yelped. ‘Alex, that’s freezing!’
‘I’ll warm you up, then.’ He kissed her hard, his mouth urgent against hers. Her hands were locked round his neck, holding him close, and he’d moved so he could push one hand between her thighs, stroking her and teasing her until she was quivering.
‘Now?’ he asked softly.
‘N-now.’ She could barely speak, she was so turned on.
He lifted her slightly so he could fit the tip of his penis against the entrance of her sex, then slowly pushed into her.
‘Alex,’ she whispered, and jammed her mouth over his.
The water was pouring over them and Isobel was so aware of every single movement Alex made—the slow, deliberate thrusts as he brought her nearer and nearer to the edge, the way his body fitted hers perfectly—and she knew the exact second his self-control snapped and his body surged into hers. Although her eyes were tightly closed, she could see starbursts; and all she could do was hold on tightly to Alex as her climax rocked through her.
Finally, he eased out of her and set her on her feet. ‘Um. When did the hot water run out?’
‘No idea,’ she said.
‘Sorry.’
And he really did look contrite. She smiled. ‘I’m not.’ She reached up and touched his hair. ‘Except for this. You still need to get rid of that olive oil. I’ll go and boil the kettle so you’ve got some hot water to do your hair.’
‘Thanks. I wouldn’t want to look a total scruff when I take you out to dinner.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you telling me you’re going to wear your suit again tonight?’
‘No. Suits are overrated.’ He kissed her again. ‘I’m not wearing a tie, either.’
But by the time she’d dried her hair and he’d dressed, she had to admit he looked good. Black trousers and a turquoise silk shirt that, on Alex, just heightened his raw masculinity.
‘You scrub up rather nicely—for a barbarian.’
‘Watch it, or the hat goes on,’ he teased back. ‘Come on, beautiful. Let’s go celebrate my new job—and our engagement.’
The endearment warmed her. Alex thought her beautiful?
Probably just a figure of speech.
But she was glad he’d made the effort.
And she was starting to believe that he was right. This was going to work out just fine.
ON SUNDAY, Alex drove Isobel to the little market town in the Cotswolds where they’d grown up. They’d arranged to meet their parents at the local hotel, along with Alex’s sister Saskia and her husband Bryn and baby Flora. Alex’s twin sisters, Helen and Polly, were both away for the weekend, but he’d said wryly that their parents wouldn’t wait any longer for them to turn up as an engaged couple—if they didn’t go to the Cotswolds, their families would come straight to London and besiege the flat.
The second they walked into the dining room, their respective mothers spotted them and started waving. And it was a good ten minutes before the hugs and the congratulations and the official inspection of the engagement ring were over.
‘What a welcome,’ Isobel said, smiling as she sat down.
‘Well, of course! This is a celebration. It’s not every day my daughter gets engaged.’ Stuart made what was clearly a pre-arranged signal to the waiter, who immediately brought over champagne.
‘Getting engaged to the boy next door after all these years. It’s so romantic,’ Marcia said, smiling at them.
Saskia rolled her eyes. ‘This is Alex we’re talking about, Mum. Your son doesn’t do romance.’
‘Of course I do,’ Alex protested.
No, he didn’t, Isobel thought. But they were meant to be putting on a show for their parents, so she didn’t correct him.
He nudged her. ‘Bel, tell them how we got engaged.’
She smiled. ‘He hijacked my talk on Roman beauty—came strutting up in a toga, told everyone all about betrothal customs, and then put the ring on my finger.’
‘You got engaged in the museum?’ Anna asked.
‘It was romantic,’ Alex protested.