they were having for breakfast.
Standing on tiptoe, she stretched out her arm, her fingers almost touching the peach’s skin. If only she was just a little bit taller…
She breathed in sharply as a hand stole past her and gently pulled the peach free.
‘Hey!’ Turning, she stared up at Aristo in outrage. ‘That’s mine.’
He looked her straight in the eye and kept on looking. ‘Not according to the evidence.’
Her fingers twitched. She was tempted to make a grab for it, but already his proximity was sending her senses haywire and she didn’t want to risk reaching out to touch the wrong soft, golden flesh…
She swallowed. Her desire for him chewed at her constantly, and already her insides felt so soft and warm it was as if she was melting.
Watching the play of emotions cross her face, Aristo felt his body tense. He could sense the conflict in her and it was driving him crazy. For once they’d had only to be alone and they would be reaching for one another—his hand circling her waist, her fingers sliding over his shoulders…
His blood seemed to slow and thicken and his limbs felt suddenly light as he stared at her profile, at the dark arch of her eyebrow above the straight line of her nose and the full curving mouth. There was a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks and he wanted to reach out and touch each and every one.
Instead, though, he glanced down at the peach, turning it over in his hand, his thumb tracing the cleft in the downy flesh. ‘What will you give me for it?’ he asked softly, his mouth curving upwards.
Teddie swallowed. This was Aristo at his most dangerous. That combination of tantalising smile and teasing dark, dark eyes. And, even though she knew she shouldn’t, she held his gaze and said lightly, ‘How about I don’t push you into that lavender bush if you hand it over?’
Laughing, he held out the peach. ‘And I was going to offer to share it with you.’
His fingers brushed against hers as she took the peach and she felt a tremor down her spine like a charge of electricity. ‘So let’s share it,’ she said casually. ‘There’s a knife in that basket.’
‘Are you sure it won’t spoil your appetite?’
A suspended silence seemed to saturate the air around them and, staring past him, she said quickly, ‘The basket’s on the bench.’
She watched as carefully he halved the peach, then pitted and sliced it, his profile a pure gold line against the intense blue sky. The creamy golden flesh was still warm from the sun and heavy with juice, and as she bit into it the intense sweetness ricocheted around her mouth.
‘Wow! They don’t taste like that in New York.’
Folding the knife, he dropped it back into the basket. ‘No, they don’t. But then everything tastes better here.’
She frowned at the edge that had entered his voice. ‘You make that sound like a bad thing.’
A light breeze stirred between them and the air felt suddenly over-warm, the sunlight suddenly over-bright.
He shrugged. ‘It’s not a bad thing—just a consequence of living in a fantasy. When you go back to civilisation, reality doesn’t quite match up.’
Her heart was pounding against her chest. He was referring to the peach, but he might easily have been talking about their marriage—for wasn’t that what had happened? They had married on impulse, without really knowing anything about one another—certainly not enough to make till-death-do-us-part vows. And even before the honeymoon had been over it had become clear to both of them that what they’d shared in all those hotel rooms across America was too fragile to survive real life.
And yet here they both were in this idyllic sun-drenched garden sharing a peach.
She felt a flutter of hope. Okay, this wasn’t real life, but they weren’t newly weds either and Aristo wanted to make this work. They both did. And that was the difference between now and then. Four years ago they hadn’t wanted the same things, but that had been before George.
Remembering how at breakfast Aristo had answered their son’s questions about his motorboat patiently, giving him his full attention, she released a pent-up breath.
‘I think you’re looking at it the wrong way,’ she said slowly. ‘I mean, peaches in New York might not taste like the peaches here—but what about the cheesecake? You can’t tell me that they have cheesecake here like they do at Eileen’s.’
He frowned. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never eaten there. Actually, I’ve never had cheesecake.’
‘Really?’ Teddie stared at him in disbelief. ‘Well, that’s not right. As soon as we get back to New York we’re going out to have to fix that.’
Aristo laughed. ‘We are?’
He seemed pleased.
‘They do all kinds of flavours. When I was pregnant I had these terrible cravings for baked cheesecake and it just kind of carried on. Now it’s a regular thing. Last Saturday in the month. You could come too.’
‘It’s a date,’ he said softly.
Her heart was suddenly beating too fast. ‘I didn’t mean just the two of us,’ she said quickly.
Was that how it had sounded? Or was he just accepting her invitation?
Aristo held her gaze, but the anticipation that had been flickering through his veins had abruptly dissolved. His shoulders tensed. After the moment of intimacy the swift rejection was unsettling, but it was the confirmation he needed that he couldn’t be casual with her in the way he’d been with other women in his life.
She had been his wife, and he was determined that she would be again. Only, he wasn’t going to get emotionally played.
He turned and looked at her, his expression unreadable. ‘Of course not. Are you supposed to be picking something for Melina?’
Reaching down, he picked up the basket and she nodded, grateful for a shift in conversation.
‘Yes, I was—lemons and thyme.’
For a moment she thought he was going to offer to help her. Instead, though, he held the basket out to her. ‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’
And before she had a chance to respond he had turned and was walking back towards the villa.
* * *
‘Hurry up, Mommy.’
For the second time in so many minutes Teddie felt George’s hand tug at the edge of her shorts.
‘I’m trying, sweetie. Just let me check this one last pocket.’
Fumbling in the side of her suitcase, she smiled distractedly down at her son, who was sitting on the floor of her dressing room.
Her hat was great when she was sitting on the sun lounger, but it was difficult to wear in the pool and she was trying to find the hairbands that she’d packed—or at least thought she’d packed—so that she could put her hair up to protect her head.
‘Mommy, come on!’
‘Darling, the pool will still be there—’ she said soothingly,
But, shaking his head, George interrupted her. ‘I don’t want to go to the pool. I want to see the pirate boat.’
Pirate boat! What pirate boat?
Giving up on her search, she pushed the case back into the wardrobe and turned to where George was sitting on the floor beside a selection of toy vehicles, his upturned eyes watching her anxiously.
‘What are you talking about, darling?’ Gently, she pushed a curl away from his forehead.
‘The pirate boat.’ He bit