of their picnic, champagne spilling and strawberries scattering, and was reaching for her, finally, finally reaching for her.
His hands came hard onto her shoulders and then his mouth was hard on hers, tasting both tart and sweet from the champagne and the fruit.
His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting, searching, and then finding. Pleasure burst inside her like fireworks, like sparks of the sun, heating her all over. Alyse brought her hands up to his shoulders, her palms smoothing and then clutching the hot, bared skin.
Leo’s mouth moved from her lips to her jaw and then her neck, his hand cupping her breast with only the thin, damp fabric of her bikini top between the heat of his palm and her sensitive skin.
Alyse moaned aloud, the sound escaping from her, impossible to contain, and Leo drew back.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, smoothing her hair away from her face. ‘I’m rushing like a randy schoolboy and you deserve better than that.’
She blinked, still dazed by the sensations coursing through her. Leo smiled, no more than a quirk of his mouth. ‘I don’t want your first time to be some hasty grope on the deck of a boat. I do have that much sensitivity, Alyse.’
Alyse blinked again, his words trickling through her, leaving ice in their wake. Her first time. Hers—not theirs.
Leo, she realised, thought she was a virgin.
LEO SAW THE emotions flash across Alyse’s face like changes in the weather, sunshine and shadows. Even more so he felt the change in her, the tensing, the slight withdrawal even though she hadn’t actually moved.
‘What is it?’ he asked quietly. ‘What’s wrong?’
She gave a little shake of her head. ‘Nothing.’
He didn’t believe that for a moment. Gently but firmly he took her chin in his hand, forced her to look at him. ‘It’s not nothing.’
Her clear grey eyes met his for a moment before she let her gaze slide away. ‘Nothing to talk about now,’ she said, with a not-quite-there smile.
If she was trying to sound light, she’d failed. Leo let go of her chin and sat back braced on his hands to survey her thoughtfully. She still wasn’t looking at him and a tendril of hair, curly from the sea air, fell against the soft paleness of her cheek.
‘Are you nervous about what will happen between us?’
She looked at him then, a small spark of humour lighting her eyes. ‘You sound like something out of a melodrama, Leo. You’re usually more blunt than that.’
He felt his mouth curving in an answering smile. ‘I’m happy to be blunt. I want you, Alyse.’ He gazed at her frankly, letting the desire that still coursed unsated through his body reveal itself in his face. ‘I want you very badly. I want to touch you, to kiss you, to be inside you. And I don’t want to wait very long.’
He saw an answering flare of heat in her eyes, turning them to molten silver, but her lips twisted and trembled and she looked away again. What was going on? ‘That’s admirably blunt.’
‘I’ll be even blunter—I think you want me just as much as I want you.’ Gently he tucked that curly tendril of hair behind her ear, unable to keep his fingers from lingering on the softness of her skin. He felt her tremble in response. ‘Do you deny it?’
‘No,’ she whispered, but she wouldn’t look at him.
Frustration bit into him. What was going on? Compelled to make her look at him, make her acknowledge the strength of the desire between them, he touched her chin and turned her to face him. She met his gaze reluctantly but unflinchingly, her eyes like two wide, grey pools Leo thought he could drown in. Lose himself completely.
‘I want to make love to you,’ he said quietly, each word brought up from a deep well of desire and even emotion inside him. ‘But not here, on a hard deck. We have a lovely big bed on a lovely private beach and I quite like the idea of making love to you there.’
Her eyes widened even more, surprise flickering in their depths, and with a jolt he realised what he’d said. Confessed.
Making love. It was a term he’d never used, didn’t even like. If love didn’t exist beyond a simple hormonal fluctuation, then you couldn’t make it. And sex, in his experience, had nothing to do with love. It wouldn’t, even with Alyse.
Yet the words had slipped out and he knew that Alyse had noticed. What did she think was happening between them? What was happening between them?
Panic, icy and overwhelming, swamped him. Why the hell had he said that? Felt it? This was what happened when you let someone in just a little bit. Friendship be damned.
He dropped his fingers from her chin and rose abruptly from the deck, thankfully shattering the moment that had stretched between them. There would be no putting it together again; he’d make sure of that. ‘We should head back,’ he said tersely. ‘In any case.’
He set sail, his back to her, and wondered just how he could get their relationship—he didn’t even like calling it that—back on the impersonal and unthreatening footing he craved. Whatever it took, he vowed grimly, he would do it. He’d had enough of this friendship.
* * *
Alyse sat on the bridge deck and watched as Leo set sail for their private cove. His shoulders were now rigid with tension, every muscle taut, and she didn’t know if it was because of her emotional withdrawal or his. She’d seen the flare of panic in his eyes when he’d said those two revealing words: making love.
But there would be no love in their physical union, just immense, intense attraction. So why had he said it? Had he meant it simply as a turn of phrase that had alarmed him when he’d heard it aloud? Or, for a moment, had he actually felt something more? That alarmed him more than any mere words ever could.
Was she ridiculous to think that little slip might signify something? She knew she had a tendency to read far too much into a smile or a look. She didn’t want to make the same mistake now, yet she couldn’t keep herself from wondering. From hoping.
And yet, she felt her own flare of panic. What would Leo think—and feel—when she told him, as she must do, that she wasn’t a virgin?
Alyse turned to face the sea, hugging her knees to her chest even though the wind was sultry. The coldness she felt came from inside, from the knowledge she’d been hiding from for too long already.
She’d blanked out that one fumbling evening that constituted all of her sexual experience, had consigned it to a terrible, heart-rending mistake and tried to pretend it hadn’t happened.
But princesses—future queens—were meant to be pure, unblemished, and she clearly was not. In this day and age, did it really matter?
It would matter, she supposed, to someone like Queen Sophia who, despite having been born into merely an upper-class family, held fast to the archaic bastions of the monarchy as if she were descended from a millennia’s worth of royalty. It probably mattered to King Alessandro as well, but she didn’t care about either of them. She cared about Leo.
Would it matter to him? Would he be disappointed that he wasn’t her first? She had no illusions that he was a virgin; he surely hadn’t been celibate for the six long years of their engagement, even if he’d been admirably discreet.
Anxiety danced in her belly. Worry gnawed at her mind. She didn’t want to give him any reason to withdraw emotionally from her, to feel disappointed or perhaps even angry, yet she knew she would have to tell him...before tonight.
They didn’t speak until the catamaran was pulled up on the beach and they were back in their private cove, and then only to talk about when they would have dinner. It was late afternoon, the sun already starting its mellow