enjoying the feel of his body so close too, frustrating though it was to be pinned down like this, unable to do anything but place hands and feet at his command. I remember how his body felt over mine on a bed. I remember the scent of his skin and his hands on my …
‘We’re at the rail. Slide round in front of me and jump down,’ Alistair ordered, shaking her out of her sensual reverie.
Dita very much doubted her legs were up to jumping, but she had too much pride to argue. With an awkward twist she swung down from the rigging and landed on the deck on all fours with an inelegant thump. ‘Thank you.’
Alistair’s face as he straightened up beside her showed nothing but anger. If he had enjoyed being so close to her, it did not show now. ‘You idiot! What the blazes do you think you were doing? You could have been killed.’
‘I doubt it.’ They were attracting attention from some of the deck hands; Dita turned on her heel and walked away towards the cuddy, her shoulders braced against the coming storm. Behind her she could hear the slap of Alistair’s bare feet on the deck.
The space was empty, she was relieved to see, and the stewards had not begun to lay the table and set out breakfast. There was little hope of outdistancing Alistair and reaching the roundhouse, although she was going to try—he could hardly pursue her into that all-female sanctuary. Dita lengthened her stride, then his grip on her shoulder stopped her dead in her tracks. His hand was warm and hard and the thin cotton caught in the roughness of his palm. Struggling would be undignified, she told herself.
‘I should go and change,’ Dita said, her back still turned.
‘Not until you give me your word you will not try that damn-fool trick again.’ The thrust of his hand as he spun her round was not gentle, nor was the slap of his other palm as he caught her shoulder to steady her. ‘Are you all about in your head, Perdita?’
She tipped up her chin and stared back into the furious tiger eyes with all the insolence she could muster. ‘Perdita? Now that is serious—you never called me that unless you were very angry with me.’ Alistair’s eyes narrowed. ‘Let me see. The last time must have been when I borrowed your new hunter and rode it.’
‘Stole,’ he said between gritted teeth. ‘And tried to ride it. I can recall hauling you out of the ditch by your collar.’
‘And you called me Perdita for a week afterwards.’ She remembered his strength as he had lifted her, the fear in his voice for her—and how that had changed to anger the moment he realised she was unhurt. He had never failed to rescue her then, however much she annoyed him.
‘And it is not funny! ‘
She must have been smiling at the memory. He took a step forwards; she slid back, still in his grasp.
‘And I am very angry now and I am not fifteen and you are not a child and a fall from a horse is not the same as plunging into the sea from a great height.’
‘No,’ she agreed. The door was quite close. If she just edged a little more to the right and ducked out of his grip … She needed to distract him. ‘You enjoyed that.’
His brows snapped together as he took the step that brought them toe to toe. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We were pressed very close together. Did you think I would not notice, or not understand? I am not an innocent.’ What had possessed her to say that? The fact that he was obviously thinking of her as a child to be extracted from scrapes, even though his body was well aware of her age? He really does not remember that last night, she thought. He had been drinking, a little, when she had gone into his arms; she had tasted the brandy on his lips, but he had not been drunk.
‘No, you’re not, are you?’ Alistair agreed, his voice silky as he moved again, turning them both so that he was between her and the door. Once she had been small and lithe enough to slip from his hands, evade his clumsy adolescent attempts to control her. Now he was a mature man, with a man’s strength, and he was not going to let her go. Not until he was ready. She was angry and a little frightened and, it was disturbing to realise, aroused by the fact. ‘You would be wise to behave as though you were.’
‘I mean—’ Dita bit her tongue. But she was not going to explain herself to Alistair and tell him that her only experience was their eager, magical, lovemaking. If he chose to believe that she had lost her virginity to Stephen Doyle, that was up to him. She could hardly accuse him of failing to understand her, when she couldn’t forgive herself for going off with the man. ‘I mean, why should I trouble to pretend, with you?’
‘Is that an invitation, Dita?’ He was so close now that she had to tip her head back at an uncomfortable angle to look up at him. He gave her a little push and she was trapped against the massive table.
‘No,’ she said with all the composure she could muster. ‘It is an acknowledgement that we were … friends, once, a long time ago and I do not think you have changed so much that you would deliberately hurt me now.’
‘And an affaire would hurt?’ He lowered his head so his mouth was just above hers. His lids were low over those dangerous eyes and she stared at the thick fringe of spiky black against his tanned cheek. Not a young man’s fresh skin any more. There were small scars, fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Her gaze slid lower. He hadn’t shaved yet that morning and the stubble showed darker than she remembered. Alistair’s mouth was so close now that she could kiss him if she chose.
I do not choose, she told herself fiercely. ‘Naturally.’ And an affaire is all you would consider, isn’t it? You’ve as much pride as I have and you wouldn’t offer to marry another man’s leavings. And I am not the girl I was, the one who was dazzled by you and had no idea what the fire was she was playing with that night. I am the woman who desires you and who knows that to surrender would be my undoing and the last blow to my reputation. I must be sensible.
She made herself shrug, then realised that her hands had come up to clasp his upper arms, her fingers pressed against the bulge of muscle. Dita made herself open her hands and pressed them instead to his chest. Pushing was hopeless, but it gave her at least the illusion of resistance.
‘A dalliance with you, Alistair, would doubtless be delightful—you have so much experience, after all. But I have my future to consider. In this hypocritical world you may dally all you wish and still find yourself an eligible bride. I must do what I may to repair my image. One slip, with my name and my money, might be overlooked. Two, never.’
‘You are very cool about it, Dita. Where’s the impulsive little creature I remember?’ His right hand moved up her shoulder and she stiffened, refusing to give in to the shiver of need running through her. Between her legs the intimate pulse throbbed with betraying insistence and she made herself stand still, expecting him to cup her head and hold her for his caress. Instead his hand curled round her neck and pulled the long plait out of the back of her shirt.
‘Where’s the intense, straightforward young man of my memory?’ she countered as he twisted her hair around his hand and tugged gently.
‘Oh, he is still intense,’ Alistair said. ‘Just rather less straightforward.’ He was close enough for her to see the pulse in his throat, exposed by the open-necked shirt. Close enough to smell the fresh linen and the soap he had used that morning and the salt from the sea breeze and the sweat from that rapid climb to reach her.
Dita closed her eyes. He was going to kiss her and she was not strong-willed enough to stop him, nor, in her heart, did she want to. One kiss could not matter; it would not be of any importance to him. He pulled gently on the plait and she swayed towards him, blind, breathless, and felt his warmth against her upper body in the thin cotton. His knuckles brushed her cheek, his breath feathered over her mouth and she tipped her face up, remembering the feel of his lips on hers, the sensual slide of his tongue as he had explored her mouth while he sprawled on the ground.
Nothing happened. Confused, Dita opened her eyes and looked straight into his dark, amused amber gaze where her reflection was trapped like a fly.