Page 19 of She Devil
‘Here, I fixed you a drink. G and T,’ he says, pushing a cut-glass tumbler towards me. The liquid fizzes and glints in the early-evening sun, a slice of vibrant green lime jostling against ice cubes on the surface.
‘Thanks,’ I say, picking up the glass and taking a tentative sip.
‘Don’t worry, I haven’t poisoned it,’ he jokes, his eyes alive with wry mirth.
‘I should hope not. You’ll never get to soothe that poor ego of yours if you do away with me first,’ I retort, not quite able to match his relaxed tone. Again I wonder what sort of game is afoot here. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t out-and-out friendliness from Jamie.
‘That dress suits you. I knew it would,’ he says.
I clear my throat, disconcerted by the compliment.
‘I have to say, I’m impressed. You did a pretty good job of picking out the sorts of clothes I’d choose for myself,’ I say, forcing myself to join in with the friendly banter. To be honest, it’ll probably make this evening so much less stressful if we’re not sniping at each other the whole time.
And I can do civilised. No problem. I’ll just follow his lead. But I’m not going to allow myself to get too comfortable, because that’s when he’ll go in for the kill. I’ve experienced it before, so I know what I’m talking about.
He nods, his gaze fixed on mine, his firm lips drawn into a playful smile. ‘Well, I figured I owed you a dress,’ he murmurs, his voice warm with flirtation. He’s referencing tearing off the last one he saw me in, of course, and the memory of it has my body right back on high alert, craving a repeat performance.
‘What’s for dinner?’ I ask, in an attempt to distract my thoughts from wandering that way. But all I can think about now is the naked desire on his face as he thrust into me, pinning me against that wall...
Oh, God, I know I’m going to have real trouble eating tonight when he’s sitting so close. His musky scent is in my nostrils and I’m so very aware of those long, skilful fingers of his wrapped around the glass. I know exactly what he can do with those hands. How much pleasure he can give me.
Stop thinking about it!
‘It’s baked white fish with roasted Mediterranean vegetables,’ he says.
Despite my nerves my stomach still growls as I remember the delicious smell in the kitchen.
‘Sounds great.’
He stands up. ‘Speaking of which, it should be just about ready.’
I go to stand up too.
‘No, you stay there and enjoy the sunset. I’ll bring it out to the table.’
So he’s cooking and serving the meal himself. As I’d started to suspect, his staff aren’t just discreet, they’re not actually here. It seems we’re totally alone on the island.
An electric prickle rushes over my skin and I sit back heavily in my chair again.
I watch him walk away, hyper-conscious of his athletic grace. It looks as though he’s taken a shower since I last saw him because he’s changed his clothes and his hair is shiny and swept back from his closely shaved face. He’s still casual, in a short-sleeved linen shirt and navy combats, but seriously the man can make anything look a million dollars when it’s on that incredible body of his. He’s so bloody virile it’s sickening.
It appears he can cook, now, too. Something he’d never done when we were together. We’d always gone out for meals, choosing to spend our time together in bed at each other’s houses.
I have a suspicion he’s deliberately trying to impress me, but I have no idea why. He’s the one holding all the cards here.
The idea of spending the next few days in his company is frankly unsettling, so I take a big swig of my drink to calm my nerves before he comes back, then another. The alcohol warms my chest then hits my empty stomach, immediately filling me with a false sense of well-being.
I should be careful how much I drink, though. I don’t want to compromise my control over this situation.
I wonder if he’s thinking the same way. Is this his first drink, or one of many?
He used to drink a fair amount when we were together at university, though not to extremes, but after we split up there were some stories in the tabloids about him being drunk and lary in a few London nightclubs. Not that I allowed myself to pay much attention to them because there had always been a beautiful party girl involved and it had been too painful to think about him being with other women. But, come to think of it, I’ve not heard about any bad behaviour on his part since then so I guess he must have pulled his drinking back.
On a whim, I lean forward, pull his tumbler towards me and take a tentative sniff. It doesn’t smell alcoholic. I frown, then pick up the glass and take a small sip. Nope. There’s no gin in here. It’s just tonic.
Interesting.
Footsteps sound behind me and I hurriedly push his drink back across the table top to where he was sitting and turn around just as he walks out of the living area and onto the terrace with plates loaded with food in each hand.
