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Beautiful...so beautiful...
He gritted his teeth and strode over to where his own clothing lay on the floor, pulling on his jeans and T-shirt as Elena examined the shelves intently.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked as he pulled up the zip of his fly.
She glanced at him, looking surprised. ‘What? Oh, yes, I’m fine.’ Except her cheeks were deeply flushed and her mouth was full and red from his kisses, and there was something glittering in her dark eyes. Something that looked like shock.
He came over to her and before she could pull away, he took her face between his hands, tilting her head back slightly so he could study her. ‘You are not fine,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. That was a mistake.’
She flushed a deeper red. ‘If you regret it, I’d really rather not—’
‘I didn’t say I regretted it,’ he interrupted, because, rather to his own surprise, he didn’t. ‘But it was still a mistake.’
Her expression shuttered and she pulled away, turning to gaze at the shelves again. ‘It’s fine, Atticus.’ The words were casual but it sounded forced. ‘It was just sex. No big deal.’
But he suspected it was a big deal all the same.
Another reason why you can’t let your control falter, not even for an instant. You are too susceptible to making mistakes.
As if he needed the reminder.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Are you hurt? Do you need—?’
‘Like I said, I’m fine.’ She gave him another glance and smiled. ‘Honestly.’ Yet the smile was as forced as her casual tone. There was nothing honest about it.
‘You were a virgin, weren’t you?’
Another blush stole through her cheeks and her blonde lashes came down, hiding her gaze. ‘That’s none of your business, but no. I’m not.’
Another lie, he could tell. Which meant she had, indeed, been a virgin.
And you took her brutally fast and hard on the couch.
A thread of shame wound through him.
Theos. He knew what happened when he allowed his emotions to get the better of him, he knew.
Excitement. Inattention. His finger on the trigger. A movement in the trees and a surge of adrenaline. The sound of the gun firing in his ears...
He shoved the memories away, trying to find the obsessive focus that was his normal state of being, the fierce homing-in of his attention that allowed him to detach himself from the past and all the emotions that came with it.
He’d allowed her into his private space, allowed her to distract him from the tasks that normally consumed him here on the island, and that had been his first mistake. He couldn’t allow it to continue. The longer he stayed here talking to her, the more distraction would happen, and since he was stuck with her for the night, perhaps it was best for him to absent himself.
‘Fine,’ he said, allowing her the lie. ‘If you need to use the shower, there is one next to the guest bedroom.’
‘Thank you.’ Still not looking at him, she turned back to her study of the shelves. ‘And just so you know, I don’t regret it either.’
Another bolt of heat shot through him and he could feel himself getting hard again, wanting more. He could still smell her, taste her, feel the tight, wet heat of her, and the urge to take her stubborn chin and turn her face towards him, to cover her lush mouth with his again, get rid of her T-shirt and take her down onto the floor, was almost too much for him. It took him at least a full minute to wrestle his hunger back into submission.
He didn’t say anything, merely turning and heading for the door.
‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten what we were discussing,’ she said from behind him. ‘I still need to talk to you about your father.’
They would not be discussing his father. Not tonight. Not ever.
Atticus ignored her, heading out of the room and into the kitchen, and he forced all thoughts of her and the astonishing pleasure she’d given him from his head, turning his focus onto the dinner he was preparing.
That occupied him fully until he had the fish cooked and a salad prepared, some fresh bread rolls ready to go. By that stage the storm front was nearing, the wind whipping up the palms. He went around the house, closing windows and doors and making sure everything was secure, a process he’d done a thousand times before. The familiarity of the routine soothed him, and by the time dinner was ready and he’d put it on the dining table, he felt more like himself. Cold and focused and intent.
