Interview with a Playboy (11 page)

She bent and kissed his neck, biting him gently.

‘And I knew for all that buttoned-up pretence that you’d be a wildcat.’ He laughed and rolled her over, straddling her.

She was hardly even listening to him. All she could think about was how much she wanted him. And as his kisses became fiercer, more demanding, she met them gladly, giving herself to him and to the moment totally. They rolled over again, play-fighting as he pretended to try and hold her still.

‘Ow!’ She winced slightly as he caught her sore shoulder, and instantly his touch gentled and he leaned down to kiss the bruising.

Something about that moment made her want to cry.

She wrapped her arms around him. She liked his superior strength, liked the way he’d placed her, the way he knew exactly how to turn her on, exactly how to tease and torment her. But most of all she liked his tenderness.

For the first time in her life she felt like a woman—could feel the power she had over him. And at the same time she loved the overwhelming control he had over her. It still scared her…but she wasn’t going to fight it….couldn’t fight it.

Marco reached for the packet of condoms in his bedside cabinet.

‘Better safe than sorry…hmm?’ he murmured light-heartedly as he rejoined her on the bed.

His lips covered hers, and hungrily she returned his kisses.

It was only when he started to enter her that she froze and gave an involuntary exclamation of pain. Instantly he stopped, and looked into her eyes. ‘Am I hurting you?’

‘No!’ she lied fervently, wanting him to continue, wanting the moment to pass.

He moved against her again, and she bit down on her lip. He
couldn’t
find out that she was a virgin—that would be too embarrassing.

Marco pulled away from her with a frown. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. Why are you stopping?’

‘I’m stopping because I’m obviously hurting you. Anyone would think you hadn’t done this before…’ His voice trailed away, and she could almost hear his mind ticking over.

‘Don’t be silly.’ She reached up and stroked her hand along the broad contour of his shoulder, willing him to continue, but she couldn’t look him in the eye.

He frowned.

No, she couldn’t be a virgin, he thought derisively as he remembered the fire and the passion of her earlier responses. But then he found himself remembering other things…the way the chemistry between them had so obviously freaked her out. The way she’d tried to fight against it. The way she had sometimes looked at him as if she were scared of him.

‘Isobel, are you a virgin?’

He sounded so incredulous that she felt her whole body suddenly turn cold with indignity. ‘No!’

He knew in that one instant that she was lying. He sat up, and as she tried to wriggle away from him pulled her back.

‘Isobel, stop it.’ He pinned her down easily against the bed with just one hand. The other he used to turn her face, so that she was forced to look at him.

He asked the question again. ‘Are you a virgin?’

‘What difference does that make?’ she blazed, her eyes on fire as they met with his.

‘It makes a big difference.’ He breathed the words softly. ‘Believe me. If you’d told me, I’d have…’ He hesitated for a moment.

‘You’d have what? Had a good laugh at my expense? Taken pleasure in notching a virgin onto your crowded bedpost?’ She cut across him fiercely, his hesitation hurting.

‘I’d have taken more care of you,’ he said quietly.

‘Well, I don’t want you to take care of me. This is just sex—no big deal.’ Her eyes glittered, over-bright.

Was she trying to convince herself of that, or him? Marco wondered. He stroked her hair tenderly back from her face.

Sex obviously
was
a big deal for her. And someone had obviously hurt her a lot in the past. Who? he wondered. Her father? Or the guy she’d been engaged to? Maybe both?

He told himself that it was none of his business, that he only wanted a light-hearted roll in the sack. But he found himself cradling her against his chest. Then he kissed her again—kissed the tears away from her cheeks.

Hell, but she was so gorgeous…so feminine, so soft…so desirable. Amazing to think that such a body was completely innocent.

But how could he take her now, knowing what he knew?

‘Sex
is
a big deal, Isobel.’ He whispered the words against her ear. ‘And I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘You won’t hurt me,’ she murmured, just wanting him to continue.

He drew back from her and looked into her eyes. ‘I mean I don’t want to hurt you emotionally…’

She frowned, the words causing a curl of sensation inside her that she couldn’t even begin to understand.

He stroked a hand tenderly through her hair. ‘The thing is I can’t make you any promises,
cara
.’

The husky words made her frown, and there was an expression in his eyes that she couldn’t begin to fathom.

‘You’re a player, I know…’ Her voice sounded unsteady even to her own ears.

For a second he seemed lost in his own thoughts.

She had the opportunity to pull away, and she told herself that she should. But the fact that he was being honest with her somehow meant something. She’d rather that than lies.

‘I don’t need any promises, Marco.’ She whispered the words softly. ‘I just want honesty, and if tonight is all we have then that’s fine.’

I
SOBEL
stretched languorously in the large double bed. Her body felt strange…achy…tired… And yet alive with feelings that just made her want to smile. Why was that? In the moments between waking and sleeping she couldn’t think clearly—she wasn’t even sure where she was as she rolled over in the bed and reached out into the space next to hers. It was only when she heard herself murmur Marco’s name that her eyes jolted open.

What had she done? Even as she was asking herself the question memories were falling in on her—memories that caused such complete and utter panic that she hardly dared look across at the space next to hers.

She held her breath and quickly glanced, but Marco wasn’t there. Holding the sheet firmly across her body, she forced herself to sit up and look around the room. He wasn’t in the cabin either—she was quite alone.

Relief mixed with overwhelming consternation as she fell back against the pillow. She could hardly believe what had happened, or how easily she’d fallen into Marco’s arms last night. She remembered kissing him as they’d stood together out on the deck—she remembered the wild pleasurable sensations, the feeling that it had all seemed somehow to be right, as if she had found a place that she belonged.

She stared up at the ceiling, trying to get her thoughts and her emotions under control. Every woman Marco kissed
probably felt like that, she told herself angrily. The man was a master at seduction!

How had she allowed herself to fall for him? The question pounded through her, but as much as she searched there was no rational answer. It was as if she had been somehow bewitched—as if she didn’t even know the person she had turned into. One moment she had been trying to cling on to sane and sensible thoughts, and the next…

Memories flooded back—memories of Marco sweeping her off her feet and carrying her down to this cabin—memories of him discovering that she was a virgin.

She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. That should have been her wake-up call; she should have called a halt to things right there and then. But she hadn’t wanted to!

And even now, as she thought about what had happened next, she felt a strange melting sensation deep inside. At first he had been so gentle with her, easing her through the moment of pain until she’d found enjoyment, and after that he’d seemed to glorify in awakening her body, sending her senses spinning, making her beg for more as he took her to dizzying heights of pleasure over and over again.

Her total lack of control horrified her. She’d always been so adamant that it wouldn’t happen to her, but it had—and with Marco Lombardi of all people!

She’d even told him that it was OK if their night together was a one-off. And the strange thing was that she had meant it. She had wanted him so much that the only thing that had mattered was the moment.

A wave of red-hot heat enveloped her body, and hastily she flung the covers back and got out of bed.

It was best not to dwell on it, she told herself fiercely. OK, it was one night of madness. But people did that in today’s modern world. It was no big deal because it would never happen again.

Somehow the words didn’t make her feel any better.

But it was best forgotten, she told herself again. She was sure Marco had forgotten it already, moved on to something more important. The ship didn’t seem to be moving, so they were probably at anchor somewhere in Italy and he was probably in some boardroom somewhere, his mind totally focused on his work. Sex, to a man like Marco, was just recreation—business was all-important. She should be the same.

Isobel headed for the
en-suite
bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped under its full forceful jet. She would concentrate on work now too, she told herself sensibly, and hopefully this time when she sat opposite Marco and tried to question him about his life all those undercurrents of sensual tension would be gone—played out—exhausted.

It was the modern way.

Desperately Isobel tried to ignore the little tremor of consternation at the thought of sitting opposite him again—at the thought of trying to behave as if nothing had happened between them.

She could do it, she told herself sternly—she
had
to do it. Because last night had been just meaningless sex, and to think of it in any other way would be a grave mistake.

Stepping out of the shower, she reached for a towel and wrapped it around her body. Marco’s shaving gear was on the side of the hand basin, and she remembered suddenly how roughly abrasive his skin had been against hers last night—how somehow the feeling had been incredibly erotic.

She remembered how his kisses had moved lower down over her abdomen, then lower still, until her body had seemed to liquefy into pleasure.

Swiftly she shut the thoughts away and headed back to the bedroom. She couldn’t afford to think about how much she’d enjoyed last night—not when she had to face Marco in a professional capacity today. Things were difficult enough—
especially as she had no clothes to wear except the robe from last night.

Reluctantly she picked the dressing gown up from the floor and put it on. As she did so she glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

It was a shock to find that it was almost midday!

She wondered if Marco was still at his meeting or if she would find him up on deck casually having lunch. The very thought made her nerves twist unbearably, and she glanced in the mirror to check her appearance.

She didn’t look her best. Her skin was flushed, and her lips were slightly swollen from Marco’s kisses, plus her hair was starting to dry in curls around her face. But who cared? she told herself firmly. She wasn’t trying to impress. Marco meant nothing to her.
Nothing.
And she wasn’t going to be one of those women who imagined she could change him—or that one night with him somehow meant something. That would be taking the stupidity of what she had done to the absolute limit.

Gathering her courage, she opened the door and headed up towards the deck to investigate.

The day was bright and warm, and the sky was a clear azure blue. Taking deep breaths of the sea air, she looked around. They were anchored in tranquil waters a little way out from the coastline, and she could see the colourful blaze of a busy harbour in the distance against a backdrop of mountains.

As she walked further along the deck she came to a dining area with a table set for one. The white linen tablecloth and silver cutlery gleamed in the sunlight.

‘Good morning,
mademoiselle
.’ A man of about her own age dressed in a smart black uniform came up from the galley. ‘Are you ready for breakfast?’ he asked as he walked over to pull out the chair for her.

The polite request took her aback somewhat—this was like being in a five-star hotel, she thought.

‘Just coffee would be good, thank you.’

‘Are you sure I can’t get you something more? Scrambled egg…cereal…croissants? Monsieur Lombardi said you were to make yourself completely at home.’

‘That’s very kind, but just coffee, thank you.’ She sat down at the table and watched as he went to pick up a silver coffee pot that was sitting on a side table. ‘Where is Mr Lombardi this morning?’ she asked, trying to sound casual, as if she didn’t really care.

‘He is attending a business meeting in Nice,
mademoiselle
.’

‘Nice?’ Isobel glanced towards the coast. ‘I thought we were in Italy.’

‘We were in Italy earlier this morning,
mademoiselle
, but now we are back in France.’

At least Marco wasn’t on the ship. She relaxed a little at the knowledge. You see, she told herself firmly. Business came first with Marco, and that was exactly how
she
should be.

The rich aroma of coffee mingled with the warmth of the sea air as the waiter poured her coffee. ‘The morning papers have been delivered,
mademoiselle
,’ he said as he replaced the pot back down on the table beside her. ‘And also a parcel for you. Would you like me to bring them to the table?’

‘Yes, please.’ She watched, intrigued as he disappeared down to a lower deck. The parcel probably wasn’t for her at all—it was probably for another one of Marco’s girlfriends. After all, nobody knew she was here so it couldn’t be for her!

The waiter returned with a stack of papers and two gold boxes wrapped with red ribbon.

‘So, were these delivered by boat this morning?’ she asked, as she watched him spread the selection of papers out for her perusal.

‘Yes,
mademoiselle
. No matter where we are in the world,
Monsieur Lombardi likes his papers delivered out to the yacht.’

Of course, Isobel thought wryly—everyone should have the morning post and papers delivered direct to their yacht. She smiled as she flicked her eye over them, deciding that this was a piece of information she would definitely include in her article. The papers were mostly in French and Italian, but she noticed a couple of English ones amongst the mix. They were all financial papers—no
Daily Banner,
of course.