They had only explored a fraction of the buildings, she suspected, when he led her outside. The heat of the sun after the cool afforded by the thick stone walls hit her like a wall and she was grateful of the thin-strapped sundress she had chosen to wear. She was glad she had applied a liberal coating of suncream to her exposed flesh, but beside her Roman didn’t appear to even notice the heat.
‘You must need an army of gardeners.’
‘Some, but they are not here today. There is a horticultural show on locally, so they have decamped en masse. The tennis courts are that way.’
She could make out some green through the screen of trees in the direction he pointed. She had left behind her idea that this would take half an hour tops when he mentioned visiting the olive groves that were only half a mile away, groves which apparently kept the estate supplied with their own olive oil all year-round.
She had rather tetchily pointed out that as no one lived here that couldn’t be so difficult, at which point he had made her feel silly by explaining about all the families that lived on the estate as well as the satellite farms.
‘Would you like to see the pool now?’
She dragged her eyes away from admiring his impossibly long eyelashes. ‘No, that’s fine. I’m sure you have other things to do. You’ve already been very kind with your time—’ Her voice faded in the face of his unblinking stare.
‘I am rarely kind, mi vida.’ The slow, contemplative, wolflike smile that accompanied his drawled observation sent a shiver right down to her toes.
‘I just meant—’
‘This way...’ He placed his hand between her shoulder blades, his eyes darkening as he felt the silky warmth of her suncreamed flesh.
His light touch carried an electrical charge that sent a convulsive shiver over which she had no control through Marisa’s body, silencing the protest on the tip of her tongue.
‘Are you cold?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ Shrugging off his touch would have been too revealing of her helpless reaction so she had no option but to endure the torture.
Her escape in the end didn’t come in the form of a rehearsed ploy, but a natural spontaneous reaction to the sight of the huge outdoor pool.
Roman watched with a smile, contrasting her childlike enthusiasm with the image of serene elegance she projected in public. Right at that moment she looked just like a carefree teenager.
She balanced on the edge, taking it all in. It wasn’t just the size; it was the way it was landscaped almost organically into its setting. Along one length was a series of arches housing stone benches and formal potted palms; the other length was landscaped with opulent-looking greenery interspersed with splashes of colour provided by exotic flowers. Beyond the waterfall that cascaded over artfully arranged rocks, there was a terracotta-roofed gazebo that sheltered low daybeds piled high with cushions.
This was one aspect of a billionaire lifestyle that she had no problems with! She kicked off her sandals and flexed her toes against the marble tiles swirled with pink that edged the pool. By contrast the pool itself looked as though it was scooped out of solid polished stone.
‘Are those reeds?’ she exclaimed, directing an enquiring look over her shoulder before she turned back to look at the greenery growing in the water.
‘They provide a natural filter because there are no chemicals in the water.’
‘I might camp here.’ Her childish enthusiasm was contagious.
‘You enjoy roughing it, then?’
She threw him a twinkling grin of reciprocal amusement that faded when she realised who she was with. This rapport would only ever be an illusion and there was far too much risk in lowering her guard around Roman.
‘This is all pretty spectacular.’
Roman felt a sting of frustration as he sensed the restraint in her response, as if she was suddenly thinking twice about each syllable before she gave voice to an entire sentence.
Marisa blinked and closed her eyes as a sunbeam fractured on the water’s surface, dazzling her.
There were some moments in life that were indelibly imprinted on your consciousness and this, he recognised, was one of them. He would never forget the image of Marisa, slim and supple, her body curved, poised like a dancer on the edge of the pool with her head thrown back, eyes closed, her face lifted to the sun.
‘You look like a nymph. Is the water calling to you?’
She turned, shading her eyes before she turned back to the pool. ‘I wish I’d thought to wear my swimsuit,’ she admitted, gazing deep into the inviting turquoise depths.
He walked towards her. ‘You really don’t need one.’
She shook her head then as comprehension dawned, and darted him a shocked look.
‘You know you want to,’ he taunted, sliding a finger under the top button of his shirt.
‘You wouldn’t,’ Marisa gasped with a weak laugh, but she knew of course that he would.
Another button and then another followed. ‘You don’t have to watch,’ he taunted.
Actually she did, and she stood there, throat dry, one hand pressed to her parted lips, unable to tear her eyes off the slow teasing reveal as each successive button slipped from its mooring. His shirt gaped a little more, revealing another tantalising section of golden chest and ridged washboard-flat belly.
‘Roman...you... Someone might see!’ Her voice was barely more than an agonised husky whisper.
‘Would that be so terrible?’
‘Don’t. I—’ She took a step backwards, then another, then his own cry of warning blended in with the splash as she hit the water backwards. Her own scream was lost beneath the surface as she sank like a stone, hitting the bottom before she popped back up like a cork only moments later. She spluttered, choking a little as her head broke the surface.
Once he saw she was all right Roman started to laugh.
Treading water, half the pool streaming down her
