unclipping her bikini top with a languid hand as she did so. But the hum of insects, the whisper of the leaves, and the distant murmur of the sea had failed for once to have their usual soporific effect. She’d felt oddly restless, and even the thriller she’d been reading had palled, its plot descending, she had decided, into sheer absurdity.
She’d tossed it aside, pillowed her head on her arms, and closed her eyes, making a deliberate effort to relax her whole body, commencing with her toes, then working slowly upward. Any moment now, she’d promised herself, she would feel completely calm.
‘Bonjour, Alys.’
For a shocked second, she thought she’d dozed off and was actually dreaming, but one startled sideways glance revealed battered espadrilles and, rising out of them, a pair of long, tanned and totally masculine legs.
‘You?’ She almost sat up, remembering just in time her loosened top. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wished to make sure that the events of the other morning had left no lasting trauma.’ He grinned down at her, totally at his ease, casual in shorts and a cotton shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist.
‘And is this how you normally make house calls?’ It was difficult, she found, to glare at someone effectively when you were forced to lie prone, and all they could see was your profile. ‘Just—march in without knocking or asking permission?’ And half-dressed?
‘No,’ he said. ‘But this is not a professional visit, you understand. Also, I met with Madame Colville on the road, and she gave me leave to visit you.’
He looked her over with undisguised appreciation, his eyes lingering, she realised furiously, on the narrow band of jade fabric that scarcely masked the swell of her buttocks.
‘The sun is fierce today,’ he said softly. ‘And you should not risk burning such lovely skin.’ He knelt down beside her, reaching for the bottle of sun lotion. He tipped some into the palm of his hand and began to apply it to her shoulders, in smooth, delicate strokes.
For a moment she was rendered mute with shock, then hurriedly pulled herself together.
‘Thank you,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘But I’m quite capable of doing that for myself.’
‘Vraiment?’ His brows lifted in polite enquiry, but he made no attempt to bring his unwanted ministrations to an end. ‘You are, perhaps, a contorsionniste ? No? Then be still, and allow me to do this for you.’
His light, assured touch on her skin sent alarm signals quivering along her nerve-endings.
I don’t want this, she thought almost frantically. I—really do not…
She would have given anything to be able to sit up and snatch the damned bottle from his hand, but she was anchored to the rug. If only— only —she hadn’t unfastened her top. And the fact that he must have seen hundreds of women with bare breasts in his career made not an atom of difference.
Because Remy de Brizat was not her doctor, and, for all his comments about trauma, she was not his patient and never would be.
He took all the time in the world, his hands lingering, while Allie, raging with the knowledge of her own temporary helplessness, lay with her eyes shut and her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she fought a losing battle over the slow, inevitable awakening of her senses.
This can’t be happening to me, she thought. It just can’t.
One of the reasons I ran away was because I didn’t want to be touched—because I couldn’t bear it any longer.
And this man—this stranger—has no right to make me feel like this—as if my skin was made of silk, and my bones were dissolving. He has no right at all.
At last he paused, running a light finger along the rim of her bikini briefs but venturing no further, and she released her held breath, thinking that her ordeal was over.
Only to find herself stifling a startled whimper when he began to anoint the backs of her thighs, moving gently down to reach the sensitive area in the
She’d tossed it aside, pillowed her head on her arms, and closed her eyes, making a deliberate effort to relax her whole body, commencing with her toes, then working slowly upward. Any moment now, she’d promised herself, she would feel completely calm.
‘Bonjour, Alys.’
For a shocked second, she thought she’d dozed off and was actually dreaming, but one startled sideways glance revealed battered espadrilles and, rising out of them, a pair of long, tanned and totally masculine legs.
‘You?’ She almost sat up, remembering just in time her loosened top. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wished to make sure that the events of the other morning had left no lasting trauma.’ He grinned down at her, totally at his ease, casual in shorts and a cotton shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist.
‘And is this how you normally make house calls?’ It was difficult, she found, to glare at someone effectively when you were forced to lie prone, and all they could see was your profile. ‘Just—march in without knocking or asking permission?’ And half-dressed?
‘No,’ he said. ‘But this is not a professional visit, you understand. Also, I met with Madame Colville on the road, and she gave me leave to visit you.’
He looked her over with undisguised appreciation, his eyes lingering, she realised furiously, on the narrow band of jade fabric that scarcely masked the swell of her buttocks.
‘The sun is fierce today,’ he said softly. ‘And you should not risk burning such lovely skin.’ He knelt down beside her, reaching for the bottle of sun lotion. He tipped some into the palm of his hand and began to apply it to her shoulders, in smooth, delicate strokes.
For a moment she was rendered mute with shock, then hurriedly pulled herself together.
‘Thank you,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘But I’m quite capable of doing that for myself.’
‘Vraiment?’ His brows lifted in polite enquiry, but he made no attempt to bring his unwanted ministrations to an end. ‘You are, perhaps, a contorsionniste ? No? Then be still, and allow me to do this for you.’
His light, assured touch on her skin sent alarm signals quivering along her nerve-endings.
I don’t want this, she thought almost frantically. I—really do not…
She would have given anything to be able to sit up and snatch the damned bottle from his hand, but she was anchored to the rug. If only— only —she hadn’t unfastened her top. And the fact that he must have seen hundreds of women with bare breasts in his career made not an atom of difference.
Because Remy de Brizat was not her doctor, and, for all his comments about trauma, she was not his patient and never would be.
He took all the time in the world, his hands lingering, while Allie, raging with the knowledge of her own temporary helplessness, lay with her eyes shut and her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she fought a losing battle over the slow, inevitable awakening of her senses.
This can’t be happening to me, she thought. It just can’t.
One of the reasons I ran away was because I didn’t want to be touched—because I couldn’t bear it any longer.
And this man—this stranger—has no right to make me feel like this—as if my skin was made of silk, and my bones were dissolving. He has no right at all.
At last he paused, running a light finger along the rim of her bikini briefs but venturing no further, and she released her held breath, thinking that her ordeal was over.
Only to find herself stifling a startled whimper when he began to anoint the backs of her thighs, moving gently down to reach the sensitive area in the
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