Modern Romance February Books 5-8. Jane Porter

her vulnerable, and she couldn’t be vulnerable around this man. Or at least not any more vulnerable than she already was.

      And, whatever Aristo might argue to the contrary, when he talked about wanting to marry her again she knew deep down that what he was really thinking about was sex. Only, no matter how sublime it was, there was more to a relationship than sex—as their previous marriage had already painfully proved. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—go there again.

      Yes, she wanted to touch him, and she wanted him to hold her, and she was fighting herself, torn between wanting to believe that they could try again and knowing it was an impossibility. Maybe in another life, if the timing had been different…

      But Aristo was already her first love, her ex-husband and the father of her child. Did she really need to add another layer of complication to what was already a complex and conflicted relationship? And besides, she should be looking forward, not back, and that meant keeping the past where it belonged.

      ‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘But this isn’t about what you and I want any more. It’s about being honest and open.’

      His eyes moved over her face. ‘So tell me, honestly, that you don’t want me.’

      He was so close she could see herself reflected in the dark pools of his eyes, and it took every atom of will in her body to resist the tractor beam of his gaze and her own longing.

      ‘I can’t. But I also know that I can’t have everything I want. Maybe I thought I could once, but not any more.’

      As the words left her mouth she knew that they were just that—words—and that if he chose to challenge her or, worse, if he leaned forward and kissed her, she would be lost.

      She stared at him, mute, transfixed, mind and body wavering between desire and panic.

      But he didn’t lean forward.

      Instead, his dark eyes calm, his expression unfathomable, he gently ran a finger down the side of her face and then, standing up, walked slowly across the cabin. As the door closed she breathed out unsteadily, searching inwardly for the relief she’d expected to feel.

      But it wasn’t there. Instead she had never felt lonelier, or more confused.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      STEPPING OUT OF the shower, Aristo reached for a towel and rubbed it briefly over his lean, muscular body. He smoothed his damp hair against his skull and, still naked, stepped into his dressing room. Stopping in front of the shelves, he let his dark eyes scan their colour-coded contents momentarily, before picking out a pair of dark blue swim shorts and a lighter blue T-shirt.

      He sighed. If only the rest of his life could be as organised and straightforward.

      Sliding his watch over his knuckles, he glanced down at the time and frowned. It was early—far too early for anyone else on the island to be awake. But although it was the first day of his holiday his body still insisted on acting as though it was just another day at the office.

      Actually, not all of his body, he thought grimly.

      Twelve hours on a plane with Teddie had left him aching with a sexual frustration that made not just sleep but relaxing almost impossible.

      He grimaced. Only, in comparison to what was going on inside his head, the discomfort in his groin seemed completely inconsequential.

      His heart began to beat unsteadily.

      Had he really told Teddie all that stuff about his father? He could hardly believe it.

      He’d spent most of his adolescence and adult life suppressing that hurt and disappointment, building barriers between himself and the world, and especially between himself and his wife. Ordinarily he found it easy to deter personal questions. But yesterday Teddie had refused to take no for an answer. Instead she had waited, and listened, and coaxed the truth out of him.

      Not the whole truth, of course—he would never be ready to share that with anyone—just the reason why he was so determined to remarry her.

      It had been hard enough to reveal even that much, for it had been the first time he’d ever really tried to untangle the mess of emotions he felt for his father. The first time he’d spoken out loud about Apostolos’s indifference and almost total absence from his life.

      It had been a rare loss of self-control—one that he still couldn’t fully explain. But Teddie had been, and was still, the only person who could get under his skin and make him see fifty shades of red. She alone had overridden all his carefully placed defences, and it wasn’t the first time it had happened. Despite her being the wrong woman in the wrong place at the wrong time, he’d not only led her to his bedroom but up the aisle.

      His mind took him back to the moment when he’d first become aware of the existence of Teddie Taylor at the opening of his first major project—the Rocky Creek Ranch. It had been a vision nearly two years in the making: a luxury resort offering all-American activities on a three-thousand-acre mountain playground.

      He’d wanted his mother, Helena, to be there, but inevitably—and despite his reminding her frequently about the date—there had been a clash. His half-brother, Oliver, had been playing in some polo match, so his mother had missed what had been up until then the most important moment in his career.

      He’d almost not gone to the opening. But as usual business had overridden emotion and he’d bitten down on his disappointment and joined the specially selected guests to watch the evening’s cabaret.

      He wasn’t entirely sure when Teddie had stopped being just the entertainment. He’d barely registered the other acts and, although he’d thought her beautiful, she was not his usual type. Only, at some point, as she had effortlessly shuffled and cut the cards in front of her captive audience, he’d been unable to look away—and, despite believing himself indifferent to magic, he’d found himself falling under her spell.

      Catching a glimpse of green eyes the colour of unripe olives, he’d willed her to look at him, and just as though he’d waved a magic wand she picked him out from the crowd. Even now he could still remember the jolt of electricity as their hands had touched, but at the end of the performance she’d turned away to mingle with the other guests.

      Only, of course that hadn’t really been the end of her performance.

      She’d been waiting for him in the bar.

      With the watch she’d removed from his wrist.

      Seven weeks later they had been married, and six months after that they’d been divorced.

      Angry and hurt, he’d cast her as the villain, believing that she’d seen him as a warm-up act—a means to gain access to the kind of society where there would be rich pickings for a beautiful, smart and sexy woman like Teddie Taylor.

      Now, with hindsight, he could see that it had been easy to persuade himself that those were the cold, hard facts, for there had been a deeper anger there. An anger with himself. Anger because he’d allowed himself to be drawn to a woman like her after all he’d been through and seen.

      He frowned. Four years ago it had all seemed so simple. He’d thought he understood Teddie completely.

      Now, though, it was clear that he’d never really understood her at all. Worse, his previous assessment of her seemed to bear no relation to the woman who had been so worried about him on the plane. Or to the woman who had financially supported herself and their child on her own.

      A light breeze ruffled the white muslin curtains and he turned towards the window, his eyes lingering on the calm blue sea that stretched out to the horizon in every direction. Had the single-mindedness that had always been his greatest strength actually been a weakness? Had he put two and two together and made minus four?

      Frowning again, he stepped towards the window, pondering how that could be the