The Dare Collection: February 2018. Anne Marsh

game of power play.

      Libby harnessed her restlessness and the dull ache taking residence in her gut, sinking beneath the water and executing a few invigorating lengths of breaststroke. Perhaps the activity would dispel the hollow space where her vital organs should be. Because if her decision was so right, why did unease hound her every stroke?

      Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut for once? Glossed over his proposition, laughed it off, sidestepped the debate with the distraction of their pretty constant need to connect physically? No. The sexual game had been fun—a way to control the inferno of their chemistry—but she wouldn’t toy with him.

      She sank to the bottom of the shallow end, hoping the sun-dappled water would calm her conflicted mind. Why was there even any debate? It shouldn’t matter what Alex wanted. If he’d broken the rules, developed feelings, she’d been honest from the start.

       Honest with herself?

      No.

      It was crazy. In a few short days he couldn’t be anything more to her than a holiday fling. Clearly Sonya’s declaration had upset her equilibrium. Or the sun, the astounding sex and the glamour of Alex’s wealthy lifestyle had forced unrealistic fantasies into her head. Back in New York, with real-life issues, she’d find her balance, gain perspective and a firm hold on her emotions. Right?

      When she surfaced, her eyes zeroed in on the object of her discord and a sigh escaped her. The itch beneath her skin intensified. He ended his call, striding back towards her with his confident swagger firmly in place. If she’d dented his ego with her less than enthusiastic brush-off, it didn’t show.

      He reached for her hands, hauling her from the pool when she complied. ‘Maman has arrived. Want to say hello?’

      No. She wanted to run away, pretend she’d never met him, try to forget the way he made her feel.

      ‘Sure.’

      She snagged a towel from the lounger and wrapped it sarong-style around her body. She’d been gifted a reprieve, but the surge of relief failed to materialise.

      ‘Good.’

      He reached for his own towel, looping it around his neck and collecting his phone and sunglasses from the table. With his hand clasping hers, he led them back to the pool house.

      ‘And Olivia?’ He gripped her around the waist, his arm a steel band. ‘Don’t for one second think we won’t revisit that discussion.’

      His mouth covered hers, demanding, hot, so easy to yield to. He pulled back, leaving Libby craving more.

      ‘I won’t bend on this particular negotiation. I want you.’

       CHAPTER TEN

      ‘OLIVIA, I’D LIKE to introduce Marie—my mother.’

      Alex slipped his hand to the small of Libby’s back, as powerless to stop touching her as he was to dragging his eyes from the swathe of red silk that sheathed her sun-kissed body.

      She’d left her hair down, just how he liked it. How she knew he liked it because he’d revealed as much. His fingertips tingled and his balls tightened. Her hair did things to him. Dark things.

      Fuck, all of her did things to him.

      ‘Maman, Olivia is from New York. This is her first visit to France.’

      Olivia shook hands with his mother, who, being a French native, insisted on kissing both her cheeks in that European way. Libby engaged his mother in talk of the sights of the local area and the history of the château while he indulged in his favourite pastime—observing Olivia.

      She was holding something back. He felt it. When he’d said he wanted to see her again her pupils had dilated the way they did when he pushed inside her, their gazes locked.

      Her hand in his clung, her fingers frequently slipping to entwine between his, squeezing. When she looked at him she flicked her hair over one shoulder, tilting her head to expose the pale column of her neck. Hiding her unconscious reactions from him was as pointless as her affirmation they were just fucking.

      His ability to read people formed a major part of his success. And he read Olivia like a screen full of computer code. She wanted more too. Now he just had to convince her to admit it to herself.

      He stroked the place between her bare shoulder blades, eliciting a thrill of goosebumps he soothed with his thumb. Her careful evasion should have pissed him off. She’d dressed it up for the sake of his ego, but he’d heard the message loud and clear. And yet gut instinct told him her rejection concealed something else.

      Part of him didn’t blame her for slamming on the brakes. They’d known each other only a matter of days and long-distance relationships were fraught with extra complications. But something visceral had shifted inside him. The thought of never seeing her again after the weekend left his skin crawling with impatience and his fists uncharacteristically punchy. And damn if he didn’t want every part of her—complete surrender. Her fearlessness and her insecurities. Her sharp mind and her sharper tongue. Her deepest desires and her greatest fears.

      His shoulders tensed, impotence like a block of ice in his chest. He’d indulged her. Conceded too much without pushback. Could he make her see? Draw out what she held back until she admitted what he instinctively knew was there?

      He knew one thing for sure—one thing he’d promised her at the pool house. He wouldn’t stand by and watch her walk away. Not without a fight.

      He tuned back in to the conversation.

      ‘…and, of course, if she were alive she’d have loved this family wedding.’ Marie clutched her throat, her eyes turning glassy.

      Oh, no. Please let that be water in Marie’s glass. The last thing he needed was a scene tonight.

      ‘Maman, it’s okay.’ He touched Marie’s arm, hoping to soothe away the demons his cousin’s wedding had triggered. At least he’d told Libby about Jenny.

      His mother turned on him, her watery stare blazing. ‘Is it, Zander? You never want to talk about her. She was your sister.’

      Fuck. He’d guessed this weekend might be a flashpoint for Marie’s grief—Isabel and Jenny so alike in looks. His eyes scanned the terrace for Clive. He’d need help if he was going to survive this family dinner without a full-blown Gallic scene.

      ‘I know that,’ he said.

      Fuck, must she always remind him of his sibling shortcomings? As if he didn’t relive them every time he thought of his sister. He clenched his jaw and flicked apologetic eyes at Libby, whose own stare had narrowed on him.

      Marie seemed to gather herself, and his shoulders relaxed.

      ‘Excuse me, my dear. I’m going to find my husband. It was lovely to meet you.’

      Marie touched Libby’s arm, shot a hurt look in his direction and turned on her heel, all injured elegance.

      Fuck, now he’d upset his mother. He’d hunt her out later. He had a proposition for her—a role at Able-Active that would hopefully give her renewed focus.

      ‘Was that really necessary?’ said Libby.

      Tension twisted his gut. ‘My apologies. Even affluent families have their…dramas.’

      Perhaps he could have been a little more sensitive, but his mother had seemed determined to air their dirty laundry.

      Libby touched his arm, her eyes softening. ‘She’s just trying to keep Jenny’s memory alive, you know.’ She stepped closer, her voice dropping. ‘In that way you’re very similar.’

      Were they? He had his mother’s colouring, but that was where he considered the similarities ended.