The Ruthless Billionaire's Virgin. Susan Stephens

she fumbled with the clasp Ethan lifted her visor and removed the helmet for her. As his fingers brushed her face she trembled. Staring into his eyes, she thought it another of those moments where fantasy collided with reality. But was Ethan really looking at her differently, as if she might be more than just a package he was delivering to the airport? The suspicion that he might be seeing her for the first time as a woman was a disturbing thought, and so she turned away to busy herself with the pretence of straightening out her ruined hair. She still had her precious high-heels dangling from her wrist like a bracelet, which turned her thoughts to her mother and what she would make of this situation. Her mother was a stand-up woman and would make the most of it, Savannah concluded, as would she.

      ‘Are you thinking of joining me any time today?’

      She looked up to find Ethan already on board the boat, preparing to cast off. He leaned over the side to call to her, ‘Get up here, or I’ll come and get you!’

      Would you? crossed her mind. Brushing the momentary weakness aside, she called back, ‘Wait for me.’

      ‘Not for long,’ he assured her. ‘You’re not frightened of a little mud, are you?’ he added, taunting her as she teetered down the embankment.

      Frightened of a little mud? He clearly hadn’t seen their farmyard recently. ‘What sort of wet lettuce do you think I am?’

      ‘You’d prefer me not to answer that.’

      ‘I’m not all sequins and feathers, you know!’ She kicked the hem of her gown away with one dirty foot for emphasis.

      ‘You don’t say.’ Ethan’s tone was scathing, and then she noticed their chins were sticking out at the same combative angle and quickly pulled hers in again.

      ‘There is an element of urgency to this. Paparazzi?’ Ethan reminded her in a voice that could have descaled a kettle.

      And then car horns started up behind her. She was providing some unexpected entertainment for the male drivers of Rome, who were slowing their vehicles to whistle and shout comments at her. They must think she was still in evening dress after a wild night out with an even wilder man, Savannah realised self-consciously. A man who was threatening to make good on his promise to come and get her, she also realised, detecting movement in her peripheral vision. ‘Stay back,’ she warned Ethan as he took a step towards her. ‘I don’t need your help.’

      It was a relief to see him lift his hands up, palms flat in an attitude of surrender. She had enough to do picking her way across the splintery walkway without worrying about what Ethan might do.

      It was just a shame she missed his ironic stare. The next thing she knew she was several feet off the ground travelling at speed towards the boat. ‘Put me down!’

      Ethan ignored her. ‘I can’t live life at your pace. young lady. If you stay around me much longer, you’ll have to learn to tick a lot faster.’

      She had no intention of ‘staying around’ him a moment longer than she had to, Savannah determined. But, pressed against Ethan’s firm, warm body, a body that rippled with hard, toned muscle… ‘Please put me down,’ she murmured, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

      Ethan didn’t react either way. He didn’t slow his pace until they were onboard, when he lowered her onto the deck. Having done this, he surveyed her sternly. ‘The race is still on,’ he said, folding massive arms across his chest. ‘And I have no intention of giving up, or of allowing anyone to hold me back. Is that clear?’

      ‘Crystal.’

      ‘Good.’

      Savannah smoothed her palms down her arms where Ethan’s hand prints were still branded.

      ‘Well, Ms Ross, shall we take this powerboat on the river?’

      ‘Whatever it takes,’ she agreed, watching Ethan move to straddle the space between the shore and the boat.

      ‘I’m going to free the mooring ropes,’ he explained, springing onto the shore. ‘Can you catch a rope?’

      Could she catch a rope? He really did think she was completely useless, Savannah thought, huffing with frustration. Ethan had got her so wrong. ‘I might have smaller hands than you, but I still have opposing thumbs.’

      Was that a smile? Too late to tell, as Ethan had already turned away.

      ‘In that case, catch this.’

      He turned back to her so fast she almost dropped the rope. It was heavier than she had imagined and she stumbled drunkenly under the weight of it.

      ‘All right?’ Ethan demanded as he sprang back on board.

      ‘Absolutely fine,’ she lied. Summoning her last reserves of strength, she hoisted it up to brandish it at him.

      ‘Now coil it up,’ he instructed, pointing to where she should place it when she’d done so.

      ‘Okay.’ She could do this. Quite honestly, she enjoyed the feel of the rough rope beneath her fingers—and enjoyed the look of grudging admiration on Ethan’s face even more. But she needed to even the playing field. Ethan was dressed appropriately for taking a powerboat down the river. She was dressed, but barely. ‘Do you have a jumper, or something I could borrow?’

      Ethan made a humming sound as he looked her over. ‘I see your point.’

      Savannah felt heat rise to her cheeks and depart southwards.

      ‘I’ll see what I can do for you,’ Ethan offered, brushing past her on his way across the deck. ‘I must have an old shirt stowed here somewhere…’

      Her nipples responded with indecent eagerness to this brief contact with him, just as a fresh flurry of car horns started up on shore. Who could blame the drivers? Savannah thought. The sight of a decidedly scruffy girl in an ill-fitting evening dress onboard a fabulous powerboat in the middle of the afternoon with a clearly influential man of some considerable means would naturally cause a sensation in Rome. But why couldn’t Ethan notice her?

      ‘What’s wrong?’ he said when he straightened up, and then his stare swept the line of traffic. One steely look from him was all it took for the cars to speed up again. ‘Will this do?’ he said, turning back to Savannah. He thrust a scrunched-up nondescript bundle at her.

      The shirt was maybe twenty sizes too large, Savannah saw as she shook it out, but in the absence of anything else to wear she’d have to go with it. Plus it held the faint but unmistakeable scent of Ethan’s cologne. ‘It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you.’ Slipping iton, she realised it brushed her calves, but at least she was decent. She pulled the shirt close and, inhaling Ethan’s scent deeply, gave a smile of true contentment, the first she’d unleashed that day.

      He was stunned by the sight of Savannah wearing his shirt. She looked…adorable. She looked, in fact, as he imagined she might look if they had just been to bed together. Her hair was mostly hanging loose now, and the make-up she’d worn for her appearance on the pitch was smudged, which made her eyes seem huge in her heart- shaped face, and her lips appeared bruised as if he’d kissed them for hours. His shirt drowned her, of course, but knowing what was underneath didn’t help his equilibrium any. Hard to believe he had looked at her properly, critically, for the first time just a few moments ago when she’d asked for the shirt. Nothing on earth would have induced him to stare at her out on the pitch where she’d been at such a disadvantage. But now? Now he couldn’t take his eyes off her fuller figure.

      Savannah tensed guiltily as unexpectedly Ethan’s gaze warmed. What was he thinking—that she was a fat mess? A nuisance? As sophisticated as a sheep? Before her imagination could take her any further, she took her seat. ‘I’m on it,’ she assured Ethan when he glanced at the harness.

      She couldn’t do the darn thing up. And now Ethan was giving her the type of superior male appraisal that got right up her nose.

      ‘I don’t seem to have the knack,’ she admitted with frustration.