LITMIR.BIZ

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with four chairs, and across the room a sofa and an armchair. Another larger window framed a different perspective of the beach.

      ‘Your...your bedroom is...opposite mine?’ The words were almost a whisper and she shivered.

      ‘Surely you didn’t think we’d be sharing?’ he prompted, enjoying the blush that spread across her face and the way her nipples stretched visibly against the wet fabric of her skin-tight dress.

      ‘Of course not,’ Tilly snapped, before remembering that she was Cressida, and Cressida would never have taken offence at such a suggestion. She would have purred right back that he shouldn’t rule anything out... ‘I just didn’t realise we’d be staying in the same house.’

      His smile was laced with sardonic amusement. ‘It’s the only house on the island,’ he said. ‘Didn’t your father tell you?’

      She shook her head, but questions were floating through her mind...suspicions. Shortly after Cressida had said there’d be servants she’d said that Tilly would be left to her own devices. She’d made it sound like a glamorous beach retreat awaited.

      Had she known that Rio Mastrangelo would be literally shacking up with her? Had she wisely decided to keep that titbit to herself, knowing that Matilda would have found it impossible to go along with such an elaborate deception in close quarters with a man like him?

      ‘He must have,’ Tilly said with a shrug, as though it didn’t matter, but inside she was fuming.

      If she hadn’t desperately needed that thirty thousand pounds, how she would have loved to tell Cressida to go to hell!

      Only she wouldn’t have. She couldn’t have. For, as much as the heiress drove her absolutely crazy, Tilly felt sorry for her. And the longer Tilly worked for Art and felt the warmth of his affection, the more she saw him disapprove of Cressida and ruminate on her lack of intelligence, skills and focus, and the more guilt Tilly felt—and more pressure too.

      This was the first time Cressida had ever asked Tilly for more than an easy favour, though. And certainly the first time she’d outright lied to her! This wasn’t going to a film premiere dressed to the nines, or slipping out of a top-notch restaurant early to divert the paparazzi’s focus. This was a whole week in close quarters with a gorgeous stranger.

      ‘And you forgot?’ he responded with a droll inflection.

      ‘There were a lot of instructions.’ She forced herself back to the present, pushing aside the sticky question of just what Cressida had kept to herself to get Tilly on board with this deception. Were there any more surprises in store for her?

      ‘Such as?’

      ‘Such as don’t fall out of boats.’ The snappy response was watered down by a spontaneous smile. ‘Mind if I get changed?’

      Yes, he wanted to say. He liked watching her in this dress. Seeing the way it clung to her was flooding his body with desire—desire he wouldn’t indulge with her, of course.

      Yet he hadn’t been himself since hearing of his father’s death. His libido—something he liked to give free rein to, often—had taken a hit in recent times. Feeling his body stir to life was good. It was nice. He revelled in the sensation of anticipation, knowing that relief would be worth the wait.

      He wouldn’t give in to temptation with Cressida—that would be foolish. But once he left the island he’d call Anita or Sophie, or one of the other women always happy to join him in bed and rediscover some very pleasurable habits.

      ‘Make yourself at home,’ he said, with a shrug that was the personification of nonchalance.

      She nodded, her eyes not meeting his. He was still holding her bag and he made no attempt to hand it over. She crossed the tiled floor until she was within arm’s reach. At this distance she could see the flecks of black that marked his grey eyes, and she caught more of that enticingly masculine fragrance.

      ‘I’ll need some dry clothes,’ she prompted, a smile tickling her full lips as she nodded towards the duffle.

      He unhooked the bag from his shoulder and passed it to her. She reached for it without looking downwards and her fingers curved over his.

      It was like being bitten by a snake.

      She immediately released her grip on the bag and he did likewise, so that it dropped with a thump to the floor.

      ‘Sorry,’ she said breathlessly, as though it had somehow been her fault rather than an involuntary reaction to the spark of electric shock that had travelled through her fingertips and flooded her entire body.

      ‘What for?’ he murmured, reaching down for the bag.

      Her frown was spontaneous. Neither Tilly nor Cressida were prone to inane, babbling apologies. ‘I don’t know.’

      His laugh tickled her overstretched nerve-endings; it was a deep, throaty sound and she imagined his voice would be husky like that when he was driven by other emotions. A charge of awareness surprised her and she felt her nipples strain hard against the fabric of her bra.

      His eyes dropped to them and his lips flickered in a droll smile of sardonic appreciation. ‘Go and get changed, Cressida,’ he said, dismissing her.

      It was on the tip of her tongue to challenge him, Or what? when he replied, ‘Before it’s too late.’

      Too late? A frisson of awareness pulsed through her, teasing her spine and making her shiver.

      She took the bag from him and moved quickly down the hallway towards the bedroom he’d marked as hers.

      Too late for what?

      Her mind pushed away the most obvious reading of the statement—that there was some inevitability that they were running from. It was a silly interpretation, no doubt fuelled by her propensity to read far too many romance novels.

      She kept her head ducked until she reached the door he’d indicated would lead to her own accommodation.

      Her first assessment had been right.

      There was a small bed, a bookshelf, and a hat rack near a high, small window that had geraniums in a window box, creeping halfway up the glass in an enthusiastic display of clustered red.

      There was a mirror too, and she caught her reflection and moaned audibly. She looked... She might as well be naked. The fabric of her dress had turned a dark green and it hugged her tightly, moulding her breasts, her stomach, her bottom, and clinging in a V to her womanhood.

      Her fingers shook as she went to remove it quickly, stripping it off her shoulders and pushing it from her body. The sight of her bra and G-string wasn’t any better. Angrily she discarded them, until she was naked, still wet, but not caring.

      Her phone was in the side pocket of her bag and she lifted it out. The picture of her and Jack smiled at her when she activated it, and for a moment she felt her stomach swoop in relief. He would be okay. She’d made sure of it. This week was a small price to pay for his safety. What the hell had he been thinking?

      She swiped her phone to life and flicked up the emails.

      An error message appeared. With a frown, she realised there was no internet. No signal whatsoever, in fact.

      A grim sense of being completely and utterly alone with Rio Mastrangelo sent a shiver down her spine.

      How could Cressida do this to her? The more Tilly thought about it, the more convinced she was that Cressida had lied. But why? What could be so important that she’d orchestrate this deception? She obviously hadn’t wanted to risk Tilly saying no—which she would have, had she known about this tiny shack and the drop-dead gorgeous billionaire only a wall away. Damn her!

      Well, this would be the end of it. Once she got back to London she’d tell Cressida that their arrangement was at an end.

      She ripped at the zip of the bag, pulling it roughly and lifting out another dress. But it was low at the front, and she didn’t

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