Miranda Lee - It Started With A Kiss

Rafe was right. It was high time they did something else instead of have sex. She was beginning to fall into old ways.

Isabel sighed. If only he was less skilful in the lovemaking department. If only he didn’t know exactly the sort of thing which excited her unbearably. If only he didn’t always turn the tables on her such as just now.

She’d thought she was being the boss in the bedroom, as she’d used to be sometimes with Luke, but in a flash Rafe had whipped control out of her hands and she’d become his willing little love slave again, as she’d been last night.

Isabel’s face flamed as she thought how crazy it had been of her to let him tie her up like that. But, ooh, it had been so deliciously thrilling. And really, down deep, she’d never felt worried. There’d been no fear in her, only excitement.

It had been a game, an erotic game. Just as this holiday together was a game. Rafe knew that. And she knew that.

So why did she keep forgetting?

No more, she resolved. From now on she would stick to the rules. And to the agreed agenda. As for any silly idea she’d been harbouring of seeing Rafe occasionally after this fortnight was over… That was not on. Experience warned her if she saw Rafe outside of this fantasy setting she was sure to fall in love with him, or start relying on him for her day-to-day happiness. She’d been there, done that, and she wasn’t ever going there again. Heaven help her, if she couldn’t learn from her past mistakes!

Isabel was lying there under a sheet, feeling relatively in control once more, when Rafe emerged from the steaming bathroom, rubbing his brown hair dry with a bright orange towel, a lime-green one slung rather hazardously low around his hips.

Wow, she thought as her gaze ran hungrily over him. He really was gorgeous, even more so now that he was sporting an all-over tan. She loved the long lean look on a man, loved broad bronzed shoulders which tapered down to a small waist. Loved tight little buns.

Not that she could see his buns at that moment. But she had an imprint in her memory bank.

‘It’s time you got up, lover,’ he said, draping the orange towel over his shoulder and finger-combing his hair back from his face. ‘It’s just gone five. I want to be gone from here by six.’

‘Fine. I was just waiting for you to finish,’ she replied, but, when she swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat up, Isabel hesitated. There wasn’t anything for her to put on at hand. She hadn’t worn any clothes all day and the sarong she’d been wearing last night was still tied to the hammock. The rest of her clothes were in the walk-in wardrobe, and it was actually further to walk over there than it was to the bathroom.

It was silly that walking around naked in front of Rafe should bother her. He’d seen every inch of her up close and personal. Too silly for words!

Gathering her courage, she tossed aside the sheet she’d been clutching and stood up, wincing a little once she started walking. Oh dear, she was icky. That was another thing she found a bit embarrassing. How wet she was all the time.

Not that Rafe minded. He said it was a real turn-on.

Still, once Isabel reached the shower she lathered herself up down there with some degree of over-enthusiasm, as if by removing the evidence of her ongoing heat, she could better keep her cool around him. A waste of time, she realised on remembering she had nothing to wear to dinner tonight but the choice of three highly provocative outfits, all bought to tease and tantalise, herself as well as Rafe.

Which one would do the least damage? she wondered. The little black dress?

No. It was way too little, halter-necked with no back and a short tight skirt which looked as if it was sewn on, owing to the material being stretchy.

What about the blue silk petticoat-style number with the swishy skirt?

No. Not with her nipples standing out all the time like ready-to-fire cannons. The material was too thin and the bodice too clingy.

It would have to be the emerald and gold trouser suit. Although still provocative, she at least got to wear a bra, of sorts. But the outfit did have other hazards. Such as the fulfilling of an old fantasy of hers to look like a harem girl. The pants were harem-style, and the emerald material semi-transparent, shot with gold thread. The outfit was only saved from indecency by being overlaid with a thigh-length jacket. The bra of sorts was a strapless corselette, heavily beaded in green and gold glass beads and designed to manoeuvre even the smallest of breasts into a cleavage. Isabel’s breasts, though not large, were not small either. The result was eye-catching to say the least.

Once dressed and made-up, Isabel stared at herself in the floor-length mirror which hung on the back of the walk-in wardrobe door and thought she’d never looked sexier. Her hair was up, though not in its usual French roll. She’d just bundled it up loosely in a very casual topknot, leaving strands of various lengths to fall around her face. The long green and gold crystal earrings in her ears would swing when she walked. If she could walk, she amended as she squeezed her feet into the outrageously high gold sandals she’d bought to go with the outfit.

‘Shake a leg in there, lover,’ Rafe called out. ‘It’s gone six.’

With a shudder which could have been excitement or apprehension, she dragged on the gauzy green jacket, sprayed on some perfume, then went to meet her master.

Rafe was out on the terrace, admiring the view in the dusk light and thinking that this place really was a fantasy come true when Isabel emerged from the bure, looking like something out of the Arabian Nights.

‘Well,’ he said, smiling wryly to her as he scraped back the chair and stood up. ‘If ever there was an outfit designed to turn a gay man straight, then you’re wearing it tonight.’

She laughed a slightly guilty-sounding laugh. ‘I didn’t bring any let’s-do-something-else clothes with me, I’m afraid.’

‘I see,’ he said drily. And he did. She was only here with him for the sex. She’d made that quite clear from the start.

And he’d been with her all the way. Till their little mishap this afternoon. Now, suddenly, everything had changed. Now, suddenly, when he looked at her, he didn’t see a delicious bedmate but a possible pregnancy.

Not that he didn’t still desire her. He’d have to be dead not to. It was just that other thoughts were now overriding his X-rated ones. Such as perhaps he should still tell her what had happened. It wasn’t too late for her to get the morning-after pill. They had a doctor on the island, he knew. And a chemist shop. He’d read the list of services available in one of the coffee-table brochures.

But, oddly, he hated the idea of her ridding her body of his baby—if his baby was in there. Peculiar, really, when he’d never wanted to be a father before. He still didn’t.

But she did. Want to be a mother, that is. She wanted one enough to have one on her own. So why not his? Better than having herself artificially inseminated. Bad idea, that.

‘Rafe! Why are you just standing there, frowning at me like that? What on earth are you thinking?’

‘What am I thinking?’ He took her arm and started propelling her down the path towards the jetty. ‘I was thinking that your idea of having a baby all by yourself is not a good one. In fact, it’s a very bad one. My mother found it extremely difficult raising me by herself, and she had help for the first eight years.’

‘Yes, well I can understand how raising you would have tried the patience of a saint,’ Isabel said. ‘But my baby won’t be having your impossible genes, Rafe, so hopefully my job won’t be quite so difficult.’

‘Is that so?’ Rafe smiled. He couldn’t help it. Irony always amused him.