Postcards From… Collection. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      RIGO BRACED BOTH hands on the marble countertop of the master bathroom. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled in one long burst in an effort to alleviate his tension. That kiss had been planned because he knew a candid shot would get them on the front page. But his reaction had taken him completely by surprise.

      He was stressed—that was the only logical answer for a grown man having to fight off his libido after one kiss. Even as a hormone-addled teenager in boarding school he had been the most rational and in control of his peers.

      Scowling at his reflection in the mirror, he decided a long cold shower was in order, to clear his brain. He unbuttoned his shirt and folded it neatly into the linen basket, doing the same with his trousers. He had just removed his boxer shorts when the door to the bathroom swung open unexpectedly.

      Nicole’s eyes lowered, taking in his state of undress briefly, before she spun on her heel to face the other way.

      ‘Oh, God... I’m sorry!’ she groaned, covering her mouth with her hand.

      Rigo fought the urge to laugh at her innocent reaction to his naked body. She was far from a shy virgin—that much he knew for sure.

      ‘Nothing here you haven’t seen before,’ he drawled, taking pleasure from her evident discomfort. ‘There’s no need to play the maiden.’

      ‘I’m not playing anything.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘And it’s not appropriate for you to keep...alluding to events in the past that we both want to forget.’

      ‘Does it unsettle you to think of our night together?’ He took a couple of steps forward, the urge to reach out and draw her against him again was almost painful.

      Nicole turned around to face him, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture that couldn’t say have said ‘no’ any louder if she had screamed it.

      ‘It’s better if we don’t talk to each other that way, that’s all,’ she said, keeping her eyes trained firmly above his chin. ‘I just need to get my things and I’ll go to the other bathroom.’ She gestured to the items spread haphazardly across the countertop.

      ‘No, I’ll go.’ Rigo moved past her in the doorway, noticing her body tense as his arm brushed hers. It seemed she was wound just as tightly as he was.

      ‘Thank you.’ She quickly gathered her nightclothes from a drawer, disappearing into the bathroom without another look back at him.

      Rigo abandoned his plan for a cold shower, deciding that maybe a cold Scotch might serve him better. He had just eased a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants over his hips when a loud bang came from inside the bathroom.

      ‘Is everything okay?’ He paused, his fingers on the handle.

      The sound of rustling fabric and a delicate female grunt could be heard through the thin panel of wood between them.

      ‘Do you need help?’ he asked, hoping to hell that the answer was no.

      ‘I’m fine,’ she called out, but her breathing was definitely laboured.

      Moments passed before the door opened and Nicole appeared dressed in a simple pink nightie. Her hair was deliciously ruffled, and Rigo tried to look away—but not before he noticed an angry red welt snaking down her shoulder blade.

      ‘Madre di Dio, what happened in there?’ Rigo looked past her, noting the bottles of lotions and potions scattered along the counter and on the floor in disarray.

      ‘Nothing, I just slipped. I think I ripped my dress,’ she said sheepishly, holding up a pile of red fabric.

      He reached out, touching the reddened skin on her shoulder. ‘I’m more worried about your arm than the damned dress. Would you honestly rather risk splitting your head open than ask for some help?’

      ‘Who knew independent dress removal was so dangerous, huh?’ She shrugged away from his touch. ‘I’ll survive, I reckon.’

      She moved past him, hanging up the torn dress. ‘I would try to sew it myself, but I’m terrible at anything that requires precision.’

      ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ He pointedly eyed her shoes on the floor.

      ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ She placed a hand on her hip.

      ‘You’ve unleashed a minitornado in my bathroom, for one.’ He gestured to the array of bottles and brushes scattered all around his usually pristine bathroom.

      ‘That’s different. I fell. But I just don’t care if everything is lined up correctly. I’ve noticed you are freakishly neat. I’m almost afraid to touch anything in the closet.’

      ‘I like organisation.’ He shrugged.

      ‘Well, I am more organised chaos.’ She grabbed a pair of fluffy pink socks, slipping them onto her feet.

      It was strange, seeing her this way. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman in actual nightwear. But then again, he’d never lived with a woman before. He’d spent the night with former girlfriends, of course. But none had ever gone without make-up, and their nighties had left a lot less to the imagination.

      Nicole’s cheeks were flushed from her scuffle with the dress zipper, the rest of her skin flawlessly pale against the contrast of the dark waves of her hair. The nightie she wore skimmed just across her knee—hardly an instrument of seduction. And yet the sight of her full breasts curving against the soft cotton made his libido roar to life once more.

      ‘This is the kind of thing that can end a marriage, you know,’ Nicole joked, intruding on his less than innocent thoughts. At his puzzled look she continued, grabbing her hastily discarded shoes from the floor and looking for a place for them. ‘My mother left her third husband because he chewed too loudly.’ She shook her head. ‘She said it made her want to poison his food.’

      Rigo raised a brow, watching with trepidation as she moved a few items around in the walk-in closet area. ‘So my tidiness will be the cause of our divorce?’ he asked.

      ‘That’s if I don’t drive you insane with my mess first.’

      ‘You seem very fixated on the eventuality of our marriage ending,’ Rigo said, watching as the smile died on her lips.

      ‘Why would you have had a prenup arranged if you didn’t expect a certain outcome?’ she countered, stepping out of the closet and closing the door behind her. ‘I’ve been to enough of my mother’s weddings to know not to be naive. Marriages end, Rigo. It’s just the way things go sometimes.’

      Rigo moved towards her. ‘And when this inevitably ends, what will you do then?’ he asked, surprised that he genuinely wanted to know the answer.

      ‘Will I move on to another rich husband like my mother did, do you mean?’ She pondered for a moment. ‘Or perhaps you are the beginning and end of my illustrious career?’

      He stepped closer, angry at her for once again twisting his words. But he soon realised his mistake. He stood still, feeling the pull of her scent, seeing the telltale dilation of her pupils as she looked up at him. He could just take her to bed and let them both give in to this angry heat between them. She wanted it just as badly. He could tell by the way she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

      His