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‘We’re too different. We desire different things.’

What did he desire? Swirling, velvety temptation whispered. No. She just had to get through their fake honeymoon and a few weeks of nearness. That was all. Yet she couldn’t get her legs to work to back away from him. Alex met her gaze square-on, his eyes unreadable, inky pools as the atmosphere tightened.

‘You’d better get some rest.’ He suddenly stepped back. ‘You’ll need to look lively for the photos tomorrow.’

She stared after him. As if the thought of faking intimate photos with him was ever going to help her sleep!

Chapter Eight

At some point Tilly must have drifted into unconsciousness because the next second she woke to Alex thumping on her door.

‘Tilly!’

‘What?’ She opened it, only to be slammed by another view of his bare chest—and she’d seen more than enough in her horribly unsettling dreams last night.

‘Time for a swim and photos. Meet you downstairs in five.’

‘Five minutes?’

‘The bed hair is perfect.’

She shut the door in his face but still heard him laughing. The sound almost tugged a smile from her, but the last thing she needed was to warm to Alex more—there were already untenable sparks flickering within her.

The sole bikini his bodyguard had packed happened to be her favourite, but was too skimpy to be photographed in. The pool at dimoro miele was indoor and completely private and she never swam at the beach for fear of being labelled a lazy grifter even more. But she wasn’t inclined to ask Alex if he had any spare women’s swimsuits lying around—that wasn’t a possibility she wanted to dwell on. She pulled on linen trousers and a loose tee to cover up for as long as possible.

‘Are you sure we need to do this?’

‘Rafa has a long-range lens…he’ll get pictures from a distance,’ Alex informed her as he led her outside.

‘You could’ve given me more time to prepare,’ she muttered.

He gave her loose linen set a once-over. ‘As always you look flawless.’

‘Ready to enter the convent,’ she fired back brightly. ‘While you look…casual.’

Swim shorts and nothing else, so all his strong, long limbs, pecs and abs, were on display. It was as infuriating as it was discomforting. ‘Is there no time for breakfast?’

She needed food at very regular intervals and right now she needed the displacement activity.

‘We’ll catch the best light now.’ His grin flared as he headed down a narrow track. ‘Hurry up.’

‘Are we not going to the pool?’

‘No.’

‘Your yacht.’ She grimaced.

Almost all the paparazzi photos of him partying over the years were on that massive white yacht with sundecks, spa, inflatable toys, champagne and beautiful, bountiful bodies. The comparisons in the media were going to be awful. She stomped after him as the path grew steeper, working up a sweat thinking about all the other women. Not real. This was not real and she had no right to be jealous or feel insecure. The path suddenly ended and she stopped at a steep flight of stone stairs. Her breath was knocked from her lungs. ‘Alex.’

Four steps ahead, he looked back at her with that genuine, gorgeous smile. ‘This is Zaffira.’

The little sapphire. It was a hidden cove right in the centre where the island narrowed and twisted—high cliffs created private walls and the sea washed in through a narrow archway, creating a deep blue pool.

‘I had no idea…’ She’d never seen this in any pictures. She forgot her fury and awkwardness. ‘It’s beautiful. Look at the colour of the water. This is…this is wow.’ Open-mouthed, she gaped at the secret jewel.

‘Come on.’

She carefully went down the steps that had been hewn into the scarped cliff.