Impulse (Isola dei Sogni) (3 page)

What on earth? Oh my, now that is . . . er, well, interesting. And I must stop talking to myself.
Mia studied the large ornate bath, almost big enough for not quite a football team, but maybe a five-a-side? It wasn't tucked away in a secluded bathroom, but stood proudly in front of a window. A window that not only stood open but looked across the lawns she had been admiring earlier. Did that mean anyone could see in? Her body tingled at the thought.

"No, madam. It's one-way glass around your garden."

Mia spun round, and let go of her luckily empty goblet. The most spine-tingling man she had ever met expertly caught it.

Okay, so I'm having a fantasy anyway. Too much champagne and stop talking to yourself, Mia.

The fantasy laughed.

"Oh god, I said that out loud!"

He nodded. "You did"

In spite of her embarrassment, Mia laughed with him. And took a good look. If she really were into fantasies, she'd be happy to have him in it. Tall, with long, almost black, shining, and clean hair that curled over his collar. Now
that
did remind her of her misspent youth. His looks weren't poster-boy handsome but just right for her dreams. Dark eyes, dark hair, and a dark soul?
 
Damn, stop it already.
The only downside as far as she could see was his age.
Cool it, Mia. There are toy boys, and then there are toy boys!

"Um, seeing as I'm embarrassing myself anyway, how old are you?"

Dylan looked at her and liked what he saw. He judged she was around five-feet-five inches tall and probably about ten stone in weight. As far as he was concerned, she was perfectly proportioned. Long dark hair curled over her shoulders, its darkness shot with streaks of fire that could perhaps hint at a hot temper. The tips caressed breasts, which Dylan decided were to die for.

His cock hardened at the thought of delving between those perfect globes. They were round, full, lush, and as perfect for attention as the rest of her womanly body. Suddenly, he was glad he'd offered to help out in the dreams and fantasy side of the business for the week. Maybe they
did
have some merits. His uncle—his
younger—
uncle would never let him hear the end of it if he admitted that out loud. There may only be five years age difference between Blaine and himself, but Dylan often felt much, much older. Blaine had told him more than once he was old before his time.

Dylan had long decried the way their island was used, and chose only to involve himself with the legal aspects. It was, he had been told by his father and uncle, a sad misuse of his talents. Now he wondered whether they'd be put to good use. Therefore, did he lie or tell the truth? He opted for truth.

"Thirty-seven. How old are you?"

Mia considered. "Too old."

"Too old for?" He could sense her mind ticking, but he wouldn't look. Not this time.

 
She blushed. Whatever her thoughts were, she'd been embarrassed by them. Dylan wished he hadn't been so altruistic.

"Um, I'll plead whatever you plead when you don't want to answer. Let's just say considerably older than you."

"Why?" He was genuinely interested. "How much is considerable? A year? Two? Twenty? Age is irrelevant. You're only as old as you feel. And" —he drawled, suddenly slowing his speech— "as I'm only thirty-seven, when you feel me . . . that's what you'll feel."

"Did I hear that properly? Oh god, do I hope I did or do I hope I didn't? Have they set me up with a fantasy and not told me?" She stopped speaking and put her hand over her mouth. Her face was as red as the flowers growing outside the French windows. "Oh shit. I beg your pardon, what did you say?"

He did his best not to smirk at her chagrin, but she looked so mortified at her faux pas, it was hard to keep a straight face. Dylan decided the week had taken a turn for the better. He shook his head and his hair stuck to his cheek. With a huff, Dylan blew it away, and tucked it behind his ear. Either he was going to have to start tying it up, or have it cut.

"Not a good enough answer. Pardon," he said, hoping to annoy her enough to explain. "It's not a good enough answer. You heard, and . . ." He hoped she understood his devilment. "You will enjoy." Dylan tried very hard to keep a straight face as he watched the myriad of emotions in her expressions. He was beginning to get a kick out of their exchange. He was damned sure he was going to appear in all her fantasies and dreams even if he had to direct Mia to them himself.

Mia considered him, her head to one side like an inquisitive sparrow. This time he cheated, and did look into her mind. She was wondering what to do next? Well, one thing was fairly straightforward. She was hungry. Sadly, just for food. Before he had a chance to formulate a question that didn't sound suspicious, Mia spoke.

"How do I order my meal?" she enquired. "And come to think of it, why are you here?"

"To hand you this." Dylan passed her a menu. "To ask you where and how you wanted to eat. And to see if you needed anything put into action for your fantasies? Oh, and before you ask, I knocked, you did answer—or so I thought—and I came in. I'm Dylan and I'm here to be your helpmate this week. Anything you need, you just ask." He opened his mind to her and decided cheating was now acceptable.

'Now there's a thought. Me, who thought her only fantasy was not to have a fantasy! I'm getting quite
hot and bothered. Think I'll write a book on how to enjoy your chocolate and drool over a hot bod.'
Dylan decided he was definitely going to be receptive to her thoughts.

"Well, I'd quite like something to eat." She took a quick glance at the menu and winced. "Who on earth thought up these names? For goodness sake."

Dylan winced with her. He totally agreed that eating something called Passion Filled Prawns or Hedonistic Ham Slithers, was enough to put you off food for the week. Unless, of course, that was the intention. As for Slithering Sensuous Champagne Dip, words failed him.

"I've no idea, madam," he said. The spark in her eyes made him decide to reply with care. "But there's nothing to stop you renaming the dishes yourself."

Mia glanced at him and sniggered.

"True. Oh, and please no more 'madam', eh? Strangely enough, this isn't a brothel, and I'm no madam. Though I am beginning to feel a bit like a mad woman. My name is Mia. I don't have any fantasies."

That was a lie. He'd read her.

"Except for champagne, chocolate, and a good book," she added with a blush.

"Well, we can certainly cater for that, Mia. And for your food?" He raised an eyebrow in query. "Would you prefer to eat alone or with company?"

'If it's you, oh yes, please.'
"What sort of company?" Mia asked. Caution oozed from her. It hit Dylan in waves.

Dylan looked at her and wondered how far he could push her. Not that push was his preferred method of action. All of a sudden, sweet seduction followed by hot sex was ever more enticing.

"Well, as I'm your assigned helpmate, I could accompany you. Or?"

"Or nothing. Yes, please. Your company would be." She stopped and ran her hands through her hair. The long dark strands sparked with fire in the sunlight. Dylan felt his cock tighten against his well-worn denims.

"Be?" Her thought gave nothing away. They were blocked by the surge of negative emotion that pulsed from her.

"Hold on, what am I letting myself in for here?" Her voice was wary.

"Nothing at all that you don't want," he replied soothingly. "This is your holiday; you're in charge. I'm just along for the ride"
Or so I hope.
"Signor Dei Sogni and his team are here to do everything you desire. As I said, I'm not a regular member. I'm just here to help out. And,"
thanks to Christophe,
"I'm here for you." Now he knew why he got the 'I really need your help email'. At least he thought he did. Because if it was for any other reason, Dylan decided there and then they could go and fly.

"Right." Mia closed the menu. "I'd like company, champagne, and crab patties, please. In about an hour? First, I'd love to go for a swim, if that's okay."

Dylan bowed and picked up her hand. The fine tremors that run through her and into him made him want to pull her close and hold her tight. He accepted that it was too soon, and contented himself with a kiss to the back of her hand. She gasped, but to his delight she didn't try to take her hand away.

Emboldened, he turned it over and nipped the mound of Venus. Her moan made his balls tighten and his skin tingle. Such a small sound, but it created images that sent his pulse soaring. She looked up at him with wary eyes. Her teeth nipped at her bottom lip and her tongue traced her mouth.

"You've marked me? What the fuck?" She stared at her palm as if he'd carved his name into her hand. He hadn't, but he'd bitten hard enough to leave a tiny bruise. The carving could come, one day, though a nice inscription on her arse might be more appropriate.

"Don't. It's okay. I had to mark you as mine, that's all. One day, I'll ink you. Just here." He traced an arc on her left buttock. She made a noise that he couldn't decide whether was in delight or disapproval. "Shh. Everything's okay. Go and swim. I'll go and get everything ready for your meal. If you go out the door to your left, and follow the green and gold lights, you'll come to your own private pool."

He could tell Mia was startled without dipping into her mind. Sometimes, she was so easy to read. It was obvious she hadn't realized just how much privacy was going to be hers. The thought of skinny-dipping with her was enough to bring pre-cum to the tip of his cock. Dylan decided he'd better leave before he scared her, and embarrassed himself. He turned to leave the villa. "Can I help you in any other way?"
Before I go and help myself.
He made sure
the tone was bland, the words innocuous. He was sure she cursed under her breath.

"Oh, er, n-no thanks, I'll be fine."
'Why am I stammering like an embarrassed schoolgirl? I'm forty-five for goodness sake, not five. If that's what a few words in a velvet voice does to me, heaven help me if he really turns up the heat. And that's no fantasy, that's fact.'

 
Dylan whistled silently. That was one thought worth overhearing. He beamed broadly as he left the suite and took Mia's meal request through to the chef. Christophe stood in the dining room, which—no surprise there—was empty.

"You, Papa, are a very devious man."

"True." Christophe nodded complacently. "And?"

"And thank you. I can't think of a hopefully nicer way to spend my week away from the office. Here's Mia's menu. She'll be ready in an hour. Oh, and make it times two, please."

"Fast worker," Christophe murmured. "Have I done the right thing?"

Dylan hoped so.