Seb rolled his head around in an effort to relieve the knots he’d discovered in his shoulders and neck since Rowan had moved into his life. ‘We have a history. My sister is her best friend. Her parents are important to me. I don’t particularly like her; she’s everything I’d run from in any other woman. Unconventional, free-spirited, slightly eccentric. And I forget all that every time I look at her. All I want to do is—’
‘Don’t say it.’ Patch held up his hand and grimaced. ‘Like Callie, I prefer to think of her as untouched and unsullied.’
‘Hypocrite.’ Seb laughed and then turned contemplative. ‘I’ve never had such a strong reaction to any woman—ever. So why her and why now?’
‘It’s fate bitch-slapping you. It likes to do that.’
‘Sucker-punching, more like it.’ Seb picked up his oar and dipped it into the sea. He glanced over to Patch as they easily covered the gap between them and the group. ‘No pithy words of advice?’
‘From me? The king of bad decisions pertaining to women? Nah! I’m just going to sit back and enjoy watching you making a fool of yourself over this girl.’
‘That’s not going to happen. My brain is still firmly in charge of my junk,’ Seb lied through his teeth.
Patrick’s deep laugh rippled across the sea. ‘Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, my boy!’
‘Thanks for your help,’ Seb said dryly. ‘I’m going to head back. Which bed are you sleeping in tonight?’
‘The cottage, since crazy Miranda changed the locks on my house.’ Patch shrugged. ‘I’m really going to have to do something about her soon.’
‘You think?’ Seb did a quick turn, slapped Patch’s hand and started to paddle away. His dad’s soft words had him looking back.
‘Is she okay? Your mum? I know that you...check up on her now and again.’
Seb blew out his breath. ‘As far as I can tell, Dad.’
‘Where?’
‘South America.’
Patch suddenly looked every one of his sixty-plus years. ‘Ro’s not like Laura, Seb. She’s kinder, smarter, less self-involved.’ Patch dipped his paddle into the water and launched a stream of water into Seb’s face. ‘Go on—get out of here.’
FIVE
When he walked into his kitchen forty minutes later—sweat-slicked and puffing—and saw Rowan bending over the kitchen sink, eating a juicy peach, he knew that Patch was right about his brain not being in control.
In fact it pretty much dissolved as he watched her from outside the door. Juice dripped down her chin and down her toned, tanned arms. She’d pulled her hair up into a messy knot and wore a lumo-purple bikini, the bottom half of which was covered by a thin multi-coloured wrap. Thanks to the afternoon sun pouring into the kitchen he could see the outline of her legs beneath the wrap, the shape of her hips, the rounded perfection of her butt. Sunlight on her back illuminated her spine, the soft skin between her jaw and neck, the slope of her thin shoulders.
Unaware that he stood there, she groaned as she bit into the peach again and more juice dripped.
He didn’t—couldn’t—think. His feet moved of their own accord, his hand whipped out to grab her hips and spin her around, and his mouth slammed onto hers. Peach juice, warm and sweet, thundered over his tongue, quickly followed by the taste of Rowan, as sweet and a hundred times spicier. He thought he heard—felt?—her squeak of surprise, but he didn’t care; all he needed was to taste her, to feel her breasts flattened against his chest, her pelvis lifting into his to ride his erection.
Seb hooked his hand around her thigh and yanked her leg upwards, mentally cursed when her thigh encountered the barrier of her wrap. Without leaving her mouth—how could he?—he dropped his hands and fumbled at the loose knot at her hips. He needed to feel her, taste her, consume her... This was madness and fiercely unstoppable.
Unable to undo the knot, he pushed his thumbs between the fabric and her hips and shimmied it down so that it fell into a rainbow at her feet. Plastering his hands on her back, on her butt, he yanked her even closer until he doubted they could slip a piece of paper between them.
And, miracle of miracles, she was as into the kiss as he was. Little nips here. A long slide of her tongue there. Small hands were exploring his bare chest, down his ribcage, over his obliques and around to his back. She linked her arms around his neck and he was dimly aware that she still held the half-eaten peach in her hand, the juice from which was dripping down his back.