He moved fractionally closer and whispered into her ear, as if afraid that the words might be lost on the wind. His whole world seemed to hinge on his next question and what her response to it would be. ‘Would you like to see where I live, Catherine?’
She jerked her head back, startled. ‘What. Now?’
He had not planned to say it. He kept his home territory notoriously private, like a jungle cat protecting its lair. In fact, he had thought no further than a scenic trip to Glendalough. But something about her had got beneath his skin.
He raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. ‘Why not?’ He looked at the goosebumps on her bare legs and arms and suppressed a small shiver as the tension began to build and mount in his body. ‘You’re cold. You look like you could do with some warming up.’
Catherine supposed that the drawled suggestion could have sounded like a variation on Come up and see my etchings, but somehow the rich, Irish brogue made it sound like the most wonderful invitation she’d ever heard.
He was right—she was cold. And something else, too. She was slowly fizzing with a sense of expectation and excitement—her nerve-endings raw and on fire with it.
Not the way that Catherine Walker normally behaved, but—so what? Surely it was just natural and acceptable curiosity to want to see his home? At least, that was what she told herself as she heard herself replying, ‘Yes, I’d like that, Finn. I’d like that very much.’
Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
‘SO THIS is where you live, is it?’ asked Catherine, rather stupidly stating the obvious and wondering if she sounded as nervous as she suddenly felt.
What was she doing here, alone in a strange flat with this gorgeous black-haired and blue-eyed Irishman? Setting herself up for some kind of seduction scene? Waiting for Finn to put his arms around her and kiss her? To discover whether that kiss would really be as wonderful as she’d spent far too much time imagining?
And isn’t that what you really want? questioned a rogue voice inside her head. Isn’t that why your heart is pumping in your chest and your cheeks are on fire, even though you’re supposedly cold?
Finn smiled. ‘I bought it for the view.’ But he wasn’t looking out of the window.
‘I can see why.’ She swallowed, tearing her eyes away from that piercing sapphire gaze with difficulty.
The lit-up Georgian buildings in the square outside predominated, but she could see the sparkle of the Liffey, too, reflecting the darkening sky and the first faint gleam of the moon.
‘Shall I make you something warm to drink?’ he questioned softly.
She smiled. ‘The cold’s all gone.’
The walls of his huge flat seemed to be closing in on him, and he knew that if he didn’t move he might do something both of them would regret. ‘Then come outside, onto the terrace—you can see for miles.’ He unlocked a door which led out onto a plant-filled balcony. ‘The moon is huge tonight. Big as a golden dinner-plate and fit for a king.’
She thought how Irishmen had the ability to speak romantically without it detracting one iota from their masculinity. And he hadn’t lied about the moon. It dazzled down on them. ‘It looks close enough to touch,’ whispered Catherine.
‘Yes.’ And so did she.
She forced herself to look at the pinpricks of silver stars, to listen to the muted sound of the city, knowing all the while that his eyes were on her, and eventually she turned to face the silent, brooding figure.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said lamely.
‘Yes.’ He narrowed his eyes as he saw her shiver. ‘You’re cold again?’
‘Yes. No. Not really.’
‘Coffee,’ he said emphatically. But he could see the tremble of her lips, and the tension which had slowly been building up inside him suddenly spilt over into the realisation that he could no more walk out into his kitchen and make her some coffee than he could resist what he was about to do next. ‘But it’s not coffee you want, is it, Catherine?’ he questioned, and pulled her gently into his arms. ‘Is it?’
Her world spun out of focus and then clicked back into perfection. ‘Finn!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Wh-what do you think you’re doing?’
He laughed softly at the predictable question, noting in a last moment of sanity that there was no reproach in it. ‘Just this. What you want me to do. What those big green eyes of yours have been asking me to do from the moment I met you.’ And he lowered his mouth, brushing his lips against the sudden wild tremble of hers.
She swayed against him, opening her mouth to his and feeling as though she had been born for this kiss, thinking that nothing had ever felt quite like this—not even with Peter.
Is this what all the books and magazines write about? she wondered dazedly. Is this why Pizazz! has such a massive and growing readership?
‘Oh, Finn. Finn Delaney,’ she breathed aga