'You're not helping,' she told him, piqued.
'You want me to?'
She eyed him silently.
'All you have to do is say "stop" and I'll stop,' he said and Sarah found the thought immensely liberating. In this she could trust him. He was not a boy, likely to lose his head, and he was too civilised to attempt a complete seduction here on the beach where they might be interrupted at any moment—she could hear the outboard motor spluttering to life across the calm bay. She felt safe, and she leaned forward again and put her mouth against his, a streak of pleasure shooting through her as he allowed her to coax his lips apart.
She ed
ged closer so that the tips of her breasts brushed his chest and he began to move his tongue, slowly and erotically against the sensitive lining of her mouth. They kissed slow, sensual, heat-drugged kisses and Sarah yielded herself up to the entrancement of the moment; the fragrance of the crushed grasses, the salty tang of his lips, the soft warmth of the air all combining in a heady invitation that she had no will to resist. She would never have believed that there was such pleasure to be had from a mere kiss. Her hands stayed pressed against his chest, measuring the beat of his arousal, while his stayed obediently at his sides and yet his mouth was so skilful at enticing her enjoyment that her whole body became suffused with sensation.
'Max . . .' she sighed as the kiss was broken at last, her eyes stormy with passion, her head thrown back as she looked up at the hard-edged face above her.
'Will you let me touch you?'
Sarah nodded automatically, aching for the stroke of his hands upon her body, still trusting.
He made a soft, murmuring sound and lowered his head to hers, moving his powerful body against her in a sensuous, sinuous movement, one hand slipping in between them to cover her breast as her arms linked around his neck. At the sudden, more aggressive thrust of his tongue in her mouth, the fine tremor that shook his body, the iron-hard pressure of his thighs, Sarah dazedly took fright, alarm bells ringing frantically.
'No, stop—' was muffled against his mouth yet he instantly pulled away, or rather pushed her away, hands gripping her shoulders tightly.
'See?' he said thickly, with a crooked little smile. 'Gentle as a lamb. Putty in your hands.'
'I think that's one metaphor too many,' Sarah mumbled distractedly and his smile became more natural as he dropped his hands from her shoulders and flexed them by his side.
'We'll see. Have dinner with me tomorrow night?' She wasn't that naïve. 'I'm tired—it's been a busy week.'
'For us all. A very quiet dinner, at a very quiet restaurant.'
'At a very quiet hotel?' she asked drily. 'The thought never crossed my mind,' he told her, looking innocently hurt. 'Julie has recommended several fine restaurants and I would like to try one in congenial company.'
'I'm sure Tom would love to go.'
'I can dine with Tom any day of the year. I want to go with you. I want to talk to you, get to know you. Haven't I just demonstrated how trustworthy I am?'
Only in the sense that he could exercise self-control when it suited him ... to serve a purpose. She didn't doubt that he was using the verb 'know' in the Biblical sense, he wasn't proposing to give her dinner just for the intellectual pleasure of good conversation.
On the other hand, she admitted to herself, she wanted to accept the dinner invitation. Even at his most dislike-able, Max was stimulating company and her very mistrust of his motives would protect her from the verbal seduction she was sure he would attempt. It would be a challenge, in a way, as no doubt he found her a challenge. There was no reason why she should not participate in the game, providing she obeyed her own rule: remember who he was, what he was. She would enjoy herself as an adult woman in the company of an attractive man, but she wouldn't enjoy herself too much. She had the rest of her life to explore relationships with men; no sense in rushing her fences simply because she had come to terms with the fact she was a woman, free to pursue her own life, her own desires, accountable to no one but herself,
'It's Sunday, there mightn't be many places open.' She made a last, half-hearted salute to the boring demands of common sense.
'We'll find one.' He held out a hand to help her up, which Sarah pointedly ignored.
He was sounding smug again, which she thought was one of his least attractive habits. So when he headed up towards the track which led to the concealed holiday home, Sarah turned and made her way back down to the water's edge, intending to swim back to the yacht forthwith. A demonstration, she hoped, that one 'Yes' didn't concede submission. She hoped.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sarah took more care over her appearance on Sunday evening than she had for a long time. She needed to feel sleek and well-groomed, a nice thick coat of plaster over the cracks in her confidence. Was she ready for this?
Deciding what to wear had put her in a quandary. She had not yet got around to buying evening wear and, anyway, she didn't want Max to think she was trying too hard to impress him. On the other hand she didn't think he would appreciate being seen with a woman who didn't wear her clothes well. In the end she had fossicked out her dateless 'basic black'. Simple, long and figure-hugging, it was in a silk-knit jersey, slightly gathered under the breasts, with delicate shoe-string straps.
Trying to damp down her feelings as the hour approached, Sarah wished, for the first time in her life, that she had a sister, or a close female friend, someone who could give her some sound advice on how to approach the evening. With care, of course.... but should she be off-hand, flippant, or should she try a serious appeal to Max's better nature—if he had one! Tell him that he was going too fast for her, that she was not prepared to indulge in anything more than a light flirtation? To her fevered brain even her reflection in the bedroom looked slightly sceptical. Just what are you prepared for, Sarah? she asked herself, and shrugged. What the hell, she would take things as they came, one at a time. For tonight she would have no past, no future, just a present. That would have been Roy's advice, if he had been here to give it.
Sarah turned off the upstairs lights and made her way carefully down the spiral staircase. The last time she had seen Roy was the previous morning, when-he had bounded in as she was getting ready to leave for the marina, wanting a shower and staying on for a bacon and egg breakfast.
'I'm taking off up north for a few days, tomorrow,' he had told her, wolfing his food. 'Do a bit of sketching, look up a few friends, so I shan't be monopolising the bathroom any longer. I have a guy coming in to fix the hot water cylinder on Tuesday evening, could you let him in for me?'
Sarah nodded. Each possessed a key to the other's front door for just such back-scratching eventualities.