“Get dressed. I’m taking you to dinner.”
“We bought pizza.”
“I’m not in the mood for pizza.” And he needed to get away from the cozy interior of the cabin, where the intimate cloak of darkness would make it all too easy to say something he knew she wasn’t ready to hear.
“You mean like a date?”
He dressed quickly, before he could change his mind. “It’s dinner. Label it any way that makes you feel more comfortable.”
There was a pause and then she slid out of bed, her hair falling over her shoulders in fiery spirals. “It’s definitely a date.” She said it in a husky, slightly amused tone that played havoc with his willpower.
He wanted to throw her straight back onto the bed, keep her there and never let her go.
Shit. He was in trouble.
“Great.” He backed toward the door, crashing into a small table. He caught the lamp before it fell to the floor. “I’ll be on the deck when you’re ready.”
She gave a puzzled frown. “But—”
“Don’t rush.” Matt walked into the door frame and Frankie winced.
“Are you—?”
“I’m fine.” His shoulder throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the rest of him.
He strode out onto the deck and leaned over the railing, staring down at the ocean.
Tonight it was calm, lapping at the beach in deceptively gentle waves. He contemplated diving into the chilly water, but Frankie emerged moments later.
She was wearing a pair of close-fitting black jeans and a green silk top that made him wish he’d taken that swim.
Instead, he drove her to the Ocean Club. The restaurant was crowded and lively and they were welcomed at the door by a pretty girl with a big smile.
“Matt and Frankie? I’m Kirsti. Ryan told me you might be coming. He said I’d recognize Frankie because she has amazing hair. And he was right—you remind me of a pre-Raphaelite painting. I studied art at college,” she said by way of explanation. “We held a table for you, just in case. It’s busy everywhere at the moment, partly because it’s peak tourist season and partly because of the wedding, of course. You haven’t been back in ten years, is that right?” She beamed at Frankie. “I bet you’re glad to be home. If you can squeeze your way through the crowd, I’ll show you to your table.” She turned, ponytail swinging, and walked through to the far side of the restaurant where glass doors opened straight onto a spectacular terrace overlooking the beach.
Matt felt Frankie’s hand slide into his and he turned to look at her. “Is this place all right for you?”
“I love it.”
“The comment about your hair didn’t upset you?”
“She paid me a compliment. You taught me how to accept a compliment.”
He’d taught her other things, too, like how to match the rhythm he set, how to trust her body, how to trust him.
Her gaze lifted to his and he saw the same raw desire he was feeling reflected in her eyes.
The noise around them faded. He could feel his pulse pounding.
And he realized that coming here had been a mistake. They should have stayed in the privacy of their cabin, where he would have been free to do what he wanted to do without fear of being arrested. If they were living in the Stone Age he would have dragged her back to his cave and never let her leave.
Frankie squeezed his hand, her eyes questioning. “We should go.”
For a moment he thought she was suggesting they leave and he was about to agree when she gestured to Kirsti.
“Yeah.” His voice sounded rough and unsteady and he saw Frankie frown slightly before she tugged at his hand and they walked to where Kirsti was waiting.
“We have three big parties inside tonight so it’s a bit rowdy. This is better for a romantic evening. More intimate.”