He felt a stab of anger. Someone should be looking out for her.
Not him, though. Not after Harriet.
Her fingers smoothed out the handkerchief again and he felt her take a breath. Then she said quietly, ‘I just want to say that it was really brave, what you did out there. Heroic, actually. So, thank you.’
She hesitated, and then he felt the flutter of her breath as she kissed him gently on the cheek.
The movement shifted her weight and she slipped sideways. Without thinking, he touched his hand against her hipbone
to steady her. He heard the snap of her breath as she looked up, and when he met her soft blue gaze suddenly it was as if he’d run out of air. His head was spinning.
A minute went by, then another, and then she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
A voice in his head told him to stop her. That this was a mistake. That he didn’t know this woman and what he did know he didn’t like.
But then her fingers clutched at his shirt, drawing him closer, and he was lost.
It was like walking into a white-out.
There was nothing but Frankie. Nothing but the soft contours of her body and her mouth fusing with his.
His hands skimmed over her back, sliding up through her hair, and he knew that this was not so much an exploration as an admission of his driving need to feel her, to touch every part of her.
He felt her soften in his arms and hunger jackknifed through him as she leaned closer, so that her breasts were brushing against his chest. Blood pounded through his veins as he teased the upper bow of her mouth with his tongue, tracing the shape of her lips, and then he was guiding her onto his lap, pulling her restless hips against the hard press of his erection.
She moaned softly and, parting her lips, deepened the kiss.
He shuddered, heat flooding his limbs. Her mouth felt like hot silk and, groaning, he spread his hand over her back—
The sharp knock on the door echoed through the room like a gunshot and, peeling Frankie off his lap, he tipped her unceremoniously onto the sofa as he got to his feet.
What the hell was she playing at?
More to the point, what was he playing at?
Aside from the unspoken assumption that Frankie and Johnny were involved, this was a road he needed to travel less—not more.
His entire relationship with Harriet had been humbling and short—just under three months from that first kiss to the day she moved out—and he didn’t need any more reminders of the idiocy of his behaviour.
Or maybe he did.
She stared up at him dazedly, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses.
Tearing his gaze away, he answered, ‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Douglas just called.’ Constance’s voice floated serenely through the door. ‘They’ve issued an orange weather warning. I just thought you’d like to know.’
So the weather was causing road closures, interruption to power, and an increased risk to life and property. In other words, chaos.
Tell me something I don’t know, he thought savagely.
Running his hand through his hair, he swore under his breath as his dazed brain finally registered the full implication of Constance’s words.
An orange warning also meant being prepared to change plans. In this case, his plans to get Frankie off the island.
Jaw clenching, he glanced over at her.
‘Looks like this storm is going to get worse before it gets better. Unfortunately for both of us, that means you’re stuck here for the foreseeable future.’