In something of a stupor Duarte listened to the quick, rhythmic tap of Orla’s heels on the stone floor of the adega fading away and reflected dazedly that if she thought she wouldn’t be seeing him again until the conference in three weeks’ time, she could think again. Because a kiss like that did not end there.
It had been hot, wild and wholly unexpected. One minute the conversation had been all about the wine, the next, their gazes had collided and the world had stopped. The hunger on her face and the need he’d seen shimmering in her eyes had lit a rocket beneath his pulse and turned him harder than granite.
Once she’d indicated what she wanted, he hadn’t thought twice about abandoning the wine and kissing her. He’d acted purely on instinct, and the minute their mouths had met, desire had crashed through him, flooding every inch of his body in seconds. It still lingered, along with the memory of her in his arms, kissing him back with more heat and passion than he could possibly have imagined, as well as utter bewilderment at how suddenly and swiftly she’d backed off.
Was the strength of his response to the kiss down to the fact that it had been such a long time since he’d wanted anyone? It was impossible to tell. And what had spooked her? Again, he had no idea, although he could sympathise if she’d been caught off guard by the explosive nature of the kiss. The impact of it had hit him like a freight train too.
But for all the new questions racing around his head, one he’d had before had definitely been answered. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
So what happened next? he wondered as he leapt to his feet and began to pace around the room, repeatedly criss-crossing the lengthening shadows. Once upon a time, he’d have welcomed the obviously mutual attraction, capitalised on the kiss that had given him a rush he hadn’t realised he’d been missing, and pursued Orla without hesitation, without doubt. But he was no longer that man. These days, he was battered and bruised and wary. These days, he had the responsibility for a billion-euro business to keep him occupied.
And yet, it wasn’t as if he was after a relationship. Thanks to his marriage, from which he still hadn’t recovered, he was never having one of those again. In fact, his blood turned to ice at the mere thought of it. Love was manipulative and commitment was a prison. And he didn’t just have his own experience to base his opinions on. His parents’ unpleasant and messy divorce had proved that long ago.
But sex with someone with whom he shared the kind of chemistry that led to unbelievable pleasure? The one-or-two-nights-only sort of thing he’d favoured before he’d married? That he could handle. That would be perfect.
He felt more alive, more energised this evening than he had in months, and he wasn’t about to give that up. So he’d put in the groundwork. He’d allay any fears or doubts Orla might have. Seduction had once come to him as naturally as breathing and it wouldn’t take too much effort to brush off the dust and fire up his skills. He’d have her in his bed in no time. So, contrary to her parting shot, she wouldn’t be seeing him in three weeks’ time. She’d be seeing him tomorrow.