He shifted from his cross-legged seat on the rug, his thoughts looping a similar track tonight. To hold that fiery, uncertain, passionate woman against him again would be...
“Wrong,” he said aloud.
But as he reminded himself of that, a certain part of him stirred from dormant sleep when he pictured her beneath him. Or on top of him.
“Hell.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath. As impossible as it would seem in this circumstance—as great as the chances of his failure were, he wanted her like he’d wanted her the first time he caught sight of her on that crowded beach ten years ago.
He hadn’t been able to resist the tantalizing and confusing combination of sensitivity and strength, wrapped in a tangle of poise and chutzpah. Now that he’d gone ten years without meeting a woman who possessed even half of Mimi Andrix’s attributes, he’d likely go another ten once their stint in this mansion ended.
And he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the spark between them.
When they were sharing pie, her eyes had lingered on his mouth. He’d wanted to lean forward to sample her lips and damn the consequences, but the timing had been off.
So. He’d make sure her response was favorable before he moved forward.
But yes, he decided. He was definitely moving forward.