He was the one who really needed it. Temptation twisted a tighter hold on his willpower, calling him to sate the curiosity that had been consuming his concentration with increasing ferocity for days. Was she working on a holiday again, selling sweet treats to late-night tourists and revellers in the small shop in the building next door?
Memory hit of the magic of that meeting, the soft sweetness as he’d sheltered her from that stampede of outrageously dressed, screaming partygoers. The intimate atmosphere, as they’d pressed together to escape the crowd in a feathered bubble of their own, had been dizzying.
Rationally, he knew the baseline sexual attraction had been inflated by the fantastical elements of the night—a trick of lighting and mood making it into something more. He’d gone from bored to blinded with lust in seconds, and resisting the instinct to invite her with him—to seduce her—had been almost impossible.
Because she was a novelty, with her Antipodean accent, her rushed honesty and the mutual fascination she’d been unable to hide even as she’d tried. She’d merely been an unexpected diversion on a night when he’d needed it. If he saw her again, he’d probably find he wasn’t that drawn to her after all. Reality was like that. Things were never quite as one remembered. Moments like that could never be repeated. Gut feelings couldn’t be trusted. After all, he’d been brutally betrayed by instinct before.
Butthisinstinct was very basic, very singular and very blunt. And what would it matter if he indulged it? Where was the risk? There was none for him. Because he wasn’t the one who’d needed help or directions. He was the one who knew the score.
Of course, she wasn’t a fool. She was smart—hustling, working on a day everyone else took off. But she was too sweet for him. Too sincere. Too small-town, with her wide-eyed, wondering way of looking at the world. She’d been covering as best she could, but basically she’d been quivering before him. And, yeah, he’d been right to warn her off and walk away.
Still, he wondered about her. Apparently playing the gentleman had only made him want her more. He gritted his teeth. That he was this obsessed after a brief interaction showed how bored he’d become. Roman Fraser generally avoided any return to the past. But tonight he was too tired to resist.
Two minutes later, he paused on the pavement. Through the glass of her shop, he watched her animatedly conversing with a customer. She looked as though she’d teleported from the nineteen-sixties in that flared red velvet dress. Her hair was loose—long, straight and glossy, it fell just below her shoulders, while the heavy fringe framed her sweetheart face. Her wide eyes gleamed, each topped with a flick of black eyeliner. Her lips were pink and perfectly made to be teased with gentle kisses.
Kisses he wouldn’t be able to keep gentle for long. The sharp edge of sexual hunger sliced, releasing a flare of jealousy as she smiled at someone else. The possessiveness was utterly unreasonable. Maybe it hadn’t been exaggeration when he’d said she needed protection from him.
He meant to move away. This was stalker-like. He did not do this with any woman at any time. Only, the customer turned and his Halloween angel glanced up and caught sight of him at the window. Even from this distance he saw her eyes widen and colour swirl across her skin. She couldn’t hide her physical response and it was so much stronger than simple recognition. He was walking before he realised it. Suddenly he was standing at her counter and he’d somehow lost a few moments of time altogether.
‘Working again?’ His voice was husky and he tensed.
Her gaze dropped to his unbuttoned wool coat and the suit beneath. There was a twist to those plump lips and, even with the black high heels, she was a full foot shorter than him.
‘Avoiding socialising again?’ she countered.
‘Always.’
‘Why? You don’t like people? Someone hurt you?’
He smiled as it hit—howmuchhe’d missed her sharp chatter.
Her eyes widened. ‘Is that actually a smile? So soon?’
He put his hands on the counter and leaned across it. ‘Yeah, it is.’
Her pupils dilated and she swallowed. She’d lost her words and it was because of him. Good.
‘Someone once told me not to be afraid of admitting what I want,’ he said.
Her teeth pressed on her lower lip for a second. But then she couldn’t resist asking the question he’d set. ‘And what do you want?’ She was breathless already.
‘You.’ He paused, intently observing the effect on her and following up with a whole-body smile of satisfaction. ‘To have supper with me.’
But, despite the excitement blooming on her skin and making her eyes sparkle, her slim shoulders squared. ‘I thought I needed protecting from you.’
So that had stung... It had been a throwaway line because at the time he’d barely been able to think. His instincts had been warring—to push away or to pull close. He’d gone with caution and pushed her away. He’d been rewarded with sleepless curiosity and insatiable desire. So. Time to change the play. Time to pull close. But only for long enough to ease the ache.
‘I’ve been wondering if I wasn’t wrong about that.’
‘Wondering for a while?’ she asked.
Oh. Had she been counting the days too?
‘I’ve been criss-crossing the globe since November first,’ he said.
‘Is that supposed to impress me?’
He smiled again. ‘I’m saying I’ve been unable to see you again until now. I’m saying I only returned to Manhattan this morning and—’