Didn’t she realise? It was much too late for escape.
‘Or perhaps you’re you worried I might kiss you?’ He wanted her to be. If she hadn’t been worried before, he wanted her thinking about his lips on hers right now. ‘Is that what you’re afraid of? Is that why you seem so desperate to rush off now, because you’re afraid of a repeat performance?’
‘What? No, why would I be worried about that? It never crossed my mind.’
‘Never?’ he murmured as he moved inexorably closer, the circle around her drawing tighter. ‘You wound me, Miss Turner. You never once entertained the prospect of finishing what we started?’
‘I never…’ She shook her head but there was no point trying to deny it. Her eyes were on his lips; her chest was rising fast and her lips were slightly parted, waiting. Anticipating. ‘You wouldn’t—’
She didn’t get a chance to finish. His mouth met hers, his lips relieving her of the word she’d been about to utter, her lips soft and warm and wondering. He sensed her doubts in her hesitation. But beyond that he also sensed her desire and her need.
It amazed him to think that any sister of Fletcher could taste as good. He expected there to be some trace of corruption, some hint of decay, and yet instead the taste of fruit was on her lips, plump and sweet as they moved under his, warm as their breath mingled. And wrapped seductively around it all he sensed the evocative scent of woman.
He made no attempt to hold her; they touched nowhere but at their mouths, and yet the connection was electric. He could feel the glow from her as if he’d flicked a switch that set her body humming with need, matching the music of his own. And yet it wasn’t a kiss of passion, of unrequited lust. Instead it was tender and sweet and utterly, utterly necessary.
‘Wh…why did you do that?’ she whispered, her lashes lowered as if too scared to look at him when finally, reluctantly, he raised his head.
‘It seemed a good idea to get it out of the way.’
‘Oh.’ It satisfied him no end that she sounded confused and halfway disappointed.
‘Because now I know that first time wasn’t a mistake.’
She gasped as her lashes flickered open, her pupils tiny in the bright sun; her irises seemed appropriately named given their suddenly dark, velvet colour. He laughed, because he knew that if he didn’t he wouldn’t be able to stop from pulling her back into his kiss and finishing what he’d begun. This wasn’t the time, and definitely not the place. The sun beat down hot and heavy on his back, reinforcing his need for a cold beer and a cold shower—not necessarily in that order. ‘Look, it’s been a long day. Monica’s probably not going to call for an hour or two. How about a swim to cool off while we wait? I know I could do with one.’
Her brow creased into a slight frown. ‘Did I say I was staying?’
‘Aren’t you?’
She looked away then in the direction of the helipad, even though there was nothing to see from here but the thick tropical plantings of palms and bamboo bordering the parking area, before slowly she turned back. ‘I guess I can stay, just for the call. But I haven’t brought anything with me. I wasn’t expecting to swim.’
‘Not a problem,’ he said, tossing the buggy key up in his hand. ‘I’m sure we can find you something half decent.’
The house was halfway around the island and perched up high, all timber and glass, with decking and sails nestled amongst the forest and wrapped around the hillside. But despite the stunning beauty of the house it was the view to which the eye was drawn—on one side to the ocean, studded with island jewels, and on the other to the spectacular line of mainland coast that ran as far as the eye could see. Beyond the shoreline rose the steep mountains, the spectacular gateway to the hinterland.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Sophie said as he helped her from the car. ‘I don’t know how you could ever bear to leave.’
He smiled that lazy crocodile smile once more, the smile aimed right at her, and that scored a direct hit. ‘I’m glad you think so.’ Breathless, not seeing or understanding the message she was sure lay behind the words, she moved away, pretending to be more interested in the view. It was magnificent, it was true, but right now she had more pressing things on her mind.
Like why she’d let him kiss her. She was planning his sister’s wedding, after all. She was supposed to be a professional. She was supposed to be detached.
Letting him kiss her had hardly been detached.
But supposition was one thing. Knowing what she should do when he was looking at her that way, when her skin was tingling, her heart trembling and her thoughts as scattered as the winds was another thing entirely. How was she expected to think when all she knew was that she hungered for his kiss, that every cell in her body had been primed for his touch?