be avoided at all costs.
But this woman spoke to him. Called to him. He could not deny it.
‘I had to come down to the bay,’ he admitted as much to himself as to her. ‘I didn’t know why, but now I do.’
Not understanding, Marie-Claude tilted her head, hoping he would continue, accepting when he did not. He did not have to explain. It was enough that he had been there, enough that he was here now with her. Since he still held her hand with no immediate intention of releasing her, Marie-Claude stood. In her bare feet she came only to his shoulder. It sent a jolt of delight through her. She had never felt so safe, so protected. Not that she needed protection, but sometimes a woman liked to feel the power and strength of a man…
He took a handkerchief from his pocket.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing to disturb you.’
Gently he wiped a smear of drying sand from her cheek, from her jaw, and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. Then couldn’t resist stroking his fingers over that same cheek. Soft, smooth. Alluringly flushed. It took all his control not to kiss a path along the curve from her ear to that inviting mouth. To take those lips with his own. To feel them part and welcome him…
Of course he couldn’t! Hell and damnation! What the devil was he thinking? Here was no tavern wench who would ask for and enjoy his attentions. This was a wellborn lady, alone and unprotected, who deserved respect, courtesy. And here he was touching her face, kissing her hand, thinking—if truth was in it—of nothing but taking her to his bed, stripping away that pretty gown and making her body subject to his.
‘I think you might have saved my life.’ She broke into the private scene that had already driven his body into hard arousal. ‘How can I ever repay you?’
‘You don’t have to.’ It seemed that her being there with him in the inn parlour was all the reward he needed, enough to last him a lifetime. He thought he should tell her that, but all his habitual facility with words had deserted him.
‘I don’t think the tea will come,’ she observed with a glimmer of a smile.
‘No. I don’t think it will.’
‘I was at fault, not watching the tide, and I was not very gracious.’
‘You could not have known. And you were afraid.’ Still he held her hand in his, and Marie-Claude felt no urge to demand its return. She realised he was looking quizzically at her.
‘What is it? More sand? I must look a positive wreck. As for my dress…’ She looked down at the ruined flounces with a grimace.
‘You are beautiful.’
A deliberate pronouncement that took her aback. Cheeks aflame, Marie-Claude managed a soft laugh. ‘You flatter me.’
‘No. I tell you the truth. And if you are going to tell me that no man has ever told you that before, then I would have to say that you lie. Or all the men of your acquaintance have been either witless or blind.’
‘Oh!’ Marie-Claude, lost for words, felt the colour in her cheeks deepen even further.
‘I feel I have known you all my life. Why is that?’ Not wanting to know the answer, voice harsh with disbelief, Zan felt his hand tighten involuntarily around Marie-Claude’s fingers. By God, it was not what he wanted! But he wanted her. He wanted her physically. The heat of awareness throbbed through his blood.
‘Yes. As I have known you all of my life too.’ Marie-Claude’s breath caught at the blatant immodesty of her reply. She did not know this man. An hour ago she had not even met him and all she knew of him now was his name. Astonished at her temerity, Marie-Claude snatched at the moment, speaking the words her heart prompted. ‘I don’t understand it—but I feel as if I have been waiting for you. Waiting for you to step into my life. And here you are.’
They stood and looked at each other, unable to look away, his eyes dark and stormy, hers shadowed with uncertainty.
How could she have dared to say that? Surely so forward, so presumptuous a female would put any well-bred man to flight. Or at least earn herself a damning put-down. Marie-Claude saw how the muscles in Zan’s jaw tightened under some rigidly applied control. How austere he looked, how frighteningly stern. How could she have displayed her feelings so obviously? Suddenly swamped by doubt, Marie-Claude turned her face away. ‘How immodest I seem to have become. How brazen you must think me…’ Her words crumbled to dust as she felt her face flame once more, this time with embarrassment.
‘No, never that,’ Zan replied softly, his tone at odds with the taut desire in his loins. Her self-conscious bewilderment arrowed straight to Zan’s heart. Circling her wrists, he placed her palms together, enfolding them within his own hands where they seemed, inexplicably, to belong. ‘And not brazen at all. If you are immodest, then I seem to have lost all sense of honour as a gentleman. Do you…?’
Do you believe that a man can love a woman from the very first moment he sets his eyes on her? Can a man feel indivisibly bound to a woman he has never met before?
His dark brows snapped together. Well, he could hardly ask her that, could he? Only at the risk of her fleeing the room, no doubt shrieking accusations of seduction and debauchery. Had he in truth lost all sense of reality? Disgusted at his inexplicable lack of finesse, Zan controlled the urge to drag her against him, cover that lovely mouth with his. How had his response to this woman suddenly become so inexplicably complicated? Instead he fell back on brisk practicalities.
‘I expect you’re exhausted after your ordeal. Do you feel sufficiently recovered to go home?’
‘Oh…yes.’ Marie-Claude was perplexed. She could not read this man at all. One moment he looked at her as if he would snatch her up, the next he rejected her as if he found her distasteful. Obviously he regretted that first astonishing admission. Disappointment settled to fill the space around her heart, and she took her lead from him. ‘Of course. I’m quite restored. It’s no distance—an easy walk from here. If you will release my hands…’
Zan saw it, the light quenched from her eyes, her mouth settling in a solemn line, the corners tightly tucked in as if she would express no more confidences. That was not what he had intended at all. He experienced a protective urge to sweep her up and make her laugh. Make her admit again that she had been waiting for him to step into her life. But perhaps this was not the time or the place.
‘I’ll take you home,’ he determined, yet kept possession of her hands. ‘And I’ll come tomorrow to ask if you’re fully recovered. If you will allow it.’
‘Yes. I would like that.’
When her face lit again in a smile, it ignited a flame in his heart. Without thought, without questioning his motives other than it was what he wished to do more than anything on earth, he bent his head and took her lips with his. Soft, inviting, at first the merest whisper of a caress. And the sweetness of her took him aback, flooding through his veins, awakening every male instinct. In reply his mouth changed from gentle invitation to dominant demand.
Marie-Claude knew she should resist, remonstrate—what was she doing?—but could not. The slide of that hard mouth over her lips, with such unexpected delicacy, stirred shivers over her skin. When the pressure deepened, when she felt the forceful sweep of his tongue over her lips, she did not hesitate
