feel sorry for you—most people would in the circumstances—but I feel as guilty as hell for the things I said over what was, you’re right, an accident.’
‘Oh...’
‘Now, could we get on with it? You’ve barely had a drop of your tea,’ he added with sudden frustration.
Harriet grabbed her purse. ‘I’ll leave it.’
She got up so precipitously, she tripped over Tottie and would have fallen to the floor if Damien hadn’t lunged forward and caught her.
The next moments were confused as he untangled her from the dog, the coffee table and she ended up standing in the middle of the room in his arms.
‘You wouldn’t be accident-prone, would you?’ he asked incredulously.
Harriet tried to free herself but, although he held her quite loosely, he made it plain he was not about to let her go. ‘I...I suffer from a left-handed syndrome,’ she said a little raggedly.
‘What the hell’s that?’
‘My father’s invention to explain the fact that I’m a bit uncoordinated at times.’
‘So, yes—’ he raised his eyebrows ‘—accident prone?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe. Would you mind letting me go?’
Damien Wyatt still had a spark of amusement in his eyes as he said wryly, ‘Yes I would, heaven alone knows why. Well, for one thing I’ve never held a girl as tall as you but it feels good.’
‘I...’ Harriet opened her mouth to protest but he lowered his head and started to kiss her.
Shock seemed to take away all her powers of resistance and when he lifted his head she could only stare up at him with her eyes wide, her lips still parted and her heart beating heavily.
‘Mmm...’ He ran his hands up and down her back and hugged her. ‘I must have been mad ever to think you were skinny, Ms Livingstone!’
Harriet gathered herself. ‘This is...this is,’ she started to say.
‘Insane?’ he supplied.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, almost biting her tongue in her frustration.
‘You’re not wrong. On the other hand, we’ve experienced quite a range of emotions—’
‘That’s—what’s that got to do with it?’ Harriet broke in desperately.
‘We’ve been angry with each other,’ he went on.
‘You murderously,’ she pointed out darkly.
‘Well, not quite, but you’ve hated my guts,’ he responded. ‘I reckon we’re destined to run through the whole spectrum—you know, your eyes are stunning.’
‘I...they...’
‘And there’s your skin.’ He transferred his hands to her arms and ran his palms down them. ‘Smooth and satiny. As for your legs—by the way, I wouldn’t ever wear that wraparound skirt again...’ He paused as she moved convulsively and waited for her to quieten before he went on. ‘Only because it’s criminal to hide your legs.’
‘Mr Wyatt,’ Harriet said through her teeth, ‘please don’t go on and will you let me go!’
‘In a minute. The other thing Arthur was right about; you have a slightly superior edge at times.’
Harriet, about to make a concerted effort to free herself, stopped dead and stared at him, completely mystified. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, for example, in the lounge earlier,’ he elucidated, ‘you looked at me as if I’d crawled out from under a rock.’
‘I did not!’ she denied.
‘You probably don’t realise you’re doing it. Actually, what Arthur said was that you sometimes look as if your mind is on higher things.’
Harriet blinked. ‘What does that mean?’
He dropped his arms and moved back half a pace but Harriet stayed where she was. ‘That you think you’re above this “mortal coil”?’ he mused, and shrugged. ‘Perhaps way above the sweaty realities of life and love, not to mention men? You did say there was no one. One has to wonder why.’ He stopped and shrugged.
Harriet Livingstone very rarely lost her temper but when she did the consequences were often disastrous, mainly because she was tall enough to be effective about it. She advanced the half step towards Damien Wyatt and slapped his face. She did more.
‘Oh, how I’ve wanted to do that,’ she gasped but with great passion. ‘Talk about being above the mortal coil—you obviously see yourself as the bee’s knees!’
His lips twisted as he fingered his cheek. ‘Bee’s knees—haven’t heard that one for a while. All the same, Stretch,’ he responded, ‘I—’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she warned.
‘Whatever.’ He shrugged and took her in his arms and proceeded to kiss her again but this time there was a definite purpose to it. This time it was a battle, not a shocked passive response on her part and a more light-hearted exploration on his.
Until he lifted his head and said abruptly, ‘No, no more anger and hate, Harriet.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s time to move on. No, don’t do a thing, I’m not going to hurt you, it’s just that fate seems to have intervened.’ He shook his head. ‘It certainly has for me.’
And this time, before he kissed her again, he drew her into his body and ran his hands over her in a way that made her go still and her eyes widen in a different kind of shock because it was as if he was imparting an electric current through her, a tide of sensuality she couldn’t resist.
Then he released her and cupped her face in his hands and they looked into each other’s eyes for a long, long moment. And as she breathed in the essence of Damien Wyatt it had a powerful effect on her. Not only did he bring the outdoors into the dining room—there were sweat stains on his shirt, his hair was ruffled—but a physical force and the aroma of pure man.
Then, as she searched his dark eyes and saw the way they were focused on her and felt the way his hands moved down to her hips and were gentle but skilful on her body, she got a different sense of him.
As if she was viewing the man behind the man. As if, underneath that prickly, easily prone to irritation exterior, there was a man who knew how to make love to a woman in a way that thrilled her and drove her to excesses she hadn’t known she could reach...
And when he started to kiss her again, because of that sense of him, because of the rapturous tingling of all her senses, something she’d been denied for a long time, because of the feel of the hard planes of his body against her, because he was actually taller than she was and because there was something terribly, awe-inspiringly masculine about him unless you were a block of wood, she found herself
