pressed home his advantage. ‘Please?’
That dark drawl, the honeyed Spanish accent, sent quivers of something fiery racing down her spine, making her gasp. She met the smoky sultriness of those black-fringed eyes and her mouth ran dry. At least his invitation hadn’t sprung from pity, he was asking a favour, and that gave her the confidence to push out croakily, ‘OK, if that’s what you want.’
‘Gracias.’
His smile made her head spin, and when he put a casual arm around her shoulders and led her from the room it was all she could do to stay upright. The touch of his hand through the thin fabric of her T-shirt scorched her skin right through to the bone and the heat of her body’s instinctive and immediate response curled and tightened low down in her pelvis.
Get a grip! she snarled silently at herself as she sternly resisted the pressing temptation to sag against him, lay her head against that wide chest, slip a hand beneath that beautifully tailored jacket and feel the warmth of his body beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt.
So, OK, Sebastian Garcia was lethally attractive, and without even trying he could make things happen to her body that had never happened before, but he wouldn’t look twice at the likes of her, she reasoned as he disappeared to fetch the promised wine after guiding her to one of the squashy sofas in front of the glowing hall fire.
She sat gingerly in one corner and tucked the book under a cushion out of sight. She’d have to replace it in the morning. Bedtime reading—as if! He must think she was pretty strange!
Dismissing it from her mind, she tried to relax. She’d drink one small glass of wine, toss a few aimless remarks in his direction and keep her eyes firmly fixed on anything other than him. Looking at all that masculine perfection would be her downfall. She would never survive the humiliation if he guessed she was hopelessly attracted to him.
He was taking much longer than she’d expected and with every minute Rosie got more uptight. Had he got sidetracked, forgotten all about her? Unlike him, she was easy to forget, she thought on a sickening surge of shame. She felt a real fool, sitting here like a lemon, and was about to slink off to bed when he re-entered the hall.
Her heart jumped and she forgot to breathe as he put two glasses and an opened wine bottle on a side table, then turned to her. In the dim light his smoky eyes mesmerised her. She could drown in those silvery depths, she thought helplessly, forgetting her earlier clear-headed decision not to look at him if at all possible.
Trouble was, her head was a total muddle when he was around.
He took something from the tray and walked towards her with the indolent grace that made her toes curl in her scuffed old plimsolls.
‘For you.’ Bending slightly from the waist, one of his hands uncurled her bunched together fist while the other deposited a single, perfect white camellia, slightly tinged with pale lemon colour at the ruffled centre, in the palm of her small hand.
A corner of his mouth curled wryly. ‘I stole it from Marcus’s greenhouse—though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Not much of a birthday gift, ciertamente, but perhaps it will make you smile?’
Sebastian straightened abruptly. Madre di Dio! She would think he was shooting a line! The impulse that had sent him to cut that bloom now seemed ridiculous.
Until he had what he’d unconsciously known he’d been missing. That smile. And then he knew that the impulse hadn’t been ridiculous at all.
Her eyes were on the blossom she held cupped in the curve of her hands, thick sweeping lashes hiding her expression, her silky blonde hair falling forward, a stray tendril kissing the petal-soft skin of her cheek. And then it began. A slight trembling of those luscious lips, an upward curve and then that radiant, brilliant smile her fathomless eyes winging towards his, deepest purest blue sparkling with dancing lights.
‘It’s perfect,’ she breathed, and then, propelled by something far stronger than his formidable will, he bent towards her again, dipped his dark head, and kissed her.
CHAPTER THREE
ROSIE’S enticing lips were even softer and sweeter than he could have imagined they would be in his wildest dreams. Cool and still for that first split second—a challenge to his male ego. Then warm, warmer, exploding into an earth-shattering response.
As Sebastian’s body leapt with a charge of forceful passion he felt an answering deep shudder of pleasure pulse through her slight frame and he placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her, or himself—he wasn’t sure which—as a wave of atavistic male lust gripped and tightened every muscle in his own body.
As her lips parted, welcoming his entry, his kiss deepened and his mindless hands slid down to find her breasts. And Dio mio! they were so very beautiful. Small, pertly rounded, peaking nipples, blatantly aroused—perfect—
Her husky mew of drowning pleasure finally penetrated the red mist of lust that had fogged his brain. He went still, turned to stone as her sweet mouth clung, her small hands rising, fingers tangling in his hair, inviting, tormenting.
He dragged in a harsh breath. What in the name of all that was sacred did he think he was doing?
With a ragged inner groan for his own crass stupidity, he jerked upright, away from her, away from a deeper temptation than he had ever known, struggling to regain some semblance of his shattered self-control.
His heart crashing around against his ribs, he staunchly ignored the sudden, bewildered, lost look in her wide eyes, and turned away to hide the evidence of his aching sex.
‘Wine,’ he said, his voice roughened and raw. Dio! It had been a near disaster. A few more seconds and he’d have been making wild love to her right there on the sofa, and she would have been a push-over. Little Rosie Lambert deserved better than that!
His hand shook as he poured wine into two glasses. For the first time in his life he despised himself. It was a vile sensation! He’d been without a woman for so long he was turning into an animal!
Alcohol wasn’t the best idea in the world, not in his inflamed state. But if he removed himself from her presence, as common sense dictated he should, she would know that what had happened back there had affected him catastrophically.
He had to act as though that kiss hadn’t meant a thing to either of them. He wouldn’t even apologise and suggest it was best forgotten. Just act as though it had been neither here nor there. Transmit the message that it had been just one of those things, not worth a mention.
Rosie was in shock. Her body was threatening to go up in flames. Sensations she hadn’t known existed were bombarding her so that she didn’t know whether she was on her head or her heels.
Why had he kissed her?
Why had he stopped?
Didn’t he know that she hadn’t wanted him to stop?
That kiss had been magic, heaven and excitingly scary all rolled into one and she’d wanted it to happen ever since she’d first clapped eyes on him! Didn’t he know that?
Of course he did, the cool voice of rapidly returning sanity tartly informed her. He’d only meant to give her a brotherly birthday peck.
Because he’d been
