he could begin to recover his equilibrium, she moved her lips against his with soft restraint, as if she was expecting his withdrawal…or waiting for him to take a more active role. A raw, male part of him itched to take over, but a stronger, harsher voice hammered away in resistance. It wouldn’t let him forget that this was Angie, and he had no business wanting to close his eyes and immerse himself in the lush temptation of her lips.
“Relax,” she whispered, her breath a shiver of sensation on his skin and in his blood. Her thumbs stroked his cheeks, down to the corners of his mouth. “It’s only a kiss.”
And then she kissed him the same way she tackled everything—with the same energy and heat and wholehearted passion. She kissed and she willed him to open up, to unwind, to let go. She made a sound low in her throat, a kind of smoky humming that rolled through him in one long, hot wave of desire that caught him totally unprepared, completely at a loss. All he could do was close his eyes and thread his hands into the thick softness of her hair and kiss her back.
Lord, how he kissed her back. With a hunger he couldn’t control, with a thoroughness he no longer wanted to control, with a yearning for all the intimacies he’d missed in the last years.
Since Brooke died.
That thought stalled his senses, slammed at his conscience, dragged him out of the drugging depths of that hot, wet contact. Intimacy was not what he wanted. No way. This was only a trial, proof that he could close his eyes and forget himself for long enough to do what had to be done. A means to an end and that was all.
He hauled himself back into his own space and switched his expression to deadpan. Not difficult—he’d had a lot of practice in recent years. Angie had slumped back against the desk. She shook her head as if to clear it and her eyes looked a little dazed. Her hair was a wild tumble, her lips kissed naked and pliant, and when she crossed her arms under her breasts, he couldn’t help but notice the outline of her nipples right through her respectable white shirt.
Heat tightened his skin, itched in his hands, swelled in his flesh. He looked away, forced himself to focus on the next step, now he’d conquered the first.
“So,” she said on a breathy exhalation. “That didn’t seem to go too badly.”
His eyes met hers, held, didn’t let go. “Do you still want to help me?”
For a long second she didn’t react, and he wondered if she hadn’t cottoned on to his meaning, if he needed to spell out what he was asking. Again. Then her hand drifted to her throat, and she twisted the fine chain around her index finger. Her throat moved, as if she’d swallowed. “My way?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.” She eyed him a moment, her expression circumspect. “That’s a big step up from a kiss.”
“I know that.”
“And you think you can take your clothes off and climb into bed with me? That you can do—”
“I don’t know, okay?” And he sure as hell didn’t need her talking him through every step. He could feel the heat in his face, the tightness in his jaw, in other places he didn’t want to acknowledge, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rearranging his weight and the tightness and the jumble of words in his brain. “I don’t know, but I want to try.”
“Because you want a baby?”
“Because I need a baby.”
“Right.”
There was a sting in her tone, a darkness in her eyes, and Tomas knew he’d blown it. He knew but he didn’t have the words or the sentiment to save the situation. What could he say? He had nothing to offer, no incentive, no promises, no smooth lines. None of the weapons a man like Rafe might use. And he could no more spin her lies than he could beg for her help.
“I don’t expect you to commit to this right off,” he said. “Not without a trial.”
“Trial sex? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“One night without any commitment. If it works, then we can talk about—” He gestured toward the discarded book on top of her desk.
“Making a baby?” She stared back at him a moment, her expression inscrutable. “All right.”
All right? Tomas swallowed and stared into her eyes. She meant it. For a panicky second his world tilted and spun, as if someone had hauled the rug out from under his feet. But then she was talking, planning, asking questions, and he forced himself to focus.
“Do you want me to come home with you?” he heard through the roaring in his ears. “I could—”
“No!” Not in his home, not in his bed. “No,” he repeated less stridently. “That’s not necessary.”
“Well, I can’t invite you home to my place because I don’t have a place. I’m staying with Carlo.”
Her brother, his friend. God, no! “I think we should keep this quiet, just between us.”
“In case it’s a humiliating disaster and we can’t look each other in the eye again?”
“In case it doesn’t work out,” he said, meeting her eyes and refusing to think about such dire consequences. “Neutral territory would be best.”
“I suppose a hotel room shouldn’t be too hard to organize, given your family owns a whole chain.” Despite that wry observation, her eyes remained dark and serious. Slowly she moistened her lips. “When do you want to conduct this…trial?”
“I’m not sure when I can get away.”
“You’re away now,” she pointed out, crossing her arms under her breasts again. Tomas forced himself to concentrate on her words. Not her body. Not the disquieting notion that he’d never seen her naked, but soon would. And he felt the rug start to shift beneath his feet again.
“The kiss worked here and now, with only a little notice,” she said with the same matter-of-fact logic. “Why not this, too?”
With a long slow stroke of her hands down her thighs, she straightened her skirt and walked around her desk. “I guess you’d planned to stay overnight?”
Tomas nodded and she picked up the phone and started dialing.
“With Alex or do you have a room booked?”
“A room. Here,” he managed. His throat was tight, his mouth dry, and that damn rug was moving way too fast.
“Hello, reception?” She greeted the voice on the end of the phone with a smile. “Hi, Lisa, it’s Angelina Mori in Mr. Carlisle’s office. You have a booking for his brother, Mr. Tomas Carlisle, for tonight? Yes? I’m looking for an upgrade if you have a suite available.”
Tomas stiffened. “That’s not necessary.”
“The Boronia Suite is perfect,” she said into the phone, ignoring both his spoken objection and the adamant shake of his head. “Yes, Lisa, only the one night. That’s all Mr. Carlisle requires.” Her eyes lifted to meet his,
