she’d arrived tonight, she’d taken in a view of the majestic Opera House shells presiding over Sydney’s famous harbour. The bridge was a glittering arc to the left of a low-slung full moon, which radiated lazy ribbons of gold over the shifting twilight waters. That extraordinary sight paled in comparison to this man’s casual yet compelling gaze.
Be wary, it seemed to say. Approach at your own risk.
Ramirez was anything but nice.
Acceding to his competition, Natalie’s ousted partner thanked her for the dance and Mr. Ramirez gathered her in strong tuxedo-clad arms. Beneath a shower of slow-spinning lights, she took note of his rock-solid heat and masculine scent, so clean and in-toxicating the sexual awareness it created was close to drugging.
While his thumb grazed a slow circle between her shoulder blades, Natalie deigned to ask, “Isn’t cutting in a little presumptuous?”
He spoke to her lips. “No.”
She raised her brows. “Such a simple answer.”
“’Twas a simple question.”
She tingled at his accent, its sensual slide as subtle as a brush with warm black satin. Reckless, no doubt, but she wanted to feel it again.
“I have another question.”
“Be my guest.”
“Are you in the habit of undressing women with your eyes from across crowded rooms?”
When his handsome face tipped closer, glossy black hair fell over one side of his brow. “Not until tonight.”
She grinned. Smooth didn’t come close.
“You didn’t stop to think that your examination might’ve made me uncomfortable.”
“Only in a welcomed way.”
She laughed softly. “Mr. Ramirez, you’re shameless.”
“And you’re beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, I’m tempted to whisk you away from here directly to my bed.”
A rush of heat flashed through her centre, tightening the tips of her breasts beneath her gown’s silver-white bodice. His gaze challenged hers even as it mesmerised and roped her in.
But she wouldn’t reward him with any hint of surrender. She was having far too much fun teasing.
Her gaze flicked away. “I hardly think that’s appropriate talk, here, in front of—”
“I’m not finished.” Hot fingertips ironed down the sensitive curve of her back, stopping at the small of her spine, coaxing her hips that much closer to his. He leaned near, her neck arced back and his parted lips grazed hers. “When you’re naked and trembling with want beneath me, I’ll devour you, first with my hands, then my mouth…”
She swallowed and trembled inside. “What then?”
“You know what then.” His calculating eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re looking forward to what then.”
Her heart galloped on. “Has anyone mentioned you’re incredibly arrogant?”
The beast chuckled. “No one would dare.”
“I’d dare.”
“Like you dared to leave my bed at some ungodly hour this morning?” His fingers delved lower, over the arc of her behind, releasing a sensual spill of lava through her veins. “I pulled you back and you stayed another hour. I should have persuaded you to stay two.”
Melting from the inside out, she pretended to look over her shoulder. “Your hand’s a little low. What will the other guests say?”
His smile eased wider. “Lucky man.”
Sighing, she combed her fingers over his impossibly broad shoulder then upward to cup his firm raspy jaw.
Her lover of three glorious months was enjoying their private seduction game as much as she was. Every day they were together, the thrill of seeing each other—touching each other—only grew. The knowledge was like a brewing storm…intense, volatile, at times forbiddingly dark, at others super-nova bright. But there’d been no talk of a future. Nor would there be.
Some people’s pasts couldn’t be left behind.
Six years ago, seventeen-year-old Tallie Wilder from Constance Plains accepted that she’d put on weight for a reason. Quaking inside, she’d informed Chris Nagars in the dispatch room of his father’s hardware store that she was late. They were pregnant. Her boyfriend had spliced a hand through his shock of dark hair, had pledged his love and had split town the next day. Crushed, Tallie summoned the courage to tell her parents over Sunday roast.
She wanted to keep her baby.
At the head of the table, a dazed Jack Wilder had slowly hooked his thumbs under his braces while Tallie’s poor mother had cried softly into her dinner napkin. Constance Plains was an old-fashioned town. Girls who got in trouble weren’t forgotten, or forgiven, and at twenty weeks she was beginning to show.
The next month, walking home from the grocery store where she tended till, Tallie had been daydreaming of escaping Constance Plains, of being independent and smart enough to succeed, when she stumbled and hit the pavement hard. A crippling pain gripped her tummy before a rush of warm water emptied in her pants.
Her parents rushed her to the six-bed hospital where she’d given birth prematurely. May Wilder was by her daughter’s side the entire time, her near colourless grey eyes glistening with unconditional love and support.
“Of course we’ll keep the baby,” May had murmured, wiping Tallie’s brow as the nurse spirited the weak newborn away. “And she’ll be loved in our house. Your dad says so, too.”
Her brave baby girl had clung to life for two short hours. Tallie had been stroking her daughter’s little hand moments before she’d passed on. Although Minister Roarke’s bushy brows had drawn in disap-proval at the request, Katie May Wilder had been buried in the Baptist cemetery under the scarlet blooms of a poinciana tree.
The epitaph read, Never Forgotten.
A month later, the town doctor told Tallie that intrauterine scar tissue, resulting from the post-delivery curettage, could cause complications with fertility later on. Tallie didn’t care. She only wanted to die, too. If she hadn’t been daydreaming impossible dreams, if she’d been paying attention rather than falling and bringing her labour on early…
Four months later, Tallie escaped the small-town glares and thumbed a ride to Sydney.
She visited home the first Monday of every month. Her father had died two years ago from a stroke, but her mother still baked Madeira cakes for church functions, and Tallie’s presence still garnered glares. They only made her stronger. She no longer prayed for death. In fact, with each passing year she felt less and less.
Until Alexander.
Now, with the lilting strains of a ballad weaving around them, his chest so warm and the
