“Well, next time keep your peace far from my hammock. Capiche?”
“If I said I really needed a nap at the exact moment I came upon it, would that help?” One side of his mouth kicked up, and her tummy tumbled over on itself in response.
“What do you think?” she deadpanned.
“I think perhaps not,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. It was a little rumpled from sleep on one side. He wore it well.
He took a step her way, and Amber took an equal step back, which was ridiculous. If she screamed, a dozen hippies would rush down the hill to check on her. Well, maybe not rush. Amble with intent.
She pressed her gumboots into the ground. It wasn’t concern for her safety that had her on edge. It was concern for her hazy judgement.
He stepped sideways, picked up the glove Ned had dropped and ran his thumb over the honeycomb stitching. “How about if I said I tripped and fell into the hammock, knocking myself out?”
“I’d think you were an idiot.”
A smile tugging at the corner of that mouth, he looked out over the lavender, all the while taking a step closer to her. “Then here’s the unvarnished truth: a wicked witch lured me here with a peach. I took one bite and fell into a deep sleep.”
As punctuation, he held out her glove. Naturally, she reached out to take it. Only he did not let go, capturing her gaze right along with it.
His eyes were a deep, intelligent hazel, his mouth on the constant verge of a smile. The fact that his nose appeared to have been broken at some time only added to his stunning good looks.
“It was an apple,” said Amber, her voice breaking on the last syllable.
“Hmm?” he said, gently letting the glove go.
“Sleeping Beauty was felled by an apple.”
Again with the devastating half-smile. “Wasn’t that Eve with the apple? Tempting poor Adam.”
“Forbidden fruit. No mention of an apple, specifically.”
“Right. I stand corrected.”
At some point in the past few minutes, the sun had begun to set, stretching shadows over the stranger’s arresting face.
But it was the words that had her transfixed. The locals were so earnest she couldn’t remember the last time she’d indulged in spicy banter. It felt good. Really good. Like slipping into a freshly made bed after a long day on her feet.
“Who are you?” she asked, the desire to know far too obvious in her tone.
He held out a hand. “Hugo. And you are?”
Feeling as if she was about to step off a cliff, she took his hand. His fingers were long and strong. His grip dry and warm. The tingle that zapped up her arm had her shaking once and letting go.
“Amber.”
“It’s a very great pleasure to meet you, Amber.”
“I’ll bet.”
At that he laughed.
The sound tumbling about inside her belly made her feel empty. Hungry. She breathed through it. “Wicked witch or no, this is private property, so you’d best get moving on. It doesn’t get fully dark for another hour. If you walk with pace you’ll make it to the village in time. There you’ll find somewhere else to sleep.”
The man slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, going nowhere.
Amber crossed her arms and shook her head at the guy. But he only smiled back, the directness in his eyes telling her she wasn’t the only one having an “interested at first sight” moment. She rolled her eyes, turned on her heel and beckoned to him over her shoulder.
“Come on, then, Hugo. This way.”
HUGO TWISTED AND STRETCHED, enjoying the creaks and cracks of muscles well-used.
Still half-asleep, he couldn’t be sure if the images skirting the edges of his brain were real, or the remnants of a very good dream. Then slowly, like drops of mercury melting together, he recalled slippery limbs sliding over each other. Warmth easing towards heat. Sighs, laughter, a gasp.
No dream. Just Amber.
A bump to the bed echoed through him, as if it wasn’t the first.
He dragged his eyes open, battling the sharp morning sunshine, to find Amber no longer tucked into his side. Instead, she stood by the other side of her bed, glaring at him.
And he found himself riding a wave of déjà vu.
The first time he’d laid eyes on her she’d worn the white veiled hat and the long, chunky gloves, the bulky overalls and those wild yellow boots. She’d looked like something from a nineteen-fifties space comic. Then she’d stripped down in front of him, all sun-browned shoulders, wildly tangled lashes over whisky-brown bedroom eyes, full lips, her long hair a halo of honeyed gold falling halfway down her back.
The difference this time: her lips were pursed. Her hands white-knuckled on her hips. And her narrowed eyes shot daggers his way.
That didn’t stop him from weighing up the likelihood of dragging her back to bed. He deemed the chances slim.
Brought up never to readily surrender the advantage of position, Hugo sat up, the sheet dragging with him. His feet curled as they hit the rough wooden floor. Then he pulled himself to standing.
Amber’s gaze flickered to his bare chest and she sucked in a sharp breath. The chances looked slightly more promising.
But then her arm lifted, one pointed finger aimed towards her front door, and she said, “Get out.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, get out. Do you not understand what that means? Were you raised by wolves?”
“Nannies. Mostly.”
“Of course you were. Get out of my bed. Get out of my shack. Now.”
Hugo ran both hands over his face, hard and fast. Better to be fully awake for this. “Start at the beginning. You’re not making any sense.”
“Then look at my face. Look deep into my eyes so that you see I am serious. I want you to get out.”
Well, this was new. Her voice rose with each word, rare emotion tinging her words. She was genuinely upset.
“I will go. Of course. If that’s what you want. Look, I’m already out of your bed.” The sheet at his hips slipped as he reached up to scratch his chest.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips,
