breath.
Tilly couldn’t take her eyes off his hands, his mouth. She couldn’t stop remembering how lean and hard his body had felt, couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to unbutton his shirt, to run her hands over his powerful muscles, to press her lips to his skin. To forget about her poor, broken heart and let him bear her down on to a bed, a couch, the floor—anywhere—as long as he made love to her.
That was the point where Tilly had to stop herself. Wasn’t it Campbell who had accused her of having a vivid imagination? It wasn’t always a good thing, she decided, not when it left you with a thudding heart and a dry mouth and your insides roiling and writhing with desire.
And if she was like this during the day, what sort of state would she be in sitting across a table from him, where the lighting would be soft and intimate and she would only have to move her hand a matter of inches to be able to touch him?
No, the sensible thing would be to go home and put herself firmly out of temptation’s way.
On the other hand, Tilly’s body argued back, it would be nice to have a meal someone else had cooked, and it wasn’t fair to leave him on his own every night. There was no point in being silly. It was just a meal with a friend. What could be the harm in that?
‘Dinner would be nice,’ she said firmly. ‘Thanks.’
They arranged to meet a couple of hours later at a restaurant in the centre of Allerby. That gave Tilly enough time to jump in the shower and then work herself into a frenzy of doubt about what to wear.
She didn’t want to look as if she were trying too hard, or as if she were expecting anything more than a friendly dinner, but it would be nice to show Campbell that she didn’t always look a mess. She dressed for comfort when she was cooking, and her shoes were always practical and flat. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous look. As for what she had worn on that Scottish hillside, Tilly didn’t want to think about what she had looked like then!
In the end she settled on a clinging wrap-over top in a lovely deep violet with a swirly black skirt which looked good with her favourite shoes. They had perilously high heels with cutaway sides and peep toes and Tilly felt a million times better about herself the moment she put them on. Really, she ought to wear them the whole time, she decided, and to hell with teetering around the kitchen all day or throwing out her back.
Even the shoes couldn’t stop her feeling nervous as the taxi stopped outside the restaurant. Tilly knew it was stupid, but her heart was thumping ridiculously and her entrails were fluttery.
‘Please, please don’t let me make a fool of myself,’ she prayed as she paid off the taxi and turned for the entrance. The restaurant was reputed to be the best in Allerby and Tilly had been doubtful that they would get a table at such short notice, but she should have known a little thing like the restaurant being full wouldn’t stand between Campbell and getting what he wanted.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled open the door. The maître d’ glided towards her, but Tilly had already seen Campbell. He rose from the table at the sight of her, and their eyes met across the restaurant.
Campbell had showered and shaved and, in his beautifully cut suit, he looked lean and cool and more than a little ruthless. He looked devastating. Tilly’s knees felt as if they were about to buckle, and she swallowed hard.
See? her mind was nagging. I told you this was a bad idea. Now how are you going to resist him?
She pushed the thought aside. This was just a friendly dinner. But her mouth was dry as, oblivious to the maître d’, to anything except the man waiting for her, she walked over to join Campbell.
‘Hi,’ she said. The queen of sparkling repartee that was her.
Campbell felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs at the sight of her walking towards him in a tight top and a skirt that skimmed her gorgeous curves and shoes so sexy they practically left scorch marks on the floor.
Without thinking, he reached out to touch her. He couldn’t help himself. He had a hand at her waist and was drawing her towards him before the red alert siren went off belatedly in his head. He wasn’t getting involved, right?
Right.
So yanking her into his arms and kissing her, pulling her towards him and exploring all that tantalising warmth and softness, making it his, right there in front of everybody, was probably not a good idea.
His senses screamed in protest as he regained control at the very last moment and dropped a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth instead.
Just breathing in her perfume, feeling the softness of her skin, grazing the alluring curl of her lips was enough to make Campbell’s head reel, and he had to jerk his head back before he did something really stupid.
He had to clear his throat before he could speak. ‘You look wonderful,’ he managed at last and winced inwardly at the croak in his voice. Whatever had happened to cool Campbell Sanderson, famed for his focus and control?
‘Thanks,’ said Tilly. ‘You brush up nicely yourself.’
She was surprised at how ordinary her voice sounded. The brief brush of his lips had been like an electric jolt and she had to sit down before her legs gave way. Her face was throbbing where his mouth had touched her, her waist tingling where his hard hand had held her.
She picked up the menu with hands that weren’t quite steady and made a show of reading it.
‘Hungry?’ Campbell asked.
‘You know me, I’m always hungry.’
But she wasn’t, not really. Tilly couldn’t concentrate. The words wavered before her eyes, and it was impossible to focus on them when every sense was fixed on Campbell on the other side of the table. His lashes were lowered over the keen eyes as he read his own menu. His fingers were drumming absently on the cloth, and his mouth was set in the cool, quiet line that made her heart turn over whenever she looked at it.
Tilly was hardly aware of what she ordered. The wine waiter appeared as soon as the waitress had gone and tried to discuss wine with Campbell, who simply closed the wine list and handed it back. ‘Whatever’s good,’ he said brusquely. ‘And whatever you can find most quickly.’
‘You’ll probably get the most expensive wine in the restaurant,’ Tilly warned him as the wine waiter, disappointed, took himself off.
Campbell shrugged. ‘I’d rather pay for it than endure a lot of poncey talk about it.’
Olivier had been a wine buff. He had spent ages perusing the wine list before every meal, and Tilly couldn’t help thinking that it would be a nice change to have a meal out that wasn’t punctuated with exhaustive lectures on grapes and vineyards and bouquets and aromas.
The wine waiter took Campbell at his word and came back almost immediately with a bottle. Evidently deciding they weren’t worth any flourishes, he opened the bottle, poured two glasses and left.
Tilly lifted her glass. ‘Here’s to you surviving your latest dangerous mission!’
‘All those giggling girls?’ Campbell’s laugh was rueful. ‘I’d rather do just about anything than face a gaggle like that again!’
‘My
