bottle of Scotch, and came to refill his glass. ‘Really,’ she said, bending over him, and he was intensely aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Not that she really needed one, he conceded, imagining how she would look without the confining fabric of her dress. Which begged the thought of whether she was wearing any underwear at all, and he cradled his glass between his hands in case he was tempted to find out.
The trouble was, he had the distinct suspicion that she wouldn’t object if he did so. God, what kind of woman was she? She looked so innocent, but she was acting like a—a—–
The actual word he wanted to use escaped him. Besides, if he was completely honest with himself he would admit that apart from bringing him here she’d done nothing to incite his sexuality. Except inflame his senses, he thought impatiently. Good God, every move she made set his nerves on edge.
‘So what do you sell?’ she asked, and he breathed a little easier, as she moved back into the kitchen.
But the question still needed answering, and, taking another mouthful of Scotch, he conceived the perfect answer. ‘Oil,’ he replied, feeling pleased with himself. ‘Um—olive oil.’ That was better. ‘We import it from Greece.’ He grinned suddenly, enjoying his own joke. ‘Barrels and barrels of it.’
‘Gosh.’
She sounded really interested, and just for a moment he felt a heel. But, dammit, he didn’t know her from Adam—or Eve; he grimaced. And after this evening there was every chance that he’d never see her again.
The apartment was getting warm now, and looking round he decided it wasn’t as ugly as he had at first thought. The lamps cast a mellow shadow over the worn patches in the carpet, and even the picture of the oriental lady over the fireplace had taken on a hazy luminescence.
Taking off his jacket, he laid it over the back of the sofa, and lounged a little lower on the cushions. It was really rather pleasant, he thought, sitting here, talking to a beautiful woman, smelling the scent of the pizza sizzling in the oven. He relaxed, savouring the flavour of the whisky. He didn’t know why he had been apprehensive.
And, almost inevitably, it seemed, his eyes were drawn back to Elizabeth. He liked watching her. He liked the way she moved. And he liked the way the light reflected off her hair. She looked both innocent and knowing, and he was growing less and less immune to her undoubted sensuality.
He swallowed more of the Chivas, and lifted his foot to rest his ankle across his knee. Think of something else, he ordered himself, resisting the urge to look at her again, but the awareness of her nearness was causing his blood to thicken. It throbbed in his head, with an urgency that brought an actual physical ache, but the core of that ache was centred somewhere else entirely.
‘Have some more whisky,’ she murmured, and he realised she had left the kitchen and was standing beside the couch. Her hand was outstretched, on the point of pouring more of the potent spirit into his glass, and only his swift withdrawal prevented her from achieving her objective.
‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ he demanded harshly, as his brain struggled to come to terms with what was happening. What did she want of him? Why had she brought him here?
She smiled then, setting the whisky aside, and sitting down on the couch beside him. As she did so, she allowed her body to slide against him, and Alex felt the jolt of that contact firing every nerve he possessed.
‘Would you mind if I were?’ she asked, and it took Alex a moment to comprehend what she was talking about.
‘That depends why you’re doing it,’ he said, his eyes drawn to the moistness of her lower lip. ‘I can’t believe it’s because you want my body. A woman like you—you wouldn’t have to get a man drunk to—–’ He broke off, his lips twisting. ‘But you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’
‘Do I?’ Her tongue appeared again. ‘Tell me. I like it when you talk dirty.’
Alex grimaced. ‘Lady, I’m not talking dirty, believe me.’
‘Thinking dirty, then,’ she amended, pressing one long finger against her lips. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking. I want to know. You do like me, don’t you?’
Alex swallowed. ‘You’re crazy!’
‘Why?’ She removed her finger from her lips and drew it down his dark-skinned cheek. ‘Because I want to know what you really think about me?’ Her eyes were wide and innocent. ‘Do you want to kiss me?’
Alex’s head felt as if it was about to explode. And not just his head, he admitted grimly. The zip of his jeans felt as if it was in danger of disintegrating, as the smouldering heat in his body spread down into the cradle of his sex.
‘That’s beside the point,’ he said stiffly, struggling to combat his rising passion. God, if she didn’t move away soon, he’d very likely lose the battle, and, aroused as he was, could he be relied on to do the right thing?
‘Is it?’ she persisted, leaning towards him, so that those glorious breasts were pressed against his arm. ‘I think that means you do. So why don’t you?’
Alex caught his breath. ‘I think I heard the microwave switch off,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t you think you ought to take a look at the pizza?’
‘I’d rather look at you,’ she responded, sliding her soft hand along his cheek. ‘Mmm, that’s rough. I bet you need to shave at least twice a day.’
‘Elizabeth—–’
‘Liz.’
‘Liz, then—–’ Her other hand was on his thigh now, cupped over the muscles that stretched above his knee. ‘Let’s not rush things, shall we?’
Her eyes darkened. ‘You don’t like me?’
He stifled an oath. ‘Of course I like you—–’
‘Well, then …’ She looked at him with those deep indigo eyes. ‘So long as we understand one another.’ One finger performed a circular movement against his leg. ‘I think we should have another drink.’
‘No.’ Alex managed to get the word out with an effort. He had drunk far too much whisky as it was. Looking down at her hand, for instance, he knew he should remove it. The trouble was his brain couldn’t formulate the message.
‘I saw you looking at me, you know,’ she murmured, and for a moment his mind was a blank. ‘At the party,’ she added, offering him illumination. ‘I saw you the minute I arrived. You’re quite—noticeable. Big—and dark—and sexy.’
Alex tried for a laugh. ‘Who? Me? With this ugly mug? I think you’ve got the wrong guy.’
‘No, I haven’t.’ She gazed at him intently. ‘You’re not ugly and you know it. I bet you’ve known a lot of women, haven’t you?’
Alex drew an uneven breath. ‘Not as many as you think.’
She frowned. ‘Are you married?’
Not any more. ‘No.’
‘That’s good.’ She seemed to breathe a little more easily, and he wondered why it mattered to her. If she was
