shudder at the contact. ‘We want to be absolutely sure, which is hard when we only get to see each other a few snatched times a year.’
‘Okay. I’ve got that.’
‘Excellent.’ He turned towards her. Put a finger under her chin and lifted it so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes. ‘But there’s one thing you don’t get.’
‘I knew there was a but coming,’ she said, and he would have laughed, but she was so nervous, so on edge, and he didn’t want to spook her. Not when she was so important to him tonight.
‘This one’s simple,’ he said. ‘All you have to do is relax with me.’
‘I’m perfectly relaxed,’ she said stiffly, sounding more like a prim librarian than any kind of lover.
‘Are you, when my slightest touch…’ he ran a fingertip down her arm and she shivered and shied away ‘…clearly makes you uncomfortable.’
‘It’s a dinner,’ she said, defensively. ‘Why should you need to touch me?’
‘Because any red-blooded man, especially one intending to marry you and who doesn’t get the chance to see you that often, would want to touch you every possible moment of every day.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh, indeed. You see my problem.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
Her eyes were wide and luminous and up close he could see they were neither simply green nor blue but all the myriad colours of the sea mixed together, the vibrant green where the shallow water kissed the sand, the sapphire blue of the deep water, and everything in between. And even though she was supposed to be off limits, he found himself wondering what they’d look like when she came.
‘I find practice usually makes perfect.’
She swallowed, and he followed the movement down her slender throat. ‘You want to practise touching me?’
Fascinated, his thumb found the place where the movement had disappeared, his fingers tracing her collarbone and feeling her trembling response, before sliding around her neck, drawing her closer as his eyes settled on her too-wide lips, deciding they weren’t too wide at all, but as close to perfect as they could get.
‘And I want you to practise not jumping every time I do.’
‘I…I’ll try,’ she said, a mist rolling in over her eyes, and he doubted she even realised she was already swaying into his touch.
He smiled as he tilted her chin with his other hand, his thumb stroking along the line of her jaw. ‘You see, it’s not that hard.’
She blinked, looking confused. ‘I understand. I…I’ll be fine.’
But he had no intention of ending the lesson yet.
Not when he had such a willing and biddable pupil. ‘Excellent,’ he said, tilting her chin higher, ‘and now there’s just one more thing.’
‘There is?’ she breathed.
‘Of course,’ he said, once again drawing her closer, his eyes once again on her lips. ‘We just need to get that awkward first kiss out of the way.’
SHE barely had time to gasp, barely had time to think before his lips brushed hers, so feather-light in their touch, so devastating in their impact that she trembled against him, thankful for both his solidity and his strength.
More thankful when his lips returned, this time to linger, to play about her mouth, teasing and coaxing and stealing the air from her lungs.
She heard a sound—a mewl of pleasure—and realised it had emanated from the depths of her own desperate need.
Realised she was clinging to him, her fingers anchored in his firm-fleshed shoulders.
Realised that either or both of these things had triggered something in Leo, for suddenly his kiss deepened, his mouth more punishing, and she was swept away on a wave of sensation like she’d only ever experienced once before. He was everywhere, his taste in her mouth, his hot breath on her cheek, his scent filling the air she breathed.
And the feel of his steel-like arms around her, his hard body plastered against her, was almost too much to comprehend, too much to absorb.
It was too much to think. It was enough to kiss and be kissed, to feel the probing exploration of his tongue, the invitation to tangle and dance, and accept that intimate invitation.
How many nights had she remembered the power of this kiss, remembered what it felt like to be held in Leo’s arms? It had been her secret fantasy, fuelled by one heated encounter with a stranger, but even she had not recalled this utter madness, this sheer frantic expression of need.
It was everything she’d ever dreamed of and more, that chance to recapture these feelings. And then he shifted to drop his mouth to her throat and she felt him, rock hard against her belly, and she shuddered hard against him, a shudder that intensified as he skimmed his hands up her sides and brushed peaked nipples in achingly full breasts with electric thumbs.
She groaned as his lips returned to her mouth, a feather-light kiss that lasted a fraction of a second before the air shifted and swirled cold around her and he was gone.
She opened her eyes, breathless and stunned and wondering what had just happened. ‘Excellent,’ he said thickly. ‘That should do nicely. Wait here. I’ve got something for you.’ He turned and disappeared into the other room. She slumped against the credenza behind her, put her hands to her face and tried not to think about how she’d responded to his kiss exactly like she had the first time. Drugged stupid with desire, shameless in her response to him.
Excellent? Hardly. Not when in another ten seconds he could have had her dress off. Another twenty and she would probably have ripped it off herself in desperation to save him the trouble. And all because he didn’t want her to be nervous around him! God, how was she supposed to be anything but, especially after that little performance? Had she learned nothing in the intervening years?
She’d barely managed to catch her breath when Leo returned, a tie looped loosely around his collar, a jacket over his arm, and an expression she couldn’t quite read on his face. Not the smug satisfaction she’d expected, but something that looked almost uncomfortable. When she saw the two small boxes in his hand, she thought she knew why and she didn’t feel any better.
‘Try these on,’ he said, offering the boxes to her. ‘I borrowed them for the night. Hopefully one should fit well enough.’
‘You borrowed them?’ she said, considering them warily, knowing what came in dangerous-looking little blue boxes like those. And if his words were a hint that whatever sparkly bauble she would wear on her finger wouldn’t be hers to keep, it wasn’t terribly subtle. But that wasn’t what bothered her. Rather, it was the artifice of it all, like they were gilding the lie, layering pretence upon pretence. ‘Is this strictly necessary?’
He
