smiled. She couldn’t have looked more shocked if he had poked her with a cattle prod. He held out his hand, his thumb still tingling from the subtle contact. ‘You want to give me the helmet? I’ll stick it on the bike.’
She glanced at the helmet, as if she’d forgotten it. She relaxed her hold, and those amazing violet eyes met his again. ‘Thank you,’ she said, passing it to him.
He walked the few steps to the bike and fixed it to the handlebar.
‘Sorry,’ she said again when he turned back to her. ‘I talk too much.’ She looked away. ‘I just…’ Even white teeth worried her bottom lip and he imagined nipping at the plump flesh and then gliding his tongue across to lick it better. ‘I read an article about the bridge’s construction in the in-flight magazine. It was fascinating.’
‘It’s a cool bridge,’ he agreed, letting his gaze linger on her lips. Her bottom lip trembled and then her tongue flicked out to moisten it. The answering jolt of heat hit his groin like an Exocet missile.
His eyes locked on hers as he let out a strained laugh. ‘But right now, I’m finding you a lot more fascinating.’
‘I…’ Eva clamped her mouth shut, before she swallowed her tongue. Or, worse, started spewing loads more twaddle about the Golden Gate Bridge like an overzealous tour guide.
His eyes took another leisurely trip down to her toes and she clasped her arms harder around her midriff, the worn leather of his jacket offering very little protection from the zip and zing of awareness.
Ever since he’d brushed his finger across her nape, she felt as if she’d been wired up to a nuclear reactor. And everywhere his gaze wandered felt as if it were being zapped with several billion kilowatts of energy.
She’d always adored reading about the instant overpowering sexual chemistry between the bold heroines and the impossibly masculine heroes in her favourite romances. But she’d never believed it actually existed in real life. Had simply assumed it was as fictional as all the hyper-real emotions and lavish derring-do. After all, none of her kind and conscientious male colleagues, or Phil, the chess club president she’d dated briefly in college without getting past second base, had ever made her giddy. Her physical reaction to Nick Delisantro, however, was forcing her to reconsider, because it felt every bit as out of control and extraordinary as the most fantastical romantic fantasy.
All this man had to do was look at her, his heavy-lidded eyes dark with erotic promise and warmth flooded every single cell of her body. The skin of her nape was still tingling from the barely there brush of his fingertip, for goodness sake.
She let out a shuddering sigh as she curled her toes in the ankle-breaking heels, forcing herself to meet his gaze. ‘You must be easily fascinated.’
He cocked his head, observing her with nerve-racking intensity. ‘Not true.’ His lips quirked. ‘If you knew me better, you’d know I’m next to impossible to fascinate.’
She pushed out a little laugh, guilty knowledge tying her stomach in knots. She wondered how fascinated he would be if he knew the truth. That underneath the glamorous camouflage of Tess’s designer dress lurked dull and dependable Eva Redmond?
‘I do know who you are,’ she said, quelling the dreadful stab of disappointment. ‘Our meeting tonight wasn’t an accident. I’ve been trying to contact you for over three weeks to make an appointment with you.’ The twist of curiosity on his lips died. ‘I went to that gallery opening tonight because it’s imperative that I speak to you about—’
He touched his finger to her mouth, silencing her confession. ‘Shh.’ To her amazement his lips curved in a wry smile. ‘I get it.’ He shrugged. ‘If all you want is an appointment, we can meet at my agent’s office tomorrow afternoon.’ His hand fell away and he shoved it back in his pocket.
She stared at him, astonished, not only that he was taking her deception so well, but that he seemed to have been expecting it. Then the greasy knots of tension dissolved and she grinned, giddy with relief. He knew who she was. He knew why she was here. He must have recognised her name after all from all the messages she’d left with his agent and his publicist.
‘If, on the other hand, you want more,’ he continued, and giddy relief turned to giddy shock, ‘then I’m happy to explore how much more. Tonight.’ His rough palm cupped her cheek, the husky tone of voice making the erotic intent unmistakeable. ‘But whatever we do tonight has no bearing on what happens tomorrow. I don’t do favours for sex.’ The light tone made the implication that she might have been suggesting such a thing seem amusing rather than insulting. ‘Even really good sex.’
‘What if it’s not really good sex?’ she asked, the question popping out before she could stop it.
His brows flew up and he choked out a laugh. A hot flush fired into her cheeks.
Good grief, Eva, shut up. It’s not like you’re actually going to take him up on his offer.
But then he brushed the callused skin of his thumb across her bottom lip. And every single reason why she couldn’t possibly allow herself to be seduced by a man as dangerous as Nick Delisantro flew right out of her head.
‘Why don’t you let me worry about that?’ he murmured.
She sucked in a breath, the throb of heat between her thighs painful.
Kiss me.
The words echoed in her mind. But his gaze flared, as if he had heard her plea and he leaned close, surrounding her in his spicy scent, then pressed firm lips to hers. She let out a staggered breath, the contact as unexpected as having the silent yearning instantly fulfilled.
His tongue traced her bottom lip then explored in expert strokes, his hand capturing her head. She opened her mouth to let him in, her palms flattening against his chest, fingers clutching at the soft wool of his sweater as heat sizzled across her skin. Her tongue delved back, timid at first, then growing in confidence, coaxed into action by the warm, wet skill of his lips, his tongue.
The kiss seemed to go on for an eternity, and yet ended too soon.
He lifted his head, those golden eyes locked on hers. Her breathing rasped, her heartbeat hammered, the frantic pounding drowning out the distant hum of passing traffic, the keening cry of a bird of prey.
‘You taste good,’ he said, before nipping at her bottom lip.
‘So do you,’ she replied, mesmerised.
A drop of water splashed on her cheek and she jumped.
‘Damn,’ he cursed softly, brushing the rain off her cheekbone with his thumb. He held his palm up to the sky. ‘We better take this indoors. It’s about to rain.’ His eyes took on a feral gleam in the dark. ‘You want to come back to mine?’
She knew what he was asking, knew what would happen if she took him up on the bold invitation. And knew at every other time in her life before now she would have refused. But the rebellious instinct that had made her climb on his bike and made her hoot for joy as they crossed the bridge geysered up inside her again, like a volcano of need forced to be dormant for far too long. And the refusal got stuck somewhere around her solar plexus.
Tomorrow she would meet him at his agent’s office, give him the details of his inheritance and arrange his first contact with the
