‘YOU’RE so lucky living here,’ Tricia Sheridan remarked enviously as they sat at the dinner table later. ‘Tell me—Matt.’ She gave a coy little smile to cover her audacity, and then continued, ‘What do you do with yourself all day?’
Matthew couldn’t make up his mind about that. But, after all, his pen-name was Mallory Aitken. It was possible she’d never seen his picture on the back of one of his books. He’d just got so accustomed to people using his writing as a lever that he’d become rather cynical.
‘Oh—this and that,’ he volunteered now, his eyes drifting irresistibly across the candlelit table. They’d seated Lucas beside Helen, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. And Helen didn’t look as anxious as she’d done when she first appeared.
He wondered what Lucas was saying to her, and then chided himself for even caring. It wasn’t as if he intended to see any of them again. His initial reluctance to get involved with these people had probably been right. For all Helen had offered some kind of an apology, he still had the feeling he should quit while he was ahead.
‘What kind of this and that?’ Tricia persisted, and Matthew wondered if it was possible to escape these proceedings without telling the truth. The last thing he needed was spurious congratulation, but before he could make a comment Fleur intervened.
‘Haven’t you heard of Mallory Aitken?’ she exclaimed, and Matthew knew it was a measure of her annoyance at being ignored that had caused her to speak so caustically. Besides which, she had always denigrated his success before, declaring that his novels were little more than fantasy. But, ‘Good heavens,’ she added now, ‘I thought everyone had read at least one of Mart’s thrillers. They sell in their millions. Isn’t that right, darling?’
Matthew managed to disguise his frustration, and gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. ‘They sell,’ he agreed mildly, realising it had been a bigger mistake than he’d thought bringing Fleur here. And, dammit, if he hadn’t been so bloody curious about the nursemaid, he’d have had the sense to see it.
‘Don’t be modest, darling,’ Fleur protested, her shrill laugh drawing the attention of everyone at the table. ‘I’m sure Lucas has been telling Ellen how lucky he was to land this assignment. He was just Matt’s sound technician, you know, when Matt worked for the ITC.’
Ellen? Matthew’s mouth drew down, and glancing at the young woman in question he glimpsed a look of anguish on her face. But why? What had Fleur said to upset her? Surely getting her name wrong wasn’t a reason for such distress?
‘I say, how exciting!’ Andrew Sheridan joined the discussion before his wife could voice her reaction. ‘Mallory Aitken, eh?’ His eyebrows arched. ‘What did you say you’d written, old man?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Matthew, hearing the tightness in his voice and controlling his temper with difficulty. ‘I’m afraid my sister-in-law exaggerates. D’you mind if we change the subject?’
‘Oh, but you must tell me what you’re working on at the moment,’ Tricia enthused eagerly, apparently deciding that he didn’t mean her, and Matthew sighed.
‘I never discuss my work,’ he told her flatly, lifting his wine-glass and surveying her over the rim. ‘Tell me, Mrs Sheridan, when did you say you were leaving?’
‘Leaving?’
For a moment she looked totally nonplussed, and Matthew felt an uncharacteristic surge of satisfaction at the thought. It wasn’t his nature to be deliberately malicious—except with Fleur, he qualified bleakly—but he didn’t like these people, and he didn’t care if it showed.
‘I thought Lucas said Tricia and Andrew had just got here.’ Once again Fleur took the initiative, and in avoiding her gaze Matthew looked straight across the table into Helen’s pale face. Her expression was guarded, he thought, though vaguely apprehensive, and he wondered what she was thinking as he forced her to meet his eyes.
‘Did he?’
Matthew said the words carelessly, responding to his sister-in-law without deviating from his course. It irked him when Helen looked away, and he was in no mood to be polite.
‘I expect I forgot,’ he remarked now, putting his wineglass down on the table. ‘Time goes so quickly when you’re enjoying yourself.’
It wasn’t a compliment, and no one could have mistaken it for one, but Maria’s reappearance to collect the empty plates provided a welcome diversion. What had he eaten? Matthew wondered as the plates were taken away. Asparagus, he thought, and then chicken. What was the matter with him tonight? He didn’t normally feel so aggressive—even with Fleur.
‘Anyway, we’re here for a month,’ Tricia declared at last, evidently deciding not to take offence. ‘I suppose you know Laurie Parrish, don’t you? The man who owns this villa. He’s a colleague of my husband’s at the Foreign Office.’
‘I’ve met him,’ said Matthew evenly, wondering if he was supposed to be impressed. ‘But we don’t do a lot of socialising in the usual way. Lucas and I—we live a fairly hermit-like existence.’
‘Really?’
Tricia exchanged a glance with her husband, and Matthew could almost feel what she was thinking about that. Well, let her, he thought wearily. He had nothing to lose. And it might keep the Sheridans off his back.
‘Oh, I’m sure now that I’m here we can change all that,’ Fleur put in insistently, determinedly undermining his intent. ‘You must excuse my brother-in-law, Tricia. I can tell you from experience, his bark’s much worse than his bite.’
Matthew’s jaw compressed, but he didn’t attempt an answer. Instead, meeting his assistant’s eyes, he allowed a silent acknowledgement of Lucas’s caution. But it was no stretch of his abilities to shift his eyes to Helen, and although he scorned his motives he couldn’t help himself.
With the meal over, the Sheridans invited their guests to take coffee seated in the lounge chairs that had been circled on the opposite side of the patio. It gave Matthew an opportunity to escape Fleur’s cloying presence, and, not risking another altercation, he removed himself from danger by sitting on the steps of the veranda. He knew Fleur wouldn’t join him there, being far too afraid of ants and other crawling insects, and, eschewing anything but a brandy, he stared broodingly towards the starlit horizon.
‘Is anything wrong?’
Lucas’s enquiry disturbed his reverie, and looking up he found his assistant and the young woman who was causing him so much self-analysis standing looking down at him. He had the distinct impression that she wasn’t there through choice, but Lucas was evidently immune to her feelings. Besides, why should he suspect that there was anything more than a casual encounter between them? Hell, there was nothing more than a casual encounter between them, Matthew told himself savagely. It infuriated him that he should even have thought it was anything else.
‘What could be wrong?’ he queried now, gripping the post and hoisting himself to his feet. His smile was thin. ‘I’m having an absolutely— spiffing—time.’
‘Matt!’
Aware of Helen beside him, Lucas was justifiably embarrassed, and Matthew allowed his narrowed gaze to encompass her taut features. ‘Are you enjoying yourself,
Miss—? Oh, I’m sorry, but you never did tell me your name.’
‘It’s—Gr—Graham,’ she stammered hurriedly, and then glanced behind her, as if she half expected someone to come and contradict her. ‘And—yes. Your—er—that is, Lucas—he’s been telling me about some of the dangerous places where he’s worked.’
‘Really?’ Matthew’s mocking eyes turned back to his assistant. ‘None more dangerous than here, eh, Luke?’
‘What is it with you, Matt?’ Lucas was looking angry now, and, realising he was in danger of alienating the one person in this group who cared anything about him, Matthew lifted his shoulders in a placating gesture.
‘I guess my liver is just objecting to the abnormally-rich diet,’ he commented ambiguously, and had the doubtful privilege of noting their individual reactions. Helen just looked confused, but Lucas had caught the innuendo.
‘You were the one who said we couldn’t neglect Fleur while she was here,’ he reminded him drily, and Matthew gave a rueful grin.
‘Yeah, I did, didn’t I?’ he conceded, noticing almost in passing that Helen’s face had grown taut. What had he said? he wondered. Was it his imagination, or had it been the mention of Fleur that had caused her to freeze up suddenly? She couldn’t be jealous, could she? There was only one way to find out. ‘I’m afraid my sister-in-law can be a little irritating at times, Miss—er—Graham,’ he added. ‘Let me apologise on her behalf.’
Helen swallowed. He could see the sudden contraction of her throat, and, although it had not been his intention to remind himself of his own unwilling reaction to her, he couldn’t help watching that slender column, or prevent his gaze from moving to the slight trace of cleavage revealed by the neckline of her dress.
She had small breasts, he observed obliquely. Small, but perfectly formed. Their retrousse peaks pushed rather too obviously against the cloth, and he felt himself hardening totally against his will.
God, he thought incredulously, was he so desperate for a woman that even the sight of an engorged nipple could push him over the brink? She was cold, perhaps, or apprehensive—though only the lord knew why. Certainly she’d given him no reason for behaving like a callow youth. For all her controlled indifference, he still sensed that she didn’t like him at all.
In consequence, when she asked coldly, ‘What are you talking about?’ he knew an overwhelming urge to run a protective hand over his zip. He had no desire for her to know that she had disturbed him, whatever her real feelings might be.
It took an effort, but his response sounded reasonably cool, to his ears at least. ‘Fleur called you Ellen,’ he reminded her pleasantly. ‘I’m afraid my sister-in-law only listens to what she wants to hear. It’s a little foible of hers. You must forgive her. Since my brother died, I’ve noticed it more and more.’
There was an irony there, but obviously Helen didn’t detect it. ‘I’ll never—’ she began vehemently, and then, as if some inner restraint had kicked into gear, she faltered. ‘That is—I mean—’ She looked at both men with sudden apprehension. ‘I—never noticed,’ she amended herself hurriedly. ‘If—if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go and check on the children.’
She walked swiftly away, the skirt of her long dress flapping about her ankles. Matthew also observed the involuntary sway of her hips, and the unknowingly sensuous curve of buttock and thigh. Something he was not alone in approving, he sensed impatiently, finding Lucas’s attention almost as objectionable as Fleur’s at that moment.
‘She doesn’t like you, does she?’ his assistant remarked drily, after Helen had disappeared through the French windows. ‘I wish I hadn’t felt sorry for you now. She and I were getting along rather well.’
‘Were you?’
It was a distinct effort for Matthew to be civil, and Lucas, misunderstanding the reason for his employer’s attitude, pulled a rueful face. ‘Yes, we were,’ he said earnestly. ‘And, you must admit, you didn’t look very happy. I guess Fleur has been getting to you, huh?’
Matthew scowled. ‘I can handle Fleur,’ he declared, finishing the brandy in his glass and regarding its base dourly. ‘And I don’t need you to feel sorry for me either. I can get along without your girlfriend’s approval, believe it or not.’
Lucas made a careless movement of his shoulders. ‘She’s not my girlfriend, Matt, and you know it.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘Not yet, anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose there’s much point in getting involved with her; they’re only here for a month. But I do find her damn attractive. Did you know, she’s only been the Sheridans’ nanny for the last three months?’
‘Really?’
Matthew managed to sound totally uninterested, but Lucas evidently didn’t notice. ‘Yes. Apparently, her father died six or seven months ago, leaving her virtually penniless. Whatever you think of Mrs Sheridan, at least she offered Helen a job.’
‘How kind.’
Matthew’s tone was sardonic, but inwardly he couldn’t help wondering how a girl of her background should have wound up playing nursemaid for the Sheridans. Hadn’t her father had any insurance? If he’d had a daughter like Helen, he’d have made damn sure she wouldn’t be penniless when he died. He frowned. What the hell, it wasn’t anything to do with him. When this unholy gathering was over, he’d make sure he never saw any of them again…
‘Matt…’
Fleur’s petulant voice sounded in his ear, and he turned to find her coming towards them. He hoped she was bored, that she was going to ask if they could leave, but her first words were the opposite of what he wanted to hear.
‘Matt, darling, Drew—Andrew, that is—has suggested we have a rubber of bridge. It’s years since I’ve played, but you never forget the rules. Come and be my partner. I’m sure Lucas and Ellen won’t mind.’
‘Her name’s Helen,’ said Matthew grimly, before he could prevent himself, but Fleur wasn’t interested in anyone’s identity but her own.
‘Ellen, Helen—what does it matter?’ she exclaimed impatiently. ‘She seems hopelessly out of her depth, from the little I could see.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Lucas fiercely, but Matthew found he didn’t want the younger man getting involved in this discussion.
‘Whatever,’ he said, ‘it’s impolite not to remember someone’s name. If you start making those kinds of mistakes, Fleur, people will think you’re getting old.’
Fleur’s lips tightened. ‘You can be a real pain sometimes, Matt, do you know that?’
‘I’m also not interested in playing cards,’ he averred. ‘Find yourself another partner, Fleur. I’m thinking of making my escape.’
Fleur gasped. ‘But you can’t.’
‘Why can’t I?’
‘Because—well, because, to use your word, it would be impolite.’ Fleur turned to Lucas. ‘You know I’m right, don’t you?’
Lucas hesitated. ‘Well—’
‘Then why don’t you take my place?’ suggested Matthew mockingly. ‘I’m sure you’d be much better at it than me. I’ll just help myself to another brandy.’
‘Matt!’
‘Oh, Matt!’
It was difficult to decide which of them sounded the most put out, Matthew thought wryly, sauntering away. But, hell, he’d done his good deed for the day by bringing Fleur here. He wasn’t in the mood to jump through hoops, whoever was pulling the strings.
In the event, it was a fairly bloodless victory. Lucas was too polite to turn Fleur down, and the Sheridans were the kind of people who didn’t question the motives of their guests. Besides, listening to Fleur explain that Matthew wasn’t feeling up to it was interesting. It made him wonder what other lies she’d told without turning a hair.
He supposed he did feel a little guilty about Lucas, but he wouldn’t admit that Luke had annoyed him, too. Dammit, what did he care if the other man made it with the nursemaid? Fleur was probably right; Helen acted as if she was only here on sufferance.
The card players went into the dining-room for their game. Candlelight was all very well, but it wasn’t strong enough to play by, and besides, the breeze was apt to lift the cards from the table. It suited Matthew. It meant Fleur’s flirtatious giggle was muted. It also meant he could avoid Lucas’s patient face.
Depositing his glass on the tray, he abandoned any thought of pouring himself another drink and crossed the patio. Beyond the low stone wall that formed the boundary of the garden he could hear the gentle murmur of the ocean. Although there was no moonlight to speak of, the lights from the patio illuminated a portion of the beach, and as his eyes became adjusted he could see the curling tide.
It was odd to think that he had never seen the ocean from this angle. Usually he saw the villa from the shoreline, and he remembered the sensation he’d had of being watched. That was how he’d known the villa was occupied. Though he hadn’t known by whom until Fleur arrived.
Stepping down on to the softer sand that had drifted against the boundary wall, Matthew kicked off his leather loafers. It was one of the advantages of living in a hot climate that he didn’t have to wear socks, and the coral grains were pleasantly cool between his toes.
Tying the laces of his shoes together, he looped them around his neck and walked lazily towards the water. Soon he had left the softer going behind, and the damp sand, compacted by the ocean, was firm beneath his feet. When he’d first come here, he had often used to bathe by moonlight. The idea of being able to swim as nature intended had been a novelty. But these days he generally confined himself to the simpler delights of the pool.
All the same, there was still something rather appealing about stripping off his clothes and wading naked into the waves. It would certainly ease his frustration, he thought wryly. A good cold shower was just what he needed.
Which was ridiculous, he had to admit. It wasn’t as if the Graham woman was particularly attractive, after all. Oh, she was tall and slim, and she had nice eyes—but so what? That description could apply to a dozen other women of his acquaintance, and none of them disturbed his concentration.
The water seeped around his toes as he stood there, and he knew he should roll the cuffs of his trousers up. But what the hell? he mused with some impatience. It wasn’t as if he cared what anyone else thought.
And then he saw her.
She was coming out of the sea, perhaps fifty yards further along the beach, and for a moment he half believed that his thoughts had conjured her up. In that first, gut-wrenching awareness he thought that she was naked. And then, as he gazed like some dumbstruck youth, he realised that her dress was plastered to her body.
But she had been in the sea, that much was obvious, and, like him, she apparently hadn’t cared what happened to her clothes. The skirt of the thin garment was sodden, and she bent to squcczc the hem as she stepped on to the damp sand.
Matthew swallowed, his breath escaping in short, uneven bursts. God, there was something almost—pagan—about her. Had she any idea he was watching her? Or was she totally immune to his eyes?
In a minute she’d be gone, and because this whole scene had all the unreality of a dream, Matthew found himself moving towards her. Perhaps he was imagining it; perhaps she wasn’t really there. She was certainly the stuff of fantasy as she rubbed those long, sexy legs.
His greeting caught her unawares; he knew that immediately. But at least she was all too disturbingly human as she turned her head towards him. Despite the poor light, he was instantly aware that she was no fantasy. Her warmth, her breath, her nearness assaulted his senses. He wanted to reach out and touch her to prove she knew it, too.
Of course, he didn’t do any such thing. But he couldn’t prevent his eyes from making a swift inventory of her body. Her breasts were far too provocative in profile, and the folds of her dress, clinging to her hips and thighs, were almost more erotic than if she’d been completely naked.
The shadows they created at knee and groin tormented him. He wanted to peel away the fabric and expose the flesh beneath. He wanted to put his hand between her legs, and feel her sweetness. He wanted to feel her close about him and lose all control…
‘What do you want?’ she asked, arresting his descent into madness, and Matthew forced his brain to function over the dictates of his sex. ‘I thought you were playing cards,’ she added, crossing her arms about her waist almost protectively.
‘Well, as you can see, I’m not,’ said Matthew evenly, relieved to find that his voice was only marginally affected by his mood. ‘Tell me—’ he endeavoured to strike a casual tone ‘—do you usually go swimming fully clothed?’
He thought she might have flushed, but the darkness revealed nothing but a faint glimmer in her eyes. ‘Not usually,’ she replied tightly. ‘I was—hot, that’s all. And I didn’t want to disturb the children by getting changed.’
Matthew’s mouth turned down. ‘I thought you said you were going to check on them,’ he reminded her smoothly, and she straightened her spine.
‘I was. I did. But—they were restless.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘I expect they could hear the strange voices. The villa’s walls are quite thin.’
‘Mmm.’ Matthew doubted that had been her motive, but it wasn’t worth arguing over. ‘It’s funny,’ he said, ‘I was just thinking of doing the same thing. Oh—not plunging in with all my clothes on. But taking a swim.’
Helen’s eyes widened. ‘Here?’
She sounded quite appalled, and Matthew took his cue. ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘You’ve obviously enjoyed it.’ He hesitated only a second before flicking the curve of one alluring breast with his finger. ‘Was it cold? Is that why…?’
His meaning was obvious, and he could tell by the way her eyes sparked that she resented his familiarity. ‘Why don’t you find out?’ she demanded, swinging round on him unexpectedly, and before he could guess her intentions she’d thrust both hands at his chest.
She was quite strong, he thought, but it wasn’t her strength that defeated him. The element of surprise was what caused his downfall. That and a sudden depression of sand beneath his heel.
He tried to regain his balance, but the tide was working in her favour. The undertow sucked away his footing, and with an almighty splash he floundered on to his back.
God, it was cold—or perhaps he had just been incredibly hot. Whatever, the shock of it drove the breath from his lungs, and left him gasping for air. Like some wallowing sea creature, he struggled to regain stability, splashing about and soaking himself with every move he made.
It was her laughter that provoked him into action. Peal after peal of it broke over him as she stood there, apparently forgetting how vulnerable she was. It was as if she thought his position was irretrievable, and only when he scrambled to his feet did she take off.
But she was too late—too late and too slow, and hampered by the soaking folds of her skirt. Matthew’s trousers were much less cumbersome, his legs much swifter. He lunged for her ankle without compunction, and wrestled her to the sand.
She was breathless, as much from the laughter his plight had evoked as from her belated sprint across the beach. She fell, a helpless victim to his superior strength, still choking on convulsive giggles as he rolled her on to her back.
‘Beast,’ she exclaimed, but it came out as a stutter as she tried frantically to crawl away from his hands. Thankfully, the sand was damp, or they’d have both been covered in it, and it squelched beneath his knees as he brought her down.
She was twisting and turning so much that he had to use his weight to subdue her. Even so, she wriggled increasingly under him, trying to draw up her knee between his legs. In the end, he forced her legs apart and lay between them, suffering the jab of her heels against his thighs.
‘You didn’t honestly expect to get away with it, did you?’ he demanded, imprisoning her wrists above her head with one hand, and forcing her to look at him with the other. ‘Dammit, what am I going to tell the others when I get back there? They’re going to think I’m crazy or something worse.’
They were nearer the terrace now, and the faint illumination spilling from the lanterns caught the fleeting look of withdrawal in her eyes. But it was only a momentary aberration before she answered him. ‘You should have thought of that before you made a pass at me,’ she retorted. ‘Now, will you get off me, you neolithic brute? It’s not my fault if you’ve got some awkward explanations to make.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Matthew made the obvious rejoinder, but he found he was enjoying himself too much to let her go. Beneath his chest her heart was pounding frantically, and a hot surge of awareness was pooling in his groin. His voice thickened. ‘Who else’s?’
‘It’s your own fault,’ she panted, his weight causing a constriction in her lungs. ‘But don’t worry. I’m sure your—your sister-in-law will believe you. She’s sure to think it was me if you play nice.’
Matthew’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’
Her reply was swift, but he had the impression she’d said more than she intended. Dammit, she couldn’t be jealous of Fleur, could she? The implications of that possibility made his head swim.
He looked down at her suddenly, and the eyes that had been wide and imploring a moment ago were quickly veiled. Long lashes, several shades darker than her hair, made a dusky fringe against her cheeks, and for the first time he noticed the tinge of darkness that created a revealing shadow beneath their rims.
Either the children were keeping her awake, or she wasn’t sleeping well for some reason, he decided. There was exhaustion in her pallor, and he wanted to know why. But, for the moment, he was selfish enough to put a hold on his compassion. Holding her like this, feeling her move against him, inspired thoughts of a totally different nature. He still wanted to comfort her, but in a very different way.
‘You don’t have to be jealous of Fleur,’ he said, releasing her wrists to cup her face. ‘She won’t be staying long.’
Her outrage was evident in the violent thrust she made against him, but this time she didn’t have a hope in hell of succeeding, he reflected smugly. Her anger only made him even more determined; her frustration made him settle even more surely against her. If she did but know it, she was exciting him by her actions. He could already feel the ache of longing between his legs.
‘I don’t give a damn how long that woman is staying,’ she seethed, but her denial turned to a muffled moan beneath his lips. Giving in to the desire to taste her, his mouth cut off her angry protest, and although she fought his possession she couldn’t win.
Groaning his satisfaction, Matthew moved over her, subduing her flailing hands without too much effort. She tried to clench her lips together, but he wouldn’t let her, and his tongue entwined with hers in an intimate dance.
He knew the moment when she stopped resisting him. Until then, despite his efforts, it had been a fairly onesided affair. Her eyes were open and she stared at him in accusation. The sounds she uttered were protests that he ignored.
But suddenly, as if in spite of herself he’d touched some vulnerable chord inside her, she gave in. Almost innocently, it seemed, she surrendered to the sensual brush of his tongue. Her lips parted to allow his hot invasion; when his tongue seared across hers she met its fire with her own.
Her hands, which had been balled against her sides, slid into his hair now. Her nails raked his scalp as he deepened the kiss. She was heat and light and fire, and his blood responded, thickening to a throbbing mass as she arched beneath his thighs.
Did she know what she was doing? he wondered unsteadily, finding it difficult to think coherently with her passion beneath his hands. She was more, so much more than he had ever expected, and his own senses were reeling in eager response.
Her small breasts thrust against his chest, unbearably provocative in his present state of arousal. The wetness of their clothes was creating an urgent friction, and when he released her mouth to take a breath, his eyes dropped to the sensuous suction of their bodies.
He wanted to tear her clothes from her, he thought crazily. He wanted to strip off his own shirt and trousers, and warm her with his heat. But, for all his whirling senses, he knew they were far too close to the villa to allow such madness. He contented himself with lowering his head, and suckling her through the cloth.
Fire shot through him as he took that pert nipple between his lips. For all that its dusky peak was hidden beneath her dress, it tasted like the sweetest kind of heaven. Thrusting, throbbing, it surged into his mouth, and, forgetting what he’d thought a moment before, he gave in to his instincts and unbuttoned her bodice.
Her breasts looked every bit as delicious as they had tasted. Tight and swollen, their pointed fullness tipped towards his mouth, and he took a moment to enjoy their provocation. His own body throbbed in anticipation, and he wondered if she could feel his urgent response. Between his legs his sex was aching, straining for a satisfaction she could give him.
He didn’t delay any longer. Although her eyes had barely fluttered when he drew back from her, he was afraid she might suddenly change her mind. But when he took the knotted curve of her breast into his mouth, she barely shuddered. The sigh of contentment that escaped her was an involuntary admission.
Matthew groaned then, low in his throat, the sounds she was making intensifying his need. He wanted her, he thought shakenly. God, he wanted her so much it hurt. He was harder than he’d ever thought possible, and he couldn’t hold out much longer.
Her hands slid inside his collar, cool against his spine. Small palms massaged his shoulders, peeling the shirt away from him, as she nuzzled his throat with her tongue. She was tasting him, he thought weakly, feeling that sensuous wetness against his skin. She must know how he was feeling. God, he was perilously near the brink.
A feeling of reckless hunger swept over him. Images of how slick and tight her womanly sheath would be filled his head. He could imagine the fulfilling sweetness of his possession. He could imagine burying himself deep inside her, stretching her to the limits, taking her with him to the mindless heights of oblivion…
Reason reasserted itself. It was lust, he told himself savagely, suppressing the urge to slide his hand up her thigh and discover her arousal for himself. The musky scent of her body and his was all around them, and he wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t wanted what she could give. It was a long time since he had been with a woman—any woman—and he was horny. He needed the act, but not the complications. Seducing the Sheridans’ nanny wouldn’t just be foolish, it would be mad.
Yet, when she gripped his neck and brought his mouth back to hers, temptation hovered. His blood felt like liquid fire in his veins. The feel of her toes, caressing now, was almost driving him crazy, but with a muffled oath he let her go, and got unsteadily to his feet.