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THE HEAT IN JACE’S eyes sent tingles all the way through Sandi’s already warm body.
She wasn’t drunk—she was making sure to have a glass of water for every one of wine she imbibed—but she felt a little lightheaded and dizzy, her racing pulse making her chest heave with every large breath.
It was just the dancing, because she was so unfit, and the fact that the temperature hadn’t dropped at all. And evening was so beautiful, from the ribbons and the fairy lights of the grotto-like restaurant, to the jewel colors of the ocean, turned ruby and amethyst and topaz in the setting sun.
But she was kidding herself, wasn’t she? Her pounding heart had nothing to do with the weather or the surroundings. They were just a backdrop for the drama playing out on the stage—the magic developing between her and Jace.
She might not have had lots of partners, but neither was she an innocent virgin. She knew when a man liked and desired her, and she’d never felt it as strongly as she did looking into the eyes of the man sitting beside her.
No, she was no idiot, and she had to keep her wits about her. He was lusting after her, that was all. There was nothing wrong with that—it was the perfectly ordinary reaction between two youngish, healthy people, and provided that everyone knew where they stood, everything would be okay.
She took a few swallows from a glass of iced water. “It’s so warm this evening.”
“I know. Aren’t the cicadas loud?”
“We don’t have them in England,” she admitted. “They sound so exotic to me.”
“You have grasshoppers though,” he pointed out. “They sing in the summer, don’t they?”
“Not like this. It’s a lovely sound.”
He looked out toward the vineyard, giving her a view of his profile—his straight nose, firm mouth, his strong jaw, the stubble beginning to show through. That would scratch her thighs if he wasn’t careful.
She blinked. Maybe she’d had more to drink than she thought.
“They only live up to fifty days,” he said. He had such a lovely deep voice, like Nat King Cole’s, all honey and treacle, smooth and mellow.
“That makes me sad,” she said somewhat wistfully.
“Nah.” He had a mouthful of whisky. “What a life that would be! Fifty days and then you’re done. I’d like that.”
She smiled. “What would you do if you had only fifty days, then?”
“Leave work. Buy a boat. Sail out to the Pacific Islands somewhere, find a tiny desert island, and watch the sun rise and set.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she said honestly. “What would you take with you?”
“A crate of whisky bottles.”
“Should be rum, shouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, but I got drunk on rum and Coke as a teenager and I can’t go near the stuff now.” He grinned.
She smiled at the thought of him as a teen, all elbows and knees and swagger. Every girl for miles would have been writing his name on her school books.
“What else would you take with you?” she asked. “Music?”
“I wouldn’t want my phone. I’d leave that behind. I’d take an old-fashioned record player with some vinyl—some rock, some classical, depending on my mood.”
“And books?”
“Well, Robinson Crusoe, obviously.”
She laughed. “What else? Shakespeare?”
“I don’t mind the bard, but I’d take an atlas.”
“An atlas?”
“Yeah. And a book about space. I want to know more about the stars.” He tipped back his head and looked up. She followed his gaze and saw the constellations beginning to pop out against the darkening sky.
“All right,” she said softly, “so, whisky bottles, a record player, and an atlas. But why not your phone? Wouldn’t you want to keep in touch with loved ones?”
His smile faded, and eyes remained distant, focused on the twinkling pinpricks so far away. “No,” was all he said.
Once again, a mysterious answer about his family. She was intrigued. He was hiding something, but she had no right to ask him, not when she was keeping her own cards close to her chest.
It was none of her business, anyway. Tonight was a time out of time, an escape. It wasn’t an evening for heartfelt conversation and the telling of secrets. It was an evening for exchanging fantasies and whispering erotic thoughts in the darkness.
“So there’s no lovely lady back in Auckland whom you’d be texting from under the palm tree?” She kept her voice light, showing him she was teasing him.
His gaze came back to her then, amused. “I wouldn’t be chatting you up tonight if there was.”
“It wouldn’t stop some men.”
“I’m not your average guy,” he said.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
His eyelids lowered to half mast, and his sultry gaze slid down her. He was enjoying this gradual slide into flirting. He knew he’d gotten to her, had wooed her, if that was the right word, or seduced her, until she’d realized it was pointless to try to refuse him. Only hours before, she’d been convinced she never wanted a man within an inch of her again. But that was before Jace had danced with her, had looked into her eyes with desire that had melted her insides until she was as gooey as a chocolate caramel. She wanted him—they both knew it, and she knew how the evening was likely to end, if she carried on like this.
She’d never had a one-night stand. All her relationships had developed after weeks, if not months, of dating, progressing slowly into intimacy. But then she’d never felt this immediate white-hot heat before, not even for Brodie—this overwhelming physical desire for a man who was still very much a stranger.
Maybe that was why it was so exciting, and why she was even considering it—because they were still strangers, technically. Going to bed with him wouldn’t have to involve her heart, not yet—there wouldn’t need to be any deep discussions about the future, no promises or trust needed to be exchanged. It was all physical, about sating their desire.
She couldn’t do it. Could she? Go to bed with him tonight, just because she wanted to?
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “About being alone on the desert island. I think I’ll kidnap you and make you come with me.” His eyes glittered.
She leaned her elbows on the table and sipped her wine, enjoying the taste of plum and blackberry on her tongue, and the frisson of desire his words gave her. “You could just ask me.”
He tipped his head to the side. “All right, then. Would you come away with me for my last fifty days on Earth?”
He held her gaze, his eyes begging her to say yes. Her lips parted, the word ready to tumble from her lips. But still she hesitated. Because even though she was answering a fantastical question, they both knew the real meaning behind it.
That final step... Could she bring herself to take it?
“Uncle Jace!” A voice brought his attention away from Sandi, and she watched him look with surprise at the young girl standing next to him. Maybe eight or nine years old, she wore a delightful pink ballet dress that she obviously loved so much her mother couldn’t get her out of it. She was tapping one of her matching pink ballet shoes impatiently. “You promised me a dance,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and sticking out her bottom lip.
Jace grinned. “I did indeed. I’m so sorry. Excuse me, Ms. Cartwright.” He stood and, with a flourish, presented his hand to the girl. She slipped her tiny one into it, flushing a little, and he led her right to the middle of the dance floor. As the band changed to a popular dance song, he proceeded to twirl her backward and forward before him, making her ballet skirt flare out with every twist, to her delight.
“She’s the daughter of one of the guys from the rugby club,” Sam advised, dropping into the chair beside her. “She usually comes with her mum to pick Lee up after a game, and she’s got a thing about Jace. She’s been begging him for a dance for weeks.”
Sandi smiled. “He’s very good with her.”
“He’s great with kids. He runs the Under 10s rugby team, did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He drives the bus to the games most Saturdays in the rugby season. He’s a good guy, Sandi. One of the best.”
She looked at Sam and narrowed her eyes. “Did Ginger send you to talk to me?”
“No. Well, yes, but that’s not the point.”
“Please tell her to stick her nose where the sun doesn’t shine.”
“I don’t think I’ll do that as I don’t want to be in the doghouse on my wedding night. Besides which, she has a point. He’d be good for you.”
“I think I’ll be the judge of who’s good for me, thank you very much.”
Sam shrugged. He’d lost his tie somewhere along the way, and he looked relaxed and happy, his hair all ruffled, his lips curving up in a smile. “Fair enough.”
“Having a good day?” Sandi asked softly.
“The best. I’m married.” He held up his hand to show her the gold band on his finger.
She gave a little laugh. “Yeah. I know.” She watched him admire the band, turning his hand so it shone in the fairy lights. “Does it feel odd?” she asked curiously. “Knowing that you belong to someone now?”
“I’ve belonged to Ginger since the moment I met her,” he said absently, still looking at the ring.
“Aw, Sam. You trying to make me cry?”
His gaze came back to her then, and he chuckled. “It’s cool,” he said, turning the ring on his finger. “It’s like... even when we’re apart, we’re still together. Does that make sense?”
Sandi nodded, her throat tightening. “Yes.”
“It’s a good feeling, Sandi. You should try it.” He grinned.
She dropped her gaze, her smile fading. “I was going to, but it didn’t work out so well.”
He winced. “Ah, shit, sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I can’t believe he did that to you. If he was still alive, I’d find him and punch his teeth down his throat.”
Sandi’s eyebrows rose. He’d obviously had a few to drink, but his fierce look told her he wasn’t joking. “Sam Pankhurst, you’re a regular knight in shining armor deep down, aren’t you?”
He blew out a breath and gave her a wry look. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I really wasn’t. I’m touched.” And she was. She didn’t have any brothers, but she had two brothers-in-law now, and she liked the feeling that they were looking out for her.
“Don’t let that fucking bastard ruin the rest of your life,” Sam said. “You’re too beautiful, Sandi. Too lovely.”
Her face warmed. “Sam!”
“The Cartwright girls,” he said. “How any man could bring himself to hurt any of you, I have no idea.” He got to his feet, leaned over, and kissed her forehead. “Give him the benefit of the doubt,” he murmured. “He’s been a good mate, and I know he likes you.”
“Go back to your wife,” she scolded, feeling flustered. He waved a hand and headed toward Ginger, who was out on the lawn, dancing on her own in her wedding dress like a character out of a Disney movie.
The song was drawing to a close, and she watched Jace bow to the little girl and deliver her back to her father before coming over to Sandi as the song changed to a cover of Christina Aguilera’s Show Me How You Burlesque.
“It’s a quickstep,” Jace said. “Fancy a go?”
“Jesus, after three glasses of wine?” Her heart raced as he pulled her to her feet. “I’ll fall over.”
She didn’t, but only because Jace kept her so close to him he was like a second skin, his hand flat at the base of her spine, keeping her hips to his as he twirled her around. For the first minute or so, her legs felt stiff as she worried about tripping over her feet, but she gradually relaxed and let go, confident in his arms, feeling that he wasn’t going to let her make a mistake. As they stepped and spun, the others on the dance floor withdrew and started clapping, and soon everyone was watching them dance.
Sandi barely noticed, her heart thumping and her breaths coming fast, partly because of the pace of the dance, and partly because of the feel of him against her, his shoulder beneath her fingers, his hand warm in hers, and his body pressed so tightly against her.
By the time the song finished, she felt flushed all over, tingling and turned on by his nearness and the way he had danced so expertly. He’d joked about being a beginner, but he knew his stuff.
“You are a fantastic dancer,” she said as he gave one final spin, and then they stopped and bowed to the clapping crowd. “You even made me look good.”
“You don’t need me for that.” He took her hand as the band struck up a slower song, a sultry version of John Mayer’s Gravity, and everyone came back onto the floor for a slow dance. “You’re the prettiest girl in the room by far, and you dance like a goddess.” He pulled her into his arms. “You drive me crazy, Sandi Cartwright. Do you know that?”
She looked into his eyes, caught up in the magic of the night. “And you me,” she whispered.
He slid his hand onto her tailbone, almost—but not quite—onto her butt, and kept his gaze on hers as Mayer serenaded them in the semi-darkness.
