SHE WAS right. Good strong coffee, a glorious view—and Georgie.
She’d changed out of the dreadful rigger boots and put on a rather less blinding jacket, and suddenly she was just a pretty young woman with black smudges of exhaustion under her red-rimmed and fabulous green-gold eyes.
They’d ordered two of her BLT baguettes, and while they were cooking the waitress had brought them their coffee. He took his black, but Georgie had poured the whole pot of cream into hers, and now her hands were cradling her cup almost reverently and her nose was buried in it, savouring the aroma with almost tangible pleasure. He watched her inhale and sigh, a contented smile playing over her lips.
‘Gorgeous,’ she said, and he couldn’t have agreed more.
‘Talk to me about the plans,’ he said, dragging his attention from the full, soft lips and hoping his confidence in her father’s firm didn’t prove misplaced.
Her nose wrinkled up. ‘What about them?’
‘What do you think of them?’
She met his eyes thoughtfully, then shrugged, the little snub nose wrinkling again. ‘Too dense. Too pedestrian. The architect is dull as ditchwater.’
‘So what would you have done?’
‘Employed a better architect?’
‘Such as?’
She shrugged and laughed. ‘Me?’
That stopped him in his tracks. ‘You’re an architect?’
‘Uh-huh—and before you ask, I am old enough.’
He felt a twinge of guilt, and winced apologetically. ‘Sorry. I guess I had that coming to me. So tell me, why are you running your father’s site?’
‘Hobson’s choice. He collapsed, and I was—what is it they say in the acting world?—resting. Between roles. Actually I was taking time out and thinking about my future, and thus available at zero notice. He needs a triple bypass, and he’s in Ipswich Hospital waiting to be transferred to Papworth for the operation. I’m sure it was worry as much as anything that pushed him over the edge in the end. This project’s been nothing but trouble since it started. Rubbish specification, no answers, nobody in control, nobody taking responsibility, but they put us on a hefty penalty clause because they thought it would speed things up.’
‘Because they needed results fast to bail them out.’
She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have worked. The design’s awful—the planners passed it, but I don’t think they were happy. It’s just a series of boxes. As it stands, even with the view, I don’t think the individual units on the site will sell well at all. They don’t deserve to.’
‘So what would you do differently?’ he asked, getting back to his original question. ‘You must have given it some thought.’
She laughed again, the sound sending heat snaking through his veins. ‘Endless, but none of it really formulated.’
‘That’s fine,’ he said, forcing himself to concentrate. ‘Just think out loud.’
‘Now? Really?’
‘Now. Really.’
She tipped her head on one side and grinned, and those gold flecks in her eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm that was infectious. ‘Halve it,’ she said. ‘Far fewer houses, much better quality, and get rid of that hideous extension for starters. It needs a wrecking ball through it. Here—I can’t describe it, I need to show you.’ Grabbing a napkin, she rummaged in her pocket, and he held out a pen.
She flashed him a smile as infectious as her enthusiasm, and started to doodle and talk at the same time, and as she did so he found himself smiling. She was amazing. A tiny powerhouse, full of clever and interesting ideas, a lateral thinker.
And gorgeous. Utterly, utterly gorgeous.
Cradling his coffee in one hand, Nick hunched over her doodles and found himself totally distracted by the tantalising smell of shampoo drifting from her softy, glossy hair. Pretty hair. Nothing remarkable, just a light mid-brown but subtle rather than dull, threaded with fine highlights in palest gold and silver and swinging forwards as she bent her head, the blunt cut just above her shoulders giving it freedom.
Absently, she tucked it behind her ear and a strand escaped, sliding free and hanging tantalisingly close to his hand. His fingers itched to sift it, to see if it was really as soft and as sleek as it seemed, and it took a real effort to lean back, to shift away from her a little and force himself to watch the swift, decisive movements of the pen and see her vision take shape.
And then, once he’d managed to concentrate, he was riveted.
‘It’s all going to be OK, Dad.’
Her father’s brows furrowed. ‘But I don’t understand—where did he come from?’
She laughed. ‘I don’t know—heaven, maybe? I wasn’t going to question him too deeply. He’s put money into the account, and I’ve checked with the bank and it’s certainly there. We’re even in the black.’
The furrows deepened. ‘So what’s the catch?’
‘No catch. He’s buying Andrew out, for whatever reason, and we’re now dealing with him. And he hates the plans, and wants me to come up with some other ideas. He’s put everything on hold—’
‘But the penalty clause—’
‘Gone. He’s deleted it—doesn’t believe in them. Dad, it’s OK. Truly. Trust me.’
His eyes searched her face for any sign of a lie, but for once there wasn’t one, not even a tiny white one, and with a great sigh he lay back against the pillows, closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, an unexpected tear oozing out from under one eyelid and sliding down his grizzled cheek. ‘I really didn’t think we’d get out of this one. I’m not sure I believe it.’
Georgie could understand that. She was still having trouble coming to terms with it herself.
‘Believe it,’ she told him firmly, and bent over to kiss the tear away, a lump in her throat. ‘You just concentrate on getting better and leave it to me. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
His eyes flickered open. ‘You going already?’
‘I’ve got work to do—plans to draw.’
He held her eyes for a while, then smiled and patted her hand. ‘Good girl. You’ve been itching to get at it for weeks. Go and do your best.’
‘I will. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll do you proud.’
‘You always do,’ he said, his eyes sliding shut again, and with the lump in her throat growing ever bigger, she left him to his rest and went home. The light was blinking on the answering machine, and she pressed the button and a voice flooded the room. Her heart jiggled. Nick.
‘Georgie, tried your mobile but it was off. You were probably at the hospital—hope everything’s OK. Just wondering when we can meet up and go over your ideas. I’m going to be stuck in the office for the next few days, but if you can manage to get down to London in the next day or two we could get together here one evening. I’ve got a spare room, so if it’s easier you can stay the night or I can book you into a hotel, whatever you prefer. Just give me an idea of when—the sooner the better really. I’d like to get this thing underway ASAP.’
Stay the night? Stay the night? Her heart jiggled again, and she pressed the flat of her hand over it and forced herself to breathe. In, out, in, out—
Stay the night?
In the spare room.
‘Keep saying that,’ she advised herself, and, putting the kettle on, she nudged the thermostat on the boiler, grabbed a packet of biscuits and settled down at her drawing board with a cup of tea and a head full of dreams…
‘Nick?’
‘Georgie—how are you?’
All the better for hearing his voice again after twenty-four long, hard hours, but he wasn’t going to know that. ‘Fine. Look, I’ve put some ideas together, but I don’t think there’s any point in going into too much detail until you see what I’ve come up with and I get a better feel for what you’re expecting.’
‘I agree. So are you able to get down here, because I’m really stuck at the moment?’
‘Sure. When?’
‘Any time. My evenings are all free. It’s a bit late tonight; it’s gone six already—how about tomorrow?’
Her heart thumped. ‘Tomorrow?’ she squealed. She’d been hoping for longer to tweak her ideas, but needs must and tomorrow was better than today! She got a grip on her voice. ‘Um—I can do tomorrow, if you’re not too busy—’
‘What sort of time?’
‘I need to see my father—I’ll be able to get the train at about five-thirty, and it’s just over an hour to Liverpool Street. Then however long to get to you from there. Seven-ish?’
‘Great. I’ll meet you at the tube.’ He told her which station to head for. ‘Ring me when you get there,’ he told her. ‘I’ll come straight over. It’ll take me five minutes from when I get your call.’
It took six, and every one of them was endless, but by then Georgie was in such a ferment a second seemed to take an hour and yet the day hadn’t been long enough. She’d gone over the plans again and again, tweaking and fiddling, quickly dropped into the hospital to visit her father and then had to rush through the shower and leave her hair to drip-dry on the train.
So she had a slightly soggy collar on her coat, and as she hovered outside the tube station the March wind whipped up and chilled her to the marrow.
She was scouring the traffic and trying to guess the sort of vehicle he might be driving when a low, sleek sports car growled to a halt beside her and the door swung open. ‘Jump in,’ he said, leaning across with a grin and giving her a tantalising glimpse of his broad, hard chest down the open neck of his shirt, and she slid into the low-slung seat, hugely grateful that common sense had prevailed over vanity and she wasn’t wearing a skirt.
‘Nice car,’ she said, trying not to think about the chest, and his grin widened.
‘It’s my one indulgence,’ he told her, but somehow she didn’t believe him. The man had the air of one who indulged himself just whenever the fancy took him, and she fancied it took him pretty darned often.
‘Buckle up,’ he instructed, and then shot out into the tiniest gap in the traffic with a squeal from the tyres and the sweetest, throatiest exhaust note she’d ever heard. Just the sound was enough to make her knees go weak. That and the fact that it could pull enough Gs to squish her into the leather!
‘I’d love a car like this,’ she said with a sigh, ‘but it would get ruined on a building site and anyway, I’m not a millionaire playboy.’
‘And you think I am?’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Fair cop. Guilty on at least one count,’ he chuckled.
‘There you are, then. Anyway, I’d look ridiculous driving it.’
‘I think you’d look gorgeous driving it, but in this traffic it might not be a good idea to try for the first time.’
He shot down the outside of a queue, cut across the lights just as they were changing and whipped into the entrance of an underground car park before she could register their whereabouts. Moments later he was helping her from the seat and ushering her towards the lift, while she wondered if she’d ever master the art of extracting herself from his car without loss of dignity. Not that it would be a perennial problem, she had to accept. Sadly.
He was totally out of her league, light-years away from her in terms of lifestyle and aspirations, and so far the only things they had in common were a love of the sea, and his car.
Oh, and disliking the original plans for the site.
She began to feel more cheerful, and it lasted until he ushered her into the lift, inserted a keycard into a slot and whisked her straight past all the numbered floors. When the display read ‘P’, the door hissed open and she walked out of the lift and stopped dead.
‘Oh, wow,’ she said softly.
All she could see were lights—so many lights that the night was driven back, held at bay by the fantastic spectacle of tower blocks like giant glass bricks stood on end and lit from within, layer upon layer of them, explosions of stardust as far as the eye could see.
She could make out the wheel of the London Eye revolving slowly in the distance with Big Ben beyond, and—oh, more, so many more famous London landmarks stretched out in front of them—Norman Foster’s gerkin, the old Nat West tower, City Hall—with the broad black sweep of the Thames snaking slowly past, so close it must almost brush the foundations.
Wonderful. Magical. Stunning.
For a moment she thought they were on the roof, but then he touched a switch and she realised they were standing in a room, a massive open-plan living space with a sleek kitchen at one end and huge, squashy sofas at the other. Between them, the dining area overlooked the deck and the fantastic view beyond the glass walls. And they really were—acres of glass, almost featureless and all but invisible.
‘Oh, wow,’ she said again, and he smiled, a little crooked smile, almost awkward.
‘I wondered if you’d like it.’
‘I love it,’ she said, running an appreciative hand over the back of a butter-soft brown leather sofa and wondering what on earth she was doing here in this amazing place. ‘I’m surprised. I don’t normally like this kind of thing, I’ve always thought they’re a bit cold and unfriendly, but it just does it so well. And the view!’
‘I bought it for the view. It’s got a three-hundred and sixty degree deck. All the rooms open onto it.’
He touched the switch again and clever, strategic lighting lit up planters full of architectural foliage, artfully placed sculptures and even—
‘Is that a hot tub?’
He pulled a face and nodded. ‘Bit of an indulgence.’
‘I thought the car was your only indulgence?’ she teased, and he laughed.
‘Oh, the tub isn’t an indulgence, it’s purely medicinal. I couldn’t cope without it. After a stressful day at the office or a long flight, it’s just fantastic. And anyway, not many people get to see my apartment so it’s pretty much a secret vice, so it doesn’t count,’ he added with a grin.
She found that knowledge curiously comforting. Not that it was any of her business how many people he chose to entertain. Not at all. But somehow…
‘Drink?’
‘Tea would be nice.’
He nodded, put the kettle on and produced a couple of mugs. ‘What about supper? Do you want to go out, or shall I order in? There’s a restaurant downstairs that delivers.’
She didn’t doubt it. So far she’d seen the car park and the view from his apartment, but that was enough. She had sufficient imagination to fill in the bits in between, and she just knew they’d be equally impressive.
‘Here would be lovely,’ she said, unable to drag her eyes from the view. ‘And it’ll give us more time to look at the plans,’ she added, trying to stick to the plot.
‘OK—have a look at the menu and choose something.’
She looked, blinked and handed it back. ‘Anything. All of it. Just looking at it is enough to make me drool. I had a cup of tea for lunch and a biscuit for breakfast, and I’d settle for a bag of greasy chips right now.’
His mouth quirked. ‘I think we can do rather better than that,’ he said, and picked up the phone and ordered in a low, crisp voice, while she watched a little boat make its way slowly up the Thames and wondered what it would be like to live here all the time. He came over and stood beside her, two steaming mugs of tea in his hands, and held one out to her.
‘Come outside and have a look,’ he suggested, and the wall of glass slid effortlessly aside and he gestured for her to go out.
It was gorgeous. Huge, for the roof terrace of a London apartment block, and, as she walked all the way round past what must be the bedrooms and back to the doors they’d come out of, it gradually sank in just how much money he must have.
The car had been a bit of a giveaway, but his one indulgence? She didn’t think so. Not by a country mile.
And yet it was curiously homely. The furnishings were simple, the plants on the deck were well cared for, and she had the feeling he didn’t take his privileged position for granted. Unless he just had a designer with a gift for homemaking and a gardener to keep the roof terrace in order. Goodness knows it was big enough to demand it.
And then there was that other indulgence that was purely medicinal, the cedar hot tub that kept drawing her eye. She could see it was made of solid wood, not one of the timber-clad moulded-acrylic ones which, although very comfortable and easy to install, just wouldn’t have had the same understated dignity as the cedar planks.
This was like a huge, shallow barrel set into a raised area, and with the wooden lid in place it acted as a seat. She perched on it to sigh over the view again, and felt the warmth seeping through the timber. ‘It’s on!’ she said, surprised, and he grinned.
‘Of course. This is the best time of year for them. We can go in if you want—sit in it and unravel and talk about the plans.’
She did want to. She was aching to, but she didn’t quite trust herself, and she wasn’t sure of the clothing etiquette, and anyway, she was here to work, she reminded herself firmly.
‘Don’t you want to look at the ideas on paper first?’ she said with a touch of desperation, and he shrugged and ushered her back inside, to her disappointment and relief. No, just relief…
‘We’ll look at them now while we eat. There’s always later,’ he added, and the relief gave way to a flutter of nervous anticipation.
‘Maybe,’ she agreed, and, picking up the long cylindrical case she carried her drawings in, she un-screwed the end and pulled the sketches out.
‘They’re only rough,’ she warned, but he just shrugged, helped her spread them out on the huge coffee-table and stood a little statue on one corner to hold it down.
She blinked. She recognised the artist, and that piece had probably cost more than she’d earned last year. Oh, dear God, why on earth had she let him talk her into this? There was no way he was interested in what she had to say. He was so far out of her league—
‘Right. Talk me through them. What’s this thing here?’
She dragged her eyes back to the plans, took a deep breath and launched her sales pitch.
‘That was amazing!’
He laughed softly at her as she pushed her plate away and sighed with contentment. ‘I said they did good food.’
‘You lied. It was perfection. Good doesn’t even begin to do it justice.’
‘Coffee?’
She nodded. ‘Please—if it’s not too much trouble?’
‘No trouble. Hot and strong, isn’t it?’
His eyes smouldered for a second, and she felt her cheeks heat. He was only talking about the coffee, for heaven’s sake! ‘Please. With lots of cream, if you have it.’
‘Sure.’ He turned away, and she fanned her face and gulped in air. Actually…
‘Would you mind if I had a walk round on the deck for a minute? I just love the view.’
‘Of course not. Help yourself.’
She let herself out through the seamless glass and crossed over to the balcony rail, leaning on it and staring down in fascination at the lights on the river. She could hear the traffic far below, the sirens, the honking horns, a barking dog, but it all seemed somehow remote. She felt as if they were floating, removed in some way from the reality of it, and against the night sky the city below them sparkled like fairy lights.
It would be so wonderful to slip into the hot tub and just lie there, suspended above the city in a magic world—
‘Your coffee’s ready. Want it in or out?’
She turned towards him and laughed softly. ‘Out, but it’s chilly. We’d better have it inside.’
‘We could go in the tub—talk through your ideas.’
In the subtle lighting she couldn’t read his eyes, but the tension seemed to hang in the soft velvet air between them, as if the world was waiting for her answer.
‘I haven’t got a costume,’ she said, groping for practicalities.
He shrugged. ‘I won’t look, and we don’t have to have the underwater lights on. You could wear your underwear if you’re feeling coy.’
‘What about you?’
She saw the flash of his teeth in the darkness as he grinned. ‘I’ll preserve your modesty, Georgie. I’ll even lend you a robe.’
She couldn’t resist any longer. He took her back in, handed her a hugely fluffy towelling robe and a pile of towels, showed her into a bedroom the size of the average house and disappeared.
By the time she emerged from the French doors in her room and walked round the deck, the cover was off the tub, their coffees were perched on the side and he was nowhere to be seen. But the bubbles drew her, and, slipping off the robe, she dropped it on the deck and stepped down into the steaming water.
The heat made her catch her breath, then sigh with delight as she slid her shoulders under the surface and leant back against the side, her modesty preserved by the bubbling water. She could still see the city stretched out below through the misty air, watch the slow progress of a converted barge as it carried its boisterous cargo of partygoers on their evening out, but the steam and the bubbling of the water cut off all the sounds of the city and wrapped her in a magical cocoon.
No wonder he used the tub to unwind. If it was hers she’d never drag herself out of it!
‘Warmer now?’
‘Oh, you made me jump,’ she said with a laugh, turning her head, and then wished she hadn’t because he was just there, looming over her in the mist, dropping the robe that had been slung over his arm and lowering his long, beautifully honed body into the steaming, foaming water with a groan of ecstasy.
‘Oh, bliss.’
Oh, indeed. And to think she’d imagined the view was perfect before!
He was taller than her, so the water didn’t cover his shoulders, just left her a tantalising glimpse of his chest, the gleaming skin beaded with moisture and drawn tight over rippling muscle, the light scatter of hair over his pecs just enough to underline that abundant masculinity. He’d dropped his head back against the side, and the taut line of his throat and the jut of his jaw made her legs go weak.
In the spill of light from the living room she could see a pulse beating in the little hollow between his collar-bones, and she ached to lean over and touch her tongue to it, to lick away the tiny pool of moisture that had gathered there.
‘Gorgeous,’ she said, trying not to moan aloud. She tried to think of something to say, but it was difficult to think about anything other than his body, and she tucked her legs up tight under her because she was so afraid that they’d stray over there of their own accord and tangle with those long, muscular limbs…
‘Coffee,’ he said, opening his eyes and levering himself up, and, passing her her cup, he settled back against the smooth cedar planking and studied her over his mug. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he commanded softly.
She laughed, a little surprised. ‘There’s nothing much to tell—’
‘Nonsense. Start with the easy bit. Where were you born?’
Now, that was easy. ‘Ipswich. My father was working in Yoxburgh when I was born, and I was brought up in a house with a sea view—if you climb up to the attic and crane your neck!’
He chuckled. ‘Hence your love of the sea.’
‘Not really. That came later, when I went on holiday to Cornwall and watched the waves smashing against the rocks. We don’t have that up in Suffolk, unless they’re imported rocks for the sea defences. It’s all sand and alluvial deposits, but at least it means we get lovely sandy beaches, and I love walking on the prom at night and listening to the surf whispering in the sand. And of course on stormy days where there are sea defences you can shut your eyes and listen to the waves crashing on the rocks and you could be anywhere.’
‘That’s the beauty of the sea,’ he murmured. ‘It’s truly global. The smell, the sound—it doesn’t change, wherever you are in the world.’ He paused, then went on, ‘So tell me, why architecture?’
‘Oh.’ That was a change of tack. ‘Um—well, my father was a builder, of course, so I suppose that influenced me. He’d missed a lot of school because of illness and so he didn’t get to university. He’d always loved houses, though, and he loved being outside, so he went into building, and the sounds and smells of construction were in my blood from birth as much as the sea was. It wasn’t a big step from building houses to designing them, conceptually, and I managed to get the grades to study architecture, so I started training.’
‘And then found you didn’t like it?’
‘No, I love it,’ she told him. ‘Proper architecture. What I don’t like, and what I was doing day in day out, was filling in the gaps in a town planner’s scheme—x many two-bed units, y many three-bed and so on. Little boxes. It wasn’t what I wanted, what I was interested in, but it paid the bills and I thought it would be OK for a while until the right job came up.’
‘But it wasn’t.’
She thought of Martin, and sighed. ‘It might have been, for a while, but there were personal issues as well.’
‘Your boss?’
How had he known? She nodded agreement. ‘He had matrimonial problems. He brought them to me.’ Two of them, aged six and three, dear little girls who needed their sick mother and latched onto Georgie like limpets. As did Martin—until his wife recovered from her illness and took them back. Then he’d dropped her like a hot potato.
‘Sounds messy.’
‘You’d better believe it.’ And there was no way she was filling in the blanks for him. It was still too raw, too fresh to talk about, the shock in the girls’ eyes as he’d told them she was leaving still too painful to remember.
‘So you thought you’d take a career holiday and think about things?’
She laughed, on safer ground now. ‘My father’s been nagging me to go into business with him for ages. For the past ten years he’s been building exclusive, one-off houses. He’s got a great reputation—that’s why Andrew wanted him to do the school development. He thought the Cauldwell name might give it a bit of an edge. But the development isn’t up to Dad’s usual standards—much too big, not nearly exclusive enough—’
‘But that’s changing. This design of yours has got far fewer units on it, and lots of open spaces, and you’ve got rid of that disgusting extension on the back of the house. That’s the most significant thing.’
‘We have to get it past the planners, and to do that I have to draw up much more detailed plans—if you approve of it, that is.’
‘I think so. There are one or two things I want to talk about, but in principle I like what you’ve come up with. I like it a lot. And I’ll want to retain part of the house to keep as a weekend retreat for me and other people from the firm to use.’
Her heart fluttered. ‘Which part?’ she asked, knowing what he’d say before he spoke.
‘The ground floor and the tower.’
Damn. She felt her face fall, but couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe he wouldn’t notice—
‘What is it?’
Trust him. ‘What’s what?’
‘You don’t approve for some reason.’
She could feel her smile was wry, and gave up and confessed. ‘I was going to buy the tower.’
‘Ah.’ His eyes were thoughtful, searching. ‘How about the upstairs apartment instead?’
She smiled again, another twisted little parody. ‘It’s not the same.’
‘No. I can understand that. In fact I’ve toyed with the idea of keeping the house intact, just one unit, but it’s crazy. It would be wonderful, but it’s so big, and I don’t suppose that many families would want a house as big.’
‘It wouldn’t be cost-effective either, not compared to dividing it into three units,’ she said, but there must have been something in her voice because he tipped his head on one side and studied her curiously.
‘You agree with me, don’t you?’
She smiled wistfully. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said softly. ‘I think it would make a fantastic family house. I can hear it echoing with the laughter of children—I can see them running on the lawn, and hear them giggling, and in the evening I can imagine parties spilling out into the garden, the music and laughter and murmured conversations…’
‘You’re just an old romantic,’ he teased laughingly, but there was a wistful look in his eyes and she wondered if his solitary and hectic lifestyle was what he really wanted, coming home alone at night to sit by himself in his hot tub and brood over what was missing in his life—
And now she really was crazy! How on earth did she know he was solitary? Or missing anything? He might entertain a different woman here every night of the week. Hectic, sure. But solitary? Not if the women of London had a say in it, she was certain!
‘Are you married?’ she asked suddenly, and he chuckled.
‘Me? Hardly. I can’t see a woman putting up with my lifestyle for many seconds.’
That hadn’t stopped Martin’s wife from marrying him, but it had probably been the thing that drove her over the brink and put her in a psychiatric clinic for months. That and his constant put-downs.
‘Now what have I said?’
She pulled herself together and found a smile. ‘Nothing. I was thinking about someone else.’
‘Your old boss,’ he said with uncanny accuracy.
She didn’t want to go there, so she just smiled again and he shook his head.
‘He must have been a real bastard.’
‘He was.’
He stood up, the water streaming off his beautifully crafted body, and she felt her heart lurch against her chest. ‘Come on, time to get out or you’ll turn into a prune. We can have another look at the plans before we go to bed, as well. Are you happy in my guest room, or do you want me to ring the hotel next door?’
Her heart hiccuped again. ‘No, your guest room’s fine,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sure the hotel wouldn’t be nearly as nice and the view won’t touch it. It’s lovely here.’
His smile was crooked. ‘I love it, too. Here—your robe.’
And he held it out for her so there was nothing she could do but stand up in front of him in her soggy, all-too-transparent underwear and climb the steps, turning her back to him so he could slip the robe over her arms while her cheeks burned self-consciously.
But he didn’t leave it there. He snuggled it round her neck, mopping her hair with the thick shawl collar, tucking it round her like a mother—or a lover.
And she was getting crazy, stupid ideas. She wrapped it firmly across her chest, tugged the belt tight and stepped down onto the deck, glancing up as she did so and catching a strange expression in his eyes.
No. She was dreaming. He wasn’t remotely interested in her, and even if he was, she wouldn’t be interested.
Would she? She turned away, and as she did her head started to swim. ‘Oh—dizzy,’ she said, just as he reached out and caught her.
‘It’s OK, it’ll pass. You were in the tub for too long—you aren’t used to it. It can do odd things to your blood pressure. OK now?’
No. She wasn’t OK. She was pressed up against the hard, muscled slab of his chest, her cheek against the damp, wiry curls that she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off, and his arms were round her, cradling her firmly against him.
And the last thing she wanted to do was let go.
‘I’m fine. Sorry,’ she muttered, and pushed gently backwards out of his arms.
And it would have been fine if she hadn’t lifted her head and met his eyes, but she did, and they were smouldering in the darkness of the night, and without a murmur she went back into his arms, sighing softly as his head came down and blocked out the stars.
His mouth was warm and firm and persuasive, his lips coaxing, and she opened to him, giving him access. He drew her closer, the velvet stroke of his tongue sending quivers of desire through her body and nearly taking out her legs.
She whimpered against his mouth and with a growl of need he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding round inside the front of her robe, letting in the cold night air so her skin tingled and her nipples peaked under the brush of his thumbs. Gasping with the sensation, dizzy with wanting, she arched against him, feeling the hot, hard strength of him, the very physical evidence of his response, and her fingers closed over his upper arms and clung.
‘Nick,’ she said raggedly, and then she felt something change, felt him pull back, ease away, lifting his head and resting his forehead against hers, his breathing fast and uneven.
‘What the hell are we doing?’ he muttered, and his hands fell away, drawing the edges of her gown together, turning her towards her room and giving her a gentle push. ‘Go and get dressed, Georgie,’ he said gruffly, ‘before we do something we’ll both regret.’
Oh, too late, Nick. Far, far too late.
Hugging the gown around her, she went.