by Sarah Morgan
There was a pause. “Just so we’re clear—when I buy a woman dinner I don’t invite Brutus.”
The conversation was light, but she was conscious that underneath the banter was a seam of delicious tension. She was trying to work out how to respond when it started to rain—a light patter that chilled her skin.
Daniel cursed softly and grabbed the cups. “Time to shelter.”
“Why? It’s only a few spots. Don’t be a wimp.”
“Are you calling me a wimp?”
“Yes, but don’t worry. It’s good to know you have a weakness.”
The rain grew heavier and huge drops thundered down, soaking everything they touched.
“You’re right. We should shelter.”
She scooped up her tea and ran, her feet splashing through newly formed puddles, the rain soaking through the thin fabric of her shirt and flattening her hair to her head.
Valentine barked, excited and fired up by this new urgency, and Brutus followed. The two dogs were side by side as they made for the shelter of the trees.
She dived through the long, pendulous branches of a weeping willow, feeling the leaves brush her face and her arms. She knew Daniel was behind her. She could hear the heavy thud of his running shoes on the ground and awareness chased across her skin, the feeling so intense it was like pressure. He could catch her easily. And when he did…
She stopped under the tree, unsettled by the explicit nature of her own thoughts. It had been a while since she’d been interested enough to risk getting involved with someone. The last three years had been spent focusing on rebuilding her life, and sex hadn’t been part of that.
She turned in time to catch the gleam in his eyes, and gasped as he backed her against the thick trunk of the tree.
She told herself it was the sprinting that had made her chest tight and her breathing rapid, but she knew she was lying to herself. It was him. This man with the wicked eyes and the slow, dangerous smile. This man who made her feel a million things she never usually felt, all of which terrified her.
Did he know? If so he was a sadist, because he gave her no breathing room, no space in which to gather herself. Instead he stopped right in front of her—so close she was forced to take a step back or touch him.
She felt the rough bark of the tree press against her back and knew there were no more steps back to take. From here it was stand still or move forward.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m keeping you dry. Protecting you from the rain.” He grinned. ‘Showing you my weakness.’
But this close she saw nothing but strength. There was strength in the arms that caged her, in the dip and swell of muscle, in the width of the powerful shoulders that blocked her view of the world. There was strength in the lines of his cheekbones and in his jaw, shaded by stubble.
Her gaze met his and his eyes made her think of long summer days filled with blue skies and endless possibilities.
“I don’t mind the rain.”
His mouth hovered dangerously close to hers. “I forgot you were British. We probably have a different relationship with rain.”
“Rain and I are intimately acquainted.”
“I never thought I’d envy the rain.”
He lifted his hand and stroked her damp hair back from her face. She felt the tips of his fingers brush across her skin, lingering, and knew this wasn’t about clearing her vision of damp hair and rainwater.
It was about exploration. Possession.
It had been so long since she’d been touched like this and she was super-sensitive, her imagination and her senses keenly aware of every touch.
Dear Aggie,
There’s this guy I find impossibly sexy, and when I’m with him I forget everything. He doesn’t want a relationship, so I know that anything we share will be short-term. I’m worried he’ll break my heart. But if I walk away I’m afraid I may be losing something special.
What should I do?
Yours,
Light-headed.
The rain was coming down harder now, but only the occasional drip managed to squeeze its way through the cascading branches of the weeping willow. They were sheltered in their own private glade, protected by the tangled labyrinth of green and gold.
She’d thought there would be plenty of people seeking shelter, but it seemed everyone else had chosen to leave the park. They were alone—or at least it felt that way— trapped by the weather and cocooned by nature. It was as if someone had drawn curtains around them, concealing them from the world.
She was aware of the muted thud of raindrops as they pounded the canopy of the trees, of the rustle of leaves and the whisper of the breeze through the branches. And she was aware of the beat of her heart and the uneven note of his breathing.
She raised her hand and brushed a raindrop from his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble under her fingers.
Dear Light-headed,
None of us can predict the course of a relationship. All we can do is go into it with an open heart and trust our instincts.
It’s hard not to worry about being hurt, but when we insulate ourselves from hurt we also risk insulating ourselves from the very thing we are seeking. Love. Instead, have confidence in your ability to handle whatever comes. You can fly, but first you have to trust your wings.
As he lowered his head she rose on tiptoe and lifted her mouth to his, meeting him halfway. Or that was what she told herself. Truthfully, from the moment his mouth met hers there was no doubt who was in control.
He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her with slow, leisurely purpose. There was something aggressive about the way he held her prisoner, but something infinitely gentle about the coaxing pressure of his mouth on hers.
With each brush of his mouth and each stroke of his tongue he stoked the heat until she was shaking and dizzy with desire. The pleasure was disorienting—a low drag in her belly, a shimmer of electricity across her sensitized skin.
Her fingers speared the soft silk of his hair as she tried to pull him closer.
Reason and logic were drowned by the rising tide of arousal. She was unable even to pose a question—which was a good thing, because she wouldn’t have been able to speak. All she could do was feel.
The world around them vanished, until there was only the erotic touch of his mouth and the soft patter of rain on the leaves.
She melted under the dizzying strokes of his tongue, swaying against him, and felt his hand stroke down her back and linger on the base of her spine, pressing her close. That touch confirmed everything she already knew about his body. That it was hard and strong, conditioned and athletic. The unyielding pressure of his muscles suggested he did more to keep himself fit than just chase a dog around the park.
She didn’t know how she’d got there, but somehow she was trapped between the sturdy tree and the power of his frame.
And still he kissed her.
He left her nowhere to hide—exploring, demanding, discovering, until she was a trembling mass of nerve-endings. He showed no signs of stopping, and her brain wasn’t functioning well enough to come up with a single reason why she should be the one to stop doing something that felt so good.
His hand moved to her breast, his thumb stroking over the tip. The delicious friction made her shudder, and she moaned and pressed closer. She felt his fingers at the hem of her tee shirt, and then the warmth of his hand settling on bare skin.
It was like being on fire. The excitement was burning over her skin and settling low in her belly.
This is why people do crazy things, she thought. Because denying sexual attraction this intense feels like going against human nature.
She had no idea how far they would have gone, but at that moment Valentine barked.
Daniel eased back with obvious reluctance. “Maybe we should take this indoors.”
Indoors?
The word seeped through the clouds of desire fogging her brain and finally settled into her consciousness.
&nbs
p; Indoors. Because currently they were outdoors. In public.
She wrenched herself out of his arms, winced as she grazed her arm on the bark of the tree.
“Hey, slow down.” Daniel’s gaze was still fixed on her mouth. “Good job you picked a weeping willow, otherwise we would have just put on a public display.”
Hearing those words was like being plunged head-first into a bucket of cold water.
Panic swarmed up her skin. What had she been thinking? She was careful never, ever to put herself in a position where her professional credibility could be questioned. And yet here she was—kissing in the park like a teenager, in full view of anyone who happened to be passing.
All it took was a single photograph. A Facebook post. A tweet. Before you knew it your life was trending—every single private thing about yourself uncovered and laid out for the malicious delectation of a public thirsty for another public shaming.
She took several deep breaths, reminding herself that even if someone had seen them no one would have connected her with Aggie. She’d created that persona for exactly this reason. For protection. An extra layer of defense to add to the other layers.
And that was the scariest thing of all. Since she’d arrived in New York no one had breached a single layer of her defenses. No one.
Until now.
“Come home with me.” He spoke the words against her mouth. “We’ll get out of these wet things and take a shower together. You know it’s going to be good.”
Yes, she knew. Which was why she was backing away.
Fire like that inevitably ended up with someone being burned.
How had this gone from a fun flirtation in the park to something so real?
But she knew the answer to that. The moment he’d started kissing her she’d forgotten everything.
Even now she was tempted to ignore the sensible voice in her head and go with him.
“No.”
She pulled away from him so suddenly that he had to plant his hand against the tree to steady himself.
She empathized. From the moment he’d kissed her she’d lost faith in the ability of her knees to support her.
If Valentine had been a few inches taller she would have climbed on his back and ridden him home.
She bent and grabbed his collar, clipping on the lead quickly.
“Molly, wait—”
Daniel’s voice had thickened. He sounded almost drugged—as if he’d just indulged in a serious binge on an illegal substance.
She knew that feeling too. Only in her case he was the illegal substance.
She really liked him, and with that extra connection came the risk of heartbreak.
She wasn’t going near that again.
Copyright ©2016 by Sarah Morgan
The perfect New York love stories…
Don’t miss the first two instalments in the delightfully romantic
From Manhattan with Love trilogy
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One Place. Many Stories
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ISBN: 978-1-474-05068-5
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© 2016 Sarah Morgan
Published in Great Britain 2016
by Harlequin MIRA, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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