by Diana Fraser
“This way,” she mumbled and led him to the kitchen. She immediately went behind the kitchen bench and busied herself getting a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard, taking surreptitious calming deep breaths as she did so. But when she stood up and found herself face to face with him again, she realized she could take all the deep breaths she liked, but it wouldn’t make any difference. Her heart still pounded and the blush still lingered.
He held out the flowers to her. “For you.”
“Thank you. You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. You must have had to get them in from Christchurch.” She placed them in a vase, glad of the chance to move away. It felt as if he was pulling her into his orbit like an enormous sun. Sure made her feel as hot. She adjusted the collar of her dressing gown.
“No trouble.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“Beer, please.”
She took a beer from the fridge and held it out to him. His gaze fixed on her and she felt a flash of desire sweep through her. How did he do that, with just one look? Then he took the beer and his fingers brushed hers. Her stomach tripped and the flash of desire settled low inside her, into a needy ache.
Her gaze roamed hungrily over him before settling on his hair, where his sexy curls were pushed off his face. She felt an overwhelming urge to put her finger into one and pull it straight, to feel the strength of the spring. Just as well it was usually covered up. “You’re not wearing your hat.”
“I didn’t think I’d need it.”
“No, of course not. It’s just your hair. It’s well…” she trailed off, suddenly realizing she was only going to embarrass herself if she continued. You didn’t invite a man into your home for the first time and tell him how wonderful his hair was. “I hope you like the beer. I don’t usually drink beer so I didn’t know what sort to buy.”
“I’ll like it.” He hadn’t even looked at it. He slipped off his jacket and hooked it on the back of the bar stool.
“You’re wearing a new shirt.” The grid-like creases were still evident from the box in which it’d been bought. Her gaze dropped to his jeans. They were still the same, thank the Lord. Worn in all the right places.
“Yes. And you’re wearing a dressing gown.”
She pressed her hand to the soft cloth. She’d been so absorbed in him that she’d almost forgotten what she was wearing. “Yes, I’m sorry, I was changing. I’ll go and finish off. Make yourself comfortable.”
She went back into the hall and into her bedroom where she picked up the first thing she could find—the dress she’d just taken off and slipped it back on again, tugging up the zip quickly.
She hesitated on the threshold and watched Morgan take a swig of beer from the bottle—he’d left the glass on the bench—and look about the open-plan kitchen-family room. It was small and homey, decorated with bright colors and pre-loved furniture, but it was perfect in her eyes—it was the home she’d wanted all her life. She was used to being either by herself in it, or in the company of Gemma, so it was strange seeing him there. He took up so much more space than she and Gemma had—both physically and in some other way which she couldn’t describe.
She walked up slowly behind him and followed his gaze to the family photo of her and her mother and father standing stiffly outside a school hall.
“That’s my family.”
“You don’t look much alike.”
Her smile faded. “No, I’m nothing like either of them—not in coloring, height or shape. There was no way they could hide the fact that I was adopted when I was growing up. They had to tell me pretty much straight away.”
“How did you take it?”
“You know? It sounds awful but I was relieved.” She picked up the photo. “It was like a mystery solved because we were poles apart. I guess they loved me in their own way but they certainly didn’t express it. We were really very different. They didn’t understand why I liked to study and I didn’t understand why they didn’t talk to each other, why they seemed so unhappy. It made me determined to be more careful than they were when it came to choosing who I marry.”
“How do you mean?”
“Mum told me they met on a blind date and were married a few months later. They were in their thirties then.” She shrugged. “I guess they felt pressure to marry. It wasn’t an easy atmosphere to grow up in.”
“That’s not how I imagined you being brought up.”
“You imagined how I was brought up?”
It was Morgan’s turn to feel ill-at-ease. He shifted uncomfortably. “Just imagined you’d have had a sweet life, comfortable, with parents who gave you everything you wanted.”
“You think I’m spoiled?”
“No! What I’m trying to say is that… that… you’re so…” He swept his hands through his hair in gesture of confusion. “I don’t know. It’s just that you seem so… kind of… perfect, really.”
“Ha!” She grinned. “I don’t know what made you think that!” She placed the photo back on the sideboard. “This is as close as we came to perfect. I think my parents were actually proud of me. I’d just passed my Physics Aptitude Test for entrance into the University of Oxford. I was one of the few pupils at my school to take it, let alone pass it. I guess that’s why my teacher took the photo.”
“You’re very clever.” He turned away from her suddenly and took a swig of his beer from the bottle.
“Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Would you mind opening the wine? I have to baste the potatoes.” A blast of hot air flooded the room as she bent down and opened the oven, and spooned the hot juices over the crisp, seasoned roast potatoes.
“It smells good.”
His voice was right behind her and she had to focus not to burn herself. “It’s the seasoning I’ve used.” She closed the oven door and reached for the wooden spoon to stir the sauce that was bubbling on the stovetop.
“Stop right there.” His commanding voice thrilled her to the core and she realized that at that moment she’d have done anything he told her to do.
Her skin prickled as his hand brushed the nape of her neck before taking the thick skein of hair that fell down her back and moving it to one side. She held her breath. Was he going to kiss her? Her heart raced but she stood unmoving, as her complete attention was focused on the movement of his hands on her body. Then she felt the drag of her zip closing.
“You hadn’t pulled it right up.”
She exhaled, shook her head and her hair shifted back into place over his hands which hadn’t moved. Then she turned and looked up at him, feeling his presence in every fiber of her body, wanting him to kiss her, as he had in the studio.
It was Morgan who broke the silence. “I think something’s burning.”
His words, together with the smell of burning sauce caused her to turn around and slide the pan off the heat. She swore under her breath. What the hell was happening to her? She never did things like that. She pushed her fingers through her hair and turned around. “Okay, I’m going to leave the kitchen alone for a few moments and have a glass of wine.”
She sucked in another breath as he reached toward her, and then beyond her, picked up the wine and unscrewed the top. “Glass?”
“Yes,” she exhaled, holding out the glass for him to fill. “I’m not ready to drink wine from the bottle just yet.”
After he’d finished pouring she walked determinedly away from him and took a large swig. Relax, she told herself. She could do this. She turned around, giving him what she hoped was an easy smile. But from his brief frown she thought she’d probably failed.
“Come and sit down, dinner won’t be long.”
He gave a half-nod, raising his eyebrows as if recognizing what she was doing, what they were both doing, but agreeing to play the game. He sat down on the small bright blue chintz settee, looking far too large for it, and once more Rebecca had to force herself to quash a desire to sit across his lap, and let her tongue taste his skin.
She took anoth
er hasty glug of wine and went and sat opposite so the safety of a solid wooden coffee table lay between them. “So, what do you usually do on a Saturday night?”
“Nothing much. Have a few beers with my mates at the pub after we’ve tended the animals. Or work if there’s something needs doing. You?”
She nodded. “Much the same. Except the beers. I don’t drink much.” She took a hasty gulp of wine. “Except now, obviously.” She brought up her drink to her eye level and grimaced at it. “But I like to go to the observatory at night if I can.”
“I guess you would, being an astronomer.”
“Yes, but my main work is theoretical, computer based, analyzing information that comes in at night. Plus the community work at the Information Office.”
“Sounds clever.”
She shrugged. “Just one type of clever. I can tell you all about the type of conditions necessary for interstellar gas to convert from atomic to molecular but ask me to wire a plug and I’m stuck.”
She glanced down at his strong hands and lost her train of thought. She took another swig of wine. When she looked up at him he was looking at her thoughtfully. For a horrible moment she wondered if she’d put him off her by something she’d said. “Is anything wrong?”
“No. But I’m curious. Why did you invite me here, Rebecca? You must have men queueing to spend time with you.”
She nearly spilt her wine. “Queueing? I don’t think so. You didn’t overtake a line of men on the garden path, did you?”
But his face didn’t break into the smile she’d hoped for. “You know what I mean. Do you really not have a boyfriend?”
She shook her head. “No.” She shrugged. “I mean sometimes I’ve been asked out but more often than not I get bored. They either talk too much—I’m not sure about what because I forget to listen. Or they try to ply me with food and drink to stop me talking about my favorite subjects and get me into bed.”
He didn’t say anything for a few moments. “Do they succeed?”
“No, I don’t sleep around.”
He sat back and took a swig of beer and nodded. “So you’re not interested in a relationship?”
“Only with someone who fits my criteria.”
“Criteria? What do you mean?”
“I have a list of requirements.”
That made him laugh. “For real?”
“Yes, of course. I need to make sure that I can share my interests with someone. That we’re compatible. What better way than to work it out scientifically?”
“I guess. Although most people leave it to chance.”
“And what a mess most people make of it.”
“That’s true. Yes, maybe you have something there.”
“And maybe you should make out a list.”
“No, no need.”
“Because?”
He looked at her with an intensity that drove deep inside her, leaving a hot throbbing desire. “I don’t need a list to tell me what I need to know about someone, what I need to know about anything I want.”
“Oh…” she gulped. “But without thinking it through properly you might,” she shrugged, “you know, make a mistake.”
“I have my own system.”
“And that is?” she replied faintly.
“I use my senses.” His gaze roved around her face. “Say I’m in the market for a new horse. First thing I’d do is check her over with my eyes. If she looks all right then I’ll move on in.”
“On in?”
“Um,” he nodded. “Get a bit closer.” He dipped his head to hers and she could feel his breath on her neck. “I’d smell her.” He drew closer still and then pulled away.
“What does smell tell you?”
“Everything.”
“Like?”
“I can’t describe it. It’s instinctive. It either works… or it doesn’t.” He leaned back into the settee again and watched her from under a lowered brow. “It’ll tell you more than a list can. You should try it some time.”
“And then…”
“I’d touch her. Run my hand over her head, neck, and belly, to see how she reacts; to see how she feels. I need her to trust me, not to be too skittish.”
“Oh,” she exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. “Yes, skittish isn’t good.” She leaned in, almost offering her face to his touch.
As she moved closer, her gaze drinking in the masculine frame, the earthy smell of him filled her. Her heart was thudding and the way his eyes lingered on her continued to do strange things deep inside her. “Um,” she said trying to gather the remnants of control together. She took another sip of her wine and then noticed it was empty. She put the glass firmly onto the table. She needed to get up, move away from him, go and finish off the dinner. Then she made a mistake, she stood up and didn’t move. His eyes held hers in a confident challenge. Slowly he reached up and held out his hand to her. She didn’t hesitate, but reached over and touched the tips of his fingers with hers.
She could see her fingers were trembling slightly, but his weren’t. He slid his fingers through hers, and closed his large hand around her small one. He didn’t tug her to him, she didn’t think he did anyway, but somehow she stepped around the table and over to him as if compelled by some force.
He remained seated as his other hand slid down her bare arm. He turned it over and stroked his finger down the pale underside. “Like silk,” he murmured.
There was a moment when she could have pulled back. But she didn’t. He gave her that moment but she didn’t take it. Instead she gripped his hand as it was about to slip from hers and she pulled herself to him as if grabbing onto a life raft. Before she knew it, she was standing between his legs. She didn’t have to lower her head far to place her free hand against his stubbly cheek, holding him or her steady, she wasn’t sure which, as she brushed her lips against his.
If she thought it would be a tentative kiss, she hadn’t reckoned on his needs. With one swift movement he pulled her onto his lap and had her in his arms, his mouth on hers, his tongue entering her, filling her with a hot sweet neediness deep inside. She moaned as his kiss deepened and she pressed her fingers into his thick golden hair, gripping the curls at the ends and curling them around and around her fingers until she held him as firmly as he held her.
His hands slid along over her shoulders, down into the small of her back and then cupped her bottom, lifting her as she moved her bent knees to either side of his thighs. Her dress rode up her legs and as she felt her sex against his suddenly hard erection she moaned and wriggled closer, her fingernails raking over his scalp as she gripped his head.
She felt his groan travel through her body, disappearing deep into her belly… and further. His hands thrust up inside her dress, over her panties and up to her bare back and bra. She gasped and pulled away from his kiss, kneeling a little higher, as his lips found her neck, branding her with hot kisses that began a downward trail until they found the top of her breasts.
She arched back and he slid down the zip of her dress, releasing it at the front, pulling it down until her black bra was revealed. She glanced down at the only sexy bra she owned and was glad she’d managed to fool herself quite so thoroughly into wearing her best underwear.
“Christ,” he murmured, his mouth close to her breasts. “You’re so beautiful.” He stroked the soft white mounds of her breasts over her bra, before following his finger with his lips. She gasped as his tongue dipped down between her breasts.
“Undo it,” she murmured.
He didn’t need further prompting, and quickly flicked open her bra.
She felt the vibration of his groan against her tender skin as he pressed his lips to her, trailing hot kisses until he pulled away suddenly. For a moment, she thought he’d had second thoughts and was going to stop, but then his tongue made contact with her nipple. She gasped and arched backward, thrusting her needy nipple closer to his mouth—its nub hardening under his hot breath. Then he closed his mouth around her a
nd she cried out with shock as the sensations shot through her whole body, turning her weak with need.
He must have sensed her weakness because he moved his hands around her back, holding her steady and firm while he gave his complete attention to first one breast, finishing it with a lick of the nipple as if it were a delicious dessert, and then the other.
He pulled away. “Look at you,” he said huskily. She looked down to see her nipples that were extended and hard, just as he was beneath her. Her skin was pale, her breasts exposed, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
Suddenly seeing herself like that brought her back to reality with a jolt, and she tried to cover herself. But he put his hand over hers and gave her such a look of tenderness that it stopped her in her tracks. “You’re so beautiful.” He kissed her briefly before moving his attention back to her breasts.
Pure thick bliss filled her veins, making her languid and needy at the same time. She had no more thought of stopping. She was completely governed by her senses as her hips gyrated, pressing her wet sex against his hard jean-clad crotch, rousing her further, making her breathing come in sharp pants.
He pulled away and she began to undo the button on his shirt. She was desperate to see him, to feel him, to kiss his body, as he was kissing and tasting hers.
She pushed aside the soft stuff of his shirt and fanned her fingers over his chest, relishing the sensation of his chest hair against her sensitive fingertips, her palms caressing the muscles which tensed under her touch. She’d never been so turned on by anyone before. What was she thinking? She’d never done anything like this before.
She pressed her lips against his chest, kissing, tasting, feeling, breathing him in. She wanted all of him. It was only the touch of his fingers threading through her hair that stopped her. He shifted her hands until they were bracketed her cheeks, drawing her up to face him.