He could almost see an assessment clicking through her mind. Whether it had a positive or a negative outcome he had no idea. What he did know was that this was shifting ground and fast action was required.
‘Let’s clear these plates.’ He pushed his chair back and stood up, cheerfully announcing, ‘Time for dessert. Angelina left a selection of gourmet ice-creams in the freezer—macadamia nut and honey, Bailey’s Irish Cream, death by chocolate…’
She smiled. ‘Okay, I’m tempted.’
Tempted by more than chocolate, Nic hoped, relieved to have her on her feet and moving with him. He quickly picked the leftover steak bone off her plate and called Cleo to give her the special treat of two good bones to chew on, which would certainly keep the troublesome little terrier occupied and out of play for quite a while. She settled under the table with her version of doggy heaven, happily gnawing away while Nic and Serena collected what they’d used and headed inside to the kitchen.
Serena walked ahead of him, carrying the cutlery and salad bowl. Her long blond hair fell like a smooth silk curtain down her back, making his fingers itch to stroke it. No confining plait or clips tonight. She wore a highly sensuous petticoat dress that slid provocatively over her feminine curves with each sway of her hips. It was white with splashes of flowers on it, some filmy kind of fabric with an underslip. No need to wear a bra with it, Nic thought, and no trouble at all sliding off those shoestring straps. Her honey-tan skin gleamed enticingly.
All evening it had taken the utmost discipline not to touch her. The bonds of restraint were now at breaking point. Every muscle in his body was taut, all wound up to make the move he had to make. She might decide against the ice-cream, might decide to skip out on him. Her thoughts were still a challenging mystery but he hadn’t missed the sexual signals. She was vulnerable to him. He had to tap that vulnerability before her mind clamped down on it.
Serena set the salad bowl on the kitchen bench and dumped the cutlery in the sink. Her mind was in total ferment. Nic wasn’t a friend of Lyall’s. It didn’t sound as if he shared the same attitudes. There’d been a lightly mocking tone in his voice when he’d spoken about Lyall big-noting himself.
She automatically turned on the tap to rinse the cutlery while reconsidering the humiliating conversation she’d overheard between the two men. Might it not have been surprise on Nic’s part that Lyall’s ego would allow him to choose a hairdresser as his wife? Had he simply been stringing Lyall along while the choice was explained to him, giving understanding as a pragmatic business tactic? Taking a critical attitude would not have been the diplomatic thing to do.
‘You don’t have to wash up,’ Nic said over her shoulder. ‘They go here.’
She turned to find him lowering the door of the dishwasher which was right beside her. He proceeded to stack the plates he’d brought in, his unbuttoned shirt flapping right open as he bent down. It was a casual Hawaiian shirt with parrots and hibiscus flowers on wildly tropical foliage, worn over royal blue surfing shorts, ready for the swim he’d offered but she’d decided not to take up since it would only provoke more temptation and she hadn’t been sure where she was going with Nic Moretti.
Still wasn’t sure…but she found her breath caught in her throat as she was faced with a wide expanse of bare muscular chest, a line of dark hair arrowing down to the waistband of his shorts, disappearing but heading straight for the apex of his powerhouse thighs.
‘Special place for cutlery,’ he pointed out. ‘Put them in.’
She scooped them out of the sink and bent to place them properly, only to realise too late it caused her bodice to gape and Nic was right there looking at her, impossible to miss a bird’s-eye view of her breasts. Heat instantly flooded her entire skin surface, raising a sensitivity that jerked her upright in a hopelessly graceless movement.
Nic closed the dishwasher door and suddenly he was standing very close to her, and despite the high-heeled sandals she wore, he seemed overwhelmingly big and tall, making her feel frail and fragile. She shrank back against the sink, her heart thumping so hard she could feel the throb of it in her temples.
Nic frowned, raising his hands in an open gesture that promised he was harmless as he protested her reaction. ‘You can’t be frightened of me, Serena.’
Her mind whirled, trying to find some reasonable response. How to explain that he generated a sexual force-field that she had no power to fight?
Nice guy, Gavin had said.
Echoed by Michelle—Nice guy.
And he hadn’t been patronising. Not at all.
So why did she have to fight?
‘You…it just surprised me, finding you so close,’ she babbled, feeling hopelessly confused over what she should do, knowing only too well what her body was clamouring for, but was it right? Was it right?
‘Not fear?’ he asked, wanting confirmation.
His dark eyes were burning into hers. She had the weird sense they were tunneling into all her secret places, finding the truth of their response to him, never mind what words she spoke. Everything within her craved to feel this man, and denial suddenly seemed like a denial of life, of all that made life worth living. This mutual attraction had to be dictated by nature. How could it be wrong?
A hand lifted and touched her cheek. ‘Serena…?’
What question was he asking? She couldn’t think. His fingertips were softly stroking down her skin, making it tingle, and her entire body yearned to be similarly caressed by him. The memory of the kiss they’d shared ignited a chaotic surge of desire, a rampant need to know if the same wild passion could be aroused again. Her chest felt too tight, holding in too much. Her breathing quickened, trying to ease the pressure. Her mouth opened to suck in more air, or was it being pushed out?
Her mind couldn’t cope with all this rushing inside her. She lost track of everything but his touch, sliding past her chin, down her throat, under her hair to the nape of her neck. He loomed closer, his eyes hypnotically fastened on hers, simmering with the intent to explore the same memory that was jamming her thought processes. An arm suddenly looped around her waist and clamped her body to the heat and strength of his. Her hair was tugged, tilting her face up. Then his mouth was on hers, his hot, hungry, marvellous mouth, explosively exciting, smashing past anticipation and delivering more sensation than her memory had retained.
Her hands instinctively sought to hold him, pushing under his opened shirt, revelling in gliding over his naked skin, feeling the taut muscles of his back, clutching him hard so that her breasts swelled onto the wide expanse of his chest, imprinting them on him in a wild urge to press an intense awareness of her own sexuality, of all that made her the woman she was.