She knew as well as he did why he wanted to spend the weekend with her. For the moment, it apparently pleased Blaize Callagan to pretend otherwise. He seemed to accept her need to feel free. But Tessa had seen his body language in action before, and she knew how crafty he could be.
He wore well-fitting white shorts, his legs very much on show. His navy and white sport shirt had a collarless V neck and short sleeves. Tessa was very conscious of his body and all its latent virility. It made her very conscious of her own body and every feminine part of her.
“I’m glad you’re not a chatterer,” he said.
She slid him a mocking look. “I thought you wanted to explore my mind.”
Again the dark eyes fastened onto hers, holding them in a sharp passage of intimacy. “I am. Silence can be just as effective a form of communication as speech. You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”
“Fine.”
He nodded and turned away, picking up his mug of beer to take a sip of it. He hadn’t drunk much. Neither had Tessa. He had made her a gin and tonic before coming up to the sun deck and she had barely touched it. Not through any sense of caution. She simply hadn’t thought about it. The pleasure of the boat trip, being with him, was quite heady enough for Tessa.
They cruised idly through the jigsaw puzzle of waterways, finding a remote bay, which looked as though no man had visited it in the last two hundred years. A small beach, stands of angophoras, iron barks and the odd blue spotted gum lending their shade to the hot sand.
They had a picnic lunch, drank a bottle of wine, and in the stillness of the afternoon, they lay on a blanket underneath the trees, replete, relaxed and drowsy in the softly dappled sunshine. Blaize played idly with her hand, his long supple fingers stroking through hers, interlacing, interlocking.
“You have delicate hands,” he said. “Quite dainty.”
“Yes,” she agreed. They were fine-boned, small. Like the rest of her. A sharp contrast to the tall model he had married.
“Very feminine,” he said.
“Thank you.” She was glad he liked them.
He rolled onto his side, looking down at her face as he lifted her hand to his mouth and ran her fingers slowly over his lips.
This is it, Tessa thought. Am I in love with him? How did one define love? Where was the dividing line between being in love and not being in love? Or was it possible to be partly in love and partly out of love?
She could feel her tension rising as he began to caress her, her temples, ears, throat. His lips followed his fingertips, softly seductive, knowingly erotic. She forced herself to relax, but her heart wasn’t in it. Where did it lead? Did she love Blaize Callagan?
It was a strange thing, life. When it hadn’t mattered what Blaize Callagan thought of her, she had been free of all inhibitions. Now it meant something to her...
He lifted his head sharply, the dark eyes seriously questioning. “You’re not responding.”
Her throat was tight but she forced herself to speak lightly. “Perhaps I ate too much for lunch.”
“And the real reason?”
Relentless, ruthlessly demanding, slicing through any prevarication. Honest.
“Perhaps I like you making love to me too much, Blaize,” she said softly.
“So?”
“It makes it hard to turn away.”
He frowned, the dark eyes boring into hers with more intensity. “If I make love to you, you want it to be permanent?”
“Something like that. I guess I don’t want to become involved in a situation where I can’t win.”
He nodded. “I can understand that.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, seemed to study the line and shape of it. Then he bent his head and brushed his lips gently over hers in tingling, tantalising sweeps. Tessa put her arms around his neck. Maybe, if she wasn’t already in love, she was rapidly falling.
She let him persuade her lips apart. Or maybe they parted of their own accord. He kissed her, sensuality giving way to hungry passion. Tessa could feel her defences melting as desire surged through her, making her feel utterly helpless. How did one resist an irresistible force? Once in the grip of it... impossible not to be swept away. The only answer was to avoid it. Which wasn’t possible this weekend.
“I want to make love to you,” he said huskily.
No future promise...just now. “You can if you want to,” she whispered.
She could feel his strong desire, the electric tension in him. All her nerve ends were tingling in response to it, strung tight, waiting, wanting.
His eyes burned into hers, their command oddly blurred by a need she couldn’t define. He drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.
“I don’t think I will,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
“Why not?” she asked curiously. It was why he had brought her here. She had given her consent. What was stopping him?
His mouth curled sardonically. “Do you want the smart answer or the serious answer?”
“What’s the smart answer?”
His eyes mocked the curiosity of hers. “Time’s on my side.”
Relentless, she thought again. Relentless and ruthless in going after what he wanted. He had warned her. But she had meant what she had said, too. He could have this weekend his way. But no more after that.
“And the serious answer?” she asked.
His expression slowly changed to one of rueful self-mockery. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek with a tenderness that seemed at odds with his character. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly.
Her heart turned over. She was in love. Stupid, really, but irreversible. She wished that just for once, Fate would be kind to her, but it was almost certainly a vain wish. Yet maybe there was a slim chance... if Blaize Callagan didn’t want to hurt her. That meant he cared, didn’t it?
He hadn’t cared about hurting her that first night at the conference. It had been all take then. With a nominal bit of asking. But he hadn’t known about her cancelled wedding then. He had thought it was simply a case of mutual desire.
Tessa remembered his vexation yesterday. He hadn’t liked thinking it was a rebound effect instead of something strictly between them. And he hadn’t liked her crying.
She suddenly realised why he had been standoffish this morning, treading cautiously, waiting. He wanted her to respond to him. Only him. He didn’t want her remembering any other man. And he didn’t want her to cry afterwards. He wanted her to be happy with him.