He was looming over her like some great monolith, legs slightly splayed, arms outstretched. She knew he was laughing at her, but still she had an incredible urge to walk into his arms.
‘Very funny,’ she snapped, and looked away. She knew when she was beaten. But as she stepped to one side an imp of mischief made her smack his forearm with the bunch of roses she still held in her hand. As a tension reliever it worked…
‘That hurt!’ she heard him yelp, and this time she did laugh as she dashed to the kitchen to put the somewhat battered roses in water.
She took a vase from the cupboard where she kept her glass-wear, and, filling it with water, put the roses in one at a time. They were magnificent blooms—or had been, she amended, before they had met the strength of Zac’s arm. And suddenly she felt a little guilty as she placed the vase on the windowsill.
‘Truce?’ He came up behind her, and she turned. He was too close, his big body crowding her. She caught the elusive scent of his aftershave—or was it simply him?—and her pulse began to race. She had difficulty holding his gaze.
‘You have already drawn my blood.’ He held up his arm.
Sally looked down, and to her horror realised she had. His bronzed, hair-dusted forearm bore a small scratch, and she saw the thin line of blood and felt even guiltier. ‘I’m so sorry—let me put a plaster—’
‘Not necessary.’ He cut her off. ‘But in recompense the least you can do is let me feed you.’
Warily, she looked up into his darkly attractive face. She didn’t trust him, and worse she did not trust herself around him.
‘I do mean only to feed you.’
He seemed to possess the ability to read her mind. ‘Okay,’ she finally said—mainly because she was thoroughly ashamed of herself. She wasn’t by nature a violent person, but Zac Delucca brought out a host of violent sensations in her she had never realised she possessed. And, given that she had ripped his arm open with the roses he had bought her, it seemed the least she could do…
‘Good.’ And, reaching into the cupboard she had left open, he withdrew two glasses. ‘I will deal with the wine and let you get the cutlery we need. Everything else is provided.’
‘Fine. Do you want to eat here?’ she asked, glancing at the fold-down table and two stools against one wall of the kitchen, where she usually ate, and then back to Zac. She grimaced. If he stretched his arms out again he could reach from wall to wall.
‘It is a bit cramped, but it is either here or the living room.’
‘The living room,’ he decided, and, swinging on his heels, walked out of the kitchen.
Sally opened a drawer and withdrew knives, forks and spoons, wondering what she had let herself in for. She had let her guilt at lashing out at Zac override her common sense and agreed to him staying. Now she was not so sure. He disturbed her on so many levels. He had barged his way into her home uninvited, and yet the memory of the steamy kiss they had shared in the car still lingered. And if she was honest she would not mind repeating the experience. Anyway, what harm could it do to share a meal with him?
An hour later, licking her lips after finishing off dessert—a perfect Tiramisu—Sally was confident there had been no harm at all…
Actually, it had been a great meal. When she’d exited the kitchen with the plates and cutlery, Zac had already filled the occasional table with an assortment of dishes: delicious pasta, fresh crusty bread and Veal Milanese, as well as salad and the dessert.
He had got the food from his favourite Italian restaurant, owned by a friend of his, he’d told her, and had made her laugh with stories of the proprietor and his family. Then he’d opened a bottle of wine and filled her glass and his, and made a toast to friendship.
Zac had been charming—a perfect gentleman. He had taken care not to so much as touch her, and there was still a foot of space between them on the sofa. Nothing like the arrogant man she had met last Friday, who had hardly kept his hands off her.
In fact, apart from Al, she could not remember ever feeling so relaxed in a man’s company. But then maybe seeing her with no make-up, wet hair and wearing a tired old robe had dampened Zac’s ardour, she thought with a wry grin, and told herself she was glad. But a little voice in her head whispered that it would be nice to feel his arms around her once more…
‘That was wonderful,’ she said, casting a sidelong glance at Zac. He was lounging back on the sofa beside her, his long legs stretched out before him, a glass of wine in his hand. His big body was at ease, and she had the fanciful notion that he looked like some great half-slumbering jungle predator.
‘An apple and a stale cheese sandwich are no substitute for a good meal,’ she went on, telling herself she was being ridiculous, fantasising about Zac. Picking up her glass of wine, she drained it and replaced it on the table. She raised a hand to her mouth as a yawn overtook her. Too much wine and not enough sleep, she thought, and murmured a polite, ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ he drawled, turning towards her, a smile curving his hard mouth. His dark eyes met hers and she smiled lazily back, feeling strangely comfortable with Zac. Then his gaze dropped to where the soft blue fabric of her robe hugged the firm mounds of her breasts, unexpectedly making her shiver with sensual awareness.
Sally flushed and looked away. Suddenly, from being relaxed and sleepy she was wide-awake, and the sexual tension that had simmered between them when he arrived was back in full force. Her heart thudded a little faster and she had to swallow hard before she could find her voice.
‘Now I think you’d better leave. I am rather tired,’ she said defensively, shocked at how quickly he could arouse her with just a look.
‘So thank me properly and I will,’ Zac prompted softly, placing his glass on the table. He studied her pale beautiful face. Sally had actually yawned—not the effect he usually had on women. Though he noted the violet shadows under her eyes had deepened. Too much fun over the weekend…
Yet this exquisite creature had been driving him mad all evening. He had tried looking across the room, but the convenience of the bed, with its pristine white covers, had simply increased his frustration. He had thought she looked gorgeous elegantly dressed. But now, lounging on the sofa, with no make-up and wearing only a long blue bathrobe that exactly matched her eyes, with the silken mass of her glorious hair falling around her shoulders, she looked sensational.
After the first glass of wine she had unbent a little, and by the second she’d started eating and obviously enjoying the food. But had she been aware that every time she’d reached for a dish the lapels of her robe had gaped open, revealing her perfect breasts down to the dusky pink areolae? Or that when she licked her full lips she almost gave him a coronary? By accident or design he was not sure, and that yawn could have been fake…He didn’t care. His patience was running out.
‘A freely given kiss will be enough,’ he prompted huskily, and raised his hand to the side of her elegant neck, felt the pulse beating furiously in her throat, and was encouraged to let his fingers slide through the heavy fall of her silken curls—something he had been itching to do since she answered the door to him, looking gorgeous, with damp tousled hair and ready for bed…
‘Fine—as long as you realise that is all it will be, Zac.’ Her voice was soft, and she met his dark eyes cautiously.
‘Of course. I would not do anything you did not want me to,’ he assured her, and hoped this time it would be fine. He had noticed she had the habit of using the word when the opposite was true.
Edging closer, her slender thigh touching his, she moved to press her soft lips against his cheek.
‘You call that a kiss?’ He growled his frustration