The door closed behind the housekeeper with a definite click, and, because anything else would have looked strange, Liam subsided again onto the sofa beside Rosa. But he avoided looking at her, saying instead, ‘Help yourself.’
Rosa made no move to do so. She merely stared at the tray as if it might provide the answers she sought. A steaming jug of coffee, two porcelain cups, a cream jug and a sugar basin. Such ordinary items, yet they represented the difference between an increasing awareness and the coolness she now felt from Liam.
‘I’m not thirsty,’ she said at last. ‘And I think I’d better go, after all.’
Liam’s jaw clenched, and before he could prevent himself he asked, ‘Do you want to?’
No!
Rosa turned her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said weakly.
Liam groaned, and, forgetting what he’d told himself since the moment he’d laid eyes on her, reached out and slipped his hand behind her nape. Then, before he could change his mind, he pulled her towards him.
And she came, seemingly willingly, her lips parting beneath his with a sensuality he hadn’t expected. He’d intended to keep this light, inconsequential, but when her mouth opened he plunged his tongue into that wet, heated cavern without giving himself time to think.
She tasted hot and sweet and immensely desirable. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand had slid from her neck to the sensitive hollow of her spine. She arched towards him and he felt her taut breasts nudging his chest. And, God help him, his hand slipped lower, cupping the provocative curve of her bottom.
She jerked uncontrollably, but she didn’t draw away, and he urged her back against the cushions behind her. He was kissing her now with a wild abandon that he hadn’t felt since who knew when. If he’d ever felt this way, he conceded with unwilling honesty, as he ravaged her mouth again and again.
But this was not what he’d intended, he thought, in a rare moment of coherency. Not what he’d intended at all. He didn’t indulge in one-night-stands with needy divorcees who were looking for no-strings sex. Besides, he hardly knew her. And she knew nothing of the monstrous scars that lurked beneath the expensive civility of his clothes. Hadn’t he learned to his cost that women were not to be trusted? If he didn’t want to scare her half to death, he should stop this. Now.
Rosa, however, knew nothing of his private misgivings. And, while she doubted anything lasting could come of it, she was ready and willing to take whatever Liam had to give. Her marriage to Colin, the pain she’d suffered when she’d discovered he’d been cheating on her, seemed a distant memory. Colin had never made her feel like this. Their relationship had been one of convenience, she realised, not passion.
She moved, slipping her hands about his neck, letting her fingers curl in the hair at his nape. His hair was only lightly tinged with grey, but thick, and virile. Like the rest of him, she thought a little breathlessly, feeling the unmistakable pressure of his arousal against her stomach.
The fight Liam was waging against his own needs was rapidly fading. When her tongue came to twine with his, he felt the blood thundering through his veins. He sucked on her lips, bit her tongue, felt his head spinning with the gnawing hunger inside him. He wanted her, he thought savagely. He wanted to bury his aching shaft in her wet heat.
His hand stroked her jawline, and when he lifted his mouth to take a breath his thumb brushed sensuously across her swollen lips. Her tongue appeared, laving his thumb as he bent to bite her earlobe, and he felt his arousal straining at his zip.
Her hair had come loose during their lovemaking, and he couldn’t resist twining the fiery strands around his fingers. He brought them to her lips and kissed her through the silky curtain, heard her give a moan of ecstasy as he did so.
God, this was getting heavy, he thought, dragging his hand away—but only as far as her chest. He couldn’t resist cupping her breast through her sweater, but when he bent to take one hard nipple into his mouth she shook her head and guided his hand to the hem of the jersey.
Beneath the woollen garment her skin was smooth and unblemished. Unlike his own, he thought bitterly. When he peeled the sweater up to her chin, he found pert breasts, almost bursting out of her half-bra. The sight of all that creamy flesh was a harsh reminder of his own scarred torso, and with a groan of anguish he buried his face between her breasts and said hoarsely, ‘I can’t do this!’
Rosa was breathing rapidly, her chest rising and falling swiftly, matching the sexual cravings he was inspiring in her. There was a wetness between her legs, and a pain stirring deep in her belly. As well as electric shocks that sparked along her nerves and left her aching, restive and wanting.
‘You want me,’ she protested, not knowing where she found the courage to say such a thing to him. God, only a few days ago she’d been convinced he could never be attracted to her. Yet here she was, telling him he wanted her, when he might easily be playing her along.
However, he didn’t deny it. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Liam declared grimly, but when he put his hands on the cushions at either side of her head to lever himself away from her she wouldn’t let him go.
‘It does matter,’ she insisted, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. ‘I’m not expecting a lifelong commitment here. I just want to—be with you. Is that so wrong?’
Liam groaned. ‘It’s not wrong—’
‘Well, then?’
‘You don’t understand,’ he muttered, and this time he succeeded in pulling away from her. He drew her sweater down again, hiding those luscious breasts from his hungry gaze. ‘I’m not what you think.’
Rosa gazed at him, narrow-eyed. ‘If you’re going to tell me you’re not normal, then—’
‘I’m not a vampire,’ Liam assured her harshly. ‘But just take my word for it. This would never work.’
‘It doesn’t have to work.’ Rosa struggled into a sitting position and stared at him appealingly. ‘I like you, Liam. I have ever since you spoke to me on the ferry. I know I’m not sophisticated or glamorous, but I thought—I really thought you liked me, too.’
‘I do like you,’ muttered Liam savagely. ‘This has nothing to do with liking or disliking you. It has to do with me. Only me!’
Rosa knew when she was beaten. She’d given it her best and Liam had shot her down in flames. She didn’t know what was going on here, but she didn’t believe half of what he was saying. For some reason he’d changed his mind about her.
Was he afraid she might expect something he couldn’t give? Even now? Hurting, she had to deliver one final taunt—if only to salvage something from the wreck of her self-respect. ‘It’s always about you, isn’t it, Mr Jameson?’ she demanded, wrapping her arms about her suddenly chilled body. ‘You’re completely self-motivated, aren’t you? Self first, self last, self everything!’
The injustice of that statement almost choked him. He’d been thinking of her, for God’s sake! And of himself, too, he admitted, and how he’d feel when she saw him and turned away. But mostly of her, mostly to spare her the ugly patchwork his attacker had made of his body. It wouldn’t occur to her that the reason he wore long-sleeved shirts and sweaters was because the man had almost chopped his arms to shreds.
Realising he would regret this, he got to his feet and faced her. Then, as she gazed up at him in sudden alarm, he tore his shirt open. Buttons popped and danced across the floor, and he realised he’d probably torn them off. But he didn’t care. In that moment all he wanted to do was show her the proof of what he’d been saying.
Rosa got to her feet as he dragged the shirt off his shoulders, her breath catching in her throat when she saw the scars on his arms and chest. Someone had attacked him—with a