His mouth was so close her lips tingled. She sighed, climbing to the next level of arousal as Heath brushed his lips against hers. Reaching up, she laced her fingers through his hair, opening her body to a man more than capable of taking advantage of her. Her legs were trembling against his. She’d waited so long. Heath didn’t disappoint. His kiss was firm and sure, and the touch of his hands on her body was indescribable. Heat ran through her like a torrent of molten lava, and when he teased her lips apart with his tongue she was glad of his arms supporting her. Hunger ruled her. She was captive to feelings so strong it was impossible to keep them in check. Breath shot from her lungs as Heath’s grip tightened. She wanted him. She wanted to share his warmth and confidence. She wanted his body. She wanted Heath to take hold of her and position her as he pleasured her, and for him to go on pleasuring her until the world and all its uncertainties faded away.
There could be no more delays. She had no inhibitions left—no restraint. There was just an urgent need to feel Heath hot and hard inside her. She wanted him as a wild animal wanted its mate. There was nothing tender about this—no thought, no reason, just a glorious battle with one sure ending. Naked flesh on naked flesh, drugging and intoxicating—no kisses, no tender promises, only now.
She rejoiced in the rasp of Heath’s chest hair against her pitifully sensitive nipples, and welcomed him, hard, hot and savage against her. She cried out with excitement when he brought her jeans down in one swift move and lifted her. ‘Now,’ she instructed him, crazy with need.
‘Not so fast,’ Heath murmured. His experienced hands had found her, checked that she was ready, and then he quickly protected them both.
She locked her legs around his waist. ‘Oh, no … no … no,’ she cried, shaking her head wildly from side to side as he started teasing her with just the tip.
‘Oh, yes … yes,’ Heath responded, taking her deep.
Her eyes widened. She gasped with astonishment at the size of him. She gripped his shoulder for support. Planting her hands flat against his chest, she braced herself—and when the pleasure became too great, she laced her fingers through his hair, threw her head back and rode the sensation. This was so much more than she had expected. She was lost in pleasure, lost to reason. Heath was every bit as intuitive as she’d known he would be, and infinitely sensitive to her needs. He must never stop, she thought wildly as he dealt her the deep rhythmical strokes. She wouldn’t let him stop. She was floating on an erotic plane where she had nothing to do but accept pleasure while Heath, with one hand braced against the door, pounded into her.
‘You’re fantastic,’ she screamed at the moment of release. As she collapsed against him she realised this was true. Heath was an extraordinary lover, and she was addicted to his very special brand of pleasure. She pressed her face against his chest, inhaling his warm, clean male scent. Heath was everything she had ever wanted in a man—everything she had ever dreamed he would be. He was so tender and careful as he lowered her to the floor. He didn’t let go of her until he was sure she was steady on her feet; by that time her heart was full of him.
‘Better?’ he murmured, smiling against her hair.
‘Transformed,’ she told him. That was nothing more than the truth. She could hardly believe what had happened, and was so glad that it had.
‘Until the next time?’ Heath’s voice was full of the affection she longed to hear as he nuzzled his face against her neck.
‘We belong together, you and I, I’ve always known it,’ she said, snuggling into him. Perhaps Heath did too. He’d said until the next time, which couldn’t be long now, she thought, gazing up at him. She only needed a couple of minutes to recover, and then she’d be—
Something had changed, Bronte realised, feeling sick inside. She’d said too much as usual, and Heath had changed. She had frightened him off with her big emotions. She could feel the change in his body—in his stillness—in his drawing back. His hard frame was unyielding when seconds ago it had been hers. A chill ran through her at the thought that while she had been spinning like a dervish out of control, Heath had been quietly thinking.
But what they’d done wasn’t wrong.
However many times she told herself this, it didn’t change the way Heath had become. Hard flesh that had moulded her soft body was just hard flesh, and the sensitive hands that had catered to her every need while Heath held her safe had grown light and impersonal.
‘Heath?’
He didn’t move for a moment, as if he respected the fact that they both needed a moment to come down and grow accustomed to this change between them. He might as well have left the room, Bronte thought.
‘Okay?’ he said at last, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
‘I’m fine,’ she said as if she were reassuring him.
While she got herself sorted out she could hear Heath fastening his jeans and securing his belt. How quiet they were—how reserved … like two strangers. She didn’t need anyone to tell her they’d got it wrong. The knowledge hung between them in the air. And into a mind that didn’t want to accept the truth, she knew that sex—for that was all it had been with Heath—had been a terrible mistake, and that she must cut her feelings for him now before they swamped her. A relationship with a man like Heath was never going anywhere, so it was better to end it and show how sophisticated she could be before she ruined her chances of ever being taken seriously as a candidate for the job. She huffed lightly. ‘To think I only asked for coffee.’
‘I promised the lads I’d join them later,’ Heath said, picking up on her change of mood. ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay if I go?’
As he spoke he reached out a hand, and she sensed Heath wanted to stroke her hair. She pulled back. There was nothing temperamental or dramatic about it, this was just a signal between friends that they understood each other. ‘Of course I’ll be okay,’ she said. ‘Why shouldn’t I be? I’m just going to finish up in here, and then I’m going home for a long, hot bath and a lazy night in front of the TV.’
‘If you’re sure?’ Heath looked puzzled. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ she countered wryly. ‘I can walk you to the pub, if you like?’
‘I think I’ll be safe,’ Heath answered in the same ironic tone.
‘Okay.’ Angling her chin, she found a smile.
She waited until he left the room and then blew out a long, slow breath. Behave with dignity, she told herself firmly. She had wanted Heath—and had been determined to have him. And now she had, she must take the consequences.
So that was settled.
Good.
Hearing the outer door closing, she listened to Heath’s footsteps crossing the yard. Even they were unbearably familiar, but gradually they faded. Bronte only hoped her feelings would do the same. Closing her eyes, she gave it a moment. No change. Still acting calmly, she was screaming in her head. There was no right way to handle this. Well, there was, as far as the outside world was concerned and Heath, but for her tonight was a memory to lock away, and to get out and examine whenever she needed to beat herself up.
But she couldn’t stand here for ever feeling sorry for herself, Bronte concluded. Her feet might appear to be superglued to the floor, but even she couldn’t live off emotion. It wouldn’t decorate the kitchen any more than it would save Hebers Ghyll—both would need more direct action. And at least with decorating there was more certainty of success, she thought, picking up her brush. Men could punch the wall when things went wrong, but she’d settle for prising open a new can of cream paint. If she finished the wall tonight then at least something would have reached a satisfactory conclusion.
He didn’t go to the pub or anywhere near it. He got straight in the car and drove back to the city. When he reached the open road he stamped his foot down on the accelerator. The hunger to put miles between him and Bronte was as fierce as the hunger that had flared between them. She was like a wild green