He reached out, ran his knuckles down her cheek. ‘This can’t be faked.’
Her face flamed under his touch, her lips desperately dry.
‘You can’t fake it with me, Cally.’
Her knees were at risk of failing and she was about to crumple to the floor. If she turned her head just a fraction those fingers would brush her lips. Blood buzzed to them; she wanted to feel him…
Injection of steel required immediately! Memories of Luc burst into her brain. She’d believed a pretty face and some pretty lines before and been so burned she’d never trust another. She walked away from Blake, put the island between them again, chewing away the tingling sensation in her lips as her back was turned to him.
But she had to admit she liked his blunt approach, his unashamed candour. At least he seemed to be up front—again it was liberating. And she’d return the favour.
She turned to face him, put her hands on the bench, sighed deeply. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re actually too good-looking.’
‘I’m sorry?’ He leaned against the opposite side of the bench, bending so their faces were level.
‘Yes, you know. Thick dark hair. Big green eyes. Long lashes. Square jaw. Stubble. That’s just your face. I’m not even starting on your body. I’m not going any lower than your chin.’
The smile broke his intense expression, lit him up from the inside. ‘I’m too good-looking for you to have fun with?’
‘Yes.’
He laughed. ‘So you only go out with ugly guys?’
She was silent.
‘I begin to see why it is you’ve been without for a while.’ He leaned closer, spoke to her slowly as if English were a foreign language to her. ‘You know there’s a big flaw in your argument. You have to be attracted to the person. If you think he’s ugly he isn’t going to turn you on, sweetheart. What are you going to do—lie back and think of England?’
‘History has proven that I have terrible judgment, terrible taste in men.’
‘Based on looks?’
She nodded. ‘I get bamboozled by them. Blinded, can’t determine the false from the genuine.’
He frowned. ‘You can’t see past the exterior to work out whether inside the person is OK or not?’
‘No.’
‘So now if he’s good-looking, he’s immediately a no-go?’
Reluctantly she smiled at his bemusement.
‘But physical attraction is a pretty major ingredient, isn’t it?’ He wasn’t dropping it.
‘Sure it is. But it’s not just me who thinks you’re good-looking. Look at the battle at the auction last night. Women were beside themselves over you—practically launching at you from the aisles.’
‘You weren’t. You didn’t even want my services and you’d paid for them.’
She grimaced. ‘My friend bought you. She just used my money because she knew I, along with the rest of them, thought you were attractive.’
‘So what if others find me attractive?’
‘I could never trust you. And I could never trust other women around you.’
Blake stood, head tilted as he considered her reply. He watched the rush of honesty reflected in her face and saw that the brown in her eyes was starting to melt. ‘Do you take everything so seriously? Who needs trust? We’re talking a bit of fun, not marriage and babies. I never talk marriage and babies.’
Not any more. Not ever. It was important she understand that. Paola had taken him for a ride once long ago and it was a ride he’d never take again. It still hurt so much he could hardly breathe when he thought of it. The way he’d been so vulnerable, how badly he’d wanted exactly those things—marriage, their baby. But she hadn’t, and she had got rid of both him and their baby. He sucked in a quick breath, pushed the pain away. Instead he concentrated on the temporary temptation before him, with her gaze that told of provocation but also barely hidden interest.
‘Why am I not surprised?’
She was determined to peg him as a philanderer—trying to use it as a flimsy barrier against the red-hot attraction that was pulling them together. He, conversely, didn’t see the point in fighting it. If they gave in to it, it would wane and disappear. One night full of passion would do the job nicely.
So she’d been messed about by some pretty boy some time and was shoehorning him into the same mould. Did what she thought of him really matter? Oddly it did. He’d been above angry at the auction, seeing the contempt so clear on her face. He wanted to prove her wrong.
And he couldn’t stop the attraction that was making him step beyond boundaries, the pleasure in seeing her cheeks flush as their conversation veered into the deeply personal. He wanted to know her, inside and out—but he had to establish the ground rules first. He’d make sure she understood exactly what it was between them—transient lust and nothing more. Then they’d be free to indulge it—and he would make sure she was more than satisfied. Equal participants aiming for extreme pleasure.
‘So how long has it been?’
He watched her expression as irritation warred with uncertainty. She didn’t reply. Clearly it had been quite some time. Wholly chauvinistic satisfaction washed through him. Good. He didn’t like the idea of other men holding her.
‘OK. So you’re unimpressed by my looks. I’ll have to win you with my other charms, won’t I?’ She’d surprised him, admitting to her attraction like that. But she’d also made it clear she wasn’t going to act on it—which irritated him no end. Not only because he wanted her to, but because fundamentally he was a man of action. When you saw something that needed doing, you did it.
And Cally Sinclair needed doing.
If they could have a weekend of good, hard, physical fun they could walk away and no one be any the wiser—a consideration he sensed was important for her and one he was happy to allow. He just wanted to see her face pink from pleasure, her eyes drowsy, wanted to feel her shudder around him, wanted to see her relaxed in the way that only sex could make you relaxed. He wanted to watch her the moment that sensation overruled mind—at her most basic, where manners and social niceties were long abandoned and need was driving her. Need for him. And, yes, he wanted her in a state where she’d do anything for him. Panting, pleading, begging. The way she’d dismissed him still rankled—so he was a gigolo that she didn’t need? Well, he’d see about that. He planned to drive her crazy, to have her admit her desire for him—not just with her mouth but with her body, to have her unable to deny it. He wanted to shake this prim little bird from its tree and watch it fly. He was certain she would soar.
Determination marked her features as she shook her head. ‘Not going to happen. I’ve told you, you’re not my type.’
‘I think you’re clinging a little too tight to that line.’
‘You’ve way too much ego for me.’
He stared at her for an explanation. Grumpily she gave him the angle he’d hoped for.
‘Come on, the way you were parading up on that stage…’
‘It was for charity,’ he answered easily before starting to dig. ‘Anyway, you were the one handing over the money. You bought me. Paying for a bloke?’
‘It was for charity.’ She was ultra-defensive; her mouth tightened ‘It wasn’t about the result, the prize—about you—it was about fundraising