me on the stairs. Your hair floating like a halo around your head.’
‘Well, that’s history…’
She was trapped against the island. His hands were a gentle cradle for her face, his body was warming her from breast to knee, the silver glints in his eyes were molten.
‘Now I just look like Harpo Marx…’
Not that she could have moved. Every cell in her body had given up, surrendered and, as his gaze slid down to her lips, it was only the counter at her back that was holding her up.
‘Your neck…’ His thumb brushed her jaw as his hand stroked her neck in a slow, lazy move that sent a wave of heat rippling down to her toes. ‘Did you know that the nape of the neck is considered so erotic that geishas leave it unpainted?’
She managed a small noise, nothing that made any sense because, forget necks, napes or any other part of the anatomy, his voice, so low that only her hormones could hear, was doing it for her.
‘The way your dress was slipping from your shoulder-’
‘It was just a look,’ she said in a last-ditch attempt to hang onto whatever sense she possessed. ‘A once-in-a- lifetime, never-to-be-repeated look-’
‘What are you prepared to risk on that, Lucy Bright? Truth, dare, kiss, promise…’
Her desperate protestations died as, not waiting for her answer, his eyes never leaving her lips, Nathaniel looked at her with that same intensity, the same liquid silver eyes that had turned her core molten, before slowly lowering his mouth to hers.
She watched in slow motion, knowing that it was going to happen, knowing that all she had to do to stop it was answer him.
Say just one word.
If only she could remember what it was. But her brain was lollygagging around somewhere. Out to lunch. Make that dinner…
She slammed her eyes shut a second before he made contact and her world was reduced to touch. The soft warmth of a barely-there kiss. A tingle as her lips demanded more. A breath-his, not hers. She’d sucked air in and it was stuck there as she waited for the promise.
The warmth became heat.
Her lower lip began to tremble.
Someone moaned and her tongue, too thick for her own mouth, reached for his. Touched his lip. Another moment of this torture and she was going to slither between his arms and melt into a messy puddle on the floor at his feet.
Was this the kiss? The promise? Or was it about the truth?
Right now, it didn’t seem to matter much. It might be ‘just a kiss’ but she wanted it. Wanted it and everything that followed.
‘You win,’ she murmured against his mouth, her eyes still closed.
‘Not entirely,’ he replied, his voice more a growl than a purr as his hand abandoned her neck to capture her hip, pull her close, as the kiss became the briefest reality before he took a step back, leaving her hot and hungry for more. ‘But you most certainly lost and I’m not going to be a gentleman about it. I’m claiming my forfeit.’
At which point her knees gave up the struggle and buckled beneath her.
Nat caught her as she slithered into his arms. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘it isn’t going to be that bad.’
Her throat was thick and she had to clear it. ‘It isn’t?’
‘What did you think? That I was going to demand your body?’
‘Noooo…’ Dry and thick with disappointment which if she could hear, so could he…’ The police,’ she muttered, grabbing for reality. ‘We have to call them now.’
‘You surrendered, Lucy. I won. Remember? Or shall we try that again?’ He mistook her hesitation for reluctance. ‘I’m going to call my lawyer,’ he said, one arm propping her up, the other retrieving his phone from his jacket pocket. ‘He’ll call the police, reassure them that you’re safe. That you’ll be available for an interview, at a time convenient to you, if they want to talk to you.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘I can do that.’
And he did. Right after he’d caught her behind the knees and carried her through to her bedroom, set her down on the bed and pulled off the boots, taking the three pairs of socks she was wearing with them.
He’d stared at her toes for a moment, then flipped open the phone, got some lawyer out of his bed and told him exactly what he wanted. Not just straightening things out with the police-without revealing her whereabouts-but the retrieval of her belongings from the apartment in the Henshawe house.
‘I’m running up a big bill, here,’ she said when he’d finished.
‘True. You’re going to have to work right through until Christmas Eve.’
‘That’s not work. That’s fun.’
He grinned. ‘Christmas Eve two thousand and twenty.’
‘That big, huh? And if I volunteer to cook Christmas lunch for you?’
‘Christmas Eve two thousand and fifty.’ And his smile faded. ‘Here,’ he said, handing her the phone. ‘Keep this with you. Post the rest of your photographs. Give Henshawe a sleepless night.’
She would rather give Nathaniel one, she thought, but for once held her tongue, just watching him as he adjusted a dial on the wall and the glass darkened, blotting out the lights, the planes passing overhead.
‘I’ll find you something to sleep in.’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘No doubt, but I’m not sure my blood pressure can take the strain.’
CHAPTER TEN
Diary update:
LUCY paused as she heard a tap on her bedroom door.
‘Hello?’
‘Room service.’
‘I didn’t-’ she began, but the bathroom door opened a crack-it hadn’t occurred to her to lock it-and a glossy Hastings & Hart carrier appeared, dangling from long masculine fingers.
‘Pyjamas, slippers and a selection of other female necessities, madam.’
She swallowed. ‘Nathaniel…’
‘Two thousand and fifty-one,’ he said, before any of the things bubbling up from her heart could spill over and embarrass them both.
‘Two thousand and fifty-one? They had better be designer necessities,’ she replied. Keeping it light, light, light…
‘Down to the last button,’ he assured her, slipping the handles over the door knob, where it would be safe from accidental spills-the man learned fast-and closing the door. She slid down a little lower in the bath, grinning to herself.
She waited a minute, then clicked ‘record’ and continued her diary update.
That done, she checked her tweets.
