‘Then stay under water for a little longer.’
So he did. The marmalade mess stayed untouched. He stayed…out of control?
She was so close. She was holding his arm, forcing his hand to stay under the water. She was so…
‘Susie, I’m really sorry about the trees,’ he managed.
‘You don’t have to be sorry about the trees,’ she said stiffly.
‘If I didn’t think what Marcia said made sense… If I didn’t realise that any purchaser will do exactly that, chop them down to make way for a pool…’
‘Of course,’ she said, and sniffed. ‘It’s totally sensible.’ She sniffed again.
‘Susie, don’t cry.’
‘I’m not crying.’
Of course she was crying. Tears were welling up behind her eyes, threatening to fall at any minute.
‘OK, we won’t do it,’ he said desperately-and she dropped his hand in astonishment.
‘What?’
‘We won’t pull down the orange trees.’
‘Just because I cried?’ she said cautiously.
‘I can’t bear to see you-’
‘You can’t bear to see me cry so you’ll do what I want.’ She thought about it, and suddenly the tears welled up even more. ‘I think I need a slice of your inheritance.’
‘Susie…’
‘Oh, I do.’ Tears were streaming down her face now. ‘I really do. And I want you to promise me that you’ll wear your kilt every third Monday of the month for the rest of your life.’
He was backing off. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, turning off the tears like a tap. There was dangerous mischief glinting behind the tears. ‘It’s not me who’s being ridiculous.’
‘You…’ He stared at her, stunned. ‘You turned on those tears…’
‘At will. Neat trick, isn’t it?’
‘To get what you want?’
‘I never cry to get what I want.’
‘You just did.’
‘Believe it or not, I didn’t. If you think I really want you wearing a kilt, driving the women of this world crazy…’
‘Then why-?’
‘I was teasing, Hamish Douglas. Teasing. You’ve never heard of the word?’
‘By crying.’
‘Can we leave the crying alone? It’s getting boring.’
This was crazy. She was standing there glaring at him, her eyes still wet, marmalade splashed all over her T- shirt, daring him…daring him…
‘I hate you to cry,’ he said, sounding dumb, but he didn’t know how else to sound.
‘So I’m not crying.’
‘Susie…’
‘What?’ she said, almost crossly, and she folded her arms across her breasts and glared.
‘You’re crazy.’
‘Sure. I’m crazy.’
‘I want…’
‘What do you want, Hamish Douglas?’
What did he want?
The question hung. He glared at her, marmalade-stained and rumpled and angry and not crying, and suddenly…
Suddenly the mist cleared to make way for one dumb plan. There was a myriad of emotions running through his head right now, emotions chasing their respective tails, but the only thing he could think was a stupid, unwise, crazy thought. But once thought, it was not possible to put it aside. It was just there. It had to surface.
It did surface. ‘I want to kiss you,’ he said.
There was a moment’s silence. A long moment’s silence. She appeared to consider, jutting her chin slightly forward, slightly belligerent, taking her time to come up with a response.
And finally she did.
‘Well, why don’t you?’ she said.
What was he doing, wanting to kiss Susie?
Was he mad? He was engaged to Marcia. Marcia could walk in at any minute. Even though she wasn’t possessive, to find her fiance kissing another woman might push her a wee bit far.
Might? It would, he thought wildly, searching frantically for the control he so valued.
But his control was nowhere to be found. For Susie was right in front of him. Battered, bruised and beloved Susie.
Beloved? Where had that word come from?
It was just there. As was Susie. She was right in front of him, ready and waiting to be kissed.
Was she mad? Was she losing her cotton-picking mind? To kiss Hamish… To let him kiss her…
He was engaged to another woman and the day after tomorrow she was leaving here and she’d never see him again in her life.
Which was why…which was why she was proposing to let him kiss her, she decided. For there was a tiny part of her brain that said this was all there was, this moment, this tiny connection that could only last for one fleeting kiss and then be over.
She’d dared him to kiss her. And he’d do just that. Or she certainly hoped he would.
The signs were good.
He had his hands on her waist. He was taking his time, lingering, looking down into her eyes as he drew her against him. He was making sure that he wasn’t coercing her. He was making sure that she hadn’t made some daft, stupid mistake when she’d agreed to be kissed.
Maybe she had made some daft, stupid mistake but she wasn’t admitting it. Not now, when he was so near. So close.
Not when he was so…Hamish.
She was being drawn into him now. She was allowing those big, capable hands-these lovely, strong and battered hands-to pull her against him. Her breasts were being moulded against the strength of his chest. His hand shifted to cup her chin, tilting her face so her eyes met his.
Things were looking hopeful here. Very hopeful indeed.
He smiled down at her then, a rueful, searching smile that asked more questions than it answered. But there was such tenderness in his look. Such…love?
He was asking a silent question, but she couldn’t respond. How could she respond? She gazed helplessly up at him, and the last vestiges of her laughter faded as she felt her heart lurch sideways. As she felt her heart still, and then start to race as it had almost forgotten it could race.
As she fell. As she tumbled deeper and deeper in love with the man before her.
He was engaged to another woman. She tried to think that but she couldn’t.
For it simply couldn’t matter. This was too important, she thought. Hamish intended to kiss her and all she could do was wait…and hope.
Or raise her face a little more to meet his kiss?
Or she could put her hands on his face and draw him down to her.
Definitely. She’d definitely do that.
She could not think of Marcia. Or Rory. There was no room to think of anything or anyone but Hamish.
And his kiss.
She could drown in this kiss.
