One Night With Morelli (7 page)

It didn’t even cross her mind that they were standing in full view of anyone who happened by. She couldn’t think beyond the throbbing ache of need between her thighs and when it became too much to bear and as what was left of her control broke she grabbed the back of his neck with both hands and pulled his face in closer.

Eve kissed him back with an urgency, a wildness, that matched his. She clung to him like a limpet as he staggered back, struggling to keep his balance while she pulled at his clothes with greedy hands, trailing kisses across his face, down the strong column of his neck then moving back to his mouth.

When she slid her hands under his shirt he gasped, then moaned. Eve felt his ribcage lift as he sucked in a breath then held it as he grabbed both of her hands, which were sliding down the corrugated muscles of his belly, and dragged them away.

He stood back, looking down at her for a moment, at the wanton picture she made. It had been the feeling of her eager hands sliding over his damp, satiny smooth skin that had almost made his control snap, and it was only the knowledge that his daughter could be one of those interesting passers-by to witness this that made him hold back.

‘Well, I think that might have done the trick,’ he gasped, still fighting for control.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!

The cry was in the vault of her skull. Her lips thankfully stayed closed and trembling as Eve watched him drag his shirt together, tucking it into his trousers.

‘Are you all right?’ He felt a slug of unwelcome guilt, she looked so damned fragile standing there.

She took several shaky steps backwards, only stopping when her back made contact with a tree. Lifting her chin, she directed what she hoped was a look of cold disdain, but was more than likely breathless shock and confusion, at his lean face.

He wasn’t touching her but there was a fierce intensity in his rigid attitude that made her stomach muscles vibrate.

‘I’m not going to have sex with you to prove I’m not a lesbian.’

‘Oh, I think you proved that already seeing as your friends have left. And it is always polite,
cara
, to wait to be asked first.’

She had no defence against the mortified rush of colour that bathed her body in a guilty glow. ‘Pity you didn’t ask first before you mauled me about like that. And you can quit with all that Italian
cara
stuff; it’s incredibly cheesy.’

‘To be accurate I think we should call it mutual…mauling,’ he mused, the smouldering glow in his deep-set eyes sparking as he added, ‘And to be honest that didn’t go quite the way I anticipated. Sorry—’ he glanced over his shoulder ‘—but Josie could be here any minute.’

Just when she thought she could not feel any more humiliated, she tossed her head. ‘It was only a kiss.’

His brows lifted and he barked a dry laugh. ‘If you think that was
only a kiss
,
cara
, I can’t wait to see your version of
just sex
!’

‘There won’t be any just sex! No sex at all!’ Turning on her heel, she could hear his soft laughter following her.

CHAPTER SIX

I
F
HER
MUM
had been around this wouldn’t be happening because Eve knew that Sarah would have taken one look at her daughter’s face and said, ‘No way are you driving, my girl—you’re in no fit state.’

It wouldn’t have mattered what Eve said because that was what mothers did: they stopped their daughters driving even if they were perfectly capable—or she would have done if she’d been there and not off on her honeymoon with her new husband.

Eve gave a self-pitying sniff as she trudged on, finding it easy to lay her present predicament at the door of Charlie Latimer. She decided to give it until that next bend, because how frustrating would it be if she turned back only to later realise that she had actually been within a few hundred yards of the main road and hopefully some help or at least some place with a phone signal?

She was trying her phone again when she heard the car in the distance and felt a stab of relief. But by the time the distant light had become dazzling the relief had morphed into apprehension; if this were a crime drama she’d be the body in the first scene, the one that normally made her want to shout at the screen, How could you be so stupid?

She took a deep breath. This was real life, most people were not homicidal maniacs and she was not about to get into a car with a stranger. She just wanted to ask if they could contact a local garage to come and pick her and her car up…yes, that was definitely the sensible option.

The big low car slowed and, heart beating hard, Eve carried on walking, though more slowly, projecting as much confidence as possible as you should when you were alone in the dark in the middle of nowhere… For goodness’ sake, Eve, Surrey is hardly the last wilderness! she scorned.

‘Are you totally insane?’

It was not the conversational comment that made her spin around directing her wide-eyed stare at the driver of the car, but the deep voice with that tactile ‘once heard never ever forgotten’ quality. Her stomach reacted by going into a deep dive while simultaneously every square inch of her skin prickled with an appalling awareness that was painful in its intensity.

Her head was immediately filled with thoughts of his mouth crashing down on hers, his warm lips teasing, tormenting… With a massive effort she reined in her imagination and her indiscriminate hormones, managing to focus on the here and now.

The painful truth here was that in some ways a homicidal maniac might have been easier to cope with.

The engine was still running as she took a deep breath, lifting a hand to her face against the glare of the headlights as the driver’s door was flung open and the occupant vaulted out.

It was impossible to read his expression, but his body language was less of a struggle. His tall, lean frame was rigid, projecting none of the languid, mocking attitude that got under her skin, but something that approached anger.

She squared her shoulders. Some people might conclude it was a sort of cosmic conspiracy or fate that kept on throwing her into this man’s path. Eve, who believed a person was in charge of their own fate, thought it was more of a bad day getting worse!

A lot worse.

‘What are you doing here?’ Not your loud voice, Eve, warned the critic in her head. As he took a step closer and she fought the urge to mirror his action with several back she got sucked in once again by the entire in-your-face physical thing he had going on. If his voice was hard to forget the rest of him was…she released a tight fractured sigh and thought…stupendous.

‘I was passing…?’

She did not respond to the dry wit but then as a shaft of moonlight fell directly across his face she saw he wasn’t smiling either; each fascinating hollow and carved sybaritic angle of his incredible face was set in a grim line of cold accusation that set her chin up another defensive notch.

‘Are you stalking m-me?’ It was not hard to visualise him as a sleek predator but she, Eve reminded herself, was not anyone’s prey. Despite her intention to cloak her comment with a believable level of amused indifference, she finished on a stutter.

Cut yourself some slack, Eve. There probably wasn’t a woman on the entire planet who could laugh at the idea of being pursued by this man…and they hadn’t been kissed by him—or kissed him back.

She closed the door on that memory, but not before her insides had dissolved and her core temperature had risen several painful degrees.

‘If I was stalking you, you’re making it damned easy.’

‘You’re calling me easy?’ Why not just leave your foot in your mouth, Eve? It will save you time and energy, she thought with an internal groan.

‘Easy?’

The echo carried a note she tried to place as his dark eyes went from her face to the near-empty minor road. She turned her head, wondering if he had seen another car.

Five miles, Draco estimated, if not more since he had seen another vehicle, and that off-roader had turned down a farm track. He wouldn’t be on it himself if he hadn’t been dropping off Josie at her English cousin’s house, and what would Eve have done then…?

Eve tensed as his attention refocused on her face.

‘No, you’re bloody hard work. Just get in the damned car.’

‘That won’t be necessary, thank you. I don’t want to be a nuisance, but if you could inform a garage that I broke down. This is a short cut.’ Hearing the defensiveness in her own voice, Eve frowned. For the past half-hour she had been contemplating turning back as each successive bend in the road did not reveal the main road—but there was no need to tell him that.

His brows lifted as he slid a phone from his pocket, wishing leaving her standing here in the middle of nowhere was an option.

Liar,
said the voice in his head. He hadn’t got excited by the idea of making out in a car since his teens, but for some reason this woman, with her prickles and her lush lips and her hungry eyes, had made him ache in a way that made self-delusion useful. After all, what was the point overanalysing something that was as simple as sex? Especially as with her he knew it would be stupendous!

‘Ever heard of mobile phones?’ Ever heard of avoiding someone with emotional high maintenance written all over her face? He detoured around his own internal question and waved his phone at her—trying to ignore the way the softening effect of the dark copper-toned curls that framed her face made her appear younger and more vulnerable.

‘Ever heard of black spots where you get no signal?’ she returned seamlessly. Did the man think she was a total idiot?

No, he just thinks you’re easy, Eve—with good reason!
The door opened on the memory still raw, still recent, still mortifying and, yes, still wildly exciting, submerging her in a tidal wave of hot, lustful longing against which her only defence was to shove her trembling hands into her pockets and look away.

She could not remember feeling this out of control for…well, ever. She didn’t like it, and she didn’t like him. No, not liking him was too mild an emotion; she hated him.

Draco’s ebony brows twitched into a line above his masterful nose as he slid the phone back into his pocket without looking at it. He was trying not to see the visible tremors that shook her slender frame under the double-breasted jacket that looked at least two sizes too big for her.

‘Get in!’ he snapped, fighting off an irrational surge of tenderness; combined with the lust that still circulated hotly through his veins, it made for a contradictory and uncomfortable mix. It was a massive mistake to equate small and delicate with vulnerable or in need of protection—she was as tough as nails.

Or she’d like the world to think she was.

Ignoring the mental addition, he added with silky sarcasm, ‘Unless you would prefer to walk? Or possibly wait for a serial killer? They do say that they come along in twos, or is that buses?’

Her scornful glance swept upwards from his polished toes but she only made it as far as his waist and stalled. At some point, like her, Draco had changed. The dark jeans he now wore fitted just as perfectly as the tailored trousers of his morning suit, though the cut of the denim emphasised his lean hips and the muscularity of his thighs.

Swallowing past the sudden aching occlusion in her throat, she wrenched her eyes clear, gave a scornful snort and angrily retorted, ‘You’ve never caught a bus in your life!’ She stopped, frowning darkly as her accusation drew a startled laugh from him. ‘And statistically speaking—’

The pistol-shot snap of Draco’s long fingers made Eve jump and indicated his opinion of statistics and his diminishing patience levels. She was glad of the interruption as it was hard to focus on statistics when she was thinking how it felt to be plastered up close against those iron-hard thighs, feeling the shocking imprint of a rock-hard arousal on her belly.

He gave a sigh, intoning wearily, ‘Get in, Eve. I’ve better things to do than stand here arguing the toss.’

Eve, who had been swaying slightly, blinked hard. She knew about red mists but the one that floated in her brain clouding good sense was darker and it had warmth and depth and— No, don’t wrap it up, Eve, she told herself impatiently. It’s just lust; get over yourself. So the man knows how to kiss?

‘Thank you, but I’ve said if you could—’

He raised an ironic brow and she stopped, catching her full upper lip between her white teeth as she gave a sigh and surrendered, if not to the dark mist, then to the practicalities of her situation. So she accepted a lift from him—what was the worst that could happen?

She brushed a strand of curling chestnut hair from her eyes. The only thing she’d achieved when she’d looked in the engine earlier had been a bang on the head, which had shaken half her hair loose. Of course it had gone into frizz mode immediately. Her eyes went to his dark head. After they’d kissed his hair had been sexily ruffled. Now it was smooth and sleek and yet it was still sexy.

‘That’s very kind of you—’ Her eyes connected with his and she stopped speaking, her heart beating hard and fast. There was nothing that could be even loosely termed as kind in his eyes right now; the feral glow made her insides dissolve.

She sounded like a prim schoolmistress and she looked— His eyes slid of their own volition to the full curve of her cushiony lips, and he groaned silently. He recalled how she kissed like a sex-starved angel, and gritted his teeth against the ache in his groin that packed the kick of a mule.

‘I’m not kind.’

Eve gave her head a tiny shake, causing a curling tendril to attach itself to her mouth, and she detached the strands with an impatient frown.

* * *

In his seat before her Draco leant across, pulling away the jacket draped over the back of the passenger seat before she leaned back. His hand touched her shoulder as he slung it into the back, even that light contact sending an electrical surge through her body.

She survived the brush of his eyes, breathing through the moment and even managing to acknowledge his action with a slight nod despite the swirling confusion in her brain.

As he hit the ignition the space was filled with a classic jazz ballad. Eve exhaled, covering her mouth with her hand to disguise her sigh of relief—she wouldn’t have to make conversation.

Then he turned it off.

They had driven a few minutes when he broke the silence.

‘Will you fasten your jacket?’

She didn’t fight the childish urge to challenge everything he said or question it too deeply. ‘Why? I’m warm.’

The comment drew a rumble of laughter from his throat, but, bemused and desperately hiding her reaction to the nerve-shredding effect of being in close physical proximity to him, Eve turned her head and slung him a scowl.

‘I’m missing the irony.’

‘You make your living selling underwear but you don’t wear your own products.’

She was tired and stressed and it took a few moments for his meaning to penetrate. When it did she grabbed the corners of her jacket and pulled them together.

‘You mean I’m not an underwear model. Well, for the record, most women aren’t and I make underwear for normal women.’

‘Make but not wear.’

‘I…I had a very minor surgery and the bra strap chafes.’ The Australian doctor had been reassuring about the mole he’d said looked innocent, but to be safe he’d whipped it off and sent it for analysis.

‘Minor?’

‘A mole removal, but it was nothing sinister.’

His brow smoothed as he slid a sideways look at her face. ‘With your skin you should plaster on factor fifty.’

‘I’m not an idiot.’

‘That’s open to debate.’ What wasn’t was her delicious, soft, smooth pale skin; it would be nothing short of criminal to expose it to the harshening effects of the sun. ‘Statistically speaking, someone with your colouring—’

‘I am not ginger; it’s chestnut.’

Colour aside, it was an essential part of his fantasies.

‘Well, statistically—’

‘Do you know how boring people who quote statistics are?’

He adopted an expression of unconvincing confusion as he consulted the rear-view mirror. ‘I never quote statistics,’ he explained. ‘I make them up—no one ever knows the difference and you sound informed and intelligent.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Totally,’ he confirmed. ‘You should try it. You’d be amazed at how few people question a statistic.’

Eve bit her quivering lip, then, losing her fight, broke into peals of laughter.

She had a great laugh, when she wasn’t feeling bitter and twisted and sexually frustrated. He couldn’t believe now that he had actually almost convinced himself she was a virgin. He realised that Eve Curtis could be fun outside bed, not that his interest in her extended beyond the bedroom, he told himself.

Wiping her eyes, she turned to him. ‘So the next time I find myself losing an argument I should make up a statistic.’

‘You have to keep an element of realism and you have to believe what you say.’

‘You mean,’ she cut back slickly, ‘you have to be a good liar.’

‘That goes without saying…’

‘Like you.’

‘I could say I’m always honest but I might be lying.’ Eve recognised the crossroads they were approaching; it was the one where she always nursed a secret fear of taking the wrong turning and ending up in Wales.