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‘Flirting usually leads to something else,’ Cormac murmured in a low, languorous voice. ‘Something more.’
‘That isn’t a very good idea, though,’ Lizzie protested weakly, ‘considering…’
‘Actually, I think it’s a very good idea.’
Lizzie swallowed, scooted a bit further away on the bench. He was teasing her, toying with her. He had to be. She just didn’t know how to handle it. ‘How did the meeting go tonight?’ she asked in a desperately blatant attempt to change the subject.
Cormac smiled, amused. ‘Dan White is a strong contender,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘Hassell is so thrilled he’s having a child, and White’s like a big, friendly dog, jumping all over the place, licking and slobbering.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Hassell has made this weekend not about the designs, but about who we are.’
Lizzie regarded him quietly. ‘And you don’t want him to see who you really are,’ she said.
Cormac’s expression sharpened, his mouth twisting sardonically before he shrugged. ‘Of course not, sweetheart.’
‘Don’t—’
‘Shh.’ Suddenly his whole face softened into a smile, a sexy smile that had sudden need flooding through Lizzie’s limbs even as her mind spun in confusion.
He reached up, tangled a hand in the silken strands of hair blowing against her cheek and drew her closer to him.
‘Shh,’ he said again, and kissed her.
The feel of his lips—hard, unyielding, and yet so achingly tender—sent every thought spinning from Lizzie’s brain. A part of her knew—had known, anyway—that someone must be watching for Cormac to do this. Yet, even as her brain acknowledged that fact, the rest of her body kicked into gear, flamed into desire.
Cormac’s lips caressed her own, his hand drifting from her cheek to her throat and then to her breast, his fingers expertly, easily teasing her.
Lizzie gasped against his mouth, felt his smile. She’d never been touched like this, and even though she knew it was a performance—a charade—she could not keep herself from reacting.
Wanting. More.
Her arms wound around his neck, fingers lost in the crispness of his hair. She felt herself lean forward to press her breasts against the wonderful hardness of his chest.
Even in the softened haze of feeling she realised that someone must be watching this blatant, brazen display and she stiffened in shame.
She pulled away, jerking herself out of Cormac’s arms, and looked around.
No one was there.
She glanced at Cormac. He was leaning back against the bench, a smile playing about his lips—the lips she’d just kissed. She could still feel the soft, salty taste of him on her tongue. In her mouth.
‘There’s no one,’ she said, and he shrugged.
‘I thought someone was coming.’
Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you really?’
He grinned. ‘No.’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘Don’t play with me, Cormac.’
‘But it’s fun to play.’ He rose from the bench in one lithe, lazy movement, reached for her hand. ‘Come on, Chandler. Time for bed.’
Woodenly she took his hand and didn’t even resist when he kept hold of it, all the way back to the bedroom. Her mind was spinning—spinning from Cormac’s kiss.
And the revelation that would have been obvious to a woman with any experience—any woman but her.
He wanted her. Wanted. Her.
Her.
Why, Lizzie wondered numbly, was that so amazing? So flattering? Cormac had most likely slept with hundreds of women. She was just one more.
No. She would not let herself be notched up. She wouldn’t…couldn’t…
Except it—he—was so hard to resist.
It felt wonderful to be wanted.
Back in the room, Lizzie stood by the door while Cormac began to undress, unself-conscious as always. The shutters had been closed, the bed turned down, the soft light from a lamp casting shadows on the tiled floor.
Lizzie watched him shrug off his shirt, the desire from their kiss still pulsing through her. She leaned against the door, one hand on the knob as if she would flee from the room, from what she was feeling.
‘Going somewhere?’ Cormac asked, one eyebrow raised. He was bare-chested, his hands at his belt buckle.
Lizzie closed her eyes, then snapped them open. ‘No…but we need to talk.’
‘All right. Talk.’
‘I’m not going to sleep with you, Cormac.’ Lizzie blushed, lifted her chin. Cormac simply waited, his hands still at his buckle. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t pretend that far.’
His gaze travelled over her slowly, resting on her still aching breasts. His mouth curved in a knowing smile. ‘I don’t think you were pretending all that much.’
Lizzie’s blush intensified; her whole body felt hot. ‘You’re right, I wasn’t,’ she agreed. ‘Before this weekend, I never gave you a thought that way, but now…’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve come to realise I’m attracted to you. As you well know. And,’ she added defiantly, ‘you are to me.’
‘Yes, I am. As I told you before.’ He walked towards her and Lizzie’s hand tightened on the doorknob.
‘Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t come closer.’
He paused, took a little step. ‘What are you scared of, Lizzie? Me? Or yourself?’
‘Both,’ she admitted in a raw whisper, and he spread his hands wide.
‘I won’t hurt you.’
Lizzie choked on a laugh of pure disbelief. ‘Cormac, all you’ll do is hurt me.’
‘It would feel very nice at the time,’ he murmured. His eyes raked over her slowly, purposefully, his mouth curling into a smile of seductive promise.
Lizzie shook her head, knowing she was convincing herself as much as him. ‘I’m not into casual affairs. I’m not that…’
‘Sort of girl?’ he finished. ‘But I’m sure you could become one.’ He paused. ‘Who knows what could happen, if we give it a chance?’
‘Are you saying we might actually have a relationship?’ Lizzie said in a voice ringing with disbelief…and damning hope.
Cormac shrugged. He took another step closer and his fingers trailed temptingly down her bare arm. ‘I’m saying let’s see what happens.’
‘I don’t want to.’
He laughed—a rich, indulgent sound. ‘Yes, you do.’
Lizzie closed her eyes. ‘You could seduce me, Cormac. I know you could. I…I find you hard to resist,’ she admitted painfully, her face on fire. ‘But I’m asking you not to. I’d hate myself in the morning…and I’d hate you. That can hardly be good for your commission.’
He stilled, then smiled, letting his fingers skim across her shoulder, over her breast, his smile deepening as he felt her react. He tilted her chin, met her tortured gaze with light, laughing eyes. ‘Let me know if you change your mind.’
‘I won’t.’
He brushed her lips in a kiss that still managed to sear her soul. ‘You keep telling yourself that, Chandler. Maybe one day you’ll come to believe it.’
He dropped his hand and, as if released from a prison, Lizzie stumbled backwards. She grabbed her pyjamas, clutching them to her chest as she escaped into the bathroom to change.
She would keep telling herself that, she thought fiercely. It was the only way to make sure it stayed true.
Cormac stretched in bed and laced his fingers behind his head. His pose was relaxed, calculatingly so, yet a restlessness surged through his body.
A restlessness caused by both desire and dissatisfaction.
Lizzie wanted him. He knew that. And he wanted her…more than he’d care to admit.
It had started as a challenge; it had become a need.
If only she weren’t so innocent…so damn moral, clinging to her virtue like some outraged virgin…She couldn’t actually be a virgin, though. Could she? In this day and age? At twentyeight?
She came out of the bathroom, dressed in her pathetic, shabby pyjamas, and he found his lips twitching as he asked, ‘Hey, Chandler. Are you a virgin?’
Lizzie stiffened, betraying colour flooding her face. A twenty-eight-year-old virgin. No wonder she was playing so shy.
‘Even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t sleep with you,’ she said in a strangled voice, her chin held high, and he felt a reluctant flicker of admiration for her spirit.
‘But think how I could introduce you to the pleasures of the flesh,’ he murmured enticingly, just to see her flush intensify. ‘The pleasures of love.’
She threw him a hard, heated look. ‘But there’s no love involved, is there, Cormac?’
He leaned back against the pillows, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘That’s what you want, is it? What are you going to do, wait until marriage?’
‘Maybe I will.’ Lizzie lifted her chin. ‘Or at least wait until I meet a man who loves and respects me,’ she finished with cold dignity. ‘You do neither.’ She slipped into bed, her back to him, a sad, hunched little form.
Cormac leaned over and tucked the sheet around her shoulder. ‘But you still want me,’ he whispered, and she stiffened under his fingers.
‘It means nothing.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ He dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck, felt the shudder run through her body, and smiled.
Cormac lay in the darkness, listening to the soft sounds of their breathing. His body still throbbed and ached from the kiss they’d already shared, from the knowledge of her body, inches from his, tense and still. He could smell her scent, lemony shampoo and something else that was just pure Lizzie.
Pure lust.
He hadn’t felt such desire—need—for a woman in a long time. Perhaps ever.
He thought of what she wanted…Love. Respect. His mouth twisted in sardonic acknowledgement. He supposed he could give her that.
If Lizzie were in love with him, Jan would never doubt they were a happy couple. Stears would stop his innuendoes, as well.
The commission would be his…and what an enjoyable way to achieve it.
His mind flicked over the possibilities, the problems. Lizzie would have to believe he was in love with her…for how long? How much? He needed to be believable. She could never suspect.
It was a risk, a challenge—the rush he craved. And now it was a need.
He smiled. He wanted her; he would have her, willing, in his arms.
Soon.
Lizzie sighed, and he could tell by her easy breathing that she was asleep. Knowing such respite was hours away for himself, he rolled quietly out of bed.
He took his sketchbook and pencils from his suitcase and, sitting in a chair opposite the bed, stared hard at the still, sleeping figure before he bent his head and began to draw.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_718a5049-f3e7-5c92-b91a-402cc1b3dfe0)
SUNLIGHT was slanting in wide beams on the floor when Lizzie awoke. She lay still for a moment, listening to the gentle whoosh of the sea only metres from their bedroom, the call of a macaw and the rustle of the palms in the breeze.
She glanced over at Cormac and tensed, expecting to see him awake and gazing at her with that sardonic knowledge in those glinting hazel eyes.
Instead she found him asleep, and she shifted carefully on her side so she could study him.
He was a beautiful man. In sleep, his face was softened, relaxed, his thick lashes sweeping his cheeks, his mouth, usually pulled into a frown or a scowl, now softened into a half smile. His hair was mussed like a boy’s. He had the beginnings of a cowlick, and it made her smile.
What had Cormac been like as a boy? She pictured him in a private-school uniform, prissy and pampered. It was hard to imagine. Perhaps his parents had sent him away to boarding school. That innate arrogance, the expectation of obedience came, she thought, from money. Money and power.
Her gaze slid downward. His chest was bare, pure sculpted muscle tapering to slim hips and powerful thighs, hidden only by a thin sheet.
He wore boxers, but she could still see evidence of his manhood and it ignited a traitorous heat inside her, just by looking.
What about touching…
She lifted a hand, stopped. She’d been about to touch his chest…to caress him.
