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The same need to know that she felt about him—a need to know more of this man.
Although she left her hand where it was, she couldn’t look at him, chewing at the melon when it had already dissolved to mush in her mouth.
‘I watched you today,’ he continued, genuine interest in his voice. ‘You’re a natural surgeon, the instruments are like extensions of your fingers, and your hands move almost without messages from your brain. You were so enthusiastic about paediatric surgery—’
‘So were you!’ She shot the reminder at him. ‘Stuff happens, as well you know.’
He didn’t reply, studying her again, then gave a rough shake of his head.
‘I’m sorry, I really hadn’t meant to bring all this up, to pry into your private life. It’s none of my business what you do or why you do it and if I hurt you yesterday I’m truly sorry.’
Sarah met his eyes, and saw the apology there as well, but behind it the questions lingered, questions she didn’t want to answer—probably couldn’t.
Not right now, anyway …
Harry moved his chair away—fractionally—then picked up the plate he’d removed from Sarah’s hands and gave it back to her.
Was he out of his mind? Here he had the company of this attractive woman and he’d ruined the lunch by demanding to know why her life had changed.
He’d already upset her twice, obviously by the things he’d said about the past, so why was he pushing for answers she equally obviously didn’t want to give?
And why should she?
What business was it of his what she did or why she did it?
He was attracted to her—he’d got that far in sorting things out—but he’d rarely, or possibly never, pried into the pasts of other women to whom he’d been attracted.
He had accepted them as they were, enjoying a relationship that brought pleasure to both of them, always with the understanding that that was all it would ever be.
He knew some of the reasons it was all the women concerned wanted—their careers came first, or they’d been hurt before and just wanted the fun and companionship, and, yes, sex.
While ever conscious that for all he’d built his own life away from his family and the place of his birth, he still had obligations there—and a woman his family had pledged him to marry.
So relationships had been, well, fun, and many of the women remained his friend.
But this woman?
He pushed his plate away, his appetite gone, and looked at her.
‘For all we seem to have done nothing but fling accusations at each other and probably hurt each other more than we should, there’s something between us,’ he said, hoping that bringing things out into the open might help.
She smiled, which didn’t help.
‘You mean a cup of coffee nearly five years ago and a stonefish sting?’
‘No!’
He hadn’t meant to snap, but even in his own ears it sounded snappy.
‘A link, an attraction—a strong attraction that I think you can feel, too.’
She looked up from her plate then looked down again, very deliberately choosing a slice of pineapple and lifting it to luscious pink lips.
Every sinew in his body tightened—attraction? Or nerves about what, if anything, she might reply?
‘And?’ she said finally, when she’d chewed the pineapple far more than was necessary and swallowed it, the white skin on her throat moving up and down, the tip of her tongue sliding out to wipe the juice from her lips.
The tightening this time definitely wasn’t nerves.
‘And what?’ The words scratched out from a throat thickened by emotion.
She almost smiled, her lips widening just slightly, indenting the faintest of dimples into her cheeks.
‘And what would we do about it if, as you say, there’s something there?’
‘I don’t know!’
He threw up his arms in exasperation. This wasn’t how his courtships usually worked. He met a woman, they liked each other, went out for dinner then usually ended up in bed.
No, he shouldn’t have thought about the bed part, especially as his bed was so close and he could already picture a naked Sarah Watson spread out on it, while he licked the cream of her skin from her toes to her forehead.
Possibly pausing on the way, here and there …
He blanked the image and forced his mind to shut down the thoughts accompanying it.
‘It’s a long time since I’ve been in a relationship,’ she said quietly, setting down her plate and leaning back in the chair, the faded T-shirt she was wearing pulling tight against her full breasts.
‘Because?’
He had to ask but all she did was shake her head and look so lost he wanted to scoop her into his arms and hold her tight against his chest until the sadness left her lovely eyes.
‘But I probably wouldn’t mind one.’
Had he heard her right?
‘With me?’ he managed to get out, any semblance of the suave man of the world he thought himself completely gone.
This time she smiled properly.
‘Well, you’re here, and I think you’re right, there is something between us, isn’t there? We’re both old enough to recognise attraction, and should be able to admit to it, for all it’s weird when neither of us seem to like each other particularly, and I don’t really believe in instant …’
‘Lust?’ he suggested when she faltered in her almost clinical dissection of what lay between them.
‘I suppose that’s as good a word for what we’re experiencing as any,’ she admitted, ‘and given I’m only here for a week—well, five days now—it wouldn’t have time to get complicated. It’d be like a holiday romance only without the holiday part—a fling.’
He nodded, partly because he couldn’t find the words but also, in part, because he had no idea where to go from there.
Taking her into the bedroom and peeling off all her clothes was one option, but it seemed a little abrupt—even more clinical than her words had been.
Damn it all, how did he usually get a woman into bed? He must have some technique—some idea of how to get from a shared lunch to the bedroom!
She was smiling, probably at the confusion that must be evident on his face.
Had she really just suggested they have an affair—well, hardly an affair, surely they took longer …?
I wouldn’t mind one. She’d definitely said that.
Put the words right out there in the open, in a cartoon bubble above her head!
Well, the man was the most handsome, sexy member of the species she’d ever met, and if you counted tingling nerves, and a racing pulse, and shallow breathing, then he was right about there being something between them.
But an affair?
Well, hardly that, a fling.
A very short fling …
What the hell!
She looked into those slumberous grey eyes, studied the moulded lips, and, as panic yelled at her to go, to run for her life, she heard herself saying, ‘Well, what happens next?’
He looked so stunned, she helped him out.
‘Either I kiss you or you kiss me, I guess. Do you have a preference?’
He made a growling kind of noise and drew her close, studying her face, running his fingers through her hair, eyes wide now with a kind of wonder.
‘You’re serious?’
‘Well, I think I am, but the more you mess about the more worried I’m getting. Perhaps we should sleep on it, decide tomorrow.’
This time the growly noise was more like a purr.
‘And miss tonight? No way.’
Now, finally, he did kiss her.
Well, she guessed it was just a kiss, although it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, sending her brain cells into a muzzy cloud and her body into a frenzy of desire.
Lust?
What the hell? Did it really matter?
She concentrated on the kiss, on kissing him with as much heat as he was kissing her.
Kissing him …
He felt her momentary hesitation, remembered her tears, and lifted his head, cupping her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes.
‘You’re sure about this?’
Well, nearly sure …
She didn’t say the words but he read it in her eyes. Nearly sure wasn’t good enough—not this time, for some reason, not with this woman.
Though at other times would he have hesitated?
Hell, what did he know?
Except he wanted her to be sure, so he kissed her lightly on the lips and tried a smile, although he knew it probably looked as false as it felt.
‘Think about it,’ he said quietly.
She eased her body away from his and nodded.
‘I think I need to,’ she responded.
And with that, she stood up, thanked him politely for the lunch, and walked away.
Out of his bure, but not out of his life?
He had no idea …
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_921c7d56-9c29-544f-b157-0886a7ad910e)
SARAH HEADED STRAIGHT for the rock fall. Sunset Beach was her sanctuary on this island and the sooner she got there the sooner she might be able to work out why she’d suddenly taken leave of her senses.
Calmly telling that man she wouldn’t mind an affair!
That was what she’d said, wasn’t it?
And from what part of her obviously impaired brain had those words sprung?
Although, remembering the heat of that one long kiss, she doubted her brain had had anything to do with it.
Even so …
She was clambering over the rocks now as the tide was in, but her mind raced to find an explanation for her behaviour.
Once on the beach she sat in the shade of the rocks—it was really far too early for her to be out here—and let the beauty of that special place calm her racing heart.
In the beginning, all she’d had room for in her heart and mind had been her grief, the grieving process isolating her from others, so she’d barely noticed that the sensual part of her nature had died along with David and her unborn child.
But seeing Rahman al-Taraq—Harry—again at the cocktail party had not only brought back memories of that dreadful day but, contrarily, had reawoken her senses. She’d been so startled by the unmistakable surge of attraction she’d felt towards him that she’d denied ever having met him and fled the party.
Yet, once reawoken and stirred, those parts of her that had lain dormant would no longer be denied, and over the following weeks she’d dreamt, at times, not particularly of Harry but of the pleasant, teasing sex she’d shared with David, although sometimes in the dreams he wasn’t David, and sometimes in the dreams she’d wanted more …
She shook her head, sighed, and stared out at the translucent water that ran over the reef through the lagoon and splashed on the beach near her feet.
