0263249026 (R) by Bella Frances Page A

Ever.
    He squeezed her to his chest, almost as if checking she was real.
    ‘What do you think? Worth the wait?’ he said finally.
    She lay still. ‘I hate to burst your bubble, but I think it might need to be the best out of three.’
    He smiled. Trust her …
    She smoothed her hands over his chest, pressed her fingers into the bruise that now bloomed like a map of the world over his right pec.
    ‘Is that sore? Am I hurting you?’
    He snatched at her skinny little wrist as she fired him one of her wicked grins.
    ‘The purple skin and burst stitches don’t give you a clue?’
    She batted her eyes and lowered her head. Kissed the bruised flesh—little whispers of touch with that fiery mouth.
    ‘Is that better?’
    He threaded his fingers through her hair, caught them up in a tangle and worked it free.
    ‘I’ll live. Come here.’
    He wanted to feel her close against him. He was acting out of character, but having her wrapped over him felt so damn good. He loved women—of course he did—but he knew the chemistry, the bonding, the whole emotional fallout attached to the aftermath of lovemaking could lead to expectations he was never going to fulfil. But this moment he had waited for. And he was going to savour it.
    ‘Makes a change from the last time, when you tried to kick me out of bed.’
    ‘At least one of us had our head screwed on.’
    He leaned up on his elbow to look at the sleek cat that lay across him.
    ‘You know how crazy that was? You tested me to themax. I’ve never been so tempted, and you were—what?—sixteen? Have you any idea how wrong that would have been?’
    ‘Didn’t feel wrong at the time, though, did it?’
    She twisted her head round to look at him, pressed another whisper-kiss to his chest. Nothing about her felt wrong. Then or now.
    He shook his head. ‘Your family didn’t strike me as being the most freethinking. It was a miracle that we weren’t caught.’
    She turned her head, pulled herself away. Lay back on the bed beside him and stared up at the ceiling.
    ‘We were. Caught. Actually.’
    ‘What? Are you kidding me?’
    He shifted up. No way. No. Way. He would have known—he would have been called to account. There was no chance her brother would have continued to do business with him—no way their professional or personal relationship could have withstood that type of interference.
    She twisted her head. ‘Oh, don’t worry—I denied it. Until I was hoarse. And Mark doesn’t know—at least I think he doesn’t. But my dad—let’s just say he has suspicions … deep suspicions.’
    Damn. He hadn’t considered that.
    ‘Angel—I’m sorry. I’d never have left you to handle that on your own had I known. What happened?’
    She sighed, and he saw her twist at the silver ring on her finger.
    ‘I don’t know. I don’t know if we woke him with our noise or if he was just awake anyway. But after you’d got your stuff together and walked out I went to go back to my room and he was there—at the top of the stairs. He asked me outright what the hell I’d been doing.’
    He remembered every second of that night. Stifling her cries with his mouth as she came in his hand from those few fevered touches. Pinning her down and then reality crashing round him as he’d realised what the hell had just happened—what the hell he’d been about to do. Trying to get out of bed, pulling on clothes that were icy and damp, buttoning himself up over the erection that wouldn’t go down. Heaving on his boots as she’d still tried to tempt him back to bed. Finally grabbing her shoulders and hissing at her to stop, to leave him, she was too young!
    But she hadn’t given up. Naked, driving him wild. He’d hauled the sheet off the bed and wrapped her up. As he’d yanked the door open and tried to remember which way was out the farmhouse’s narrow windows and dark passages had lent him no clue.
    Finally he’d stumbled down to the kitchen, past the sheepdogs lying in front of the