remote. It’s been in the Donovan family for centuries.”
“Born in an Irish castle,” he mused. “Maybe that explains why the first time I saw you I thought, well, there’s the faerie queen, right next door in the rosebushes.” His smiled faded, and he spoke without thinking. “You took my breath away.”
The glass stopped halfway to her lips. Those lips parted in surprised confusion. “I …” She drank to give herself a moment to think. “I suppose part of your gift would be imagining faeries under bushes, elves in the garden, wizards in the treetops.”
“I suppose.” She smelled as lovely as the breeze that brought traces of her garden and hints of the sea through his windows. He stepped closer, surprised and not entirely displeased to see the alarm in her eyes. “How’s that scratch? Neighbor.” Gently he cupped his hand around her arm, skimmed his thumb up until he felt the pulse inside her elbow skitter. Whatever was affecting him was damn well doing the same to her. His lips curved. “Hurt?”
“No.” Her voice thickened, baffling her, arousing him. “No, of course it doesn’t.”
“You still smell of flowers.”
“The salve—”
“No.” The knuckles of his free hand skimmed just under her chin. “You always smell of flowers. Wildflowers and sea foam.”
How had she come to be backed against the counter, his body brushing hers, his mouth so close, so temptingly close, that she could all but taste it?
And she wanted that taste, wanted it with a sudden staggering force that wiped every other thought out ofher head. Slowly, her eyes on his, she brought her hand to his chest, spread it over his heart, where the beat was strong. Strong and wild.
And so would the kiss be, she thought. Strong and wild, from the first instant.
As if to assure her of that, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, tangling his fingers in it. It was warm, as he’d known it would be, warm as the sunlight it took its shade from. For a moment, his entire being was focused on the kiss to come, the reckless pleasure of it. His mouth was a breath from hers, and her sigh was already filling him, when he heard his daughter’s feet clattering on the stairs.
Boone jolted back as if she’d burned him. Speechless, they stared at each other, both of them stunned by what had nearly happened and by the force behind it.
What was he doing? Boone asked himself. Grabbing a woman in his kitchen when there was chicken on the stove, potatoes going cold on the counter and his little girl about to skip into the room?
“I should go.” Ana set down her glass before it could slip out of her trembling hand. “I really only meant to stay a minute.”
“Ana.” He shifted, blocking the way in case she sprinted for the door. “I have a feeling what just happened here was out of character for both of us. That’s interesting, don’t you think?”
She lifted those solemn gray eyes to his. “I don’t know your character.”
“Well, I don’t make a habit of seducing women in the kitchen when my daughter’s upstairs. And I certainly don’t make a habit out of wanting the hell out of a woman the minute I lay eyes on her.”
She wished she hadn’t set the wine down. Her throat was bone-dry. “I suppose you want me to say I’ll take your word for it. But I won’t.”
Both anger and challenge sparkled in his eyes. “Then I’ll have to prove it to you, won’t I?”
“No, you—”
“My hands are clean, clean, clean.” Blissfully unaware of the tension shimmering in the air, Jessie danced into the kitchen, palms held out for inspection. “How come they have to be clean when I don’t eat with my fingers anyway?”
Effortfully, he pulled himself back and tweaked his daughter’s nose. “Because germs like to sneak off little girls’ hands and into their mashed potatoes.”
“Yuck.” She made a face, then grinned. “Daddy makes the best mashed potatoes in the whole wide world. Don’t you want some? She can stay for
“Born in an Irish castle,” he mused. “Maybe that explains why the first time I saw you I thought, well, there’s the faerie queen, right next door in the rosebushes.” His smiled faded, and he spoke without thinking. “You took my breath away.”
The glass stopped halfway to her lips. Those lips parted in surprised confusion. “I …” She drank to give herself a moment to think. “I suppose part of your gift would be imagining faeries under bushes, elves in the garden, wizards in the treetops.”
“I suppose.” She smelled as lovely as the breeze that brought traces of her garden and hints of the sea through his windows. He stepped closer, surprised and not entirely displeased to see the alarm in her eyes. “How’s that scratch? Neighbor.” Gently he cupped his hand around her arm, skimmed his thumb up until he felt the pulse inside her elbow skitter. Whatever was affecting him was damn well doing the same to her. His lips curved. “Hurt?”
“No.” Her voice thickened, baffling her, arousing him. “No, of course it doesn’t.”
“You still smell of flowers.”
“The salve—”
“No.” The knuckles of his free hand skimmed just under her chin. “You always smell of flowers. Wildflowers and sea foam.”
How had she come to be backed against the counter, his body brushing hers, his mouth so close, so temptingly close, that she could all but taste it?
And she wanted that taste, wanted it with a sudden staggering force that wiped every other thought out ofher head. Slowly, her eyes on his, she brought her hand to his chest, spread it over his heart, where the beat was strong. Strong and wild.
And so would the kiss be, she thought. Strong and wild, from the first instant.
As if to assure her of that, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, tangling his fingers in it. It was warm, as he’d known it would be, warm as the sunlight it took its shade from. For a moment, his entire being was focused on the kiss to come, the reckless pleasure of it. His mouth was a breath from hers, and her sigh was already filling him, when he heard his daughter’s feet clattering on the stairs.
Boone jolted back as if she’d burned him. Speechless, they stared at each other, both of them stunned by what had nearly happened and by the force behind it.
What was he doing? Boone asked himself. Grabbing a woman in his kitchen when there was chicken on the stove, potatoes going cold on the counter and his little girl about to skip into the room?
“I should go.” Ana set down her glass before it could slip out of her trembling hand. “I really only meant to stay a minute.”
“Ana.” He shifted, blocking the way in case she sprinted for the door. “I have a feeling what just happened here was out of character for both of us. That’s interesting, don’t you think?”
She lifted those solemn gray eyes to his. “I don’t know your character.”
“Well, I don’t make a habit of seducing women in the kitchen when my daughter’s upstairs. And I certainly don’t make a habit out of wanting the hell out of a woman the minute I lay eyes on her.”
She wished she hadn’t set the wine down. Her throat was bone-dry. “I suppose you want me to say I’ll take your word for it. But I won’t.”
Both anger and challenge sparkled in his eyes. “Then I’ll have to prove it to you, won’t I?”
“No, you—”
“My hands are clean, clean, clean.” Blissfully unaware of the tension shimmering in the air, Jessie danced into the kitchen, palms held out for inspection. “How come they have to be clean when I don’t eat with my fingers anyway?”
Effortfully, he pulled himself back and tweaked his daughter’s nose. “Because germs like to sneak off little girls’ hands and into their mashed potatoes.”
“Yuck.” She made a face, then grinned. “Daddy makes the best mashed potatoes in the whole wide world. Don’t you want some? She can stay for
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