her spine. A trace of fear must’ve shown on her face, because he stepped back, leaving her plenty of room to escape. Maybe he wasn’t a teddy bear, but he didn’t use his size and strength to intimidate, even though he’d kept hold of her hand. He didn’t force her to stay, yet Kezia couldn’t get her slipper-covered feet to move out of his compelling orbit.
“You keep touching me as if I were.”
Heat pinpricked her cheeks, and she resisted the urge to take offense. Because he was right. Naturally a touchy-huggy person, she had reigned in that part of her personality around men after the parking lot incident. Except with Ben. Somehow he’d slipped under her guard, and she’d encouraged what she’d never meant to encourage.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not complaining. Just understand things have changed.”
She shook her head, willing the burn from her cheeks, the tremble from her hands. “No. They can’t change.”
“Too late.”
He inched closer, and the flutter of her pulse explo ded into a gallop. How had she written him off as her friends’ harmless older brother? Harm etched every line of Ben’s hard body—harm to a libido that had dried out to a lifeless husk when Callum died nearly five years ago.
“I’ve stopped seeing you as the pretty school teacher or a newcomer to the island.”
Kezia swayed toward him, his gravity too strong to resist. His fingers still stroked her knuckles, distracting her from the close bulk of his body.
“How do you see me now?” she asked.
If his legs weren’t in her way, she would’ve kicked herself for the breathy, flirty words falling from her mouth. Her toes curled inside her slippers. She wasn’t a flirt—well, she hadn’t been a flirt for many, many years. Had assumed she’d forgotten how in the midst of rebuilding her and Zoe’s lives.
“As a woman. A beautiful woman.” His low voice twined around her, as rich and luxurious as the most expensive silk.
“You shouldn’t. You have to stop.” She tugged her hand from the sweet torture of his fingers and pushed against his chest. His broad, muscled, warm-to-the-touch chest.
Big mistake.
Fine lines around his eyes crinkled. “What I’ve seen can’t be unseen.”
Kezia’s gaze dropped to his lips, outlined with the dark growth of five o’clock shadow. Soft and rough and oh-so-bad for her. “Ben—”
He dipped his head, and like a flicked switch, her eyelids slipped down and her lips parted. If her mind had forgotten those exquisite moments before a kiss, her body hadn’t. Breathless anticipation squeezed low in her belly at Ben’s salty, smoky scent. His soft breath feathered her skin. One large, calloused hand covered her fingers, which clutched fistfuls of his tee shirt.
“Easy.” He followed the word with the pressure of his lips to hers, the impact of his touch li ke a zap of static electricity.
Her eyes popped open, a shiver skating down her spine. Ben stared, his eyes narrowed, lashes masking his expression. Had he felt the spark of intense conne ction too? Or was it the overactive imagination of a woman who hadn’t had sex in almost half a decade? Sexually frustrated widow over-reacts to a simple kiss . Like a newspaper headline running through her mind. Mortifying.
Then Ben’s mouth descended again and her thoughts, as fickle as tiny fish, swam out of her head. Gentle brushes of his lips turned into more insistent strokes of his mouth. Sexually frustrated widow or not, there was little doubt the man could kiss her into a melted puddle of goo. He deepened their connection with tantalizing caresses, teasing dances of his tongue. She sagged as liquid heat replaced the strength of her knees. Reflex kicked in, and she grabbed his shoulder, hauling her body flush to his.
A bigger mistake than merely touching his chest.
Her breasts smooshed against hard-packed muscle, and those same electric-like jolts returned, shooting straight to her core. Evidence that this kiss affected
“You keep touching me as if I were.”
Heat pinpricked her cheeks, and she resisted the urge to take offense. Because he was right. Naturally a touchy-huggy person, she had reigned in that part of her personality around men after the parking lot incident. Except with Ben. Somehow he’d slipped under her guard, and she’d encouraged what she’d never meant to encourage.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not complaining. Just understand things have changed.”
She shook her head, willing the burn from her cheeks, the tremble from her hands. “No. They can’t change.”
“Too late.”
He inched closer, and the flutter of her pulse explo ded into a gallop. How had she written him off as her friends’ harmless older brother? Harm etched every line of Ben’s hard body—harm to a libido that had dried out to a lifeless husk when Callum died nearly five years ago.
“I’ve stopped seeing you as the pretty school teacher or a newcomer to the island.”
Kezia swayed toward him, his gravity too strong to resist. His fingers still stroked her knuckles, distracting her from the close bulk of his body.
“How do you see me now?” she asked.
If his legs weren’t in her way, she would’ve kicked herself for the breathy, flirty words falling from her mouth. Her toes curled inside her slippers. She wasn’t a flirt—well, she hadn’t been a flirt for many, many years. Had assumed she’d forgotten how in the midst of rebuilding her and Zoe’s lives.
“As a woman. A beautiful woman.” His low voice twined around her, as rich and luxurious as the most expensive silk.
“You shouldn’t. You have to stop.” She tugged her hand from the sweet torture of his fingers and pushed against his chest. His broad, muscled, warm-to-the-touch chest.
Big mistake.
Fine lines around his eyes crinkled. “What I’ve seen can’t be unseen.”
Kezia’s gaze dropped to his lips, outlined with the dark growth of five o’clock shadow. Soft and rough and oh-so-bad for her. “Ben—”
He dipped his head, and like a flicked switch, her eyelids slipped down and her lips parted. If her mind had forgotten those exquisite moments before a kiss, her body hadn’t. Breathless anticipation squeezed low in her belly at Ben’s salty, smoky scent. His soft breath feathered her skin. One large, calloused hand covered her fingers, which clutched fistfuls of his tee shirt.
“Easy.” He followed the word with the pressure of his lips to hers, the impact of his touch li ke a zap of static electricity.
Her eyes popped open, a shiver skating down her spine. Ben stared, his eyes narrowed, lashes masking his expression. Had he felt the spark of intense conne ction too? Or was it the overactive imagination of a woman who hadn’t had sex in almost half a decade? Sexually frustrated widow over-reacts to a simple kiss . Like a newspaper headline running through her mind. Mortifying.
Then Ben’s mouth descended again and her thoughts, as fickle as tiny fish, swam out of her head. Gentle brushes of his lips turned into more insistent strokes of his mouth. Sexually frustrated widow or not, there was little doubt the man could kiss her into a melted puddle of goo. He deepened their connection with tantalizing caresses, teasing dances of his tongue. She sagged as liquid heat replaced the strength of her knees. Reflex kicked in, and she grabbed his shoulder, hauling her body flush to his.
A bigger mistake than merely touching his chest.
Her breasts smooshed against hard-packed muscle, and those same electric-like jolts returned, shooting straight to her core. Evidence that this kiss affected
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