get his arms âround her, but he was the first who had ever made her vibrate as though charged with electricity. The feeling washing through her was frightening in its intensity. Trying to resist it was as futile as punching air. Suddenly she knew she didnât want to pull away from the tormenting closeness; she wanted to lose herself in it.
His mouth straightened again, not because he had ceased to be amused, but because a smirking, cat-lapping-cream grin did not go with what he had in mind. As his lips lowered to hers, she knew that this wasnât going to be an ordinary kiss. She knew it because nothing about this man was ordinary. His lips teased across hers, and again the electricity tingled through her, making her quiver. She was pressed so close to him that he could feel every reaction of her excited, desire-weakened body.
He wasnât holding her quite so fiercely, because it was no longer necessary. There was a sensuous lightness in the fingers trailing a delicate course down her back. She was pressed close of her own volition. This bodily rapport, she thought even in the passion of the moment, was what had been lacking in previous encounters with men. She had wondered why her relationships with men never developed into something deeper and more meaningful. She realized now that the fault had been in herself, in her lukewarm reaction to their advances. Nick Farraday was here showing her what had been missing.
As his mouth left hers a deep sigh rose from her throat, composed of a tangle of feeling which her scrambled brain couldnât immediately decipher: anger, anxiety, regret, and a sense of deep pleasure at the thought of so much untapped joy. If a kiss could do this to her, what would it be like if he made passionate love to her? The picture that flashed across her mind, showing her explicitly what was entailed in âpassionate love,â turned her knees to water. Shock flooded her eyes at the direction her thoughts had taken.
She sent him a furious glance. She hated him for doing this to her: for the tingling of her nerve-ends, for the blood scorching her cheeks at the rapid flight her imagination had taken, and for the resulting chaos churning in her head.
âI think youâd better go,â she said in a voice that shook with a million unshed tears.
âYouâre holding out on me about something. Iâd give a day of my life, to know what.â
âIâd give a day of my life never to have met you today. Iâd gift wrap it in your precious white and gold and give it to some other unsuspecting female. Except that I donât hate anyone enough to do that.â
âYouâre crazy. What gives with you?â
âGood night, Mr. Farraday,â she said doggedly.
She thought he wasnât going to leave. He stood glaring at her, frustration clouding the brilliance of his eyes, giving no intimation of what he intended to do. He picked up her hand. For a stunned moment she thought he was about to go through the formality of shaking it good-bye, which would have been the height of absurdity. But then his other hand came up to unroll her fingers. He trailed one of his own fingers along the center of her palm. Even as her whole body rocked at the sensuality of that action, his head lowered and he touched the spot with his lips. She shuddered with an intensity of feeling unlike any she had ever experienced.
He said something, tossing out the name of his confidential secretary, Barbara Bates, who would arrange any further dealings they had.
âWill you phone?â he inquired.
âNo.â
He didnât utter another word, just left on that inconclusive note. She was as winded as if sheâd been picked up and hurled forward by a hurricane. She felt that her destiny was no longer in
her
own hands, that her determination no longer counted.
For long moments after the door had closed after him she stood where she was, shivering uncontrollably, her
His mouth straightened again, not because he had ceased to be amused, but because a smirking, cat-lapping-cream grin did not go with what he had in mind. As his lips lowered to hers, she knew that this wasnât going to be an ordinary kiss. She knew it because nothing about this man was ordinary. His lips teased across hers, and again the electricity tingled through her, making her quiver. She was pressed so close to him that he could feel every reaction of her excited, desire-weakened body.
He wasnât holding her quite so fiercely, because it was no longer necessary. There was a sensuous lightness in the fingers trailing a delicate course down her back. She was pressed close of her own volition. This bodily rapport, she thought even in the passion of the moment, was what had been lacking in previous encounters with men. She had wondered why her relationships with men never developed into something deeper and more meaningful. She realized now that the fault had been in herself, in her lukewarm reaction to their advances. Nick Farraday was here showing her what had been missing.
As his mouth left hers a deep sigh rose from her throat, composed of a tangle of feeling which her scrambled brain couldnât immediately decipher: anger, anxiety, regret, and a sense of deep pleasure at the thought of so much untapped joy. If a kiss could do this to her, what would it be like if he made passionate love to her? The picture that flashed across her mind, showing her explicitly what was entailed in âpassionate love,â turned her knees to water. Shock flooded her eyes at the direction her thoughts had taken.
She sent him a furious glance. She hated him for doing this to her: for the tingling of her nerve-ends, for the blood scorching her cheeks at the rapid flight her imagination had taken, and for the resulting chaos churning in her head.
âI think youâd better go,â she said in a voice that shook with a million unshed tears.
âYouâre holding out on me about something. Iâd give a day of my life, to know what.â
âIâd give a day of my life never to have met you today. Iâd gift wrap it in your precious white and gold and give it to some other unsuspecting female. Except that I donât hate anyone enough to do that.â
âYouâre crazy. What gives with you?â
âGood night, Mr. Farraday,â she said doggedly.
She thought he wasnât going to leave. He stood glaring at her, frustration clouding the brilliance of his eyes, giving no intimation of what he intended to do. He picked up her hand. For a stunned moment she thought he was about to go through the formality of shaking it good-bye, which would have been the height of absurdity. But then his other hand came up to unroll her fingers. He trailed one of his own fingers along the center of her palm. Even as her whole body rocked at the sensuality of that action, his head lowered and he touched the spot with his lips. She shuddered with an intensity of feeling unlike any she had ever experienced.
He said something, tossing out the name of his confidential secretary, Barbara Bates, who would arrange any further dealings they had.
âWill you phone?â he inquired.
âNo.â
He didnât utter another word, just left on that inconclusive note. She was as winded as if sheâd been picked up and hurled forward by a hurricane. She felt that her destiny was no longer in
her
own hands, that her determination no longer counted.
For long moments after the door had closed after him she stood where she was, shivering uncontrollably, her
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