Would it be a curt let’s-forget-what-happened nod? Eminently sensible...
Her heart had skipped a little beat at the prospect of a let’s-think-about-this kiss on the cheek. Sensible but with possibilities...
Or please, please, please, a let’s-do-it kiss that would buckle her knees and have her melting on the pavement.
None of the above.
He kept his distance, one eyebrow slightly raised as he took in her passion-damping clothes, her hair fastened in a single plait that was held together with nothing sexier than an elastic band. Then, just when she thought it was safe to breathe, he reached out, ran his thumb over her mouth and said, ‘Good morning, Sugarlips.’
His low, sexy voice vibrated against her breastbone and the carrier containing their lunch slipped through her fingers and hit the pavement.
An annoying little smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he straightened and opened the passenger door. ‘I hope there was nothing breakable in there.’
‘The flask is well padded, but I don’t suppose it will have done the cake much good,’ she replied before, blushing like an idiot, she scrambled up into the passenger seat, leaving him to pick it up.
She concentrated on fastening her seat belt as he climbed in beside her, filling the space with his presence, his earthy scent mingling with the smell of hot oil.
Her fingers were shaking so much that he took her hand, unpeeled her fingers from it and clicked it home.
‘It was a bit stiff...’
‘I know how it feels.’
She tried not to look, but was unable to help herself. Oh, cripes...
‘I’m sorry the transport doesn’t meet your usual standard of comfort,’ he said, leaning forward to start the engine, ignoring the tension twanging the air between them; presumably a man who spent his life around naked women posing on a pedestal would have had plenty of practice.
She made an effort to focus her thoughts elsewhere. On the house with the puce living room that had been on the market for months and the owner’s outrage when she’d suggested that a quick coat of magnolia might help...
Her breathing slowed, the pulse pounding in her throat became a gentle thud.
Better.
‘No problem,’ she said. ‘As you pointed out, I’m working this job economy class.’
‘You’ve got it,’ he said, a wry smile creating a crease in his cheek and undoing all that effort. Fortunately the Land Rover, vibrating noisily, covered the shiver that rippled through her.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ he said.
‘Plan?’
‘I assumed you’d been up half the night working on your plan to find a buyer for the Chase.’
‘It shows, huh?’ The expensive stuff that was supposed to conceal dark shadows round the eyes clearly wasn’t doing the job.
‘Just guessing,’ he said, ratcheting up the smile, and the swarm of butterflies in her stomach, which until then had at least been flying in close formation, went haywire.
Think about that hideous purple and yellow bathroom...