Her Not-So-Secret Diary(25)

The aroma of roasting garlic and other herbs whetted their appetites as  they watched a gold-rimmed orange fireball sink below the bruised  horizon. Within seconds the jagged slices of black and gold glinting on  the water faded to a muted charcoal.

Moments later they returned to their table below, where a basket of steaming rolls awaited them.

'That was beautiful,' Sophie murmured. 'There's nothing quite like a tropical sun sliding into the water.'

'And you want to leave it all behind for cold, grey London smog.'

'It's not all smog.' She allowed the waiter to lay a napkin across her lap and admitted, 'But I am going to miss the tropics.'

'So what's at the top of your London to-do list?'

'All the traditional must-see places. But especially the Victoria  Memorial in front of Buckingham Palace. I had a painting of it when I  was a little girl. It was so whimsical and caught my imagination. You've  been to London, I suppose.'

'No. Not yet. Don't even have a passport.'

'Oh?' Then she remembered he'd been guardian to his sisters his entire  adult life, had focused on responsibility rather than his own pleasures,  and nodded. 'You'll have to visit sometime.'

His eyes lingered on hers. 'Maybe I will.'

Confusion stole through her and she turned away and said, 'I can't wait  to see that statue with its gold and marble and magical winged beings.  And Queen Victoria in the midst of it all. I'll stand there and know  that I've finally achieved my goal.'                       
       
           



       

She reached for her topped-up glass and took a liberal gulp while she  studied the thin strip of land between water and fading aquamarine sky.  The conical and distinctive volcanic shape of the distant Glasshouse  Mountains on the horizon.

For the first time since she'd met Jared, she questioned her motivation  for leaving. Did she have to leave everyone she knew and travel to the  other side of the world for a change in scenery?

No. But she focused on what her head was telling her, not what her heart  and emotions were saying. She wanted this trip. She'd wanted it for as  long as she could remember. If she didn't go, she'd regret it.

And she wasn't going to change anything for a man. Not even a man she  was falling for. Especially not for a man she was falling for. Going to  the UK was the best thing she could do. For herself. And for Jared.

The main course arrived. Sophie chose salmon fillets on a bed of mashed  potato with coriander, ginger and lime dressing, served with asparagus  spears. Jared enjoyed a rare fillet steak with mushroom sauce and a  selection of vegetables. It was a magnificent feast after the simple  budget meals she'd been living on.

They ate for several minutes without talking. Just listening to the boat's motor, the swish of water against the hull.

'What about the people?' Jared said, scraping his fork over the bottom of his plate.

'People?'

'You said you'd miss the tropical climate.'

'Oh, yes, I'll miss the people too. I've got friends here.' She slid the  last mouthful of salmon between her lips while she watched Jared and  found she couldn't read his eyes now, at all. No matter how gorgeous he  was or how much he was coming to mean to her …  For the first time, she  wavered. Then she pushed it away and said, 'But I'm not changing my  mind.'

He watched her a moment, then set his cutlery on his empty plate, pushed  it aside and leaned close so that his eyes reflected hers in the  flickering candlelight. 'In that case we'll have to make the most of the  time we have left.' His tone was low, rough and full of promise. And  hypnotic. Like his gaze.

Everything around them seemed to fade out until all she was aware of was  his intensity. From his eyes with their dark-rimmed irises that seemed  to draw her into their depths, to the electric, almost mesmerising touch  of his hand as it stroked her knuckles.

Drowning. 'Yes. Yes, we will.'

Her answer seemed to shake off the dreamy well they found themselves in  and the look he gave her could only be interpreted as sinful  determination. 'We'll return to the marina,' he said, gesturing the  waiter hovering nearby over. 'Is that okay with you?'

'Very okay.'

There was still time to eat the dessert-fresh mango vanilla ice cream on  an individual pavlova base-and enjoy a coffee before the boat pulled up  alongside its berth.

Jared had plans for the rest of the evening. On the outside he  maintained the cool, calm business façade he'd worn since this morning,  but inside he was a bundle of firelighters ready for that first strike  of the match. The way he'd been all day. The way he'd been every day  since Sophie Buchanan had walked into his office.

He couldn't wait to feel her soft, summer-scented flesh against his  again. Soon, very soon, he'd be burying himself inside her hot slippery  centre. Easing the ache. Satisfying his need. Again and again, over and  over, until he'd sated this all-consuming lust …

Because that was all it was. Wasn't it?

He tightened his grip on the wheel as they drove back to the house. That  was all he'd allow it to be. She was leaving for London. But he hoped  she'd remember this evening fondly and think of him.

The garage door rolled up, he slid into the parking spot, killed the  engine and they both climbed out. He rounded the car, took her hand.  'There's something I want to show you before we go inside.' He led her  to an enclosed garden at the side of the house, where a patch of velvety  lawn bordered a garden of tea roses and the air was heavy with the  scent of rich earth and the river.

And watched her jaw drop, her eyes widen in the soft light. It warmed him all the way through.

Sophie stared, unable to believe her eyes. A quilted throw lay on the  lawn. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver ice bucket alongside a  cute terracotta pot crammed with cream roses. The scene was lit by a  couple of Moroccan lamps, their intricate filigree silhouetted against  the candle's warm glow. 'What's all this?'

'Jared Sanderson, at your service.' She turned her gaze on him and he  smiled at her. 'You wanted to make love under the stars? Well, here we  are.' He glanced up, waved a hand. 'Complete privacy under the Southern  Cross at moonrise. Couldn't have asked for a better night.'                       
       
           



       

Oh. It looked like something out of a movie and her heart rolled over in her chest. 'But how?' she whispered. 'When … ?'

'Magic. Aided by a little modern technology called a phone.' Jared  stepped to her, turned her in his arms. The lamp glow sheened her skin.  Her feminine fragrance drifted to his nostrils. He wanted slow and  dreamy, but the sight of her, almost ethereal in the glow, nearly undid  him. He tugged her down with him onto the quilt.

And while he popped the cork and poured the fizzy liquid into two  crystal glasses, she gathered the roses to her nose. 'And chocolates … '  She set the blooms down to grab the box, rip off the cellophane and  pluck one out. 'This is like a dream.'

'So it is.' He felt the smile touch his lips, then his heart, as he  offered her a glass, raised his own and clinked it to hers. 'To dreams.'

'To dreams.' She raised the crystal flute, took a sip, then lifted a chocolate to his lips. 'Share.'

He bit off half and his mouth flooded with caramel while she popped the  remainder into her mouth and their gazes meshed and held. Even as she  slid slowly down onto the quilt.

'Tonight I want to watch you come.' He saw her eyes widen, darken and  for a few erratic heartbeats he gazed down at the vision sprawled  beneath him. Her skin was flushed, as if she had a fever, a fever that  put blooming roses in her cheeks and an extra spark in her eyes.

Then she was reaching for him and he followed her down and she had her  hands in his hair, her fingertips scoring his scalp. And that spark in  her eyes was a luminous topaz as she wrapped her hands behind his head  and yanked him closer and murmured, 'So what are we waiting for?'  against his lips.

His mouth dropped onto hers and his tongue plunged inside to savour her  soft, full lips, her rich, dark drugging taste, so potent he felt  light-headed with it.

Deliberately, he slowed his movements, cruising a hand over her knee,  her outer thigh, then the tender inside of her leg and up … to find the  barrier over her feminine hot spot already damp. For him. The knowledge  vibrated through his body.

He lifted his mouth to trace a path over her jaw, to nibble his way down  her neck, over her breast. To push her bra out of the way and roll her  nipple between his lips. To taste its salty sweetness on his tongue and  hear her suck in a sharp breath between her teeth while her restless  fingers plucked at his hair and shoulders.

He could feel her heart galloping against his fingers and he wondered if  she could hear his own. Because he'd never known it to beat this way  before. This strange achy, urgent way that made him feel as if he were  being pulled in opposite directions.