November Harlequin Presents 1(142)

Her shoulders were softly rounded, curving down to slender arms, and in the vulnerable hollow where they joined the base of her neck—one of the most entrancing parts of a woman, he had always believed—her pulse beat hard and fast, betraying the way she was feeling.

Just for a moment he caught her eyes, saw the way she was watching him and felt his own heart kick hard as her darkened gaze locked with his. Was she really so unsure of herself? He tried a smile, aiming for the encouragement he believed she needed.

‘You look—beautiful.’

And he meant it. Meant it in a way that he would never have thought possible. It was as if, just for a moment, as she’d got to her feet something in the world had slipped, tilted, and then clicked back into place. But it wasn’t quite the same now. Not quite as it had been before.

But for the life of him he couldn’t say how.

He couldn’t think about it now. He didn’t want to think about it. What he wanted to think about was the woman who stood before him, tall and slender and so, so feminine in the clinging one-piece.

‘Beautiful…’

Her legs were longer that he’d ever imagined, seeming to go on for ever from the high-cut legs of the costume, and the way that it clung to every curve, smoothed over the swell of her breasts, the neat indentation of her waist made his mouth dry with hunger. He wanted to reach for her, pull her towards him, enfold her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

Hell, he wanted to do so much more than that!

Something of what he was feeling must have shown in his face and he saw those rich lashes lift even higher as her wary eyes widened.

Her hands fluttered up again, came to rest above the scooped neckline of the costume, crossing over, covering the rich curves of her breasts and the shadowy valley between.

‘No…’

His tone was sharp and, stepping forward, he caught hold of those concealing hands, pulling them away from her, gently but firmly. And although she tensed for a moment, clearly thought about resisting, she gave in and went with him, a faint sigh escaping her as her white teeth worried at the fullness of her bottom lip. A lip that he could see was trembling in spite of her efforts at control.

‘No…’ Andreas repeated, more softly this time. ‘No, agape mou— never hide yourself from me. Never.’

‘But—you—I…’

Her voice was just a breathless whisper and she seemed to struggle to get the words out. It wasn’t just her lip that was trembling now; he could feel the faint tremors that shook the fine lines of her body as his arms came round her, supporting her when she seemed so nervous that she might actually fall.

‘No…’ he said again, leaning forward to press the words against her mouth. ‘Never be shy with me. Why would you want to hide such loveliness, when any man would delight in seeing you—holding you…?’

‘I…’

Never be shy with me…

Becca barely heard the words above what seemed like the sound of a million buzzing bees inside her head, humming wildly and loudly as they whirled and twisted in a crazy flying dance that made her thoughts spin, her senses blur. Andreas thought that she was trembling all over because she was shy; because she was apprehensive as to what the man she was with would think of her when she first exposed her body in the clinging swimming costume to his assessing gaze. And he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Or, rather, he was right but in a back-to-front sort of way.

She was nervous all right, apprehensive definitely, but not for the reasons he thought. Not because it was the first time he had seen her this way, wearing so little—but because of the exact opposite. Because she knew he had seen her dressed this way before and she didn’t know if seeing her dressed in the costume again would remind him, jar loose whatever blockage was closing off his memory of the past from the reality of today, bring him back to himself in a rush.

And she was scared stiff that he was going to repeat his behaviour of that day and throw her out of the villa before she had a chance to talk to him, to even try to explain.

‘Andreas…’

Her mouth was so dry with fear that his name had an embarrassingly squeaky sound, and she caught herself up, swallowing hard to try to ease the constriction in her throat.

‘Thank you…’ she managed, sounding better at least, but not much.

To her astonishment Andreas shook his head, sending the black hair, still wet from his swim, flying around his head.

‘Ochi—no again.’

Somehow his use of his own language made his voice richer, deeper, more sensual, so that Becca caught in her breath as she heard it. And when he laid a single forefinger against her lips to silence her she felt her senses swirl again but in a very different way this time. The scent of his skin filled her nostrils, tantalising her nerves. She had to fight against the urge to open her mouth just so…and let her tongue slide out to curl around it, him, know the taste of his flesh on hers.