“Let me help.”
He reached for her. At the same time, she caught her foot in the stepladder and toppled toward him. Instinct took over. He wasn’t even conscious of moving as he caught her. Only when his palms made contact with her arms did he realize what he’d done, and then there was no going back. He slid his hands up, relishing the bareness of her upper arms. She blinked up at him.
Her hands were flat against his chest—he felt their cool imprint through the thin cotton of his shirt—but she didn’t push him away. Instead she stood there in the circle of his arms, a question leaping in her eyes. “Owen?”
Yesterday when things had heated up between them, she’d quickly doused the flame. But today was different. Today she wasn’t spick-and-span Princess Paige; today she was disheveled and sweaty and a little annoyed with him, and the way she murmured his name in that husky voice fried all his remaining restraint.
He curled one hand behind her neck, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her in. She let out a gasp, but before she could finish he lowered his head and brought his mouth down on hers. He wasn’t thinking, didn’t know what kiss he intended—gentle, passionate, punishing—and as soon as he tasted her lips any hope of plans flew out the window.
Her mouth was everything he’d dreamed of and more. Like sunshine and oxygen, he couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get near enough to her. Through his heat-seared mind came the startling thought—he was kissing Paige Kerrigan. Again. And this time he had experience, maturity, and a driving conviction that this kiss was meant to be.
For a few stunned moments Paige stood stock-still in his grasp, and then she began to respond to his caresses. At first it was the tiniest softening of her lips, then it was a quick little intake of air, followed by her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Her body relaxed into his, her neck curving up so he had better access to her mouth, her hands stealing up his chest to grip his shoulders. Paige clung to him and kissed him back with mad, fierce abandon. She was honey and spice, and when her tongue flicked against his, any remaining control he had disintegrated in the fire.
Using his weight, he nudged her backward until she was up against the wall. She didn’t seem to mind being coerced. When she gazed up at him, her eyes were heavy with drugged, saturated passion, and he knew he wore the same expression. Their breaths mingled, hot and moist, as their mouths met and parted and met again, all logic forgotten in the animal lust consuming them. Her lips were pink and softly bruised from his kisses, her hair tangled across her flushed skin, her body arched into his, connecting intimately with him. He’d never seen her so abandoned, and for a moment he simply stared at her, in awe of her wild beauty. This was the Paige he’d longed to uncover. He brushed his fingers across her cheek. Why did she hide this side of her from the world? Why couldn’t she always be this free and untamed? She must have sensed a change in his touch as her panting receded, and her back straightened.
“What?” she murmured.
Cursing himself for breaking the spell, he ran his hands over her shoulders and upper arms. “You said your arms were tired. I’m just helping you relax.” He kneaded her arms slowly.
Hesitation flickered across her face. She was thinking of pushing him away, he knew, so he took the initiative. Moving even closer, he placed his feet between hers, spreading her legs apart and pressing her against the wall. She could still push him away, but she didn’t.
“Why are you doing this?” she murmured.
“I told you. Your arms need a massage.”
“No, why are you kissing me?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I asked you first.”
“Okay. I couldn’t resist your sexy arse anymore.” He grinned down at her. The smoothness of her arms was getting to him. His hands itched to wander all over her, to explore all her secrets. “So what’s your excuse?”
She hesitated, chewing on her delicious lower lip. “I don’t know.” For a second she seemed totally confused. “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me act the way I do.”
“Maybe it’s my sexy arse.”
“Oh!” Her indignation quickly melted to wry amusement. “All right, I admit it. You are kindaattractive.”
“Just kinda attractive?” Gliding his hands down her arms, he was rewarded by her telltale quiver and the sudden flash of heat in her eyes. “I hate to think how you’d kiss someone you thought was really hot.”
“O-okay, you’re definitely attractive.” She frowned at him.
“Hey, ease up before I get too cocky.”
“Don’t fish for compliments, then.”
As the flare in her eyes leaped higher, his banter dried up. Cupping her face between his hands, he murmured, “I’m done with talking,” before he kissed her again. Holding a smidgeon of self-control, he kissed her leisurely, reveling in every touch of her. Paige seemed to take her cue from him, her kisses slow and light, but soon the fire leaped, and their kisses grew heavy and hot. Within minutes his hands slipped under her T-shirt, and the sensation of her silky skin was a turbocharged shot to his libido.
He wanted her. Badly. Up against the wall, her body pinned against his, her hair streaming wild over her face. He could picture them together so clearly, could almost hear her ecstatic moans and his answering growls. The image burned in his brain, fueling his desire, smashing his control. He’d never wanted any woman the way he lusted after Paige. She was the goddess who ruled him, and all he craved was to lose himself in her.
He stripped off her T-shirt in one fierce movement. She gasped at him, clearly astonished. Creamy skin, delicate collarbones, soft mounds cupped in white lace, hourglass waist—the details of her beauty shook him, took his hunger to a whole new level. As he gulped in the sight, she grabbed hold of his shirt with both hands and ripped it open. Buttons flew off. Her eyes were wide as saucers, the excitement and craving in them mirroring his. His heart jumped as she trailed her hands down his torso like a fallen dieter caressing a chocolate fudge sundae, and when her fingers closed around the belt buckle of his jeans, his poor heart almost stopped.
Holy smoke. Paige Kerrigan wants me.
Everything in him yelled to reciprocate. His hands were clamped around her hips; all he had to do was reach for the zipper of her jeans. Her eyes, her hands, her body—everything about her cried “yes” to him. He could have her right now, right here, up against the wall as he’d fantasized just a minute ago. He could realize all the dirty dreams he’d ever had of her.
But some idiotic part of him took over. Grasping Paige’s hands, he gently lifted them from his belt buckle.
“Owen?” The puzzlement in her eyes almost tore him in two.
“I’m sorry.” He held on to her hands, didn’t want to let go. “I can’t do this.”
Her gaze flew down to where the bulge in his jeans gave the lie to his words. A roar of frustration built in him. Why couldn’t he just give her what they both wanted? Why did everything to do with Paige have to be so bloody complicated?
She pushed up her chin and stared him straight in the eye. “Not can’t. You mean you won’t.”
“I mean I” Christ, what the hell did he mean? “I don’t want it this way.” Still holding her hands, he circled his thumbs over the backs of her hands, desperate for her to get his muddled reasoning.
“How do you want it, then? Dinner dates and flowers?” The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile devoid of any humor. “I’ve tried it that way and, believe me, it doesn’t end any differently from a quick screw against the wall.”
He winced. Words like that shouldn’t come out of the mouth he’d just been ravishing a moment ago. “You don’t know that for a fact.”
With an exasperated sigh she yanked free of him, picked up her T-shirt, and pulled it on, her movements sharp and jerky. “Look, Owen, I don’t know what you want.” She shook her hair back, her face darkening. “I’m not going to be here for much longer, and this—this crazy thing between us is driving me nuts. If you don’t want to go to bed with me, then fine, but don’t try to woo me or expect something more from me because—because I just can’t stand it! Do you hear me? I won’t be made a fool of again.”
The hurt and anger shaking her made him ache. If he could hold her and make love to her slowly and gently, maybe that would help her heal and make her see that she was special. But she didn’t want healing from him; she didn’t want him. All she wanted was to scratch an old itch.
He stepped away from her, the air suddenly cold. “I hear you.”
He left the cottage as fast as he could. All the way back to the house he wondered if he’d done the right thing. But if he’d followed his baser instincts, would he be any more satisfied? He didn’t want to take Paige up against a wall. He didn’t want their first time to be dirty, rough, and quick. But when he began fantasizing about what he truly wanted, he quickly censored his thoughts. If he let his imagination go wild, he’d be in much more dangerous territory.
The following afternoon, Paige had just finished applying the first coat of paint in the cottage when a small van showed up outside. The man who climbed out told her he’d been sent by Mr. Bellamy to install screens in all the windows and doors of the cottage. Paige allowed him in. The last thing she’d expected was for Owen to remember her phobia of moths and to do something about it. But any gratefulness she felt was diluted by her lingering resentment. She was still angry with him for the way he’d kissed her, led her on, and then rejected her. Angry and confused. Still, she wasn’t complaining about the screens. They’d allow her to sleep a lot easier. Now if only she could resolve her bigger problem of Owen Bellamy.