“Too brazen altogether,” she said with a nervous laugh. “It’s a dress for a really scarlet woman.”
“I’d still like to see you in it.” He held her gaze implacably and Fiona felt a little shiver run from her scalp to her toes, despite the warmth of the evening.
“No Christian—it’s not the sort of thing I’d ever wear.”
“Indulge me,” he suggested. She stood there hesitating, very much not wanting him to see her in the other dress.
“It makes me feel naked,” she murmured. Despite its long sleeves and high neckline, the red dress showed off every curve and hollow of her body. She’d felt as though she’d been sprayed with scarlet paint.
“Indulge me, Fiona,” he repeated.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sighing, she retreated, and emerged a couple of minutes later in the close-fitting metallic red sheath that screamed ‘look at me’ so loudly Christian’s groin jolted.
“Turn,” he growled, standing to give his rapidly growing erection comfort room.
Fiona turned.
The back fell in a long slippery cowl that left her spine exposed to below waist level. He stepped closer and traced a warm finger down the tempting ridge of bones, bumping softly from one vertebra to the next.
He felt the shudder of shock run through her, but she held her ground and let him progress the whole way—almost as though she was challenging him to continue.
“No, you can’t wear that one here.” His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears. If the boutique assistant hadn’t been present, he’d have followed his finger with a line of hot passionate kisses down her smooth back, despite any objections Fiona might have had.
His blood fizzed and prickled; his heart slammed in his chest.
“So the turquoise with the feather embroidery and that soft cinnamon one with the beaded bands?” She turned once again to face his ravenous eyes.
“Fine by me,” he said, nearly blind with lust. “Wear the turquoise tonight?”
“Okay,” she murmured and returned to the fitting room.
Christian thumped a fist softly and repeatedly against the top of the leather armchair. The blatant red dress had blasted his self-control half-way to Mars.
If she said she wasn’t interested, then right now she wasn’t interested. But opinions could be softened, minds could be changed, miracles could be caressed into being with patience and persistence. Christian had plenty of persistence. He hoped he’d have enough patience as well, because now he knew without doubt he had to have her.
And to have her whatever the risk. He was in way too deep. He’d loved Jan and lost her. He might lose her sister the same damned way. But by God he’d take her if he had the chance—and let fate do its worst.
“Wrap the red one separately and I’ll collect it later,” he instructed the sales assistant, hoping Fiona was out of earshot.
They returned to the cottage with her purchases, and while she was unwrapping and hanging her extravagant dresses, Christian searched out a bottle of chilled champagne and two flutes. Without Nicky’s chirpy presence, and with the sun starting to lower, the atmosphere was alive with danger.
Fiona walked back into the luxurious living area. Immediately Christian’s hungry gaze claimed her. His eyes never left as she wandered aimlessly—touching a piece of Jan’s pottery, stroking a finger along the back of the big leather sofa, peering at the titles of the books and glossy magazines available for guests to read.
Unnerved, she opened one of the wide glass sliders onto the terrace—anything to put some distance between them—and stepped outside.
A gentle breeze carried the fresh scent of the ocean up from the coast, but it was summer-warm. So why was she covered in shivery gooseflesh?
“What shall we drink to?” Christian asked a minute or two later, far too close behind her. He set the opened champagne bottle down on the outdoor table and started to pour the hissing wine.
“To the house renovations going well?” she suggested over her shoulder. She returned her eyes to the view, conscious of the hint of desperation in her voice.
Christian let out a small puff of mirth. “We can do better than that, surely? To an enjoyable dinner? A relaxing few days in the lap of luxury? Or...?” His breath was on her nape, and then his lips were there—and gone again. The soft aftershock of his kiss rippled right down her spine. To her dismay, a breathy little grunt of pleasure escaped from between her lips.
“Unfair,” she gasped.
He picked up both glasses and offered her one. She held it in front of her, an inadequate shield.
“Life is,” he agreed, lifting his glass and touching it to hers in an ironic toast.