The sensations were pure delight. She felt she was soaring. His lips moved again, teasing responses she didn’t know she could give. When he deepened the kiss, she clung, excitement swirling through her. She’d never felt this mixture of exquisite delight and yearning desire for more. She pressed closer, wishing she could become part of Kirk, meld the two of them until they were one. Reveling in the kiss, hoping it’d never end, she gave herself up to the moment.
When his mouth left hers to trail kisses across her cheeks, her arms moved to encircle his neck. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest against her breasts. She could feel the long length of him bent to accommodate her shorter stature. Mostly she felt the trailing fire and ice his hands brought, pressing her closer, closer.
He kissed her mouth again and again, kisses that inflamed her. The temperature rose several degrees as the heat they generated could have warmed a winter’s day.
A moment later he rested his forehead against hers again. Slowly she opened her eyes, almost drowning in the deep chocolate brown of his. Her heart raced, her skin tingled, her soul soared.
“You’re one dangerous woman,” he said softly.
Her knees were weak, her body lethargic. All she wanted to do was kiss him again and again. See where that might lead—as if she didn’t know.
“Go home, Angel. Go to Webb Francis’s house tonight and back to New York tomorrow. This isn’t your place.”
Chapter Eight
If he’d dumped a bucket of cold water over her he couldn’t have shocked her more. After kisses like that, he wanted her to leave?
She pulled away and walked across to the door, trying to get control of her emotions. Disappointment and frustration warred with anger and pride. She couldn’t think. If she had a talent for words, she’d come up with some snappy reply that would put him in the same anguish she felt. Nothing came to mind, only the echo of his words. Go home. This is not your place.
Go away from me, he might as well have shouted the words. She thought she might be falling in love with this complex mysterious man and he wanted her gone. How could she have read the signs so wrong?
At the door she finally had enough courage to turn and glare at him.
“I’m here until after the festival. I won’t burden you with my presence again. But I’m not leaving until I’m good and ready. So deal with it.”
Once clear of the door, she ran across the lawn, hoping she wouldn’t stumble and fall on her face in the darkness. She ran up the steps and into the cottage, shutting the door just before tears welled in her eyes. She refused to cry over the man. She hardly knew him. She’d met him a short time ago. Never mind the feelings he engendered in her. He’d made his point very clear.
Way to go, Devon, Kirk thought as he watched her leave.
But it was being proactive or succumb to the siren call she gave without even knowing it. He’d thought he’d fallen in love once, lost the woman to a way of life he didn’t want.
In retrospect, he wondered how much he’d loved Alice. Had it been companionship, friendship that had moved beyond high school? If he’d really loved her above all else, he’d have movedto Atlanta. If he’d offered her all she needed, she’d have insisted they stay together.
He knew better than to take up with a woman who came from a different world. He liked living in Smoky Hollow. He liked his work, liked helping out, liked being with friends he’d known his entire life. Traveling when the mood struck, working on construction when needed, being near his crusty grandfather all made his life the way he wanted it.
Clenching his fists, he looked around the studio. Would he ever see it again without picturing her sitting so still watching him in fascination as he carved? Without remembering the intoxication of her kisses, the feminine feel of her body, the fire that had swept through him with her pressed against him?
He didn’t want to have feelings for Angelica. She’d leave—just like every other woman in his life. The men in his family just weren’t enough to keep women with them. His mother had wanted more. Alice had wanted more. How soon before Angelica knew he wasn’t enough for her and wanted more? Better to make a clean cut now than drag out the hope for her to stay when he knew that would be impossible.
He hoped he hadn’t wrecked his future peace of mind by giving in to temptation and kissing her until he scarcely remembered his own name. He took a deep breath, still smelling the fragrance of her unique scent. He closed his eyes, still feeling the imprint of her soft curves against his harder frame. Hearing the catch in her breathing when she discovered the passion that he suspected she’d never tapped before.
She was some innocent young woman who should be wined and dined by men of her own background. Taken to restaurants and the theater in New York, not some country fair and music festival.
Snapping open his eyes, he moved to the carving. The sooner he set to forgetting Angelica Cannon, the better he’d be.
He’d been cruel to protect himself. She was dabbling in a way of life vastly different from her own. She was not contemplating a move to Smoky Hollow, she’d said over and over she was returning to New York at the end of August. He had less than a month to get through. A month to ignore the next-door neighbor and concentrate on the sculpture.
The sculpture of her.
No matter how he tried to pretend it was anyone else, he’d admitted the truth. This was her. When he carved the face, it would be Angel’s. When he thought about the symbolism, it’d be of her life, her summer in Kentucky.
Could he capture the yearning for something new mixed with the fate of returning to the familiar? Could he make the impossible decision clear on a face that would be scarcely four inch high?
Could he, and not wish for a different outcome every second he worked on it?
Disgusted with his own thoughts, he turned off the light and closed the door. He’d get something to eat and then get to bed at a halfway reasonable hour.
If she stayed away, this infatuation would fade within days.
