28
Jemma
Seductive warmth embraced Jemma as she stepped into the hallway. The house smelled smoky and musky and so manly the fragrance should have been bottled and sold. The hall was lined with unframed canvases, some hung, others propped against the walls. There were a couple of portraits, but most were wild, almost psychedelic images: cartoonish birds holding soft drink cans, a smiling snake emerging from a ram’s skull in the desert. Others were caricatures, some instantly recognisable: Lynn from the shop down the road; the guy who ran the Turkish restaurant. And, annoyingly, a portrait of Natasha, her dark hair contrasting with the blonde child beside her.
‘These are yours?’
‘Mostly. A handful are Juz’s.’
‘Music and art. Quite the creative.’
‘Some of us have to be the dreamers.’
She grinned. ‘If you say so. I guess the artistic flair explains your nail polish.’
‘You still banging on about that? Nope. My nails were painted because I felt like painting my nails. You have a problem with that?’
‘Not with the nails. With the gratification of impulses, maybe.’
Hamish’s blue eyes glinted a challenge in the dimness of the hall. His hands went to her waist, grounding her giddiness.
‘Then again, maybe impulsivity has its place,’ she admitted.
His rich chuckle rolled from the walls. ‘You don’t reckon that’s a bit of an oxymoron?’
‘When I satisfy an impulse, I’ll let you know.’
One arm around her waist, Hamish guided her to the kitchen. Just the right amount of pressure, distinctly masculine and commanding. The sexual tension was practically electric, infuriating and tantalising.
‘Okay, before we get down to what you wanted to discuss, I have a question,’ she said.
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Hamish gestured for her to take a seat.
‘Why won’t you pick up on any of my cues?’
He paused with his hand on the kettle, but turned to her. ‘You mean why won’t I jump into bed with you?’
She nodded, slightly surprised; here was a guy who matched her in telling it like it was. ‘Actually, I’d like it on record that Ididget you into bed.’
‘Noted, counsellor,’ he teased.
‘Again, not a term we use. Honestly, that crap American series should be banned. Anyway … ?’
‘Cross-examining me?’
‘Yep. Why won’t you put out?’
Abandoning the kettle, Hamish took the seat opposite her. ‘Straight up?’ His eyes held hers. ‘Because I don’t plan to be your accessory, Jemma. Sure, we could have sex andwe’d both enjoy it. Bit more than enjoy it,’ he corrected with disarming confidence. ‘But there’s a whole lot more to you than fairly terrifying intellect and killer sex appeal. And I want in on all of that. So, no, I’m not going to have sex with you.’
‘Wow. Never?’ She leaned across the table.
‘Never. At least, not unless you’re also invested.’
The large kitchen was surprisingly short of oxygen and she tried to take a surreptitious deep breath. ‘You know I’m crazy busy—’
‘That’s called life. But do you have space for anything more?’
‘I’d definitelyliketo carve out some time for you.’
