His body hummed under the press of her curves against him. They fit together perfectly, her hips tucked against his, her breasts, round and firm against his chest.
He wanted her. Despite everything he’d told himself in his cabana only hours earlier, he wanted her. This woman. This moment.
A primitive urge raced through him with so much force it left him breathless. His erection strained against his jeans and he knew that she could feel him, could tell exactly how much he craved her.
He moved, just slightly, brushing against her and forcing himself not to groan from the sheer, decadentagony. Her mouth tasted richer than wine, and he urged her lips apart, wanting to taste her, wanting to know everything about her.
She opened her mouth to his, taking what he offered, sharing herself with him. She was passionate and sweet and perfect—and she was there in his arms. He felt dizzy from the wonder of it. She was with him. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
She shifted against him, her little noises driving him nuts, and then her hands were in his back pockets, urging him closer. He wanted to lose himself, to be as close to her as possible, and then even closer still. He wanted to wrap her around him like a blanket. To forget everything except the exquisite pleasure of this woman in his arms.
Except it was all a lie. Every bit of it.
The truth weighed down on him, and he broke the kiss. Pulling her close, he buried his face in her hair, seeking the strength to move away. This was wrong. He was weak, foolish.
For months he’d been living alone, telling himself it didn’t matter that Amy left, that women didn’t even look in his direction anymore. But it did matter. God help him, it did.
A wave of sadness crashed over him. It was all an illusion. She wasn’t there with Tony Moretti. Hell, she didn’t even know Tony Moretti. If she knew the truth, she’d run far and fast.
With a massive effort, he summoned his strength. “Kyra, I—”
“Please. No.” She backed away, gently freeing herself from the bonds of his arms. Her gaze flicked up to his face, then down to the path. “We shouldn’t… This isn’t… I want to, but…” She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. Then she turned and ran into her cabana without looking back.
He watched her go, waiting on the path until the door closed behind her. Then he waited even longer for the lights to fade and for darkness to envelop her cabana. The drizzle grew into rain, the wind lashing around him as the inevitable storm approached.
Still he stood there watching, the sadness in his gut almost nauseating.
Disgusted, he ripped off his cap and the cursed eye patch. Damn Merrilee. She’d given him everything he’d ever wanted. But she’d only given him a taste. Just enough to whet his appetite. Just enough for him to remember how much he’d lost.
* * *
KYRA WOKE UPto sunshine, a melted candy bar stuck to her face and tangled in her hair, and a pounding headache.
She felt disoriented and vaguely sad. It took her a moment to remember why, and then it hit her—him. Michael.
After she’d raced away—conjuring every ounce of self-control to keep from turning back and begging him to follow—she’d satisfied her raging hormoneswith wine, chocolate and a few pages from a favorite romance novel. Apparently, she hadn’t quite finished the candy.
Sitting up, she wiped chocolate off her cheek and tucked the tangled, gooey hair mess behind her ear. Sadness didn’t even begin to cover it. She felt empty. All because she’d walked away from him. But it had been the right choice.
Hadn’t it?
Nibbling on her lower lip, she padded into the bathroom and stared herself down in the mirror. She looked a sight. Hair hanging in chocolate clumps, pillow creases on her face, and a candy smear all up her cheek.
Michael certainly wouldn’t want her now. She didn’t look a thing like the romantic damsel in distress. And that’s all it had been—just a moment of passion brought on by an intense situation, nothing real at all. She should forget about it—about him—and get on with the business of her fantasy.
She turned the tap on the bathtub, letting it run as she took a washcloth and scrubbed at her face.
Her reflection stared back at her, and she scowled. “It’s good you ran away.”
Her reflection didn’t look convinced.
“Really.” She closed her eyes, trying to convince herself she’d done the right thing. No matter how much she’d anticipated this trip, no matter how much she’d craved him, no matter how much her skin had burnedunder his touch, no matter how much she’d longed to feel his hands on her bare skin…
She shivered under the onslaught of memories, cursing herself for running away, even while congratulating herself for doing the right thing. Opening her eyes, she frowned at her reflection. No question about it, she’d done the right thing. Right?Right.
Maybe.
Sighing, she planted her hands on either side of the sink and leaned in toward the mirror. She needed to talk this one out. She’d have to go see Merrilee.
