“Shall I order another for you?” he asked.
She shook her head, sitting back, and reaching for her glass of sweet dessert wine. “Best not,” she said. “It’s a good life lesson. Don’t ask for too much. Don’t get greedy.”
As she spoke, taking a sip of her wine, feeling it flow into her, as if directly into her already wine-laden veins, she felt the words echo. Had she been greedy once, wanted too much? She heard her own assertion made earlier to Xander replay. That she had never had any expectations of their time together in Greece.
It was a classic holiday romance.
She clung to those words now. Yes, it had come to grief, but that did not change that it had been a holiday romance, nothing more.
A romance that could not be rekindled, for it had ended badly and had been so long ago.
Yet her eyes went to him, to Xander in his tuxedo, just like he’d been seven years ago, as if those seven years of separation could not possibly exist. She could not help herself. Emotion washed through her. A weakness she should deplore, resist. But could not. Not any longer, not this evening.
Just for this evening.
That’s what she had given herself to, to this evening here with Xander. It washed through her again. Dear God, but just how gorgeous he was. No man ever had come anywhere close to Xander.
He met her eyes. Held them. Locked on to them. Breath left her, and she felt weakness washing through her, possessing her, roaring in her heart.
“Shall we dance?” he asked.
The band had struck up again, the vocalist launching into a husky-voiced familiar romantic number, and couples were moving towards the dance floor.
He didn’t wait for an answer, only got to his feet and held out an inviting hand towards her. For a moment she hesitated, wine glass still in her hand, eyes still locked to his. Then, heartbeat hectic, she took his outstretched hand.
She knew that she should not let Xander’s strong, warm fingers close over hers, draw her to her feet, set down her glass for her, lead her forward, take her into his arms. Yet she did…
Just for this evening.
The words echoed in her head as her body folded into his embrace.
She was silky and slender and so, so close. He could breathe her scent as his arm came around her waist, her hand lifting to his shoulder. He heard her give a little sigh as she did, as in surrender.
They moved to the music instinctively, and just as instinctively he drew her closer against him, feeling the slender column of her body moulding against his. How good it felt, how right that after seven long years, Laurel was in his arms again.
Where he wanted her to be.
Certainty flowed through him. This was what he wanted. Desired. Holding her close, hand folded around hers, his cheek against hers.
He felt her fold against him, from breasts to hips, and he took her weight, treasured it, and let it have its effect on him that he made no effort to deny. For why should he? He had been struck by her beauty the very first time he’d laid eyes on her and desired her ever since. Nothing could quench that desire—not his marriage, not his wrenching her from his life, not her hiding his son from him, not the years apart from her.
That she knew what was happening between them was obvious. She’d given the tiniest flutter of shock, and then, just as he had, she had yielded to it.
His voice as he spoke now was a murmur below the level of the lilting music. “How can I deny what my body is honest enough to crave?” He drew back a little from her, a fraction only, so he could look into her eyes. His speaking, eloquent eyes.
“We used to dance like this on the deck, beneath the stars, and then I’d lead you down into my state room and kiss your mouth, your throat, the swell of your sweet breasts, and peel your dress from you, and take you to my bed.”
His voice was low and husked, and with an instinct as old as time, his mouth reached to brush hers so very lightly.
He saw her eyes flutter shut, felt her lips tremble a moment beneath his, and then he’d lifted his mouth away.
His eyes poured down into hers. His speaking, eloquent eyes.
“Come,” he said.
This was madness, insanity. Laurel said the words to herself over and over and over again as Xander led her off the dance floor, across the lofty hall and up the grand sweeping staircase to the upper floor, along the wide, thickly carpeted corridor. Madness and insanity, insanity and madness.
She should halt him, pull her hand from his. Dig her heels into the soft pile of the carpet and say,Xander, no! Too much divides us! We can’t go back—we mustn’t!
