this. You’ll be lucky if you’re only delayed by a couple of hours.’
‘Only delayed,’ Lydia echoed bleakly. ‘As opposed to what?’
‘To your flight being cancelled completely and the airport being shut down for today. I think you’d better consider that possibility…’ he added, seeing the way her face fell. ‘From what I can see, it can only get worse, not better.’
And what would she do then? Lydia was forced to wonder. If the airport closed, she had nowhere to go; nothing to go back to. Today was to have been the start of her new life, a whole new beginning.
‘Would having a drink with me be such a bad thing?’ The thread of irony was definitely darker now, making her shiver faintly just to hear it.
‘No…’
But still she couldn’t make herself say yes, please sit down, introduce herself. All the normal politeness and pleasantries seemed to have fled from her mind, leaving it shockingly blank as a wiped blackboard.
‘Just what is it that you’re afraid of?’
Silkily spoken though they were, she knew the words were meant to sting and they did. Sharply.
‘Do you really think that I’m about to pounce on you in front of all these other passengers—not to mention the airport staff? Perhaps you fear that, driven mad by your stunning beauty, I will ravish you without mercy.’
‘Oh, now you’re just being ridiculous.’
She struggled to ignore the sudden twist of her heart, the judder in her pulse as the impact of that ‘stunning beauty’ hit home. His tone had been ironical but something deep in those spectacular eyes had told her that the words had been more seriously meant.
‘Please don’t be silly. It’s just that…that I really don’t see exactly why you should want to. What would you get from talking to a complete stranger who is due to head out of here on a plane at any minute? I mean…why me?’ she ended on an uncharacteristically plaintive note.
The wordless sound he made with his tongue was sharp, impatient, speaking eloquently of the irritation and temper he was struggling to rein back. It was also totally un-English making her wonder just what his nationality might be. That accent certainly wasn’t Italian or Spanish. It was far more exotic than that, in spite of impeccable pronunciation and a natural ease of grammar. There was an arrogance and pride in both his profile and his bearing that made her think fleetingly of long-ago kings or Bedouin warriors, but such fanciful thoughts flew from her head when he spoke again.
‘You are clearly not a fool,’ he declared with a sudden harshness that brought a gasp of shock to her lips. ‘So why do you behave as if you were? You know very well what is between us—what has been there from the moment I first laid eyes on you and you on me.’
‘No, I don’t!’
Sitting down kept her too far beneath him, making her position too vulnerable for her liking. In a rush she started to her feet, only to find that instead of making things easier she had in fact made them much, much worse.
Face to face like this, on the same level at last, she was supremely conscious of the difference in their builds. At five feet ten inches, she had always considered herself overly tall for a woman, but this man had the rare ability to make her feel small.
His head and shoulders topped hers by several inches, and she found that unless she looked upwards at an awkward angle she was forced to focus on the dangerous sensuality of his mouth. His beautiful mouth and the smooth olive skin that surrounded it, faintly shadowed by several hours’ growth of beard. Immediately her thoughts jumped to imagine just what it would feel like to have that mouth on hers, to press her own lips against the satin warmth of his face.
She was now so close to him that the clean, faintly musky scent of his body tantalised her senses. It was impossible not to inhale secretly, sparking a reaction like the internal prickle of pins and needles.
‘I don’t!’ she repeated, less certainly this time. ‘What do you mean what there is between us? I don’t know what you are talking about.’
Black eyes flashed as he turned a look of pure scorn on her flushed face.
‘You know only too well what I’m talking about,’ he tossed back at her in a low, dangerous voice. ‘We both know what is happening between us, even if you are too craven to admit to it and give it a name.’
Unexpectedly he leaned forwards, reaching out with one long, tanned hand. The tip of his finger touched her cheek very lightly and then moved slowly and caressingly downwards, etching a trail of fire along her skin.
‘And it is a very simple word,’ he murmured beguilingly. ‘Short, to the point, and so easy to say if you only have the courage to trust in yourself.’
His eyes held her, keeping her transfixed, unable to move, unable to blink. And what she read in that steady, ebony gaze, the fierce flames that burned in the darkness of his pupils, gave her the answer she both wanted and dreaded.
Sex.
The word flared in Lydia’s mind, etched in letters of white-hot flame, so that she was sure that this disturbing stranger must be able to look deep into her eyes and read it clearly there.
Sex.
Pure and undiluted. Primal. Powerful. Totally primitive. The sort of instinctive, unthinking response that couldn’t be understood or explained. Human interaction at its most basic. It couldn’t be denied and it couldn’t be resisted.
That was what blazed between them. What had sparked in her senses in the first moment she had set eyes on this man when she had walked into the room.
And it was clear that he too had felt that same shock of carnal recognition, the body-blow to the soul that said, I want this person. I want them so much that I feel I will die if I never have them. It dried her throat and made her heart pound. Her clenched hands were damp with sweat, her lips parched, but she didn’t dare do anything to ease either physical sensation. To do so would be to reveal to those watchful, hunting hawk’s eyes that she was light years away from being as calm as she wanted to pretend.
‘I…’
She opened her mouth to deny the accusation of cowardice, but the knowledge of the truth dried the protest on her tongue and turned it into a raw, embarrassing croak.
‘You…?’ he encouraged softly, the single, husky word a seduction in itself. And the spot where his fingertip still rested on her cheek was a burning focus, a concentration of all the sensations he aroused in her.
It seemed obscene to be at the mercy of such primitive feelings in such public, impersonal surroundings. All around her was the hushed murmur of voices in desultory conversation. Other passengers lounged in the comfortable chairs, turning the pages of newspapers and magazines, or frowned into laptop computers, occasionally leaning forward to touch a key. No one even spared them as much as a curious glance.
And yet Lydia had the feeling that the awareness that pulsed between her and this man—a man whose name she didn’t even know—must have enclosed them in a glowing, burning haze that swirled in the air and coiled round them like smoke. Her heart was beating a frantic tattoo, and she was sure that the hard, strong finger must feel the race of the blood in her veins and know what had caused it.
‘You…?’ he prompted again, but her tongue seemed too thick, too frozen to speak, and she could only shake her head in numb confusion.
His reaction was brusque and startling, making her flinch in a moment of shocked panic. The long forefinger was snatched away with a swiftly muttered imprecation in some language she didn’t know, the words too harsh and swift to catch. Then his hand came down in a violent, slashing movement between their two bodies as if he were cutting off all communication between them.
‘Enough!’ he declared in a voice that rang with cold anger. ‘I do not have time for this…’
And before