Never had he experienced need so instantaneous, obliterating all else. It was like a roaring, racing conflagration swirling almost out of control.
And all he’d done was kiss her hand! Even the scent of her, like the perfume of dew on rosebuds, was enough to test his self-possession.
His heart pounded against his ribs, adrenaline surged in his bloodstream, inciting action. His every sense clamoured for fulfilment. Here. Now. On the hard-packed sand where the sun’s early rays would light her body to gold and amber for his delectation.
He snagged one rough breath. Watched her eyes widen and realised his grip had firmed too much. Another breath and he loosened his hold, still unwilling to relinquish her hand.
But she tugged it away, slipped her fingers from his and cradled them with her other hand between her breasts. The unthinking gesture pulled the soft cotton of her shirt tight and his breath seized in his lungs as he eyed the outline of her bra.
‘A handshake would have done,’ she whispered, her voice shaky.
Arik almost laughed at the absurdity of it. She was chastising him for being too forward in kissing her hand. How would she react if she knew he was hard with need for her? That just the sight of her plain bra beneath that prudish high-buttoned shirt and the taste of her against his lips made him hot with desire?
But his laughter fled as he looked in her eyes and saw the confusion there. Confusion and…trepidation?
She was scared of him, his golden girl?
Instantly he took a half pace backwards, watching the way her dilated eyes seemed to focus somewhere near his chin as her breathing slowly evened out.
She looked as if no man had ever kissed her hand. More, as if the dance of desire between the sexes was something new to her.
Impossible. Surely in Australia men were men enough to pursue a beauty as delicate and enticing as this one. It still amazed him that she was alone, no male hovering close to guard against intruders.
‘I see our customs are different to what you are used to. I meant no offence.’
He wondered if she’d be satisfied with that explanation. Surely even an innocent would realise that a formal kiss on the fingers was completely different from the sensuous introduction they’d just experienced. Or maybe she’d ignore the fact, pretend it hadn’t happened.
She nodded, turned her head away to stare at the glow of light on the horizon. ‘Of course. I understand.’
He was right—she was avoiding the truth.
But he’d achieved his aim. She was aware of him now. Not just as a distant figure on horseback to be captured in paints, but as a man. Flesh and blood. Her agitated breathing, the quick sidelong glance at him, the way she bit down on the corner of her mouth, all affirmed it.
The first step towards his goal. He smothered a smile and turned towards Layla, saddled this time so he could mount more easily with his stiff leg.
‘Where do you want me?’
The question caught Rosalie by surprise and her mouth rounded in an O of shock. Faint colour warmed her cheeks and Arik held his mouth tight so as not to betray his satisfied grin. So, it had been more than just an introduction for her too. That was a guilty expression if ever he’d seen one. Obviously she did want him.
Now it was just a matter of getting her to admit it.
Rosalie put her hand to her back and stretched out the stiffness there. She’d sat too long, absorbed in her work, and now her muscles protested.
She looked at the canvas before her and fought down bubbling excitement. It was too early to tell. Far too early to know if this would be anything worthwhile. But, a tiny part of her wanted to crow, it was promising. Definitely promising. Certainly far better than her faltering attempts earlier in the week.
After her tension when she’d begun this morning, she thought she’d never be able to settle down and work. She’d been strung taut like a bow, wary of the knowing light in Arik’s eyes, the flagrant desire she read in his face, and scared to betray the secret answering yearning that spiralled deep inside her.
That had taken her completely by surprise, even after yesterday’s encounter and last night’s restless dreams. She’d experienced nothing like it. Even in the days when she had been young and innocent. Her teenage fantasies had been about romance and happy endings. They’d never been raw with the force of untrammelled physical desire.
It had been like a surge of white-hot electricity, the arousal she’d felt as Arik had taken her hand in his, moved his lips against her skin and made her want…him. The jolt of energy had arced deep inside her, straight to her womb where the aching emptiness had been like a throbbing pain.
No one had said it would ever be like that.
‘You’re happy with what you’ve done?’ She looked up to find him leaning towards her from the back of his horse. There was a safe distance between them now but it wasn’t enough. Rosalie suspected that with this man there would never be enough distance for her to feel secure.
‘It’s not bad,’ she said cautiously, turning away from his regard.
He saw too much, she knew that already. Though not, she hoped, nearly as much as she wanted to hide from him.
‘And so we’re finishing for the morning?’ The question was straightforward, but it held a note of something unsettling.
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘All finished for now.’
‘Good.’ He nudged his horse away and dragged something from his pocket—a cellphone. As Rosalie started tidying up her supplies she heard his voice, low and warm, as he spoke in his native tongue. She loved the lilt of it, the fluidity, and her hands slowed as she listened.
She remembered the teasing sound of his voice yesterday, as he’d chivvied the horses. A thrill skittered down her spine as she imagined him speaking, his tone intimately caressing, pitched for her alone.
Appalled at herself, she began to shove her gear away with more force than prudence. She couldn’t believe her wayward imagination. Never had she fantasised about a man in this way. She shook her head, wondering what had changed. This instant overwhelming attraction was terrifying. It was the sort of attraction that she guessed led to one-night stands.
For an instant the horrible irony of that thought struck her, but she shoved it aside. She had no time for self-pity. The past was gone.
But that still left her way out of her depth.
Five minutes later she was packed, all except her easel and canvas, when the rumble of an engine made her look up. It was a four-wheel drive approaching over a stony track from the ridge above. Arik was already riding to meet it.
As she watched, a couple of men got out and, following his instructions, began unloading something from the back of the vehicle. Soon it began to take shape, high on the beach, as a large canvas awning. No, a tent, with one side open, facing the sea.
Arik walked towards her, his naturally long stride shortening almost imperceptibly on each second step. His damaged leg. The realisation brought a crazy rush of sympathy for whatever pain he’d suffered.
Rosalie shook her head. What had got into her? She’d known the man a little more than a day, if she could be said to know him.
‘If you permit, I’ll have your work taken to my home and brought along tomorrow morning at first light. That way you won’t have to carry it each day.’ He paused, then added, ‘I will personally vouch that it will be handled appropriately. My mother is an amateur artist and my staff understand that it is more than their lives are worth to damage a work in progress.’ His smile was charming, robbing his words of any threat.
‘I…of course.