“Good morning, Miss Armstrong,” he said. “I had the local radio on. I knew you’d be late with the accident. It’s caused a massive hold-up. I won’t ask if your journey was good. Where would you like to start today?”
Her mouth dried in anticipation. She’d like to start by tearing off the gray casual shirt he wore and raking her nails over the muscles it hid. Her heartbeat raced. She’d like to start by savaging his mouth, as he’d taken hers, by shoving him to the floor and straddling him. Wetness dampened her underwear. Then she’d open the zip on those jeans and find him hot and hard. She’d like to start now.
Swallowing her need along with the lump in her throat, she fought for control. “Erm…” She flicked her glance over to the trees, anything to avoid his enticing gaze. “As the weather’s better today, what about another look at the gardens?” she finally managed, reaching for her computer. “I’ll just get...” Oh, hell. She’d left the bag in the car. “I’ll go and get my iPad.”
“I’m sure you could manage without it. Why not walk and take in the impressions first. You can always come back for it after lunch.” His light tone didn’t match the intensity of his gaze.
“Lunch?” she said. “I didn’t know I was staying for lunch.”
“I thought you might like to. It will give the traffic time to clear.” He took two or three paces from her, and his dark hair glinted as he stepped into a patch of sunlight. But he didn’t belong in the light. This man roared his part of the darkness, stifled her in shadows. He belonged in the black velvet of night and the mysterious twilight grays of evening. She could hardly breathe, struggled to take another gulp of air. The muscles of her inner thighs clenched and a quiver of excitement stole slowly over her.
“This way, Miss Armstrong.”
Heaven help her get through the day without begging him to… Quashing her desire down, she followed his long stride over the gravel. Through the arch in the wall, she stepped after him into a formal rose garden. A deep breath here firmed her resolve.
There had been so many opportunities over the years with the company to get involved with clients, all of which she’d gracefully declined. Mr. Johansson would learn he was no different. Entanglements of that kind led to bad business, or so her boss warned her. The irrational fascination with this compelling man had to stop.
No matter what, he couldn’t read her dreams.
The roses, almost at the end of their season, smelled heady sweet as she breathed them in, and their fragrance calmed her. The rose beds were set in geometric squares trimmed with box hedging. Green wrought iron benches stood at intervals along the paths.
He turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Do you believe in dreams?”
An involuntary shudder raised gooseflesh. “Some,” she murmured, unwilling to encourage this topic of conversation.
Still and unblinking, he studied her for a few seconds before he nodded, and the memory of his body with hers flooded through her, so she ached for him inside her again.
“This garden was once a dream, but it became a reality.” His lips moved in what might have been the start of a smile.
Bastard. He deliberately tormented her. This so called gentleman needed to find out she wasn’t going to be coerced by him. “Interesting though I’m sure the story is, Mr. Johansson, I don’t think this is quite right for our purposes” she said in her most professional, close-the-deal-today manner. Not waiting for his answer, she paced past him. “Is there more?” she asked without looking back.
“Much.” The whisper close her ear sent a warm breath against her skin and sped her pulse to thundering. “Miss Armstrong, would you prefer I leave you to explore alone?”
“No,” she snapped, and nipped at her lip. Right now she’d no need to be alone.
“There is the wood? On the other hand, we could take a walk down to the lake,” he said.
“You choose.”
“We’ll go to the lake, and perhaps I can show you the woods after we’ve had lunch?”
“Fine.” The snarl in her voice startled her. She hadn’t meant to sound so pissed off. But anger snapped through her. Why? Because sound business sense be damned, she wanted him to touch her, not torment her, and he hadn’t made a move. Anger he’d not admitted the truth she knew he shared with her became entangled with her need for him.
Damn it.
If only she could have sent Richard to this meeting today instead of coming here herself. But she’d wanted to see the owner of this house again, needed to look at him to convince herself Mr. Johansson was real, and he wasn’t Magnus, the amazing, wonderful sex partner her mind had created. Prove to herself beyond any doubt this man couldn’t be the lover she’d waited for her whole life.
She gnawed her lip, as he walked past to lead her through another archway and onto a long terrace overlooking a massive expanse of tree-lined lawn. At the bottom of the lawn lay a lake, the rills of water on its surface sparkling in the sun. Willows grew at its edges, and what had once probably been a bright red Japanese pagoda stood in its center, reached by a causeway. Her breath caught in her throat. She’d no idea the grounds would be this extensive. Images of dancers romping into the gardens, the lead couple kissing by the lake, the opportunities for the Timeless film swam in her thoughts. Love here would be inevitable for the characters from the song. This place was meant for romance.
His dark eyes drank her down deep. “Ah, the lake pleases you?” he asked, inclining his head.
She nodded, not even sure what she’d agreed to. A shiver flashed down her spine, but this wasn’t fear. Not now. She needed his hands on her.
“Let’s walk that way for a while?”
She nodded again. “Mr. Johansson,” she said, attempting to tell him the estate was breath taking, should be open to public view. But the words wouldn’t come, for her mouth grew too dry.
“Magnus, please, Miss Armstrong, if you will?”
Magnus. The word beat inside her like a hammer on a bell. Magnus. With each step she took, his name became part of her, thundered through her blood and entwined with her heartbeat.
“The Lebanon Cedar trees were planted in the late eighteenth century,” he said as they passed along the row, which towered above them, the branches thick with growth. “At one time there was a boat house for the lake, but I’m afraid it’s gone now.”
The morning sun warmed through her. A last fling of summer before the fall colors took the leaves, and the first frosts crisped each dawn.
“Do you think any of this would suit your purposes?” he asked, standing in front of her, his silhouette an intense dark shape gilded at the edges by a nimbus of sunlight.
“Yes,” she said on a sigh, taking a step. “Yes.” She leaned forward, closing the gap between them. “It’s beautiful,” slid from her.
“I am pleased you find it so.” The rise of his smile tilted one corner of his mouth.
A thrill shimmied, dancing with staccato steps over her heart, while his enthralling expression grew more powerful still, until both corners of his mouth lifted. His pleasure shone in his eyes, sparks of navy blue flickering, so intense his gaze glistened like wet slate. The gleam of his teeth flashed for a brief second. Satisfaction radiated from him in a warm wave. The earth shook.
The sky spun up above her as she sagged toward the turf.
Magnus cradled her to his chest as he lifted her up. “You’ve overtaxed your strength, my dear. Let me help you?”
Limp, her bones soft as melted marshmallow, she lay in his embrace and he carried her across the wooden causeway to the pagoda. “I’ll be all right,” she murmured. “I need to sit down for a minute, that’s all.”
Low