control already. What could she do?
Call Hugh. Yes! She needed his calm voice, his practical reassurance to help her get past this stupid internal glitch, telling her against all logic that Ben Capriati was…was…
Highly attractive? Sexy? Downright gorgeous?
No! I’m just out of my element. I’m taking in new experiences—and of course a man like Ben is attractive to all women.
Say it, Lucy, the imaginary imp, her only friend in her isolated world as a child, urged her on. You’ve never had time off before, never been off the leash. You’ve never even been able to talk without Mother and Father and Hugh telling you that what you want and say and think is wrong—and you’re already having the time of your life!
And the worst part of it was, she didn’t even feel guilty—and she didn’t want to call Hugh, either.
The thunder of feet thumping down the stairs halted her in her tracks; her hand froze over the phone. Either she’d been lost in thought for ages, or Ben took the world’s fastest shower. He was back, wearing surf shorts, a T-shirt and slip-on shoes, his hair dripping wet. Even in such an innocuous outfit he looked dark, dangerous and blatantly masculine—like a dreaming pirate.
How was she going to spend days and nights in the company of this man, without succumbing to the temptation of—
He grabbed her hand. “So let’s do it.”
She looked down at her hand nestled in his, then up to his face, to the eyes full of bedroom twinkle and a chin of five o’clock shadow even before lunch. Her heart pounding beneath her ribs, she managed to stutter, “D-do—do it?”
“Yeah. You’re hungry. I’m hungry. You need caffeine. Let’s sit in the sun and watch the world walk past.”
“I—but—” She blinked to reorient herself. Right. Kitchen. House. Going out for coffee and food. “What’s the purpose of this excursion? We could buy groceries and stock the house to cook—”
“The purpose, Lucy, is to have fun. F.U.N. Ever hear of it?”
She pulled her hand out of his, stung by the unspoken accusation. “Don’t you work?”
“Not in November—it’s fun-and-games month,” he shot back, laughing. “We both want to eat, so we might as well improve our tans and your temper while we do it. C’mon, Lucy, we’re holed up together, so why not relax? This is the Gold Coast. The laid-back and kick-off-your-shoes vacation capital of Australia. Enjoy it. Soak it in.”
She hesitated. “Well, I suppose, since we’ve been forced to stay together—”
“—we might as well enjoy ourselves while we suspect each other of felonious activities,” he finished cheerfully.
A sidelong glance. “I want a set of keys to the house.”
He leaned over to the wooden rack at the side of the fridge, and handed her a set of keys. “Satisfied?”
“Not until I try them out.” Thrusting out her chin, she dared him. “You go through the door first.”
“Uh-uh. No way.” He grabbed both her hands, linking his fingers through hers. “Consider us superglued and handcuffed. What we do, we do together until this situation’s untangled.”
She eyed the doorway, thinking of the implications of his words with a half-guilty thrill. “We won’t fit,” she argued, her mind filled with delicious, forbidden visions.
He looked her over. “You’re a bitty thing. A tight squeeze, but we’ll just make it, in my professional opinion.”
“Professional what?”
“Professional door-squeezer,” he returned promptly—too promptly? Her eyes narrowed, staring at him. Was he hiding something inside the words? “C’mon, Lucy, superglued and handcuffed—or will you trust me not to lock the door in your face after you go first? Me being the gentleman I am and all.”
“I—I don’t know if I should—”
As if he knew all her hidden fears, he leaned close and whispered, “A whole new world awaits, Lucy Miles, scientific librarian. All you have to do is walk through that door.”
A new world. Oh, he was more right than he knew, and the idea scared her more than she’d admit. But she’d stepped outside her cloistered world last night, the door already breached. There was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath she charged to the door and opened it with a defiant toss of her head, like a warrior going into the Crusades. “Well, let’s do it.”
Those expressive dark eyes filled with laughter as he turned sideways, grabbing her other hand again. “Crabs.”
She gasped. “What?”
He pulled her against him. “Crab-walking’s the only way we’ll get out of here under our superglued and handcuffed, chained-to-each-other policy. Let’s go.”
Uh-oh. Just as well he was holding her up, for her stupid genetic code chose that precise moment to act out again. So a woman’s knees could turn weak at the touch of a man’s body. At the feel of skin against skin, male against female, muscled strength against tender femininity…
What am I thinking? Science, wedding, Hugh—SCIENCE!
Yes, she could focus…just as soon as she could stop feeling his strong chest and taut stomach muscles against her as they shuffled sideways together. When the strange sweetness of his muscled arm around her waist wore off. And when that fresh male scent he wore stopped making her head spin so deliciously…
Ben had the door shut before she realized they were outside. “Welcome back to the outside world. Want to test out your keys?”
Oops, she was still walking sideways—and clinging to him. “Oh. Yes, of course.”
The keys worked just fine. Deflated, she turned back to him, but couldn’t look up. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
“For what?”
“For not cheating.” She gave a little, embarrassed shrug.
“I’m not that much of a Neanderthal, Lucy, I promise.”
She looked up, seeing no hint of laughter in his eyes. He looked awkward, even hurt. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Ben.”
“You have an amazing voice.” He smiled then, a personal, spine-tingling look. “All breathy and voluptuous. Little girlish, yet all woman. You know, like the way Marilyn Monroe sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to JFK.”
Oh, yes, she knew…the dress, the woman, the powerful male…
“I suspect untold depths live and pulse beneath that cardigan of yours,” Ben said softly. “What’s going on in your mind to put such a dazed, sexy look on your face?”
The bubble burst. “I’m not sexy!”
“You know, an hour ago, I’d have agreed with you. I thought you were a drudge at first.” He shook his head, and that rebel lock of hair fell back over his forehead. “But you’ve changed so many times in the past hour, I can’t wait to see what comes next. I suspect you’re a lady of mercurial depths beneath your prosaic exterior, Lucy Miles. I’d love to see you lose the cardigan.”
“No!” she gasped, pulling it tighter around her.
“And let your hair down, spilling all over your shoulders,” continued the sinuous voice of temptation in her ear.
“Never!”
“And barefoot, running free in the wind and sun, that soft, creamy skin of yours all flushed and hot…”
Hmm…
Stop it!
She kept a close hold of her sweater, glaring at him. “Well, you won’t, and that’s all. Ben—Mr. Capriati—I’m