Not caring to boast, she made a non-committal, so-so sort of gesture. ‘Oh, well …’
‘I’m not surprised,’ he said warmly. ‘There are so many of these blokes about. Operators looking for a beautiful woman to hook up with.’ He nodded, sighing. ‘Yeah, I know the type. First they use the old sweet talk routine to soften you up. Then they manoeuvre you into a clinch.’ He glanced at her, his eyes gleaming. ‘Or is that where they start these days? With a kiss?’
As if he didn’t know. Her heart bumped into double time.
This conversation was heading in a certain direction, but it was undeniably thrilling. It had been ages since she’d felt on the verge of something truly dangerous and fantastic. All right, so he was an operator of the worst kind. She could be too, if she had to be. She hadn’t taken a celibacy vow yet, had she? Why else was she wearing a push-up bra?
Right on cue Amber’s avatar sashayed into centre stage and met his gaze through Amber’s lashes. ‘I’m already pretty soft, Guy,’ she breathed through Amber’s lips. ‘There are times I prefer to go direct to the kiss.’
His eyes lit with a piercingly sensual gleam. He studied her, eyelids half lowered, reminding her even more of that sleek, smiling wolf.
The summer evening tensed. A shivery excitement prickled along her veins.
With his grey eyes shimmering, in dreamy slow motion he raised a bronzed hand to push a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. In the spot where his fingers connected her skin sprang into tingling life. Softly he trailed one finger over her cheek, down her throat to the hollow at its base.
Sensation rippled through her every nerve cell. Her lips parted as he stroked the delicate skin of her throat. Her skin fell into an enchantment. She saw his eyes drop to her mouth and darken and her heart gave a great bound.
She tilted her head, for a moment teetering on a magical edge of anticipation, then swiftly she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. His sexy mouth felt, firm and so electrically alive, and tasted of wine. She moved her lips against his and a delicious fire sprang to life and danced along them.
His smooth hands slid up to cradle her head, and she leaned into him to gain a more comfortable position. He seized the initiative from her, intensifying the kiss to a searing, sensual charge. She felt something like a deep gasp whoosh through her, and her body shot into electric response as the tip of his tongue slid through to tangle with hers and tantalise the delicate tissues just inside her mouth.
Then, just when she thought desire was a pleasant hunger, his mouth took her tongue captive and sucked.
Oh, baby. Desire was no gentle longing. It was a raging furnace. She gave herself up to the mindless sensation. His beard rasping her skin, his vibrant chest firm and solid under her restless palms.
Liquid quivers shuddered through the top of her head, roused her through her breasts and thighs, down the backs of her knees to the tips of her curled up toes. His hands travelled caressingly up her arms, slid to her swelling breasts, while hers flexed on his biceps. Fire flamed in her blood, stirred all her secret, private places with yearning.
His breath mingled with hers and the masculine flavour of him went to her head like wine. He pulled her closer and she felt the friction of his hard chest pressing her nipples.
The blood boomed in her ears and lust swept her like a flame—wild, searing and erotic.
In the grip of the inferno, she thirsted to be closer. Struggling not to in any way diminish the connection, she kept glued to his lips while she squirmed her way onto his thighs. Straddling that impressive lap, she felt her appreciation of the kiss escalate to a whole new dimension.
As though divining her hunger, he tightened his arms around her and rocked her on the hard ridge of his erection with electrifying results. Pleasure roiled through her in waves.
And her body gasped for more. Much, much more. Until in one impassioned, over-enthusiastic plunge she rocked him right off the piano seat and onto the floor.
Thwack. She landed on top of him in a graceless tangle of arms and legs. Half groaning in a laughing complaint about her roughness, he adjusted his position beneath her. She laughed as well, while every inch of her was aware of the raw, virile flesh separated from hers by a couple of thin layers of material.
There was a moment when their laughter faded and they both stilled. His arms tightened around her again. She could feel his heart thumping against her chest while his masculine scent invaded her head. Or maybe that was her heart pounding in her ears like a jungle drum.
Anything could happen—but just like that? With a stranger? In Jean’s flat?
She scrambled up, her head whirling. Adjusted her top. Smoothed her skirt. She might be a little drunk with that kiss, but parts of her brain were still connected.
Her host pulled himself up and adjusted his jeans. They almost managed to avoid one another’s glances. The air sizzled with incompletion. It tugged at her breasts and feminine loins. Made her feel like doing something dangerous.
Guy felt every part of his body tingle to the imprint of her soft, firm flesh. Was she about to slip through his fingers? Instinct told him not. Not if he played it easy.
He let his glance fall to where glimpses of her breasts tantalised at the edge of her shirt. Arousal had him in its grip. His erection was protesting the confinement of his underwear. Surely she must feel it too? Desire crackled in the air like electricity—a promise propelling them to an inevitable conclusion.
She must feel it.
Amber’s gaze collided accidentally with his and she felt singed. She smoothed her hair. Maybe she should go home before his eyes carried her away. Home to her dark flat, with the sitting room furniture all jammed into the hall. The single lamp she read by. No company.
‘I know what you’re thinking.’ he said softly. ‘But you shouldn’t go. Not yet.’
That piqued her pride. ‘You don’t know what I’m thinking.’
His eyes shimmered. ‘Then show me. Let me in.’
As if she wasn’t already intoxicated, she picked up her glass and drank more of the wicked, wicked wine. Glass in hand, she leaned on the piano and smiled. ‘All right, tempter. Go on, then. Play for me.’
He frowned a little at first. She guessed he was disappointed. He’d had other entertainment in view. But he gave in with a gracious shrug and sat down at the piano.
He rested his hands loosely on the keys, then started into a song—some rare, long-forgotten tune that sidled into her heart with a haunting familiarity. He played it against the beat, like a true jazz man, drawing out its sexy sound.
Suddenly a door opened in her memory and a scene came rushing back.
Her mother and father, laughing and dancing in each other’s arms in the kitchen of their old house. When they were still together. When they still loved each other.
Now she knew the song. It was ‘Ruby’, an old number from a Ray Charles album her mother had loved. Lise had continued to play it long after Amber’s father had left her. Left them.
It didn’t even matter now that the lyrics weren’t being sung. From down the decades Ray’s beautiful dark golden voice was still in Amber’s head, recorded there forever in high fidelity, the bittersweet pain of his song as fresh as ever.
Blame the wine or the song, but the music plucked unbearably at her heartstrings. Twisted her most vulnerable emotions and swamped her with nostalgia and regret.
Guy looked up and touched her with his gleaming glance. Something arced between them. Some mutual understanding.
Quickly she lowered her lashes, though she knew he’d seen her tears. But still he continued to play, wringing every last poignant drop from the song as if her response was only natural. Maybe it was then she confused the music with