The Return of the Stranger. Kate Walker

so tight against hers that it was as if they were blended into each other, not two spirits, but one.

      For the space of a couple of whirling seconds the world seemed to hang suspended, out of focus, all sense of reality lost. But then Isobel spoke again, her tone more petulant and discontented.

      ‘Kat, I really need that tea.’

      As if from a distance she heard Heath’s sudden, sharp bark of laughter, harshly cynical, drawn from some deep shadowy place inside him. And the mood that had held her captive and lost shattered once and for all. Heath lifted his dark head, took a step back. He distanced her from him too, setting her back on the floor so that only now did she become aware of the way that she had actually been lifted right off her feet, her toes barely keeping contact with the decorative tiles underneath her.

      With a sudden snatching breath reality came back to her and she was dropped back into the world. But a world that no longer seemed the same. A world that now seemed turned upside down and inside out and she was suddenly sure would never be the same again.

      What was happening to her? Who was the woman who had just gone up in flames in Heath’s arms? Surely that couldn’t truly be her?

      Without thought her hands went to her hair, trying to smooth tumbled strands that he had twisted and tangled up so mercilessly. The band that had held her ponytail was lost, pulled free and abandoned somewhere on the floor. So she had to content herself with the rough and ready combing out of the knots that those powerful fingers had created. Her dress too was crumpled, caught up high on her thighs when he had lifted her and now she tugged nervously at the material, trying to restore it to some sort of decency. And all the time she didn’t dare to lift her eyes to look at Heath; to meet the burning ebony gaze that she knew by fearful instinct was fixed firmly on her face.

      He waited, silent and dark, an ominous shadow on the outer edges of her vision while she struggled with her appearance, making no comment, taking no action. Just waiting and watching. Until at last she could find nothing else to force her attention onto, nothing to keep her from looking in his direction. And she had, unwillingly, to lift her eyes to his.

      Immediately she felt as if she had lost herself in the darkness of his gaze. His focus was intense, his lids half lowered, hiding the full force of his stare behind the fringe of lush, thick lashes. A faint smile played over the sensual mouth, his lips still stained by the rush of blood that the pressure of their kiss had created. But that smile had nothing of warmth in it, nothing of concern. It was a dark sense of triumph that curled the corners of his lips. The smile of a predator who had the tastiest sample of prey right in front of him, just within perfect pouncing distance.

      And in the back of her mind, echoing cold and cruel, Kat heard again the words he had tossed at her only a short time before.

       I have scores to settle, as you must know.

      They had sounded dangerously ominous then. And they sounded so very much worse now. How could she have let this happen—with Heath? The Heath who had come back to settle scores, and had stated it openly. So had that kiss been part of that aim for revenge? He couldn’t fake his arousal but what had been behind his actions in the first place?

      She felt as if a cruel hand were squeezing her heart, twisting it inside her. How was it possible that at long last she had reached out and touched something of what it really meant to be a woman—but with this man? A man whom she couldn’t trust with that stunning, newly tasted sensuality any more than she could ever have trusted her husband?