Passionate Fantasy. Sharon Kendrick

      He led the way down a larger corridor off the hall, before throwing open the door of the kitchen.

      ‘Remember now?’ he enquired, and she couldn’t miss the searching stare he gave her.

      Banishing wishes that she had never agreed to come to this house, to take part in such a potentially foolish escapade, she fixed him with a brilliant smile. ‘Thanks. I won’t forget again.’

      ‘I’m sure you won’t,’ he drawled, then, to her utter amazement, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and stared down at her, and at that moment reality fled from her life as though it had never before existed.

      It was like all the old fairy-stories, only more so— because she had never believed in them before.

      His touch was just—magic.

      Cool yet warm.

      Firm yet gentle.

      He tipped her head back a little and she was transfixed by the blinding blaze of the silver-grey eyes, unable now to stop the trembling of her mouth as it parted, as if impelled by him to do so ... waiting ... waiting ... waiting ...

      His eyes gleamed and he nodded, as if satisfied. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s very powerful. You feel it too. Don’t you?’

      ‘Feel—wh-what ... ?’ she stammered.

      He gave a click of impatience, the gleam leaving his eyes, and as the light left them they became as cold and as impersonal as if they’d been fashioned from metal.

      ‘Oh, come on, Kitty,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t deny what your body accepted minutes ago. Because you can’t, can you? Your eyes are begging me to kiss you, aren’t they?’

      ‘N-no. They aren’t,’ she lied ineffectually.

      He smiled. ‘And do you know, I’m very tempted? Very tempted indeed!’

      He was teasing, playing games with her—he must be. And it hurt. Gorgeous, world-famous film directors didn’t feel tempted to kiss girls like her. ‘Try it,’ she said shakily, over-reacting by a mile, ‘and I’ll slap your face.’

      He laughed. ‘That might be interesting—purely for its novelty value,’ he murmured arrogantly.

      She brought her chin up as her eyes flashed angrily at him.

      ‘Go on, then.’ His voice had dropped to a deep, dark caress, and Kitty felt her breasts tighten with the tingle of anticipation. ‘I dare you. Slap my face.’

      She stared back at him, unable to move, her mind at odds with her body as she forgot all about Caro and why she was here, forgot all about everything other than the need to know what kissing him really would be like.

      And, oh, heavens, she was just about to find out as that devastating dark head dipped down towards hers and his mouth found her lips.

      For a second, there was a blaze inside her heart as she realised that the man whose face had graced a thousand movie-goers’ magazine covers was actually kissing her—Kitty Goodman with the ginger hair. It was every woman’s fantasy come to brazen, beautiful life.

      And then she forgot just who she was kissing; her attention and her senses were all caught up with just how he was kissing. It was a soft, slow exploration, with scarcely any pressure on her mouth to begin with and with nothing but their lips touching at all. Which all changed when he shifted his head just a fraction to give him greater access to the moist, eager interior of her mouth, and she slipped her hands up to clutch at his shoulders as his tongue flicked with sensual ease to lick at hers, as though he were slowly licking cream off the top of a pudding.

      She felt that pleasurable ache as the tips of her breasts clamoured into disbelieving life, her eyelids falling helplessly over her eyes, so, so tempted to move her hands down from his shoulders, to slip them inside his towelling robe and to touch and caress his bare chest ...

      And then he stopped kissing her, and stood staring down at her thoughtfully as she fought to drag some air into her starved lungs. To her horror she discovered that her desires had become actions and that her palms were lying against the hard nakedness of his chest, fingers fanned out over his nipples in as provocatively inviting and sexually possessive a gesture as it was possible to make.

      ‘Oh, God!’ she cried, wrenching her hands away with lightning speed.

      A slow smile curved his mouth. ‘I’m still waiting,’ he murmured softly.

      ‘W-waiting for what?’ Not to make love to her here, surely?

      ‘Why, for you to slap my face,’ he concluded arrogantly.

      She was stung, shocked, ashamed; a red mist of fury swam before her eyes, and she swung her hand up to hit him, but he was too quick for her, easily capturing her small wrist in his hand.

      ‘Not now, Kitty,’ he admonished sardonically. ‘That’s what’s known as shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted, wouldn’t you say?’ And he waved his hand in the direction of a state-of-the-art cooker, and gave her an amused smile. ‘I’ll leave you to your cooking. I don’t know about you, but I seem to have worked up the most enormous appetite.’