almost reverently.
“And I have never seen anything like you framed by the sunset,” he said.
Then his mouth covered hers.
Just like the first time he’d kissed her, his lips were warm and firm, confident in their mastery. There was no tentativeness, no hesitant searching for the right angle, no questioning of her response.
And like the first time, there was no hesitation in her response.
It had been weeks—and yet, it somehow felt as if it was only yesterday. The warm strength of his arms around her wasn’t just familiar, it was right. And the explosion of sensations made her mind spin, her heart pound and her body yearn.
He found the pins that held her French twist in place and slipped them free so that her hair spilled into his hands. His fingers sifted through the tresses, caught the ends to tip her head back, changing the angle and deepening the kiss.
She sighed; he groaned.
She wanted him—there was no denying that fact. But she couldn’t let herself get caught up in the moment, the romance, the fantasy. There was too much at stake now.
Her system jangled with unacknowledged wants, unsatisfied desires, but she forced herself to take a step back.
“I want to go back to the palace now,” she said, though she knew the words were a lie.
What she really wanted was for him to kiss her again, until reality faded away and there was nothing but the two of them. She wanted to make love with him again, to experience the fulfillment she’d only ever known in his arms. But she knew that couldn’t happen, not while there was such a huge—and growing—secret between them.
Eric clenched his hands into fists to resist the urge to grab hold of Molly and shake some sense into her. What was it about this woman that she was so determined to deny what was between them?
“Don’t you think we should talk about this?”
“It was just a kiss, Eric. I hardly think we need to dissect and analyze every insignificant little detail of it.”
His nails dug into his palms. “Maybe it’s not necessary,” he allowed, somehow managing to match her casual tone despite the fury in his blood, “but I’m curious as to which part you think is most insignificant—your tongue in my mouth, your breasts plastered against my chest or your hips rocking against mine.”
Her eyes narrowed even as her cheeks flushed with color. “So I responded to you physically. That doesn’t mean I want to fall back into bed with you.”
“Oh, you want to,” he said, confident it was true. “But for some reason, you’re afraid to give in to the chemistry between us.”
“I just don’t want to make a big deal out of something that isn’t,” she insisted. “And right now, I really want to go back to the palace so I can go to bed alone.”
There was more going on, something beneath the surface but he was damned if he could figure it out.
He pulled on his socks and shoved his feet into his shoes, not caring that both were full of sand. The only thing that mattered now was getting Molly back to the palace so he could get away from the woman who was slowly driving him insane.
“Let’s go,” he said.
She followed silently.
Not a word was spoken as they walked back to the car. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Eric thought that if he lived to be a hundred, he would never understand women.
He knew that was a standard complaint of men around the world, but never had he understood it as he did now. Never had he known a woman like Molly who seemed to delight in sending out mixed signals. One minute she was in his arms, her lips soft and warm beneath his, her body yielding to his, and the next she was pushing him away as if she couldn’t stand his touch.
Mi Dios.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he guided the little sports car around the steeply winding curves of Ocean-view Drive. Below, the waves crashed against the rocks, but Eric’s own mood was too dark to allow him to pay heed to the vagaries of the sea.
He kept his gaze focused on the road, but he was conscious of Molly seated beside him. He was conscious of the tension in every inch of her body, of the quiet intake of every breath she took, of her subtle and unique scent. And mostly he was conscious of the desire that still thrummed in his blood.
He wanted her—more now even than the first time because he knew how incredible they could be together. And while she’d been kissing him on the beach, he’d been certain she wanted the same thing.
Until she said, “I’m ready to go back to the palace now,” in a tone that made it clear she didn’t mean to the privacy of his rooms.
And he could respect that. He had no intention of forcing his attentions on a woman who made it clear that she wasn’t interested. Except that Molly hadn’t made anything clear—she’d only made his head spin in circles and his body ache with wanting.
Still, he wasn’t going to waste any more time chasing after this woman. She knew what he wanted and he would just have to trust that she would let him know if she ever decided she wanted the same thing.
The touch of her hand on his arm made him jolt.
The fierce grip of cool, clammy fingers eradicated any illusions that she was giving him a signal to do anything but pull over to the side of the road. Now.
His gaze swung over, noting the pallor of her skin, the panic in her eyes.
He whipped the car onto the soft shoulder, the tires spitting up gravel.
She flung open the door before he’d completely stopped and raced over to the guardrail. Eric was right behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her up so that she could heave over the barrier. And she did—tossing her grilled sea bass back into the ocean.
“Okay?” he asked, when the spasms in her stomach had finally stopped.
She nodded.
Now that the crisis had passed, he was suddenly aware of his arm banded around her ribs, just below the soft curves of her breasts. Of her cute little derriere pressed against his groin. Of her hair, swirling in the wind, tickling his throat, teasing him with the scent of her shampoo. And the sudden stillness of her body that alerted him to the fact that she was just as acutely aware of the intimacy of their positions.
He lowered her feet back to the ground and loosened his hold.
Her fingers curled around the top of the guardrail, gripping the metal barrier as she continued to look out at the sea, looking—he suspected—anywhere but at him.
He returned to the car to retrieve a bottle of water from the first aid kit he habitually carried. “It’s not cold but it’s wet,” he said, twisting off the cap and offering it to her.
She accepted it with a quietly murmured thanks and tipped it to her lips to rinse her mouth, then swallowed a few tentative sips.
“I’m sorry,” she said, still not meeting his gaze.
“There’s no need to apologize,” he told her. “Though you might have warned me you have a tendency toward motion sickness.”
“I don’t usually,” she said, sounding more than a little defensive.
He frowned. “Are you blaming my driving?”
“No,” she said. “Maybe it was the fish.”
Except that Eric had eaten the same thing she had for dinner, and he knew there was nothing wrong with the way it had been prepared.
“I don’t mean that it wasn’t cooked properly,” she