it, then pressing his lips to her elbow before she even had time to think.
The tingle of the touch of his mouth against her skin sent a shiver all the way up her arm and her spine to the back of her neck.
“For heaven’s sake!” she protested, trying—and failing—to tug her arm away.
But Seb hung on, bending his head over it, giving her more tiny kisses, making her tremble as he worked his way up her arm to her shoulder, her neck, her ear, her jaw.
She made a helpless noise somewhere in the back of her throat—telling herself that she didn’t want this. But every part of her, body and mind was telling her she wanted it very very much indeed. She just didn’t want to pay the price. The price of having her heart broken.
Her body sank back against the line of cupboards below the countertop. And instinctively she braced her other elbow on it while trying to keep her knees from buckling from the effect he was having on her.
The kisses nibbled their way along her jawline as soft strands of his hair brushed against her cheeks, her lips. She breathed in the scent of him—woodsy shampoo with a hint of the sea mixing with something simply Sebastian. If she lived to be a hundred, Neely knew she would never forget it.
And then his lips reached her chin, touched her mouth. His tongue teased its way over her lips, parting them, tasting them—tasting her.
She sighed, reached for him. Clung. And kissed him back, because she was powerless not to. She kept remembering Vangie’s desperation, her words of praise for her brother, her steadfast belief that no matter what the problem, Sebastian would make it right.
And she saw how much he cared for his family.
If he were, through and through, the blackguard she’d first imagined, if he were as icy and indifferent as he’d tried to be, she thought she might have been able to hold out.
But she couldn’t. He even let her play his grandfather’s violin.
She opened her lips to his and hung on and, for the moment at least, let herself enjoy the ride.
One thing Sebastian Savas was extremely good at, one thing at which he positively excelled, was kissing.
Neely couldn’t imagine why she’d ever thought he was cold. Certainly there was nothing cold in the feel of his mouth on hers, nothing icy in the touch of his hands as they slid around her waist and lifted her onto the countertop so he could step up between her knees. And there was absolutely nothing frigid about the way he made her feel.
It was a long kiss, a hungry desperate kiss, and it wreaked havoc with all her earlier determination to resist him.
He wasn’t good for her. He didn’t want what she wanted. But even knowing it, she couldn’t seem to pull away. She could only hang on and savor what was happening between them.
It wasn’t until his fingers slid up beneath her shirt and began to work on the clasp to her bra that she realized more was happening than the simply wonderful drugging taste of him. And she was torn, battling with herself first before she pulled her arms away from his back and pressed them against his shoulders.
“No,” she said raggedly. “Don’t. I don’t want this.”
His fingers stilled for a moment. He drew back enough to look down into her face, his own taut with desire.
“You do,” he said, and his gaze dropped to watch the rise and fall of her breasts, then lifted to look at her lips before he met her eyes again. “You want me. Don’t lie, Neely.”
She swallowed and nodded jerkily. “All right, yes. I want it. But not what will come after. I don’t want what you want!”
“What’s that?”
“Sex.”
“You don’t want sex?” He looked incredulous.
Of course she wanted sex, wanted to make love with him. But his words said it all. Not making love—sex.
“You know what I mean! We already discussed this. It’s why I said no kissing. No one-night stands!”
“I think I can guarantee it will be more than one night,” Seb said with smile.
But Neely’s eyes flashed fire. “Stop it. Stop willfully misunderstanding me. I want love. Maybe that sounds hokey to you. But it’s the way I think, the way I feel, the way I want to live my life. I don’t want just sex. I want a future. I want a relationship that will last.” To love and be loved.
“You know any of those?” Sebastian’s tone was bitter. But he stepped back a bit, put some space between them. His breathing was still ragged. “Max some sort of poster boy for long-term relationships, is he?”
“No, of course not. But my mother and John were. Or they would have been if John hadn’t died. What they had was deep and real and lasting.”
“You don’t know their relationship would’ve lasted.”
“I do. I know it. Here.” And she put her hand over her heart in a gesture that she supposed was corny to him, but it shut him up.
He grimaced, jaw tight, then shook his head and heaved a sigh. “You’re going to be a pain in the ass about this, aren’t you? You’re really serious.”
Neely nodded gravely. “I’m really serious.” She managed a faint smile, thinking how hard it was to be sensible when she really wanted to finish what they’d started.
At least Sebastian had stepped back far enough that they weren’t touching now. She pulled her knees together, sat up straighter on the countertop. “Why were you lying there in the dark?”
There was still barely enough lights from the moonlight and the lights on Queen Anne Hill for her to see his expression now that he’d moved away. He’d been staring out into the darkness, but now he looked back at her sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. You don’t usually do that. You’re usually working.”
“I’ve been working. I worked all weekend, damn it. I got home looking forward to a little respite and damned if Vangie wasn’t here! No respite in that.”
“She thinks the sun rises and sets on you.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “She’s wrong.”
“Obviously she knows she can depend on you.”
“For sensible things she can. Not for this.” And abruptly he turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Surprised, Neely jumped down off the counter and followed him. “You’re not going to do it?”
“Hell, no! If she wants the old man at her wedding, she can invite him.”
“I gather she tried.”
“Exactly. And he ignored her. Just the way he’ll ignore me.”
“She didn’t think so.”
“She thinks what she wants to think!” He was pacing around the living room now, cracking his knuckles.
And Neely, watching, could feel the agitation rolling off him in waves. “Is she the first to get married?” she asked him. “Of all of your brothers and sisters, I mean?”
“Yes. But what difference does that make?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know him.”
Sebastian snorted. “None of us knows him. He isn’t around enough.”
“I just thought, maybe he doesn’t know how to be a father. Maybe he feels awkward and—”
“He ought to feel awkward!”
“But maybe if you invited him—” she put the emphasis on you “—as opposed to Vangie, who is emotionally involved, you could tell him how