that had developed between her and Mac. By the time she had finished the song, she was oblivious to the cheers. She was trembling all over, her brain in a whirl of confusion. How amazing that moment of connection between them had felt! Mac’s power … His reaction to her singing … Her reaction to him … Arousal … Frustration. Overwhelming relief …
Mostly relief, Lucy realised now she was coming back down to earth. A few more seconds on stage without Mac willing her on and she might have turned into her usual bashful self—and for a crowd fuelled up on drink and excitement that wouldn’t have worked.
Now she’d won. Incredibly, she’d won. She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief as her friends crowded to the front of the stage. Mac stood at the side at the foot of the steps, quietly waiting for her. That was perhaps the sexiest, the most telling moment of all. They had to call her name twice she was so distracted by him, and on the second time of calling her Mac looked up, his face creasing in the familiar bad-boy smile as he slowly began to applaud without ever once losing eye contact with her. ‘Go on,’ he mouthed. ‘You won …’
Still shaking her head, she walked forward to accept her prize.
‘I don’t know why you find it so surprising,’ Mac said, offering her his hand to help her down the steps at the side of the stage. ‘You have a great voice, Lucy—and a great way of putting a song across.’ He shrugged, muscles easing across the wide spread of his shoulders as he stared down at her with humour in his eyes.
‘You’re still here,’ she said foolishly, all her shyness returning in a rush. Being on stage was one thing—being here in front of Mac with no spotlights between them was something else.
‘Of course I’m still here,’ he said as if she’d said something very puzzling indeed. ‘Why would I go?’
Breathing was hard suddenly. She could think of a million reasons why he would go, but she wasn’t going to give him any hints. Instead she forced a laugh, knowing he had to be joking. Mac was a guest and she was a chalet girl. He didn’t want her—not in that way.
‘Drink?’ he suggested. ‘Or back to the chalet?’
She blinked, refocusing in a rush. There was no mistaking his meaning. Even she wasn’t naïve enough for that. It was all there in his eyes and in Mac’s body language. It didn’t come much more direct. His eyes spoke of sensual promise. There could be no misunderstanding. And, of course, she should rebuff, rebel, refuse—and to hell with the fact that Mac was a guest and she mustn’t offend him—
But there was a small problem with that. She wanted him.
She was violently aroused.
Mac’s compelling gaze didn’t waver from her face for a single moment, and suddenly the thought that he might want her back at the chalet to clear out the cinders or coddle him an egg seemed far more ridiculous than the realisation that he wanted her in bed. Mac, in casual clothes that moulded his powerful frame with formidable attention to detail, wanted her.
Mac, who looked as fresh and ready for action as if he hadn’t been thrashing the slopes for the past few hours, wanted her?
He looked lush. Mac was the quintessential forbidden fruit. She would miss out on her taste if she didn’t find the courage to seize the moment—and when better than now? She would never get another chance like this one. ‘I’d better get my coat.’
‘You better had,’ he said.
He felt a surge of heat and triumph—not that the final outcome had ever been in any doubt. Lucy had needs and he had urges. It was a match made in … Val d’Isere. It was a match that would last for precisely one night. He’d leave her happy, but he’d leave. His playboy life was over. Duty beckoned and he was ready to serve.
He smiled as she came shyly towards him, all buttoned up and ready to be undressed. He’d serve Lucy Tennant and then he’d serve Isla de Sinnebar with the same focus and energy—though for a lifetime rather than a single night.
By the time they reached the chalet he had extended Lucy’s time with him to one night and one day to accommodate all his plans. He enjoyed her company. He loved her voice. She didn’t have the slightest idea how beautiful she was. Granted, the outfit she was wearing now was dull, but that only whetted his appetite for unpeeling her. She’d be like a ripe, delicious fruit emerging from layers of tasteless pith, and from what he’d seen of Lucy on stage there was enough sensitivity and passion to keep his interest way beyond a single night. It was just a shame life didn’t work that way. However he felt about her and whatever happened between them, duty would always come first for him, but that was no reason not to make the most of the time they had.
The chalet was empty when they got back. Taking off her boots slowly, she could feel herself blushing scarlet, second-guessing his plans. When it came to sex she knew she could only disappoint. What she knew about sex could be written on a pin head and to date Mac had only seen her camouflaged in layers of clothing, but when that came off—
‘Are you cold? Shall I run a bath for you?’
She stared at him incredulously. Mac run a bath for her? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?
His smile widened. ‘Better still, let’s use the hot tub together. Don’t pretend it hasn’t occurred to you.’
Now his arm was round her shoulder and he was leading her up the quaint wooden stairs, past the cosy living room, and on up the next flight of stairs to the main bedrooms, and then up another flight to the master suite on the top floor, which was entirely his.
She was trembling so hard she hardly registered what was happening as he closed the door behind them. Unzipping his jacket, he tugged it off and tossed it aside. ‘Your turn,’ he said, flashing a glance down the length of her safely bundled-up body.
He wanted to play striptease? ‘I want to thank you for not sacking me,’ she said primly, clinging with everything she’d got to the one thing that made some sense.
‘I don’t talk business after six o’clock—it’s a rule I have,’ he murmured, toying with the toggle on her jacket. ‘And I’m still waiting. For you to take it off?’ he prompted, angling his chin to direct his amused stare into her eyes.
She supposed that was okay. Unzipping her jacket self-consciously, she hung it neatly on a chair.
Mac flipped the braces off his ski pants and tugged off his top.
She gasped and looked away.
‘I’m waiting, Lucy.’
Match that impossibly hard-muscled torso with something he’d find desirable? Match Mac’s confidence? She couldn’t—She really couldn’t—
Mac gave her no chance to nurse her concerns. One minute he was leaning against the wall, looking relaxed, and the next she was in his arms.
‘Shy?’ he murmured. ‘I like that. Though I would never have guessed you were shy after seeing you on stage tonight.’ His mouth curved in a wicked grin, only millimetres from her mouth.
‘That was a one-off,’ she admitted, staring into his eyes.
This was all happening so fast she felt dizzy. But in a good way, Lucy decided. The sensation of being pressed into hard, unyielding muscle was amazing—and would have been even more so without quite so many layers in between. Mac toyed with the zipper on her fleece, sliding it down slowly. All she could think of was his erection, pressing insistently huge and hard against her. To say she was melting with desire was something of an understatement.
‘Say something,’ he murmured.
‘I can’t …’
Cupping her buttocks possessively, he smiled. ‘You’re right—why waste time talking?’
His hands tightened and released until every pleasurable sensation she had ever known in her life was exceeded by infinity. She couldn’t stifle a moan or breathe steadily or pretend a moment longer. Every nerve ending