tight as you like,’ he murmured. ‘But if you want to stretch your legs for a minute and enjoy the view…’
‘Yes… Thank you, I would,’ she said in that very proper London accent, but didn’t budge.
He waited a beat. ‘You’ll have to dismount first,’ he prompted, stifling a grin when the colour highlighting her cheekbones flared again in the fading light.
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Shifting back on the seat, she gathered her dress and then bit into her bottom lip as she concentrated on her dismount. It took a moment for her to execute the manoeuvre, during which he got an eyeful of lush thighs and trim calves displayed in silky nylons. He held back a groan, the clumsiness of her dismount making the view even more enticing as her many curves jiggled. Clearly it had been far too long since he’d had that much lush, scented female flesh within touching distance.
Swinging his leg over the bike, he stood behind her as she lifted the helmet off. With her back to him as she gazed out across the city, the top of her head barely reached his chin. Curls of reddish-brown hair, no longer contained by the arrangement at the top, fell in disarray around the graceful column of her neck. Would her hair look all soft and rumpled like that straight out of bed? He stepped close enough to hear the staggered rise and fall of her breathing and to catch a whiff of her through the scent of sea-salt and earth. Spring flowers and soap, the fresh, unsophisticated scent seemed somehow exotic. He wanted to caress the back of her neck so badly he could almost feel her skin against his fingertips.
Burying his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he tried to recall for about the fiftieth time since he’d spotted her in the gallery why he’d sworn off romantic entanglements a few months ago. Something to do with a script that wasn’t happening, a looming production deadline and the unpleasant scenes when Lisa, his last girlfriend, had finally figured out that he’d meant it when he’d told her he wasn’t that interested in her. But as the once convincing reasons swirled through his mind again, they didn’t stop the urge to reach out and touch.
‘It’s really an astonishing feat of structural engineering,’ she said.
‘Uh-huh,’ he replied. Although it wasn’t the bridge’s astonishing feats of engineering that he was admiring at the moment.
He caught the words ‘truss arches’ and ‘cantilevered suspension’ as she continued to talk, the words rushing out as if she’d swallowed an architectural textbook, and he found the grin tugging at his mouth again. He’d crashed out of school at sixteen and never gone back, so why did he find that serious, studious tone so damn sexy? He let his gaze drift down to the round swell of her backside lovingly spotlit by the bike’s headlamp in rich red velvet—and decided maybe it wasn’t so much the tone, but the contrasting packaging that was so appealing.
As the four-syllable words continued to tumble out she hugged the helmet to her midriff like a long-lost child. She was nervous. The thought added a nice little ego-boost to his attraction. It was kind of intoxicating to get the chance to do the chasing for a change.
As he waited patiently for her to wind down and look at him, something he suspected her lecture on the Golden Gate Bridge was being used to avoid, he pulled one hand out of his pocket.
Time to refocus her attention.
Angling his thumb under the line of dangling curls, he skimmed it across the whisper-soft skin of her neck just above the collar of his jacket.
The lecture cut off and she shot round, her eyes fixing on him at last, her skin pale in the light from the bike’s headlamps.
He smiled. She couldn’t have looked more shocked if he had poked her with a cattle prod. He held out his hand, his thumb still tingling from the subtle contact. ‘You want to give me the helmet? I’ll stick it on the bike.’
She glanced at the helmet, as if she’d forgotten it. She relaxed her hold, and those amazing violet eyes met his again. ‘Thank you,’ she said, passing it to him.
He walked the few steps to the bike and fixed it to the handlebar.
‘Sorry,’ she said again when he turned back to her. ‘I talk too much.’ She looked away. ‘I just…’ Even white teeth worried her bottom lip and he imagined nipping at the plump flesh and then gliding his tongue across to lick it better. ‘I read an article about the bridge’s construction in the in-flight magazine. It was fascinating.’
‘It’s a cool bridge,’ he agreed, letting his gaze linger on her lips. Her bottom lip trembled and then her tongue flicked out to moisten it. The answering jolt of heat hit his groin like an Exocet missile.
His eyes locked on hers as he let out a strained laugh. ‘But right now, I’m finding you a lot more fascinating.’
‘I…’ Eva clamped her mouth shut, before she swallowed her tongue. Or, worse, started spewing loads more twaddle about the Golden Gate Bridge like an overzealous tour guide.
His eyes took another leisurely trip down to her toes and she clasped her arms harder around her midriff, the worn leather of his jacket offering very little protection from the zip and zing of awareness.
Ever since he’d brushed his finger across her nape, she felt as if she’d been wired up to a nuclear reactor. And everywhere his gaze wandered felt as if it were being zapped with several billion kilowatts of energy.
She’d always adored reading about the instant overpowering sexual chemistry between the bold heroines and the impossibly masculine heroes in her favourite romances. But she’d never believed it actually existed in real life. Had simply assumed it was as fictional as all the hyper-real emotions and lavish derring-do. After all, none of her kind and conscientious male colleagues, or Phil, the chess club president she’d dated briefly in college without getting past second base, had ever made her giddy. Her physical reaction to Nick Delisantro, however, was forcing her to reconsider, because it felt every bit as out of control and extraordinary as the most fantastical romantic fantasy.
All this man had to do was look at her, his heavy-lidded eyes dark with erotic promise and warmth flooded every single cell of her body. The skin of her nape was still tingling from the barely there brush of his fingertip, for goodness sake.
She let out a shuddering sigh as she curled her toes in the ankle-breaking heels, forcing herself to meet his gaze. ‘You must be easily fascinated.’
He cocked his head, observing her with nerve-racking intensity. ‘Not true.’ His lips quirked. ‘If you knew me better, you’d know I’m next to impossible to fascinate.’
She pushed out a little laugh, guilty knowledge tying her stomach in knots. She wondered how fascinated he would be if he knew the truth. That underneath the glamorous camouflage of Tess’s designer dress lurked dull and dependable Eva Redmond?
‘I do know who you are,’ she said, quelling the dreadful stab of disappointment. ‘Our meeting tonight wasn’t an accident. I’ve been trying to contact you for over three weeks to make an appointment with you.’ The twist of curiosity on his lips died. ‘I went to that gallery opening tonight because it’s imperative that I speak to you about—’
He touched his finger to her mouth, silencing her confession. ‘Shh.’ To her amazement his lips curved in a wry smile. ‘I get it.’ He shrugged. ‘If all you want is an appointment, we can meet at my agent’s office tomorrow afternoon.’ His hand fell away and he shoved it back in his pocket.
She stared at him, astonished, not only that he was taking her deception so well, but that he seemed to have been expecting it. Then the greasy knots of tension dissolved and she grinned, giddy with relief. He knew who she was. He knew why she was here. He must have recognised her name after all from all the messages she’d left with his agent and his publicist.
‘If, on the other hand, you want more,’ he continued, and giddy relief turned to giddy shock, ‘then I’m happy to explore how much more. Tonight.’ His rough palm cupped her cheek, the husky tone of voice making the erotic intent unmistakeable. ‘But whatever we do tonight has no bearing on what happens