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‘Non…’ Tabby told him insistently, but her heart was starting to beat very, very fast behind her ribcage.
‘I can be very well mannered,’ Christien murmured silkily.
‘Not around me, you’re not-’
‘You burn me up, mon ange…’ His arrogant dark head bent as he released one of her hands and raised the other to press his mouth to the centre of her small pink palm.
The heat of that teasing caress made her shiver. Time was running backwards for her. She pressed her thighs together on the hot, liquid sensation of melting at the very heart of her. Already she felt tender and swollen and shame pierced her as sharp as an arrow. She was passionate and so was he and once that had been a source of joy and discovery to her. She had believed that they were a perfect match, but now when she felt the blood run hot in her veins it scared her and she judged it a weakness in herself. As that almost unbearable longing for him held her there, her troubled gaze lingered on his downbent dark head. ‘Don’t do this…’
‘Don’t do what?’ Christien husked. ‘Don’t do…this?’
He sank his other hand into her hair and tipped her head back to skim the very tip of his tongue over the full curve of her lower lip. His breath warmed her skin and she trembled.
‘Or…this?’
He delved between her readily parted lips and she jerked and moaned, only to be racked by a shudder of frustrated longing as he lifted his head again.
‘Tell me what you want, chérie.’
Her hand reached up of its own seeming volition and sank into his black hair. Stretching up on tiptoe, she drew him down to her, for she wanted his mouth on hers so badly that it hurt to be denied it. With an earthy groan, he lifted her up to him and crushed her mouth under his before he strode forward and lowered her down onto the bed. The moment he pressed her down on the mattress, the frame gave and collapsed with the most enormous crash down onto the floor.
Christien swore and snatched her back up again from the tumbled mattress. Still holding her slight body taut to his broad chest in a protective stance, he stepped back to the doorway and surveyed the disassembled bed with incredulous force.
‘I forgot…I still had to tighten up the screws holding the frame together,’ Tabby mumbled unevenly.
‘You could’ve been hurt.’ Christien set her down on her own feet again.
‘I’m glad it happened…it stopped us doing something stupid,’ Tabby asserted tightly.
Firm male footsteps sounded on the staircase. ‘Tabby?’ a familiar voice called. ‘Are you OK? I saw the door open and just came on in when I heard the noise.’
A relieved smile driving the taut tension from her generous mouth, Tabby flipped round Christien’s stilled figure and went to the head of the stairs. ‘Sean…you’re very welcome and I’m about to take shameless advantage of you. Are you any good with a screwdriver?’
Dark eyes veiled, Christien surveyed the young blond male with his self-satisfied smile and designer stubble and experienced a powerfully disturbing desire to kick him back down the stairs again.
‘I brought my tool-kit with me…’ Sean confided as he passed by Christien.
Christien was so pained that he almost winced. Who was this jerk?
‘Sean…er, this is Christien.’
Neither man extended a hand. Each awarded the other a stiff but studiously casual nod.
Tabby tried not to notice that Christien made Sean look small, skinny and in need of a good shave.
‘I’ll sort the bed out…no problem,’ the Englishman asserted, and started to whistle quietly.
‘May I talk to you downstairs?’ Christien murmured to Tabby.
Worrying at her lower lip, Tabby led the way, her slim back rigid.
‘Is the whistling handyman going to be living here too?’ Christien enquired flatly.
Tabby tensed. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business-’
‘So I can just take care of him by going back up there and breaking his neck now, can I?’ Christien incised.
Tabby paled in disbelief.
