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Zac was lying watching the news on the small TV the room boasted when she opened the door. ‘It’s pretty bad,’ he said, nodding at the picture of deep snow and abandoned cars on the screen. ‘And according to the forecast there’s no signs of it letting up yet. Looks like we could be stuck here for a couple of days. Still…’ he smiled wickedly ‘…the bed’s comfortable.’
No. Please, no. She might just about be able to get through one night without forgetting every principle she’d lived by for the last years, but two or three?
He had rolled off the bed onto his feet as he spoke; now he walked to where she was standing, still just inside the door. ‘Nice,’ he murmured softly, touching her flushed cheek with one finger and then tracing the outline of her mouth. ‘Like a scrubbed little girl all squeaky clean and ready for bed.’
Great. She’d been spot on in the bathroom, then.
He stroked the shining fall of her hair, his voice preoccupied when he breathed, ‘Is the water hot?’
‘The…the water? Oh, the water. Yes, it’s fine.’ Don’t stammer and stutter, she told herself in disgust. What’s the matter with you? Act your age, even if you don’t look it.
The matter was Zac. Her eyes had fastened of their own volition on the tiny scar on his chin and her senses registered the way the black stubble coming through avoided the spot. And he always smelt so good, she told herself helplessly as the strength seeped from her knees. Why did he always have to smell so good? All the odds were on his side.
She knew he was going to kiss her but when he did she still wasn’t ready for it. His lips were firm and confident against hers, moving with a leisurely expertise that made her tremble deep inside. His arms were round her and gently and repetitively his fingers began stroking her back, moving in light circles over her tense shoulders and down the concavity of her spine. It felt good, much too good, and as he deepened the kiss she kissed him back. Against her softness she felt the involuntary hardening of Zac’s body and experienced a moment’s primal pleasure that he wanted her. She wound herself closer instinctively.
When he finally broke the contact between them he was breathing heavily, his gaze narrowed and glittering as he stared down into her face. ‘You taste so good.’
Rachel swayed, then stepped back a pace out of his body warmth so she could think again. ‘Zac, I don’t—’
‘Sleep with a man you’ve only known for a day or two,’ he finished for her. ‘I know that, Rachel. I know the kind of woman you are.’ He raked his hair back from his forehead and took a visibly deep breath. ‘I’d better make that shower a cold one,’ he said with a wryness that would have made her smile if she’d hadn’t been feeling so wretched.
As it was, she stood quite still while he collected his towel and bag, and even after he’d left the room she remained where she was for a full minute before sitting down on the bed with a plump. She still wasn’t quite sure how she’d got herself into such a mess, she thought weakly. And a mess it was. From her teenage years she had always known she would have to be in love before she could allow total intimacy, and here she was serious considering sleeping with Zac in every sense of the word. It was a relief to admit it at last. And this a man who had told her quite clearly he would be gone shortly, back to Canada and his life and work there.
She made a sound in her throat, a cross between a moan and a groan, and then, aware the minutes were ticking by, jumped up and rummaged through her suitcase for her night things.
And it wasn’t as if she didn’t know what Zac—and the majority of the whole male species, come to it—was like. He wouldn’t need to be remotely fond of her to indulge in anything and everything—that was the difference between the sexes. Of course, not all men went in for one-night stands or casual sex, but with most men if it was there on offer, they’d take it.
Rachel stripped off her clothes with trembling fingers and pulled on her silk pyjamas, wishing she’d brought a pair with more covering power than the camisole top and shorts gave. Scrambling into bed, she pulled the covers up to her chin and found she was trembling uncontrollably. This was ridiculous; it was, it was absolutely ridiculous. In spite of herself, a nervous giggle escaped. In all her wildest dreams of spending the night with a man, this scenario had never occurred.
She strained her ears but could hear nothing outside the room. Tucked away as it was at the top of the inn and with thick solid walls to muffle any sound, it was its own little world. Her cold feet found one of the hot-water bottles and as the warmth slowly permeated her flesh, she found herself relaxing into the soft bed. Zac was right, it was comfortable.
What would Jennie and Susan say if they could see her now, stretched out in a big double bed and waiting for Zac? Again a hysterical squeak of laughter emerged, and she warned herself to get a grip. Laughing like a hyena was not attractive.
The news programme was now showing the rescue earlier that day of a horse and rider who’d ended up in a ditch. Apparently when they’d come to a gate, which the rider had leant forward to open, the horse had automatically taken a step backwards to allow the gate to swing open, but what it had thought to be solid ground, due to the snow had, in fact, been a deep ditch. Fortunately the rider had managed to spring to the side and clamber out without the horse—who’d ended up with all four legs sticking up in the air—kicking her. And after the horse had been tranquillised by a local vet, they’d managed to haul it out with a small crane, merely muddy and with a few cuts and bruises. But, the newscaster emphasised, the danger of the snow wasn’t to be underestimated. Keep warm, stay at home and don’t venture out.
Now they tell me. Rachel flexed her toes. This bout of snow had turned out to be positively lethal as far as she was concerned.
She was wide awake but cosily comfortable when Zac opened the bedroom door. Immediately her heart began to hammer in her ribcage and every muscle tightened. Not that he was undressed or looked any different from when he’d left the room, except his hair was damp and he hadn’t bothered to button his shirt. Actually, that made him very different. And infinitely more sexy, she thought desperately.
‘Look what Santa Claus has brought me this year,’ he drawled softly, the mocking tilt to his lips telling her he was fully aware of her wide eyes. ‘A very special bed-warmer.’
‘It’s not Christmas yet,’ she pointed out as he walked over to the bed, ‘and believe me, Zac, I’m not your bed-warmer.’
‘But you’re in my bed and you’re warm. That’s a good start.’
Rachel wanted to come back with some pithy retort but he chose that moment to take his shirt off and her mouth went as dry as a bone. She couldn’t take her eyes off his thickly muscled torso, the tight black curls on his chest narrowing to a thin line that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. He was gorgeous, she thought helplessly. Gorgeous.
He sat down on the bed and pulled off his socks, throwing them onto the top of his suitcase, which was lying flat on the floor. Standing up once more, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers, and at that point Rachel came to her senses enough to look away. She’d been ogling him, she thought in horror, and then, as the trousers followed the socks, couldn’t resist a swift look under her eyelashes. He was wearing nothing but black boxer shorts and they were of the clinging kind. And he looked beyond good. Hard, powerful thighs, lithe, tanned legs and—as she’d expected—not an ounce of surplus fat anywhere.
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Her breathing was shallow and for the life of her she couldn’t swallow past the constriction in her throat. Staring at her hands clasped on top of the cover, she was incredibly grateful she was lying down because her oxygen supply was all but gone.
‘Slight problem in that I don’t wear pyjamas.’
She made the mistake of looking at him. He was grinning at her but the boxer shorts were still in place. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
‘I presume you’d rather I kept these on?’
