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'I—' She knew that his belated honesty begged honesty in return, but she was beginning to panic, wondering where all this was going to lead.
'There weren't any other boys, were there? Classier or otherwise. No sneaking out from boarding school?'
Francesca shrugged and picked at her nails to avoid his gaze, mumbling her reply into the neckline of her gown.
'What?' Ross ducked his head closer and she caught the spicy-clean male scent of him. It had almost the same effect as brandy. She jerked her head back against the pillows to try and preserve her ragged composure.
'I said no,' she muttered grudgingly.
'That was just wounded pride talking?'
'Yes.' She sighed, it was ridiculous to feel resentful after he had just delivered such a handsome apology.
'And you didn't really find me crude and clumsy, that was pride, too, mmm?' He was walking two fingers up her arm and Fran watched them approach the vulnerable scoop of her bare collarbone with bated breath.
'I... I suppose...'
'What do you suppose?' he asked, finding her warm, rapid pulse with one finger while the other stroked the fine soft skin of her throat. 'Did you mean it last night when you said there was only me? Was I the first boy to touch you? Was I the one who taught you how to french kiss?'
He watched the colour flow up under his fingers and his eyes deepened to a potent azure as he studied her blush. 'You're not still shy, are you, Frankie? I may have been the first, but I wasn't the last, was I?'
Her eyes flew open to deny him that arrogant satisfaction. 'Certainly not!' Though he wasn't going to force her to admit that he had been the yardstick beside which she had measured physical attraction ever since...and no one, not even the man she had eventually gone to bed with, had aroused her as strongly and easily as Ross did... had! 'You didn't blight my life, you know, Ross. I haven't been a languishing case of arrested virginity—'
'Waiting for Prince Charming to come along and reawaken you,' he finished when she paused to wonder where that sentence was taking her.
'Precisely,' she said, brushing his unsettling touch away and adjusting the bedclothes primly across her breasts. 'I'm a normal, mature woman, quite comfort-able with my.. .my...'
'Sexuality?' he supplied helpfully.
'Yes.' She glared at him and he laughed.
'Good. Then you're not going to get all uptight when I tell you that last night we slept together.'
'What?' Her shriek only made him laugh harder. Her blush deepened as she suddenly noticed the extra pillow that lay on the floor beside the bed. A vague r
emembrance stirred in the back of her mind, of a delicious warmth that she had clung to. Oh, God, had she actually let him... ?
'When I tried to tuck you in you wouldn't let me. You kept saying that I was rocking the boat. You wouldn't quieten down until I got in beside you and anchored you in my arms.'
Francesca groaned and closed her eyes. 'We slept together?' Why couldn't she remember the details? She didn't imagine that making love with Ross Tarrant would be a forgettable experience. Perhaps he had been so fantastic that her mind was in a state of shock. Yes, that was far more likely!
'"Slept" being the operative word,' he said with a humorous gravity that jerked her eyes open. 'We were
both too tired to do anything else. Besides—' his mouth indented wryly, '—the bed is a bit narrow to do much else... I like a bit of space when I exercise my desires, and my women willing, if not actually conscious...'
Fran opened her mouth to make a stinging reply, but closed it again when she realised that she had nothing to reproach him with. Whatever his motives, he had looked after her yesterday, in spite of their earlier row, and he hadn't taken advantage of her with anything other than words. Worse luck, whispered a voice from her heart which she drowned out by asking, 'How are you? Is your shoulder all right?'
He moved it experimentally. 'A little stiff. But stop trying to change the subject. I think your behaviour last night acknowledges an important truth, don't you?'
'Oh?' She looked at him warily. Was he going to accuse her of being a frustrated spinster... or a wanton?
'That it's still there.'
'W-what is?' she asked huskily, transfixed by the sapphire eyes.
'Whatever chemistry that was at work between us when we were too young to appreciate its potent rarity.'
'I...I don't know what you're talking about,' she denied hollowly.
