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cool scent floated in through the open windows of the car.
He turned, one arm along the seat, and looked at her.
Her heart shook. It just wasn’t fair that any man should
make one feel like this, she thought. With an effort, she
made herself sit upright, her chin tilted defiantly.
“Take me back to the Murray apartment,” she ordered.
She was only wearing a thin shawl over her white voile
dress, and it kept slipping down. “I’m cold,” she said, her
voice reproachful.
He put out his hand and ran it lightly along her thinly
covered arm. It burnt through the fine material and she
jerked away.
“Don’t touch me!”
He stiffened and a glint came into the grey eyes. “I’m
tired of this game of yours,” he said thickly. “As you seem
to expect me to try to seduce you, I might as well be
hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, as you say in England!”
He leant over her, holding her back against the seat.
Vaguely she thought of struggling, of pushing him
away, but the clamour of her senses drowned the voices
of common sense. When his mouth lowered to hers, she
abandoned herself, heart pounding, and allowed her arms
to creep round his neck and touch the dark hair at the
back of his head.
He groaned and pulled her closer, kissing her throat
and her closed eyes.
“Kate, my dearest,” he murmured, “you love me, I can
feel it! You couldn’t kiss me like this if you didn’t love
me.” His mouth moved back to hers, burning and dry on
her lips.
