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He stepped back, but kept his hands firmly on her waist. ‘Come on, angel.’ He tucked a finger under her chin, lifted her face to his. ‘Don’t look so ups
et. There was no harm done. They figured it out quick enough.’
‘Jessie didn’t. I had to tell her.’ She turned away from him, braced her hands on the vanity.
And what Jessie had told her afterwards was still clutching at her heart, making panic clog her throat. Somehow her fantasy had changed tonight and become so much more real, and so much more frightening. She’d kept all the turbulent emotions at bay so effectively this past week, sealed herself off behind a wall of denial and sensation, but now the feel of his hands on hers, that clean, musky, masculine scent had become more intoxicating, more important to her than it was ever supposed to have been.
‘I don’t understand why you did that,’ she said, raising her head to look at his reflection. With his shirt off and his chest bare, he looked as dark and devastating as always, but so much more dangerous now. ‘Why did you introduce me to them as your fiancée?’
He shrugged. ‘Just an impulse, I guess.’ He had the lazy grin in place, but his eyes flickered away from hers as he said it. ‘Stop worrying.’ He pushed her hair back, trailed his thumb down the sensitive skin of her neck. ‘Let’s go to bed and forget it.’ He pressed his lips to her pulse. ‘I’ve got something much more interesting to discuss,’ he whispered, one arm wrapping tight around her waist, his other hand cupping her breast, kneading the swollen flesh.
She moaned. His erection pressed against her bottom through their clothes, triggering the instant, instinctive response at her core. She angled her head to accept his harsh, demanding kiss, gave herself up to the heat, desperate to forget about everything but the feel of his body, the touch of his hands, his lips on hers.
He hadn’t given her an answer. She knew that, but did she really want one?
She turned in his arms, encircled his neck with trembling hands, suddenly determined to cling onto the one thing that made sense.
‘This is all that matters, angel,’ he said, lifting her effortlessly in his arms and carrying her quaking into the bedroom. ‘This is all that counts. Remember that.’
Yes. This is all that matters. I’m not looking for anything else.
But even as she threw herself into the moment, even as she chased that glittering oblivion, panic and an unreasonable regret gripped her heart.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AS DAISY shielded her eyes to gaze at Belvedere Castle across the meadow, a bittersweet smile tugged her lips. With its fanciful turret and fortress ramparts, the elaborate folly could have been plucked straight out of a Grimm Brothers fairy tale and plopped into the middle of Central Park.
She sighed. No daydreaming allowed. It was their last full day in New York and somehow she’d managed to live in the moment in the last week, keep the doubts and uncertainties Jessie had unleashed at the gallery opening locked carefully away. She wasn’t going to blow it all now.
The fact that Connor had turned out to be an expert at living in the moment hadn’t hurt a bit. Whenever she’d found her mind drifting to more serious matters, whenever she’d found herself watching him and wondering, he’d found a way to distract her. With a ferry trip round the Statue of Liberty, or a deluxe dinner at his favourite restaurant, or in bed, where he had become an expert in making her forget everything but the heat between them.
But in the few quiet moments they shared, she had a bad habit of thinking about what might have been. If they’d been different people, if they’d needed the same things. She tried really hard not to let her thoughts go there, but right now, with the cartons from their impromptu picnic scattered around them and that damn fairy-tale castle looming on the other side of the meadow, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
After the Governor’s Ball tonight and the first-class trip home tomorrow, she would be going back to her real life and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she knew the thing she’d miss the most, much more than the glamour and the excitement, was the intimacy she’d shared with Connor. He’d be right next door, of course, but as far as she was concerned he’d be out of reach. She had to make a clean break, whatever happened; to let it drift on indefinitely would be suicidal and, anyway, they’d both known right from the start this was strictly a two-week deal.
The sun warmed the floppy hat she’d worn to hide her freckles as she observed Connor stretched out beside her in the long grass, his hands folded behind his head, and his eyes shaded by a pair of designer sunglasses. The hem of his T-shirt had risen up revealing a strip of tanned abdomen above the low waistband of his jeans.
She let her mind drift back to that first night, when she’d yearned to touch his naked body. She knew every glorious inch of it now—and she still had to fist her hands in her lap to stop herself from reaching out and running her palm over that warm, flat, lightly furred belly.
Well, that was certainly disappointing: two weeks of non-stop sexual pleasure hadn’t even put a dent in her nymphomania.
She toed her sandals off, stretched her feet out in the grass and watched him. She knew he wasn’t asleep, probably just thinking. About what? she wondered. Funny, they’d spent two whole weeks together and yet what did she really know about him? Apart from the fact that he wasn’t looking for a long-term girlfriend, he had more charm and charisma than was feasible and he owned a very successful property development company. But as soon as she’d asked herself the question, a series of pictures flooded her mind like a living photo album.
The way he’d tucked into his hot dog at Coney Island and licked the mustard off his thumb with the same amount of relish as he gave to the meal he’d devoured at a five-star restaurant. The way he’d dropped change into the tin of every pan-handler and vagrant they passed. How relaxed he looked in both a designer suit and his favourite faded jeans. The sound of his terrible off-key whistle in the shower. Or how he never failed to compliment her on whatever she was wearing, usually before he stripped it off her. So what did that say about him? Generous to a fault, compassionate with those less fortunate than himself, definitely not a snob, great taste, completely insatiable and tone deaf.
But so much more about him was still a mystery. Their conversations had always been deliberately light and teasing and superficial. He didn’t talk about his past and she didn’t talk about hers. She’d thought that was the way it had to be, for both their sakes.
But now, with less than twenty-four hours left together, she wasn’t so sure. Because she had to admit she was desperately curious to know more about him. Ever since she’d tended him through those hideous night terrors the first night they’d been together, she’d wondered about him, what had formed him.
She sighed. Forget it, Daisy. You know what they say about curiosity and the cat. You’d be better off leaving well enough alone.
She heard a shout and looked up to see a father throwing a ball to his two sons a few feet away. She concentrated on their game to stop her mind straying into more dangerous territory.
She smiled, noticing the way the older boy kept trying to push his younger brother out of the way, and how the father gently intervened. The sight made her heart squeeze. She wondered what kind of father Connor might have made if his last girlfriend had been pregnant after all. She chuckled. He’d probably have a heart attack if she asked him.
‘What’s so funny?’
She looked down to see Connor watching her, propped up on his elbow, his sunglasses thrown off on the grass and a curious smile on his face. She flushed and tried to think of an innocuous answer.
