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Whoever the girl was, she was seriously cute.
The torn jeans and layered T-shirts should have made her look like a tomboy, but somehow they suited her, hugging her subtle curves and accentuating her narrow waist and a pair of small but pert breasts.
Then there was the impact of that pale heart-shaped face to consider.
Not quite green and not quite blue, her round, translucent eyes grabbed most of the attention, but when you added in the soft, carelessly cut cap of dark blonde hair, the clear, creamy skin and perfectly defined bone structure—plus the fact she didn’t have a spot of make-up on—he had to admit the effect was striking.
He wondered if she was a fan. And hoped she wasn’t.
‘What is it that’s so extremely important?’ He could spare her a moment—after all it was a long time since he’d been this intrigued. ‘I haven’t much time at the minute, darlin’.’
The doe-like eyes narrowed and she looked even cuter—sort of like Bo Peep in a strop. ‘Don’t patronise me, Mr Brody.’
He blinked, surprised by the ballsy comeback. No way was she a fan. ‘I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop saying my name so loudly,’ he said, keeping his tone light, even though this was the second time he’d had to mention it. ‘I’m in no hurry to draw attention to myself.’ Intriguing or not, she was turning into a bit of a liability.
He glanced past her again to make sure she hadn’t given him away and spied the one person he didn’t want to see. ‘Damn.’
She frowned and began to turn. Throwing his bag down, he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her against the pillar to get them both out of Pete Danners’s line of sight. His nemesis. The same freelance photographer had dogged him like a Rottweiler three years back and he had no desire to repeat the experience.
‘Don’t look round,’ he snapped. He propped his elbow above her head, trapping her body against his to look round the pillar. ‘If yer man over there sees me, this trip’ll be a misery.’
Juno sucked in a sharp breath, so shocked she forgot to exhale.
What was happening?
One second she’d been staring into staggeringly blue eyes and thinking Cormac Brody was a lot better-looking than he had any right to be and quite as arrogant as she had assumed.The next she’d been pinned against his lean, muscular body.
She got light-headed and remembered she needed air. One breath gushed out and she sucked in another. She could feel every single inch of him. The solid planes of his chest flattening her breasts. The long length of his thighs pressed to hers and the buckle of his belt, outlined against her stomach. The overwhelming scent of minty toothpaste and man suffocated her.
‘What are you doing?’ she panted, the outraged squeak muffled against his chest.
She hadn’t been this close to a man in six years. By rights she should be screaming her head off. But right alongside the shock was the unfamiliar blast of heat that throbbed in every place their bodies touched.
He moved back a fraction, still looking past her shoulder. She took another gasping breath.
‘He’s gone. Thank the Lord.’ The brush of his breath against her ear lobe had a shudder ricocheting down her spine. ‘I owe you one, gorgeous.’
‘I—I can’t breathe,’ she stammered, her teeth rattling.
He yanked off his cap and the bold, unfathomable blue of his eyes fixed on her face.
‘What’s wrong?’
You’re what’s wrong, she wanted to yell, but couldn’t say the words. She had to stop shaking first.
He bent his head. ‘Relax, darlin’.’ One calloused palm settled on her neck.
Her breath hitched painfully as he traced his thumb along her chin and then sank his fingers into her hair.
She tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was a choked moan. His hand rested on her nape, holding her steady. ‘How about we try this?’ he coaxed, his lips so close she could taste the minty scent of his breath.
Then his mouth slanted across hers.
The second those firm lips touched hers, her pulse went haywire—as if she’d been plugged into an electric socket. Shock and something much more potent rocketed through her.
Then his tongue slid over her bottom lip and a staggered groan escaped.
She should push him away, her mind screamed. But when her palms flattened against his T-shirt, the muscles quivered beneath her fingers and her hands slid down the hard plane of worn cotton. Her lips parted and his tongue plundered. Fire flashed through her, pulsing in her sex, hardening her nipples—and incinerating the last semblance of coherent thought.
