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But however much he tried to fool himself that it was only her sexy butt wiggle and the wicked light in those emerald eyes, if he was honest, their connection had got under his skin. He saw the shadow of past hurts peeping out from behind her bravado, sensed the pain behind her swagger.
Polly Fletcher could say all she liked, but she was running scared.
Yes, they damn well had a connection. No-one could tell him otherwise—he’d known it from the moment she swung around and their eyes had fused at that old outback hotel.
He almost wanted to punch the wall, which was way over the top. Stupidly, he’d dropped his guard, let himself feel happy, elated even, for the first time in months. He couldn’t recall when he’d last felt this good, not even when he’d finally plucked up the courage to ask Emma out on a date.
He’d loved Emma, adored her for years.
But he’d never wanted to freakin’ boogie with glee before a date with Emma. She’d never made him feel like doing a John Travolta inSaturday Night Fever, a Patrick Swayze inDirty Dancing.
But Polly Fletcher, in just two weeks, had.
So after he’d sent an equally curt, “no worries, catch you Monday”, he’d gone into the kitchen and rummaged around for something alcoholic. He’d just found a bottle of shiraz and scribbled an “I owe you one” note when Carts shot through the door in his yoga gear. He was wearing an OM-inscribed T-shirt, spidery legs encased in tight black shorts and a bandana wound round his head. His appearance would have lightened any normal mood, but tonight, no.
“I am deeply relaxed and sending peace to all sentient beings,” Carts had said, bringing his palms together in response to Solo’s confession that he’d stolen the wine. “Have it on me,” he said as he threw his towel on the back of a chair and tugged off his headband. “Better still, instead of guzzling that on your own, why don’t you join me and Dan at the Shamrock?”
Solo didn’t want to, but he didn’t want to be alone either. So he’d gone, shared a couple of Guinnesses, gritted his teeth through the rugby talk and then excused himself.
He couldn’t stomach a vindaloo.
Back home, he’d sat and looked at his cigarette stash. And then lit one, smoked it down to the butt and lit another. And now here he was on the front porch, wondering whether he should try and find a locum position in some little town in the middle of nowhere and hide out for the next year.
Until his wounds had healed enough to…
To what? Return to Pop’s farm, which he knew he’d likely have to sell, as the caretaker had only promised a year? Watch Drew piece his life back together from a distance, probably with Emma? Either way, nothing was ever going to be the same between the three of them again.
He took a last puff and turned to go inside when a shadow on the street caught his eye. The familiar tilt of a head was suddenly illuminated. Bobbing curls, that swift gliding step, and his heart lurched like someone had taken a turbo charger to it.
The click of the gate and then she was skimming up the path and his heart was suddenly doing the tango.
“You,” was all he could get out gruffly as she drew to a standstill and tilted her chin at him.
Her eyes glittered like two bright jewels and her lips were full and parted, and so soft and inviting it took all his willpower not to dive in for a kiss, to remember he’d just put out his second cigarette and she’d probably find him disgusting.
“Yes. Me.”
“What are you doing here?” He stalled for time as the light from the front door arced onto her features, lighting up her cute round cheeks, the dimples bracketing her perfect mouth.
A smile hitched at the corner of her lips. “Just hanging out. Like you. Had to cancel on a hot date.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, shame, eh?”
“Shame.”
“But I’d be prepared to settle for a nightcap. What’ve you got?” Reaching out, she gave his arm a mock punch, then her nostrils quivered. “Do I detect smoke?”
He grinned. “Terrible pollution problem this end of town.”
“Really?” She shimmied closer and he caught her delectable heady perfume. “Breathe on me.”
Anyone would have thought she’d saidgo down on me,the way his cock rose to immediate attention. Christ, look what this woman did to him. He went from 0 to 100 in a matter of seconds. Ferrari, eat your heart out.
Solo tightened his lips. She reached out and touched him there with a fingertip and, unable to stop himself, he sucked her finger into his mouth. With a little gasp she melted against him, and all he could register was her breasts against his pecs and a pair of hot, eager lips meeting his.
He gave up worrying about his breath.
