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Six
Farris watched as India’s cheeks and throat flushed and then lost color entirely. Her hazel eyes widened, filled with a wary expression that frustrated him.
She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Are we playing it that way?” he asked pleasantly. He studied her as she practically stuttered. Was he actually getting turned on by those god-awful navy pajamas with the pink poodles? Maybe so. The truth was, it didn’t matter what she wore. He wanted her. He would always want her.
When she didn’t say a word, he cocked his head and stared at her. “I like your hair,” he said. The silky blond locks brushed her jaw.
India shook her head slowly. “No, you don’t. You always talked about how much you liked it long.”
Interesting.“But now that you’ve cut it, I see how well it frames your face. The style suits you. Besides, what I want doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
“I should go to bed,” she said, the words barely a whisper.
“You asked me why I stayed away so long.”
“I don’t really care,” she said, paling further, her expression hunted.
“I think you do, Inkie. I think you’re battling the same thing I am.”
“And that would be?”
She was trying so hard to be nonchalant and sassy, but he saw through her bravado. “Temptation,” he said. “I stayed in New York almost a whole damn week, because I don’t trust myself to live under the same roof with you.”
India swayed, her gaze locked on his. “That’s not true.”
He reached out and ran a fingertip down her smooth cheek. Her skin was warm and soft. Already he could imagine what she would look like when he stripped her out of those dreadful pajamas.
“It is true. And at the risk of sounding arrogant, I think you feel it, too. Tell me you don’t, and I’ll never mention it again. Tell me you aren’t tempted.”
His sweet adversary huffed a frantic little breath. “Why are you doing this?”
“You’re going to be here for several months. We should clear the air. Lay our cards on the table. Be straight with each other.”
India stared at him. Her gaze was darker now, her face flushed again. “That’s a terrible string of clichés.”
“What can I say? You throw me off my game. Always have.”
It was a bad idea to be having this conversation right now. The middle of the night was the witching hour. Defenses were down. Sleep beckoned. People made bad decisions in moments like these.
“You’re intimating that you want me?” she said, her body language either wary or braced or both. “You resisted me well enough before.”
“I’m not intimating anything. I’m saying it flat out. I want you.”
She shifted, moving forward just enough to place her hand, palm flat, over his breastbone. “We’re not husband and wife anymore. We’re not married.”
His heart pounded. Her touch short-circuited his brain. “What does that have to do with sex and pleasure?” he muttered. “It’s two entirely different things. Psychologists say that divorced people hook up all the time.”
Her eyes were almost all pupil now. “Not when it’s been five years.” She put distance between them again, leaving him bereft.
“Fine. It was probably a bad idea anyway.”
When he bent down, intending to pick up his carry-on, he almost lost his balance, because India launched herself at him. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I want you.”
From her tone, he didn’t think she was happy about it. But when her arms went around his neck, and she reached up on tiptoe to kiss him, he sucked in a breath and clutched her tightly. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Slamming his lips on hers with an intensity that bordered on desperation.
She felt the same and yet different. Still supple and soft in all the right places. But she had lost weight. He ran his hands from her narrow waist to her luscious ass, lifting her against him.
