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His eyes were wide pools of laughter; his broad chest shook with it. He looked so breathtakingly gorgeous when he laughed like that she only half minded that she’d just made a complete fool of herself. “You’re making it irresistible not to.”
With a gasp of outrage, she turned and threw her hand out almost losing her balance. He caught it and tugged. The momentum made her stumble and he caught her too and before she knew it, Anya banged her hip into his front. His curse was loud and colorful in the quiet garden as her nose bumped against his jaw. Still he didn’t let her go. “Are you hurt?”
The corded strength of him surrounded her, taking her breath away. “Only my ego,” she said softly, pressing her hand to his jaw, wanting desperately to soothe him. Wanting to touch him all over. Just once, God, just once, she wanted her hands all over him—over every hard contour, every solid sinew, every tight muscle. She wanted to rake her nails over his broad pecs, test the give of his ridged abdomen with her teeth. She wanted to mark him all over until the thought of every other woman—the ghost of his ex, and his very current business partner—was driven from his mind.
The strength of her possessive instincts sent a flurry of alarm through her. And still, she couldn’t pull away.
“Are you?” she asked, her thumb moving to the sharp jut of his prominent cheekbones and over the hollow underneath.
“Of course I’m not hurt.” His fingers grabbed her wrist to stop the motion but stilled. “Except you are making me lose my mind.”
She bit her lip, her fingers relishing the raspy sensation of his evening stubble. “I didn’t mean for this—”
“Stop touching me,” he muttered. Perversely, a second before his mouth covered hers.
His lips were hungry and desperate and hard but only for a few seconds. Wrapping her arms around his muscled back, Anya pressed herself into him in silent surrender. Instantly, his kiss softened, his caresses gentled, transformed into something else.
Tender and hot and...exploratory. He tasted her, tempted her, teased her without the urgency that had swamped them in the darkness at the hotel. Fingers buried in her hair, her body arched into him so that she could feel the imprint of his growing erection against her belly. He riled up her passion and soothed it all at the same time in a devilishly thorough kiss.
It was the first kiss they should’ve had if Anya’s discovery about Meera hadn’t plunged her into a kind of temporary madness. This was a “do you want to do this with me” kiss. His lips were soft and yet firm, pressing forward and then retreating, inviting her to play, inviting her tongue to dance with his. Inviting her to enjoy just this moment with him.
They kissed for what felt like an eternity to her, Simon pulling away just when Anya needed her breath and pressing her down onto a stone bench. And then coming back before she could recover her equilibrium. The lazy swirl of his tongue inside her mouth, the soothing strokes of his hands over her back, the way he peppered her jaw and neck with his kisses before finding his way back again to her sensitized lips, there was no destination, no rush to do anything except savor this moment. To just be.
Clinging to him like a jasmine creeper to the wall, Anya gave in to the delicious torment. And it was exactly what she’d needed from the moment she’d discovered he was Meera’s adoptive father. From the moment he’d become forbidden to her. From the moment she’d realized they were now connected by something that neither of them had chosen, that whatever had happened between them already was the most they could ever have.
She’d needed to know that Simon still wanted her. After everything she’d revealed, after everything that had passed between them. And he did want her. This kiss told her that beyond a doubt.
The realization unraveled the tangle of her own emotions. She wondered if, in her heart of hearts, this was what she’d come here for tonight. If the ridiculous proposal of marriage that had fluttered onto her lips was her subconscious telling her she wanted far more of Simon in her life. That her interest in him had so much more to do with him as a man than simply the fact that he was Meera’s father.
Not a month ago, she’d been content to hide, to live her life in the margins.
And now, now it seemed all she wanted to do was jump straight off the cliff.
Because there was no doubt, she reminded herself even as every inch of her body ached for his complete possession, that indulging in the idea of Simon as some kind of romantic partner—even a temporary one—was nothing short of jumping off a cliff to a very messy end.
Anya was the softest, sweetest thing he’d ever kissed. A shaft of moonlight crossed her face in a beam, highlighting the swollen plumpness of her lips. Even that wasn’t enough of a reminder to stop Simon. One arm cupping the nape of her neck, he lapped at her lips until she gave in one more time. She sank into the kiss with a soft moan that reverberated through him, warming up every limb, waking up every dormant need.
Her fingers tugged at the lapels of his shirt, her mouth pulling back from his just enough for her to speak. “How can you kiss me like this and think of marrying another woman?” Vulnerability sparked in her question, in the soft, curious slant of her eyes.
With a pithy curse, Simon wrenched himself away from her. Pulling her knees up into her chest, Anya stayed on the stone bench, looking painfully innocent.
His body was shaking and incredibly aroused, his breath coming in shallow spurts. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For kissing you like that. For acting like a thorough hypocrite.”
She gave him her sharp profile in reply.
He wished she would berate him for acting like a rogue. Worse, for blowing hot and cold on her. Instead, when she spoke again, her voice was a sweet whisper. “I like it when you kiss me. It makes me feel brave, different, wanted. As if—”
“It was a slip. And it doesn’t change anything, Angel. You and I can have nothing more than Meera in common. And that’s enough of a complication as it is.”
He saw the movement of her Adam’s apple, the thread of hurt she tried to hide. “You keep saying that. But it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it when I overwhelm your reason.”
He smiled despite everything, the open admission sending warmth through his veins.
She straightened to her feet. The loose V-necked top she wore hung on her slender frame and yet, she looked so starkly sensual that Simon’s pulse beat erratically. Dark skinny jeans molded to her long legs. The cashmere shawl hung at her elbows, a flimsy protection against the cool night. Her beautiful eyes glimmered in the faint moonlight, resolve etched into her stubborn features. “You never answered my question.”
“For God’s sake, I’ve no intention of ever marrying again. I’ve barely recovered from the last time.”
She took a step back, her gaze wide and searching at his blunt admission. Could she see that what she thought was grief in his eyes was actually crippling guilt? “You are...not marrying Leila then?”
