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“I’m…not really cold.” Not when you’re touching me, she added silently.
“Me, neither.”
Carla was convinced his thoughts were an echo of her own.
“Hungry?”
“Not really.” Not anymore.
“Good.”
Together they sat on the plush love seat that was angled to face the fireplace. Philip’s arm reached for her, bringing her within the haven of his embrace.
Resting her head against the curve of his shoulder, Carla let her fingers toy with the dark hairs on his bare chest. Her body was in contact with his chest, hips, and thighs, and whenever they touched, she could feel a heat building. She struggled to control her breathing so Philip wouldn’t guess the effect he had on her.
“I poured these while you were changing,” Philip murmured, his voice low and slightly husky. He leaned forward and reached for the two glasses of wine sitting on the polished oak coffee table.
Straightening, Carla accepted the long-stemmed crystal glass with a smile of appreciation and tasted the wine. It was an excellent sweet variety with a fragrant bouquet.
Removing the glass from her unresisting fingers, Philip set it aside. As he leaned back, his jaw brushed her chin, and his warm breath caressed her face. The contact stopped them both. He hadn’t meant it to be sensual, Carla was sure of that, but her heart thumped wildly. Closing her eyes, she inhaled a quivering breath.
“Philip?” she whispered.
His mouth explored the side of her neck, sending rapturous shivers up and down her spine. “Yes?”
“Did you arrange for the rainstorm?” Carla couldn’t believe how low and sultry her voice sounded.
“No, but I’m glad it happened.”
Carla was, too, but she wouldn’t admit it. She didn’t need to.
Gently, Philip pressed her backward so that her head rested against the arm of the sofa; then his mouth claimed hers. His kiss was slow, leisurely, and far more intoxicating than potent wine.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Philip diverted his attention to her neck, nuzzling the scented hollow of her throat. His hands wandered over her hips, artfully arousing her so that she shifted, seeking more. She wanted to give more of herself and take more at the same time. Her restless hands explored his back, reveling in the tightness of his corded muscles. This man was deceptively strong. Her fingers found a scar, and she longed to kiss it.
Gradually, the heat that had begun to flow through her at the tenderness of his touch spread to every part of her, leaving her feverishly warm. But when Philip’s hands slid across her abdomen, she tensed slightly. He murmured her name, and his mouth lingered on her lips, moving from one side of her mouth to the other in a deep exploration that left her weak and clinging. Philip turned her so that she was sitting half upright. As he did so, the towel that was covering her hair twisted and fell forward across her face. Gently, Philip lifted the offending material off her face, but her desperate hold on it prevented him from tossing it aside.
“Can we get rid of this thing?” he asked gently.
“No.” She struggled to sit completely up. Both hands secured the terry-cloth towel.
“Your hair can’t be that bad,” he coaxed.
“It’s worse. Turn around,” she demanded, as she leaned forward and rewound the turban. “I…I don’t want you to see it.”
Expelling his breath, Philip leaned against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. “Would you feel better if you showered and dried those precious locks?”
She nodded eagerly.
“Come on, I’m sure Mom’s got something in the bathroom that should help.”
Carla followed him down a long, narrow hallway that led to a bathroom. Investigating the vanity drawers, he managed to come up with a blow-dryer and a curling iron.
“I think my sister gave this to her for Christmas last year.”
Carla’s heart sank. “But I can’t use this. The package isn’t even open.”
With a crooked grin, Philip tore off the cellophane. “If it bothers you, I’ll tell her I used it.”
