Susan Carlisle - One Summer At The Lake

‘It takes two, and I think when a woman literally shakes with lust when I look at her I’m willing to take the risk on a sight-unseen basis—’

‘My God!’ she gasped. ‘You really think I’m shallow enough to want to sleep with a man who is obviously deeply in love with himself. A man whose only redeeming feature as far as I can tell is a pretty face and a moderately all right body.’

Fingers crossed, because that was a lie. He had the body of an Adonis. She gave a derisive sniff and arched a brow before laughing.

‘Yes, I do.’ His sloe-dark eyes drifted over her lush sinuous curves shrouded beneath the robe, and his mouth grew dry at the thought of slipping the loose knot of the belt looped around her narrow waist.

It was an uphill struggle to act as though his slow, sexy smile was doing nothing to her. She knew that sex appeal wasn’t just about looks, but the idea that she was any man’s erotic fantasy—let alone a man like Isandro—was shocking. She swallowed and pressed both hands to her stomach, shamefully aware that the deep quivers that rippled low in her pelvis were not caused by shock. What he was suggesting was wrong on more levels than she could count, it went against every principle she held dear, yet she was excited…What does that say about me?

‘Besides, we don’t have to wait. This is the perfect opportunity to find out if it’s as good as I think it will be.’ The sweep of his hand took in the big bed piled with cushions, the open French door against which the light curtains fluttered in the breeze.

In the distance Zoe could hear a flock of geese landing on the water. She went hot, cold, then hot again.

‘I’m not selling my body.’

‘That’s good, because I’ve never paid for sex.’

‘What do you call what you’re suggesting?’

‘I’m suggesting we remove the barrier that is preventing us both doing what we want to. If you are no longer on my payroll we can be equal.’

‘I’ll never be equal to you. I’ll always be superior!’

‘Bravo!’ he drawled.

Her lips tightened. ‘Don’t you dare patronise me! And why make up that stupid story about your friend?’

‘That is not invented. It is real. I do have a friend who owns a gallery.’

Zoe felt a stab of something she didn’t immediately recognise as jealousy. ‘A female friend?’

Could you sound more jealous if you tried?

‘Her name is Polly Warrender. She inherited a theatre from her husband.’ Zoe had heard of the Warrender theatre, but then pretty much everyone had. ‘When she diversified and bought into an art gallery she came to me for advice.’

She stifled a theatrical yawn, but the gesture unwittingly drew his eyes to the soft full curve of her rosy lips. ‘So, let me guess, she listened to you and made a fortune,’ she inserted with a roll of her eyes.

‘Actually she ignored my advice and bought it and, yes, made a fortune.’ He gave a faint smile. ‘A smallish one.’

‘So you were wrong?’

He reached out and tangled a wet curl around one long brown finger and drawled, ‘You’ve discovered the chink in my infallible armour. Please do me a favour and keep it to yourself.’

As he released the curl his finger brushed her cheek. It barely made contact, but Zoe, who had been holding her breath, felt an electric tingle pass through her body all the way to her curling toes.

His voice was a soft attractive buzz. She could hear what he was saying, but over and above the words was a louder buzz—a combination of her own heartbeat and the thrum of the deep hunger that was coursing through her veins with each beat of her heart as she stared at the deep V of golden chest dark against the white towelling.

It took every ounce of her self-control to stop herself reaching out and touching him…She curled her hands into fists and tucked them behind her back.

‘I put her onto the decommissioned church that was up for sale in town as a possible site for a new gallery. She has wanted to expand into this area for some time, so she owes me a favour. She is genuinely looking for someone to run it, and you have an art background…So it is perfectly feasible for you to live here and commute to do the foundation course.’

‘And amuse you in bed.’ He acknowledged her bitter addition with a tilt of his head. ‘You have it all worked out.’

He gave a smile. ‘The secret of success is taking control of events and not allowing them to control you.’

Yeah, you carry on telling yourself that, Isandro, if it makes you feel any better. The fact was he had felt out of control since the moment he had met this woman. From day one she had managed to turn his well-ordered life into chaos.

She shook her head. ‘Don’t you dare smile. I’m not listening to a word you’re saying.’

He took the hands she had pressed to her ears and pressed them against his chest. Then holding her eyes with his, he brushed his lips across her cheek.

‘You’re not shouting, though,’ he murmured against her mouth.

She wasn’t. Zoe was barely breathing. Her body felt strange and tingly, as though it didn’t belong to her. Her arms and legs felt heavy as though a great weight were dragging her down. Dizzy, she clutched at the towelling of his robe. Somehow it parted and her hands were flat on his skin, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers, the heavy thud of his heartbeat mingling with the frantic clamour of her riotous pulse.

Common sense told her to push him away.

‘This isn’t going to happen.’ Why was she whispering? She should be shouting.

‘If you say so, querida.’ His big hand sank into her wet hair, cupping the back of her skull. His long fingers tangled in her hair while his thumb trailed tingling paths down her cheek. His breath was coming fast and hot against her neck.

Her knees gave out, but before she could slide to the floor his arms snaked around her waist. He was so close that his face was a dark blur. She could see the predatory glow of his beautiful eyes. Her own eyes burned but she couldn’t blink, she couldn’t look away, not until he tugged at the soft pink flesh of her lower lip, holding it between his teeth. Then her eyes squeezed tight closed as she released a soft sibilant sigh and opened her palms flat on his chest, pushing them under the thick fabric of the robe, up over his warm skin to his shoulders.

Still she didn’t push. Like someone in a dream she clung, and still he didn’t kiss her. The scent of his warm male body in her nostrils, she was desperate for the taste of him. The need consumed her utterly, so strong that it blotted every other thought from her mind. He radiated raw power, and it excited her unbearably, sent a primitive heat sweeping through her in waves crashing over her. She felt herself going under.

Need, primitive need, raw and all-consuming, blinding lust controlled his actions as he tilted her face up. Dios , but he had wanted to kiss her for…It felt like a lifetime.

His tongue slid between her parted lips and Zoe’s brain closed down as instinct took over. Her moan was lost in the warm recesses of his mouth as her lips parted to deepen the sensual invasion.

She kissed him back, greedily drinking in the taste of him, wanting more…wanting everything. He hauled her body into him. His hands slipped down to her bottom as, cupping it, he lifted her off the ground. Without thinking, she wrapped her long legs tight around his waist as she framed his face between her hands, gave a throaty sigh and whispered, ‘God, but you are so beautiful…the most beautiful man.’

With a deep groan that rose up in his throat he plundered Zoe’s mouth, kissing her with barely controlled desperation, stealing the breath from her lungs, lighting a passion that flared into violent life. As she kissed him back with a wild and unrestrained hunger, satisfying the mutual need between them, everything else ceased to exist.