Kate Hewitt - Powerful and Proud - Beneath the Veil of Paradise / In the Heat of the Spotlight / His Brand of Passion

‘What?’ She turned to him, and in the glimmer of moonlight he saw those warm, soft eyes, shadowed with a vulnerability he knew she thought she was hiding.

‘What do you mean, what?’

‘You’re thinking something.’

‘I’m always thinking something. Most people are.’

She shook her head, shadows deepening in her eyes. ‘No, I mean...’ She paused, biting her lip, teeth digging into those worry marks once more. If she didn’t let up, she’d have a scar. ‘You’re regretting this, aren’t you? This whole stupid date.’

He stopped, faced her full-on. ‘Aren’t you?’

She let go of her lip to give him the smallest of smiles. ‘That’s a given, don’t you think?’

Did it have to be? How had they fallen into these roles so quickly, so easily? He wanted to break free. He didn’t want to be a flippant playboy to her uptight workaholic. He had a sudden, mad urge to push her down into the sand, to see her clothes wrinkled and dirty, her face smudged and sandy, her lips swollen and kissed...

Good grief.

Chase took a step back, raking a hand through his hair. ‘We’re pretty different, Millie.’

‘Thank God for that.’

He couldn’t muster a laugh. He had too many emotions inside him: longing and lust, irritation and irrational fear. What an unholy mix. He’d asked her out because it had seemed fun, amusing, but it was starting to feel way too intense. And he didn’t need any more intense. He took a breath and let it out slowly. ‘Maybe we should call it a night.’

She blinked, her face immediately blanking, as if her mind were pressing delete. Inwardly Chase cursed. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he knew in that moment he had.

‘Millie—’

‘Fine.’ Her back straighter than ever, she started down the beach away from the resort. He watched her for a second, exasperated with her stubbornness and annoyed by his own clumsy handling of the situation.

‘Aren’t you staying at the resort?’

‘I’m finishing our walk.’

He let out a huff of laughter. He liked this woman, issues and all. ‘I didn’t realise we’d set a distance on it.’

‘More than ten seconds.’ She didn’t look back once.

She was far enough away that he had to shout. ‘It was more like five minutes.’

‘Clearly you have very little stamina.’

There was more truth in that then he’d ever care to admit. ‘Millie.’ He didn’t shout this time, but he knew she heard anyway. He saw it in the tensing of her shoulders, the half-second stumble in her stride. ‘Come back here.’

‘Why should I?’

‘On second thought, I’ll come to you.’ Quickly he strode down the beach, leaving deep footprints in the damp sand, until he reached her. The wind had mussed her hair just a little bit, so the razor edges were softened, blurred. Without even thinking what he was doing or wondering if it was a good idea, Chase reached out and slid his hands along her jaw bone, cupping her face as he drew her to him. Her skin felt like cool silk, cold silk, icy even. Yet so very, unbearably soft. Eyes and lips and skin, all soft. What about her, Chase wondered, was actually hard?

She was close enough to kiss, another inch would do it, yet he didn’t. She didn’t resist, didn’t do anything. She was like a deer caught in the headlights, a rabbit in a snare. Trapped. Terrified.

‘Sorry,’ he breathed against her mouth, close enough so he could imagine the taste of her. She’d taste crisp and clean, like the white wine she’d drunk, except it would be just her. Essence of Camilla.

She jerked back a mere half-inch. ‘Sorry for what?’

‘For acting like a jerk.’

Her lips quirked in the tiniest of smiles. ‘To which point of the evening are you referring?’

‘All right, wise-ass. I was talking about two minutes ago, when I said we should call it a night.’ He stroked his thumb over the fullness of her lower lip, because he just couldn’t help himself, and felt her tremble. ‘I don’t think I was too much of a jerk before that.’

Millie didn’t answer. Chase saw that her lips were parted, her pupils dilated. Desire. The brief moment of tenderness suddenly flared into something untamed and urgent. Chase felt a groan catch in his chest, his body harden in undeniable and instinctive response. His hands tightened as they cradled her face, yet neither of them moved. It was almost as if they were paralysed, both afraid—no, terrified—to close the mere inch that separated them, cross that chasm.

Because Chase knew it wouldn’t be your average kiss. And he was in no position for anything else.

With one quick jerk of her head, Millie slid out of his grasp and stepped backwards. ‘Thanks for the apology,’ she said, her voice as cool as ever. ‘But it’s not needed. It was interesting to get to know you, Chase, but I think we’ve fulfilled both sides of the deal.’ She smiled without humour, and Chase couldn’t stand the sudden bleakness in her eyes. Damn it, they were meant to be soft. ‘Good night,’ she said and headed back down the beach.

* * *

Millie walked without looking where she was going or caring. She just wanted to get away from Chase.

What had just happened?

He’d almost kissed her. She’d almost let him. In that moment when his hands had slid along her skin, cradling her face like she was something to be cherished and treasured, she’d wanted him to. Desperately. She would have let him do anything then, and thank goodness he hadn’t, thank God he’d hesitated and she’d somehow found the strength to pull away.

The last thing she needed was to get involved with a man like Chase Bryant.

She left the beach behind and wound her way through the palm trees to the other side of the resort. She’d go in the front entrance and up to her room, and with any luck she wouldn’t see Chase again all week. It was a big place, and he’d told her he was staying at his villa.

So why did that thought fill her with not just disappointment, but desolation? It was ridiculous to feel so lost without a shallow stranger she’d met a couple of hours ago. Absolutely absurd.

Clearly what this evening had shown her, Millie decided as she swiped her key-card and entered the sumptuous suite Jack had insisted she book for the week, was that she was ready to move on. Start dating, have some kind of relationship.

Just not with a man like Chase Bryant.

The words echoed through her, making her pause in stripping off her clothes and turning on the shower. A man like Chase Bryant. She’d pigeon-holed Chase from the moment she’d met him, yet he’d surprised her at every turn. Just what kind of man was he?

A man who asked pressing questions and told her things about herself nobody else knew. Who turned flippant just when she needed him to. Whose simple touch set off an explosion inside her, yet who kept himself from kissing her even when she was so clearly aching for his caress.

A man who made her very, very uncomfortable.

Was that the kind of man she didn’t want to get involved with?

Hell, yes.

She wished she could dismiss him, as she’d fully intended to do when she’d first met him: spoiled and shallow playboy, completely non-threatening. That was the man she’d agreed to have dinner with, not the man he was, who had set her pulse racing and tangled her emotions into knots. A man who touched her on too many levels.

Was that what she didn’t want? Getting involved with someone who had the power to see her as she really was, to hurt her?

Well, duh. Obviously she didn’t want to get hurt. Who did? And surely she’d already had her life’s share of grief Millie stepped into the shower, the water streaming over her even as her thoughts swirled in confusing circles.