Heather Graham Pozzessere - Eyes Of Fire

“I know perfectly well who it is!” she cried out. Still struggling furiously, she managed to free a hand and tried again to strike him.

Once again, before her blow could land, her wrist was captured.

And she realized that she was lying naked and completely vulnerable…with Adam O’Connor not just back on her island, but lying on top of her in her bed.

“Fine! Next time a stranger is trying to drug you, kidnap you, maybe even kill you, I’ll remember to keep my distance,” Adam said evenly. His tone was husky. Angry.

His eyes were directly on hers, gleaming. A knife-like silver. Not giving away an iota of emotion.

Only his voice hinted of his feelings.

She stared at him. Not moving, not breathing. Not daring to, because the slightest motion would bring her bare flesh into closer contact with him.

He’d aged nicely over the years. He was even more attractive in his mid-thirties than he’d been in his late twenties. His voice had deepened; his chest had broadened. Even the lines in his face gave it the character that men seemed to achieve so easily, while women battled the ravages of age with expensive creams and potions. His dark hair was longish, collar length. It was tousled now from the fight he’d put up. One dark wavy strand had fallen over his forehead, where it looked too damned good. Sexy, sensual. Very masculine. It was great hair. Very thick. She knew, because once-upon-a-very-long-time-ago, she had run her fingers through it. She was tempted to touch it right now.

She would like to touch it and yank it right out of his head.

He’d changed clothes for dinner, making her current, uncomfortable situation seem all the more ludicrous. He was dressed in casual evening attire, black pants, jacket, bone and crimson vest over a dress shirt. He was in absurdly good condition. He wasn’t breathing hard—only his hair had been mussed. Even his tie had remained straight, helping to maintain his look of casual elegance.

She was going to die, she realized, if she didn’t breathe soon.

She might have died! She’d never been afraid on the island, never even thought to be afraid. What might have happened if…?

She inhaled, trying not to gasp too deeply for air. She couldn’t gush out a thank-you-for-my-life. She just couldn’t do it.

“He—he shouldn’t be a stranger anymore,” Sam gasped, rallying. “You should have caught him. You should be after him right now rather than humiliating me.”

“You’re humiliated?” he demanded, silver eyes cool.

“Adam—”

“Humiliation has never been your strong suit.”

“What would you know about my strong suit? You don’t know me at all. You passed through my life years ago. Hundreds of people have passed through it since.”

“Hundreds with whom you’ve had affairs? In this day and age? Shame on you, Samantha. Really.”

She stared at him with all the careful restraint she could manage, eyes narrowed. “Get off me and get out of my bedroom. Now.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome. But please, don’t deluge me with any more gratitude. I can’t deal with it. It would just go straight to my head.”

“God forbid. If anything else went to your head, it might explode.”

“Oh, really?”

“Damn right!”

“In contrast to the Queen of the Seven Seas here, eh?”

“O’Connor!”

He rose—carefully, ready for her to start swinging again.

She wouldn’t have minded doing so. Except that it wouldn’t have gotten her anywhere. Because he would have been right back on top of her. And that would not have been good. Because it was amazing just how vividly memory could serve—even when half a decade had passed.

He stood above the bed, looking toward the door to her room. The room was shadowy; dusk was falling. She was grateful for the darkness, since she didn’t seem to be able to move and get any clothes.

It just seemed so absurd for him to be here. She should have forgotten him; he should have forgotten her. They were hardly friends now. They hadn’t exactly parted on good terms. The words that passed between them now had quickly become sarcastic, scathing, when they should have been casual. But something remained after all that time.

Bitterness. Anger. And more. Things left unresolved. Being near him was like entering an energy field where slashes of lightning cut furiously through the air.

He was still in her room. Too close. Far too close.

Some things changed. Chemistry stayed the same. And she was still…frightened. She could strike out at Adam, or cling to him.

No. Oh, no.

“You should be going after him!” she said.

He looked at her again. She was sorry she had spoken. She felt as if her entire body was blushing, as if her skin was burning right down to her feet.

“What if it was a her?” he demanded.

“What?”

“It could have been a woman.”

“It was a man. The height—”

“They’re making taller woman these days. Whoever it was, they weren’t much taller than you.”

“It was a man.”

“Because the chest was flat?”

“How amazing! I hadn’t thought you were aware that female chests could come in flat.”

He leaned over her again, a half smile curving his mouth. “You’d be amazed at the amount of wonderfully sensual, sexy women who come in size small.”

“Your tastes have broadened.”

“Ah, let’s see, I just passed through your life and know nothing about you, but you can judge my tastes?”

She smiled, determined not to cringe or allow him to realize in any way that her nudity in front of him made her feel as vulnerable as a day-old kitten.

“I know that when you left here, the woman you left for was incredibly well-endowed. Not particularly tall, but—well-endowed.”

“You’re mistaken. But then, you so often are.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“How could you possibly know my taste in breasts?”

“I’m only familiar with my own observations, of course.”

“Very mature ones,” he commented. “But then, you were just past being a child back then, weren’t you?”

There was something disturbing about the way he asked the question.

Just past being a child…. She had been in her early twenties at the time. He’d just been accustomed to a faster crowd. Women who knew what they were doing.

Well, he had seen to her education.

“I do apologize,” she said coolly. In perfect control. “We’re certainly both adults now, and this has to be one of the most ridiculous conversations I’ve ever had. Whether that was a man or a woman, you should have gone after them.”

“Oh, really? I get beaten up for saving you, and then I’m supposed to go after the intruder anyway?”

“You don’t look beaten up.”

“Trust me, I am.”

“You—”

“Not only was I struck by the intruder, but then I got you throwing punches, as well.”

“Aftershock,” she said evenly.

“Um.”

“That doesn’t matter now.”

“It doesn’t matter to you because you weren’t on the receiving end.”

“You are not hurt! You should be chasing—”

“Chasing who—and where?” he demanded curtly. “Your cottage is surrounded by others, and by the main house. All that intruder had to do was shuck the ski mask and black pullover and slip on a shirt or a jacket and you’d never recognize him or her in a thousand years.”

“It couldn’t possibly be a guest!”

“No, a large stork delivered him to the island!”

“Well, you should have caught him!”

“Silly me. I should have let you crack your head on the tile so I could chase the intruder. Fine. Next time I’ll let you crack your damned head!”