‘Ready!’ he declared through gritted teeth.
Cleo yipped excitedly.
‘Walkies for you,’ Serena crooned at her, laughing inside as she went ahead of them, out of the kitchen, through the living room, up to the foyer.
She wasn’t aware that her bottom was swinging in jaunty triumph at having won this round with Nic Moretti, nor that it was being viewed with a burning desire to have it clutched hard in the hands of the man who was following her. Clutched and lifted so her body fitted snugly to the rampant need she had aroused.
She paused at the front door and he quickly reached around her to open it. A whiff of tantalisingly male aftershave cologne caught in her nostrils. On top of all his other sexy attributes, he even smelled good. It put Serena on pins and needles as she stepped outside and headed for her car, a neat little Peugeot 360 which always gave her the sense of welcoming her into it. She needed that tonight. A safe refuge from the big bad wolf.
He walked beside her, emanating a tension that robbed her of any conversational train of thought. He didn’t say anything for her to hit off, either. Cleo was trotting in front of them. They’d reached the driver’s side of the car when the little terrier suddenly stopped, then darted back around Serena’s legs, tripping her up with the leash. She stumbled in her haste to step over it and found herself scooped against a hard unyielding chest.
‘I’m okay,’ she gasped, her hands curling at the body heat coming through his shirt.
‘You’re shaking,’ he said, his arm encircling her even more firmly, bringing her into such acute physical contact with him, it set off tremors that had nothing to do with almost losing her balance.
She looked up in agitated protest. The blazing intensity of his eyes so close to hers had a hypnotic force that fried her brain, turning her into a passive dummy as he slowly lowered his head towards her upturned face. Even with more intimate collision imminent, she couldn’t bring herself to react. His mouth covered hers and then it was too late to think, to speak, to do anything but feel him.
His lips seemed to tug at hers, enticing them to open, though there was no blitzing invasion, more a slow, sensual exploration that had her whole mouth tingling with excitement, his tongue teasing, goading, twining. She was drawn into actively participating, compelled to respond by a need to know more, feel more.
Whether this signalled consent or surrender, Serena had no idea. Her mind was flooded with intoxicating sensation. Yet what had been enthralling suddenly exploded into wild passion and a tidal wave of chaotic need crashed through her entire body, engulfing her with such power she completely lost herself in it, craving hot and urgent union with the man who was kissing her, holding her locked to him.
Her thighs clung to the strong muscularity of his, revelling in their maleness. Her stomach exulted in the questing erection that pressed into it. Her breasts wantonly flattened themselves against the heated wall of his chest, instinctively seeking the beat of his heart. Her arms wound around his neck, as fiercely possessive as the hands curled around her bottom, lifting her into this fantastic fit with him.
She was consumed with excitement, the rampant desire coursing between them blotting out everything else until the avid kissing was broken by a muffled curse and one of the hands holding her in perfect place lost its grip on her fevered flesh. A shrill barking blasted into her ears, opening them to the outer world again, jarring her mind into sharp recognition of where she was.
And with whom!
Sheer shock thumped her feet back on the ground again, her arms flying down from their stranglehold on Nic Moretti’s neck. Cleo was barking her head off and tugging hard on the leash that was looped around Nic’s wrist, her claws digging at the gravel on the driveway in ferocious determination to pull the two people apart and draw attention to herself again.
Saved by the dog, Serena thought dizzily. It was paramount she pull her wits together to deal with this terribly vulnerable situation. If Cleo hadn’t come to the rescue, she and Nic could have been tearing each other’s clothes off and coupling on the lawn. Or against her car.
Car!
Miraculously she still had the keys clutched in her hand. She swung around, pressing the remote control button to unlock the doors. Hearing the affirmative click, she aimed a brilliant smile at Nic who was still busy persuading Cleo to calm down and come to heel. ‘Got to go,’ she stated firmly.
‘Go?’ he repeated dazedly.
‘Yes.’ She reached for the driver’s door handle and yanked it open. ‘I guess that kiss was a thank you.’
‘A thank you?’ He looked incredulously at her.
‘Very nice it was, too.’
‘Nice?’ It was a derisive bark of disbelief.
‘Goodnight. And good luck with Cleo.’
She jumped into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut, gunned the engine and was off before he could stop her or say anything that would deny her dismissive reading of what had actually been a cataclysmic event for her. She only just remembered to put on the headlights as she was about to turn onto the public road.
There was still enough light to see by but twilight was fast turning to night. The clock on the dashboard said eight forty-five. How long had she been in that clinch with Nic Moretti, telling him she was his for the taking? She’d lost all her bearings, as though an earthquake had hit her. In fact, she was still trembling.
Having made her escape and travelled enough distance to feel safe, Serena pulled over to the verge of the road and cut the engine. Feeling in desperate need of liberal doses of oxygen to her fevered brain, she wound down her window and took several deep breaths of fresh cool air.
The awful truth was, the big bad wolf had pounced and she’d been only too eager to be gobbled up. No hiding that. But she didn’t have to put herself at risk again.
The worst of it was, in all her twenty-eight years, no man had ever drawn such an overwhelming response from her. This had to be some diabolical trick of chemistry because it was very clear in Serena’s mind that she didn’t fit into Nic Moretti’s world and never would.
He was a high-flyer. He’d marry one of his own kind. No way would he climb down enough to consider her a suitable mate for life. The only mating he’d want with her would be strictly on the side, and she was not going to put herself in that position.
Absolutely not!
A kiss was just a kiss, she told herself, as she restarted the car and headed for home.
But what a kiss!
CHAPTER SIX
NIC let the damned dog take him for a walk around the lawn. He was in a total daze, his mind shot through with disbelief. Serena Fleming was a challenging cutie but he hadn’t expected her to blow him away. On two counts! First, punching him out with a powerhouse of passion, then kissing him off with a dismissive goodbye.