Helen announced they were going to play a game called “pass the orange,” and in a blinding flash the evening turned into Elissa's worst nightmare. She'd never played the game, but she knew it initialed passing the piece of fruit from person to person, without using hands.
Elissa closed her eyes in denial that this was happening, while Helen gathered everyone into a circle, arranging them boy-girl-boy-girl.
“Okay...” Helen held up a puny orange. “The idea is to pass this around the circle without dropping it. Watch closely.”
Elissa clenched her teeth as her younger sister faced Damien, placing the orange between her chin and her collarbone. “Can everybody see? No hands, but you can use just about any other body part to make sure the orange doesn't fall to the floor as you pass it from one person to the next.”
With the finesse of an Olympics Orange Passing gold medalist, Damien dipped his chin to Helen's, catching the orange between his jaw and shoulder. A quick tug dislodged the orange from Helen's throat. Now Damien held it jauntily between his chin and chest. Elissa watched with a jaundiced eye. Sure, they made it look easy just to sucker the others into the game, then the naive fools were forced to make jackasses of themselves.
Damien turned to offer the orange to an elderly guest of the inn, placing it between her chin and shoulder.
Elissa took a step backward, deciding this was a good time to escape to her office, but a hand at her elbow halted her. “No, you don't, Miss Crosby.”
The hairs on her nape stood up and she peered sideways. “Where did you come from?”
“California,” Alex said with a grin.
She tugged on his hold, but not very hard. She didn't want to draw attention to the fact that she had an aversion to having Alex's jaw close enough to hers to kiss, er, touch! “That's just so amusing,” she asided in a surly whisper.
He indicated the game. “It's almost your turn.”
“I'm not playing.”
He lifted a brow. “Chicken, Miss Crosby?”
She knew he was baiting her but she didn't care. “I don't like games played with fruit.”
He chuckled. “There are a few I could teach you that I bet you'd like.”
She inhaled a scandalized breath. What was he talking about? Kinky sex? She backed away, but found her exit thwarted by his hold at her elbow.
“Elissa,” Helen called. “Poor Hirk is getting a stiff neck. It's your turn.”
She jumped at the sound of her name and turned around. At least, she turned as far as she could with Mr. Oh-No-You-Don't still clutching her. With a fake grin and a frosty rebuke in her eyes, she shifted back to face Alex. “I need my arm.”
His bow as he let her go was almost imperceptible. She felt the urge to run, but knew it was too late. Hirk was waiting with an orange stuck in his neck. With a smile of apology to everyone for holding up the game, she faced Hirk. “Okay, Boggs, let's do it.”
The tall, gangly man bent to present her with the orange. Being a shy person, he made every effort to insert the fruit between Elissa's jaw and collarbone without any embarrassing touching. She liked that about Hirk. Shy and polite. Unlike some peopleâarrogant and rudeâstanding on the
other
side of her.
Once the orange was secure, she stiffly turned to deposit it against Alex's throat. Her intent was to get rid of it and away from him with great dispatch. When their eyes met, he grinned, and a shudder of apprehension went through her. Why did she have the feeling his plans didn't coincide with hers? “Don't do anything stupid,” she whispered.
“I never do anything stupid,” he breathed into her ear as he leaned down to receive her orange.
At first the transfer seemed to be going fine. However, a millisecond after Elissa released the orange, Alex said, “Whoops.”
“Whoops?” she echoed, unable to catch the orange against her jaw. The darned thing had rolled too far down her chest. Still, it didn't drop. Alex had saved it with his cheek, and now was rolling it along her sweater.
“Sorry.” His gaze lifting to meet hers, his eyes alight with mischief. “I'll get it. Don't worry.”
Hating the need to do it, she thrust her chest out to help him coax the orange toward his jaw. With excruciating slowness, he maneuvered the fruit from the rise of one breast clear across the other.
His cheek brushed her breasts, then his chin, then his shoulder, as he twisted and turned to move the orange. By that time, it had made the trip across her body, Elissa and Alex were pressed together chest to breast. Their arms wide while they rubbed and bumped against each other in the struggle to get the wayward orange into the hollow of Alex's throat. At least she was struggling toward that goal.
“I'm about to get it. One more second,” he said, his eyes dancing with fun.
She harbored strong reservations about Alex's assurances. The orange slid up a bit, but not enough for her to catch it with her chin. Dam Alex D'Amour! She knew he was doing this on purpose, just to make her miserable. He rolled the orange up slightly, inching it toward her shoulder. She had a flash of hope that she was seconds away from snagging it with her jaw. Her breasts were pressed hard against his chest as he continued to nudge the fruit with his shoulder to a fraction of an inch below her collarbone.
Just a little further!
she pleaded inwardly.
Trying desperately to concentrate on the game, and ignore the tormenting hardness of his body, she dipped slightly, curving her shoulder forward in an effort to trap the orange. Alex lifted his glance to hers and she froze. Their lips were so close. So close...
His breath was warm and tempting against her mouth, and she felt a tremor of desire. She knew how those lips felt, how they made her feel. Though she'd promised herself never to touch them again, the sexy rat was making the vow difficult to keep.
“Just one more second,” Alex said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Oh, no, hurry,” Jack called through a laugh.
“Good game,” Damien said. “Next time let's do it with a pea.”
Another burst of laughter filled the room. Alex's scent was everywhereâin her nostrils, her brain. She was woozy. Those irritating silver eyes beckoned. Her pulse was reaching levels that went far beyond merely disloyal. As Alex moved against her in a grueling, meandering trek to relocate the dratted orange, their hips and bellies stroked and bumped, sometimes locking together for long seconds filled with sweet torture. The masculine texture of his body taunted and aroused, making her weak. If she didn't act quickly, she would actually be kissing the man in front of God and everybody.
Desperate to be free of his spell, she took an abrupt step backward, allowing the orange to fall to the oriental rug with a soft
thud.
“Oh dear,” she said, feigning distress.
“Elissa!” Laughing, Helen headed through the circle toward her. “I hope you know what you've done.”
Elissa shook out her curls, breathing deeply to regain her poise. “I'm sorry. I guess that means I'm out?”
“Don't you know how the game goes?” Helen retrieved the orange. “Now you have to kiss Alex.”
“Really?” Alex flashed a crooked grin. “Elissa. You flirt.”
How could she have forgotten such a terrifying rule? She sensed that her face had gone as red as her hair, and she feared her head would explode from fury. How dare Alex tease her! After all, he was the cause of her dropping the darned orange.
Ignoring her pledge to keep her animosity for Alex a secret, she opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of him, and to inform him of exactly what hot place she hoped he would go.
Before she could shout out a single syllable, Alex took her face in his hands and kissed her. Hard. His lips held such sizzling persuasion that she forgot that she was going to shout at him. She forgot the other people in the room. She forgot her name. And she forgot that the man making her toes tingle with his kiss was her worst enemy.
Â
Elissa tossed off her blankets, moaning. She couldn't sleep, angry with herself for allowing a ruthless landgrabber any power over her heart. Half the night she'd tossed and turned, trying not to think about his disturbing kiss.
Her memory of it was blurred and foggy, which was unlike her. She could only vaguely remember babbling about needing to get some bills paid, then skittering down the stairs to hide in her office. She'd gotten little accomplished, except for trembling and blinking back tears, and she hardly called that an achievement.
She refused to think about her feelings. She'd always seen herself as an independent person, completely selfreliant. Alex DâAmour was her enemy. Did he think his expertise in seduction would make her surrender her efforts to keep her inn? Well, if that was his plan, it wouldn't work. Dr. Grayson would be back in his office tomorrow, and she would be able to talk with him, find out how he and his staff were progressing with her ownership problem. Very soon she would have the bothersome Mr. D'Amour out of her heart, er,
hair!
Scrambling from her bed she slid into her Goofy slippers and grabbed her robe. Knotting the sash, she shoved the vision of a pair of beguiling eyes to a back shelf of her brain.
And that kiss!
The wild, wondrous taste of his lips loomed in her mind, making her stumble, and she sagged against the wall to get her equilibrium back. She couldn't allow the thought of that kiss to keep creeping into her consciousness. She had to get some sleep. Warm milk might help. She'd heard it settled the nerves. The way things stood, she'd probably have to heat about twelve gallons, but she might as well try it. She wasn't getting any rest, anyway.
Quietly she pulled open the door and tiptoed past the unfolded sofa, averting her glance. She had no desire to look at Alex. And even if she had, it was so dark she could barely find her way to the stairs, let alone make out a reclining figure in the rumpled covers.
She scurried up the steps and rounded the comer into the kitchen before she realized the light was on. Coming to a skidding halt, she was overcome with distress to see Alex sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of steaming cof fee in his hand. He glanced up, his long lashes casting a shadow across his eyes. The harsh, overhead light made his solemn features seem carved from stone. She had a feeling he'd been thinking very dark thoughts and she wondered what they might be. “Troubles?” she asked, daring to hope he was doubting his ownership of her inn.
He set down his mug and stood, startling her with the gentlemanly move. He was wearing a blue cashmere sweater and jeans. His hair was tousled, and he looked charmingly unkempt, as though he hadn't been able to sleep, either. His lips curved at one comer as he scanned her attire, from her bulky terry robe to her comical slippers. “What's this? A late-night rendezvous with a lover?”
She tugged her lapels together, feeling naked under his scrutiny. “That's right, avoid answering the question by taking the offensive.”
“I didnât' realize I was being offensive.”
She sniffed, shuffling around him to retrieve a pan for her milk. “You're always offensive, Mr. D'Amour. Maybe you should have that fact tattooed on the back of your hand as a quick reference.”
His chuckle rumbled through her, though he was a good three feet away. “What are you doing?”
“Heating milk, if it's any of your business.”
“Why?”
She shifted around, eyeing him with more affront than she felt. His nearness was wreaking havoc on her insides. “To make it
hot.”
He grinned outright then. “Why don't you just kiss it?”
The not-so-subtle reminder set her blood on fire, but she masked it by bristling. “Don't be crude!”
“I thought I was complimenting you.” Though he was still grinning, the expression was less teasing this time. More contemplative. “I've been sitting here thinking about your kissâand how good it might be if you let yourself enjoy it.” The challenge that lit his gaze made her legs go wobbly. “It's a hell of a thought.”
She stared at him, speechless. What was he saying? Had he been as affected by their kiss as she? Realizing her lips had dropped open, she clamped her jaws shut, shaking off the notion. He was playing with her again. Dam the man and his talent for playacting. She was not one of his half-witted conquests who would come softly into his arms, giving him anything he wanted. “That's something you'll never know, Mr. D'Amour.” She cleared an odd raspiness from her throat.
He shrugged those sinfully wide shoulders, so casual and elegant, she wanted to scream. He could sure turn it off as quickly as he could turn it on. “Having trouble sleeping?” he asked.
She spun away to get the milk out of the refrigerator. Why was it that he could make her furious by merely existing, but she couldn't seem to rattle him with direct insults? When she turned back, she scowled. “No, I'm not having trouble sleeping. I'm always up for the three o'clock milk warming ceremony.”