The Boat Builder's Bed (12 page)

Long minutes later she dragged her lips away from his and tried to gather her wits. Tried to breathe. Tried to focus on his too-close face with its high cheekbones and hungry eyes. Tried to summon up the least skerrick of resistance against his potent kisses.

She ached and burned all over. Had he relaxed his grip on her or she loosened her grip on him? An impressive masculine bulge now pressed exactly against the centre seam of her Levis, right where the throb and the damp heat were almost unbearable.

He took one step sideways and the sensation kicked up a notch higher.

His arm released her so her boneless legs slid down beside his. Her feet touched the bottom step of the staircase, one higher than where he stood on the floor. She swayed against him to brace herself and he tightened his grip again.

“My legs have gone all funny,” she gasped.

“Not as funny as some of me,” he countered, nudging his hips against hers to demonstrate. They pressed together forehead to forehead, laughing softly.

She saw him glance at his watch.

“Time I was getting you home. You must be dead on your feet after today.”

What??!!
her aroused body screamed. He planned to leave her like this at fever pitch? He was suddenly the gentleman again? She stared at him, astonished. Relief warred with thwarted lust.

CHAPTER TEN

“Fine,” she heard herself say, and she didn’t sound gracious. “Are we going to look for my earring before we go?”

“Let’s start on the lowest level and work our way up.” He took her hand again as if they hadn’t just spent the last few minutes plastered together trying to climb inside each others’ bodies. “Coffee?”

She shook her head. It would be hard enough relaxing with those kisses surging through her memory; a late-night caffeine hit would guarantee no sleep at all.

“Master bedroom suite’s through there, by the way.” He indicated the door Chris had appeared through yesterday morning. “I’ll show you another time.”

Another time would be excellent
.
I don’t want to see where you’re planning to sleep with someone else right after you’ve decided I’m not good enough.

They descended the final flight of stairs to his living quarters. Sensors turned on small recessed lights low on the walls as they walked down.
 

“Carpet all through this level as well,” he added, setting the fabric samples on the table. “Tile in the spa-room and bathroom and this kitchen area of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed stiffly, still trembling from the sensation of his big body against hers. How could he move from French kissing to floor coverings without missing a beat?
 

She was missing lots of beats herself—big thumping heartbeats. Something behind her ribs galloped along in a most erratic manner. Damn the man. How could he do that to her? Just switch off, leaving her way switched on.

With a trembling finger she eased the top of her jeans down a little, hoping the centre seam would drop a fraction and give her sensitive body some respite.
 

She drew a deep breath and glanced around the kitchen and living area for any sign of her missing earring.

Rafe crossed to his office. “Won’t be in here,” he said, giving the room a cursory inspection. “You didn’t come further than the doorway.”

“Hopefully your bedroom, then.” But she saw no immediate sign of it.
 

“Blue, was it?”
 

“Blue lapis, set in silver.”

He checked the shelving and the floor.
 

“Ah. Not easy to see.” He picked up the silver and blue earring from a dip in one of the bed-cover’s navy stripes.
 

Sophie tried to take it, but he smiled and pushed her hand aside, and instead cradled her face so he could thread the hook through the piercing himself.
 

She had no idea why she let him. She hadn’t wanted to be so close to him again while her breathing was still erratic and her pulse rapid. Didn’t want to let him know the effect he had on her.

But his hands were magic—big and warm and careful. Against her will she felt somehow treasured.
 

“Tricky little beast.” He jiggled the hook with patience until it slid, unfelt, through the tiny hole in her earlobe, then brushed a kiss over the side of her face. Sophie gave a soft breathy grunt. Just surprise, she told herself. Or agreement with his comment about the earring being tricky. It absolutely hadn’t been desire.

He pulled away with reluctance. God, he was getting into deep water here...finding it hard to keep his hands off her. Sure, he’d taken the earring so he could entice her back to the house. Deliberately placed it on the bed so he’d have a reason to get her into his room again. She’d left just enough doubt yesterday about whether his attentions would be welcome.

But she’d been so sweet up on the deck, helping him build the chairs and trying to console him when she knew he’d been hurting. How could he turn into a grasping Neanderthal?

He’d meant it to be a playful hug a few minutes earlier, and instead he’d wrapped her around himself in a band of glorious temptation.
 

He’d intended only to tease her by nipping her ear, but his lips had wandered down to hers, and for those heady minutes while she’d responded he’d been on fire.

Drawing her attention to the late hour had given him just enough breathing space to think rationally.

And now he had his hands on her again...his mouth heading for hers...his body still hard as hell.

He pulled back, muttering a soft curse, and pushed her towards the stairs.

A short time later as they drove back across the city in his big quiet car he said, “So you don’t think I’m a Jaguar kind of guy?”

Sophie saw the flash of his eyes against his dark skin as he turned to her with the question.

She shrugged. “It’s a beautiful car, but I just thought a man like you would have something a bit...racier.”

“You won’t like me when I tell you why I have the Jag, but I’ve told you the rest, so what the hell.”

“What do you mean by ‘the rest’?”

“My family situation. The non-relationship with my mother and father.”

Sophie bit her lip. “At least you have a father to have a non-relationship with.”

He left a small wondering silence before asking “You have a step-father?”
 

“No,” she said, making it clear by her tone that she wouldn’t be telling him more. “So why the Jag?”

The car purred on. She’d almost given up hope of a reply when Rafe muttered, “because my father only considers Italian stuff good enough. I wanted to annoy him so I didn’t buy the Ferrari.”

Her interest spiked high at that. He’d forgone his dream car as some sort of payback? It was a huge concession for a man with the money to afford exactly what he wanted.

“Cutting off your nose to spite your face?”

“Maybe. Probably.”

“But your motor-bike?”
 

“I haven’t let on about the Ducati. My guilty little secret. Luca would preen if he knew.”

Sophie let out a small puff of amusement. “How much do you see of your parents these days?”

She heard his regretful sigh. “Weddings and funerals. As little as I can get away with.”

His fingers scraped over the bristles of his late-night stubble as he rubbed his chin. Sophie knew her skin probably bore the marks from it.

“You were a hurt little boy having a tantrum.”

“I was a full-grown man throwing my money around to offend someone.”

“As long as you can see that now?”

“I see it, and I don’t much like it.”

“I suppose,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “that everyone has different sides to their personalities, and things they’d prefer to keep hidden.” She knew she wanted to appear a cool and confident designer,
au fait
with the latest decorating trends. She absolutely didn’t want him seeing her as a guilty and worried absentee mother.

They drove on, mostly in silence, until Rafe pulled up on her bus-stop.

“Thank-you,” she said, “for all sorts of things. For pizza, and the champagne, and for being a great barman yesterday.”

“At my best in an apron, am I?”

At your best in those shorts,
she thought to herself, glancing sideways at his long thighs. At least she’d been spared the sight of his chest on the drive home—he’d pulled on the old white T-shirt as they’d crossed the deck to the cable-car.

“I’m very grateful for the chance to decorate your house,” she said politely. “It’s a dream start for my new studio.” She opened her door. Relief flooded through her; he’d made no move to kiss her goodnight.

Then Rafe pushed his door wide.

“No!”

“Yes,” he replied with equal firmness as he stepped out and closed his door. “I don’t let women go wandering off into the dark alone. My grandmother taught me better than that.”

“I’m perfectly fine. I walk along this path most nights on my own.”

“But not tonight.” His big presence loomed over her, blocking out the nearest street-light. “And who do you walk with when you’re not on your own?”

“None of your business.”

“Maybe I’d like it to be,” he shot back.

“We’ve been through this. It’s asking for trouble to try and mix a personal relationship with a business one.”
 
She elbowed him aside and strode up the path, managing much better speed in her flat rubber-soled shoes than she had in yesterday’s high sandals. She hesitated at the dark corner of the house. “Damn. Where are those steps?”

 
“Slow down or you’ll break your neck.” He grabbed one flailing arm and yanked her against him.
 

Sophie let out a long angry breath. “I wouldn’t have to hurry if you weren’t rushing me.”

“I’m only rushing because you are. Go slower. Have some sense.”

“I just want to get away from you. I said I didn’t need you to see me safely along the path.” She felt her way down, trying to shake his hold on her arm, annoyed he seemed determined to keep her in his grasp.

They rounded the house together and entered the deep darkness of her rose-scented basement porch.

“You need a security light on that path. Anyone could jump you.”
 

“There’s one on the top corner of the house. The bulb blew a couple of days ago. Mrs. Ferris is getting her son to replace it. And no-one’s ever jumped me yet.”

“They’d only have to do this,” he said, spinning her around with strong hands and pushing her shoulders gently back against the door. His hips sank against hers, anchoring her there.

“Let me
go
, Rafe,” she gasped, struggling against his daunting strength.

“Wouldn’t want anyone else doing this to you.” His long fingers cupped her face and angled her mouth up to his. His kiss was hot and dangerous. In seconds her body responded with surges of deep wet wanting, and the only sounds she could make were soft gasps of appreciation and need.
 

Her fingers threaded into his hair, pulling him down. Her hips tilted up. The heat went everywhere. Singeing, smoking, sparking. And her tongue slid over his as she lost herself in his taste and smell and power again.
 

She had no idea how long they stood there, mindless with sensation, drowning in each other. Finally Rafe wound his hands into her long hair and trapped her head against the door while he drew back, breathless.

“Remember that while I’m gone,” he growled. “Open the door, Sophie. Go inside so I know you’re safe.”

His grip on her hair relaxed.

“Gone? Where are you going?”
 

“The San Diego boatyard, too damned early tomorrow morning. Get inside before I do something really stupid.”

“When are you back?”

“Next Wednesday. I’ll be in touch.”

He waited.

She fumbled for her keys with trembling fingers, unlocked the door, found the light-switch. The sudden shaft of hard light showed his chest rising and falling fast under the thin white T-shirt, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes huge and black.

“Night, Soph,” he said before the darkness swallowed him up.

She dashed straight to the bedroom mirror and stared. She looked every bit as desperate as he had. Her breasts heaved, her nipples peaked, her face was patchy with abrasions from his rough stubble, and her lips were plumply swollen.
 

She huffed out a huge sigh and crossed to the window, wondering if he was still out there keeping watch over her.

Just in case, she blew a kiss into the darkness before drawing the curtains closed.

At last she could get out of her too-tight jeans and let some cool air flow over her heated skin. She peeled them down, hung them in the wardrobe and flopped onto her bed.
 

To hell with it, the T-shirt stifled her as well. She sprang to her feet again, hauled it over her head and threw it hard at the clothes hamper in the corner. It bounced back off the wall and landed on the floor. She marched across and dropped it in with the rest of the waiting laundry.

And the bra. And the panties. She removed them both, still feeling hot and bothered.

She scuttled out to the kitchen, bending low until she’d tweaked the blind closed. Water. Cold water and ice-cubes would help. It was a warm humid night. She knew she should dilute the effects of the champagne and get herself better hydrated.
 

She ran the water until it was really cold, filled a big tumbler almost to the brim and plunked in a couple of ice-cubes.

Gasped as cold water splashed out over her bare belly.

Swiped at it with the kitchen towel.

Caught the tumbler with the tail of the towel and up-ended the lot into the sink. The two ice-cubes skated around in a mad race as she glared down at them.

It was
his
fault. No doubt about it. She was never un-coordinated like this.

She scooped up the ice-cubes, ran more water and prowled her little kitchen alcove, sipping and fuming. Then she heard the ring-tone of her mobile.