A Wedding At Windaroo. Barbara Hannay

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СКАЧАТЬ You sound fine.’

      ‘That’s a relief. So that brings us to smell. What impresses a guy when it comes to smell?’

      ‘Clean hair, clean skin.’

      ‘Perfume?’

      ‘If it’s delicate. Something that enhances your femininity but doesn’t get in the way of it.’

      ‘My femininity?’ What did that smell like?

      An unsettling vision floated before her. She saw Gabe with a woman in his arms. A very beautiful woman with long silky hair and superior curves. Someone who smelled feminine. She could picture his sensuous lips caressing her exposed creamy throat, drinking in the smell of her.

      An unexpected sound sent the image scattering. A kind of groan. Shoot! Had she made that noise? What was wrong with her?

      What was wrong with Gabe? He was looking as embarrassed as she felt. Time to move this conversation along. ‘I’ll remember to make sure my perfume is delicate.’ So what senses were left? Sight, sound and smell were covered, so that left touch. Heck, no! She’d have to skip that one. But that only left taste, and no way did she want to know how she was supposed to taste!

      ‘Touch and taste aren’t really part of flirting. They don’t count, do they?’

      ‘If you’re looking for a husband they count for a great deal.’

      Something about the way Gabe said that made her feel tight in the chest. ‘Well, yes. I suppose they matter when you get past flirting and around to kissing.’ She was definitely having trouble breathing. ‘Well, thanks for your advice, Gabe. I think you’ve covered everything.’

      But now, darn it, he seemed reluctant to drop the subject. His deep voice penetrated the night. ‘Piper, you’re not frightened of intimacy, are you?’

      Without warning, her blood began to pound through her veins, making her ears hum and her heart thump wildly. ‘I—I don’t think so.’

      But she couldn’t be sure. Her limited experiences of kissing and necking ranged from mildly pleasant to downright mortifying. She should remember that this was Gabe, and if there was anyone in the world she could talk to about such embarrassing stuff it was him. Staring at her hands, still clenched tightly in her lap, she added softly, ‘I don’t know. I might be.’

      She sensed him leaning towards her, and next moment his fingertips were touching her cheek ever so gently—so very gently—she could hardly feel them—and she found herself wanting to feel them, needing to feel them, found she was leaning her cheek into the curve of his hand. His big warm hand.

      She knew exactly what it looked like. She could picture the strong, square shape of his palm, the light brown hairs on the back of his hand, the long, strong fingers. Eyes closed, she rubbed her cheek against his cupped hand.

      She heard the rasp of his breathing and felt his thumb travel slowly down her cheek, over her chin and back again. She was amazed by how good it felt. Exciting, but sweet.

      His fingertips circled slowly, ever so slowly over her cheek, her chin, her lips. Beneath his touch her skin felt different, highly sensitised, alive in a whole new way.

      When his thumb moved again it reached her mouth and began to trace the outline of her lower lip. It strolled back and forth, back and forth. Then stopped.

      No! She didn’t want it to stop. Hardly believing her daring, she dipped her head slightly and pressed her lips to his thumb.

      Gabe’s husky voice sounded close to her ear. ‘I think you know a lot more about touching than you’re letting on, moonbeam.’

      ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But I want to learn, Gabe.’ She pressed parted lips to his thumb again. The tip of her tongue touched his skin and she felt her skin flushing all over with a wild kind of excitement.

      She was sure she was burning. Her face was hot. All over her body her skin felt aquiver with heat. Gabe’s face was so close, and she wanted to feel the midnight roughness of his beard against her cheek.

      She suddenly knew that she needed his lips to roam her face the way his fingers had. Oh, yes, she wanted him to taste her. ‘Do you think you could kiss me?’ she whispered. ‘Just for practice?’

      Somehow the gap between them seemed to be closing. Gabe was cupping her face with two hands now. He was so close. So wonderfully close. Was he going to kiss her?

      She closed her eyes.

      ‘I mustn’t kiss you.’

      Her eyes flashed open to see him pulling away.

      ‘What was I thinking?’ he cried, jumping to his feet.

      One glance at the distress in his startled eyes and she felt exceedingly foolish. Embarrassed.

      What was wrong with her? What had she been thinking? She’d been enjoying his touches so much she’d virtually thrown herself at him. How had she let herself be so carried away? With Gabe?

      His hands rose to his head in a gesture of helplessness, then they dropped to his side as he let out an angry sound that was half-sigh, half-groan. ‘Piper, you have no idea how to protect yourself from men!’

      Was he right? Her cheeks flamed as she watched him pace away from her, his boots crunching in the dirt. How on earth had this happened? When had their conversation taken such a dangerous turn? Had it been as Gabe described? Had her senses taken over before her brain could catch up?

      He stopped pacing and turned abruptly, and she saw that his face was twisted with fierce emotion. ‘For heaven’s sake, Piper, if you go around offering yourself like that you’ll end up with the wrong man.’

      Puzzled, contrite, she stared at him, while she forced her mind back over what had just happened. Minutes ago he’d been gently teasing her, then he’d been touching her with breathtaking tenderness and looking as if he wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted to be kissed. And now he looked more angry and disturbed than she’d ever seen him.

      But, hang it all, what did he have to get so fired up about? He’d been the one telling her how pretty her hair looked in the moonlight. He’d raised the subject of intimacy…

      Heck! Gabe didn’t have a monopoly on anger. She was getting pretty mad, too. She’d been following his lead, trusting him completely while she let her senses take over.

      Folding her arms very deliberately across her chest, she glared at him. ‘Heaven forbid that I should end up with the wrong man. I wouldn’t want a man like you, Gabriel Rivers.’

      He didn’t reply at first. Just stood there with his hands shoved deeply in his pockets and his jaw set. For ages they stood facing each other without speaking, sizing each other up like gladiators in a ring.

      Then Gabe gave a casual shrug of his shoulders and a fleeting grin twisted his mouth. Crossing back towards her, he settled onto the swag again. ‘Glad we got that sorted out,’ he said.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘DID you catch the mongrels?’

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