Where The Heart Is. Kate Hardy

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      And then she was falling, shattering into little pieces—and flying at the same time. She murmured his name, rubbed herself against him like a cat; and then he went very still, very focused, and she heard him sigh her name against her ear.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.

      ‘Mmm.’ She didn’t think she quite had the power of speech yet.

      ‘You’re going to get frostbite. Hang on.’ Somehow she found herself inside his sleeping bag. And he was pulling his clothes on.

      ‘Where are you…?’ she mumbled.

      ‘That’s a single sleeping bag. It’s too small for both of us. And I haven’t finished yet. Give me two minutes.’ She heard him blow a kiss at her and he disappeared out of the tent.

      How could he be so coherent when she most definitely wasn’t? By the time she’d asked herself just what made him think she was staying in his tent all night, and started to work up some healthy outrage, he’d returned.

      With her sleeping bag and a torch.

      ‘You can say no,’ he said, clearly reading the expression on her face, ‘but I’d like you to have the choice. You can go back to your own tent, no strings. Or you can stay with me—if we zip our bags together, we’ll have more room. And more warmth.’

      Warmth. She couldn’t help smiling. ‘We’re on the edge of an ice field.’

      ‘It’s about four hours’ walk away, but that’s near enough.’ He spread his hands. ‘Are you staying or going?’

      The sensible thing would be to go. But she hadn’t finished either. She wanted to explore him. Tangle her fingers in that glorious hair. ‘Staying.’

      A slow, brilliant smile spread over his face. ‘I’m glad.’ His voice dropped to a sultry whisper. ‘And, even better, I get to unwrap you.’

      ‘One condition,’ she interrupted.

      ‘Name it.’

      ‘You strip for me after that.’

      ‘Deal.’ And, as before, he sealed it with a kiss—a kiss that started out as a light, friendly tribute and suddenly tipped into something much, much hotter. She heard a hiss, and then he was crouching in front of her. ‘Mmm. The first thing I noticed about you was your eyes.’ He gave her a mischievous look. ‘I’ll be thinking about some other parts of you now.’

      She felt herself blush, and he grinned. ‘Don’t be shy. You’re beautiful, Rowena. And the only reason I’m covering you up is because you’re going to get cold otherwise.’ Deftly, he zipped the two bags together.

      ‘Your turn,’ she said softly.

      ‘Um. Can we take a rain check?’

      ‘Welching on the deal?’

      ‘No. But I’ve got a torch on. And anybody outside who looks over at my tent is going to see exactly what’s happening inside.’

      If her face had felt hot before, now it was a couple of thousand degrees warmer. Hell. She hadn’t even thought about that. ‘And without the torch?’ Please, don’t let anyone have realised what they’d been doing. And they’d both been quiet…hadn’t they?

      ‘Without the torch, they’ll see nothing.’

      Relief surged through her. She reached over and switched off the light. ‘I wanted to see you.’

      ‘Tomorrow,’ he promised. She heard the rustling of his clothes, and then he crawled into the sleeping bag beside her.

      This time, they savoured each other. Stroked every bit of skin, learned where each other liked being touched, where the sensitive spots were. Luke discovered an erogenous zone Rowena hadn’t even known existed, in the curve of her elbow. And she got to tangle her fingers in his hair.

      ‘Beautiful hair,’ she said. Soft and silky. And it smelt good, too. ‘I bet you got into trouble at hospital for this.’

      ‘No. It was shorter eighteen months ago.’

      Eighteen months and four days. The memory snapped into her mind. Was that the day his partner had died? And he hadn’t cut his hair since. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories for you.’

      ‘Hey.’ He rubbed his cheek against hers. ‘No pasa nada.’

      ‘El Mariachi,’ she said, half to herself.

      He chuckled. ‘I’m no musician.’

      ‘Musician?’

      ‘It’s the translation,’ he said helpfully. ‘But I’ll take that as a compliment.’

      She nuzzled his skin, liking his scent. ‘It was one,’ she said softly. The actor was her fantasy man, but Luke MacKenzie was real. And he was here. Holding her.

      ‘Hmm. I like you, Rowena Thompson.’

      ‘I like you, too.’

      ‘Show me how much.’

      She grinned, and did so.

      The next morning, Rowena opened one eye. Either she’d had a peculiarly vivid dream, or there really was a warm body moulded round hers. An arm clamped round her waist, warm breath against her cheek…

      And this wasn’t her tent.

      She remembered her night with Luke and her mouth went dry.

      ‘You’re awake, then?’ The arm round her waist pulled her back against him. ‘Good morning.’

      She couldn’t remember feeling shy like this before. ‘Good morning.’ She could barely get the words out.

      His lips nuzzled the back of her neck. ‘Mmm. You feel nice.’

      ‘Um, what time is it?’

      ‘Early. No one else is up yet.’

      So she could sneak back into her own tent with nobody the wiser.

      As if he guessed what she was thinking, he let her go. ‘Regrets?’

      She couldn’t answer that one. Not truthfully. He’d been a skilful lover, and she couldn’t ever remember being that sated before. She just didn’t want people gossiping about them.

      He turned her to face him. ‘We can pretend it didn’t happen.’

      She couldn’t read his expression. She pushed down against her feelings of rejection. What they’d done last night had been completely out of character—for both of them, if he was telling the truth. And she could understand why they’d done it. They’d both been lonely, mourning, desperate to reaffirm life. It was hardly surprising that they’d ended up as they had. ‘We could.’

      ‘Or…’ He stroked her cheek. СКАЧАТЬ