Hot August Nights. Christine Flynn

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      She glanced toward the sky, wondering if she’d find a full moon. That might help explain the odd sense of dissatisfaction that had sunk its claws into her.

      She didn’t see the moon at all.

      “It was just…frustrating.”

      “Because your brother didn’t show?”

      That sounded so petty. And it was. But it wasn’t any one thing getting to her. It was the accumulation.

      “Among other things,” she murmured.

      There was a time when Matt would have told himself to let it go. To pack her into a cab and get her out of there. This was the woman who had backed away from him every time he’d come within ten feet of her, who had barely said a word to him even when he’d gone out of his way to get her to speak. From the time he’d first laid eyes on her, when she’d been all legs and long hair and all of fourteen, she’d done everything but twitch her nose to disappear in order to avoid him.

      He could have sworn she had intended to continue to treat him like one of the great unwashed when she’d first arrived. Yet, it seemed that he had misread her. She didn’t seem at all intent on avoiding him now.

      He watched her swirl the pale liquid. Her expression pensive, her thoughts clearly troubled, she seemed far different from the untouchable little princess he’d last seen nearly ten years ago. There was no mistaking her polish or refinement. There was a grace about her that went beyond the impeccable clothes and flawless skin. Yet, even looking as privileged as she truly was, she seemed softer to him, more…touchable.

      In the muted light spilling through the windows, her hair looked like pale silk. The way she had it caught at the back of her head fairly taunted a man to undo the intricate clasp restraining it, free it to tumble over her shoulders. And her skin. In the shadows it looked as smooth and perfect as marble. Her eyes were what drew him, though, the gentleness he saw there.

      Curious, taunted by a vulnerability he never would have expected, he heard himself ask, “Like what?”

      “Well for one thing,” she said, looking as if she might be struggling to admit it, “I’ve discovered that I lack…guts.”

      “Guts?”

      “You know. Nerve.”

      Fascinated by the admission, he watched her frown.

      “Anything in particular you want this nerve for?”

      “To do something freeing.”

      “Freeing?”

      The pinch of her delicate forehead deepened, her pensive expression making him wonder if the wine might be making her a little more thoughtful, or more candid, than she might have otherwise been.

      “Make that something…outrageous.”

      “For instance?”

      “Oh, I don’t know.” Looking very much as if she were only now considering it, she moved to the railing and lifted the goblet toward the dark water. “Maybe taking that boat and heading off where no one could find me.”

      “You sail?”

      She shook her head, turned her glance back to the water. A faint breeze tugged at her hair, loosening a few of the shorter strands around her face. “Not without a crew. And that would defeat the whole purpose.”

      “That’s not outrageous. That’s just escape.” He recognized that need easily enough. He’d just never expected that she would feel it. “Next choice?”

      “How about throwing my dinner at the next waiter who interrupts eight times to ask if everything is prepared to my liking?”

      “A food fight at Four Seasons. Yeah,” he muttered, nodding as he considered. “That might be a little shocking.” He smiled. “What else?”

      She pondered for a moment, clearly searching for what, for her, would be scandalous behavior. “Skinny-dipping.”

      His glance cut to where she stood at the rail. He didn’t know how tall she was. Five-five maybe, without the heels that brought her to his chin. But he had no trouble estimating the size and proportion of the rest of her slender, supple-looking body.

      He’d been conscious of her since the moment he’d opened the front door. He had not, however, been prepared for the jolt of pure physical awareness he’d felt when he’d caught her by the arms moments ago. He’d barely had his hands on her, barely breathed in her subtle, faintly erotic scent and every nerve in his body had gone on alert. Then, she’d looked up at him and his glance had settled on the gentle part of her lips. Her lush mouth had looked soft, moist and as ripe as a peach. And the prospect of tasting her had turned certain parts of his anatomy as hard as stone.

      “You think you’d do that?” he asked casually.

      “No.” She sounded disappointed. “But it sounds like something that would take nerve.”

      “For some people.”

      “Have you done it?”

      He lifted one shoulder in an offhanded shrug. “The water’s warm in Tahiti.”

      Ashley’s glance moved from his broad shoulders to his narrows hips, then jerked back to where the low security lights made shadows on the boat in the distance. She had a profound appreciation for art in all its forms and his body, magnificently, gloriously naked would definitely be a work of art. As for experiencing the freedom of being naked in the water herself, she couldn’t imagine the sheer lack of inhibition doing something like that would take.

      At the moment, growing more relaxed by the wine, protected by the darkness, she realized she truly hated being inhibited.

      “What does it feel like? Being that…free.”

      She felt rather than saw the faint lift of his shoulder above hers. “Good, I guess.”

      “I mean really.” She waved her glass toward the vast darkness beyond them. “How does it feel to not care about convention and just go where the moment leads you?”

      “What makes you think I know?”

      She knew he did. Actually, she was dead sure of it. Her memory about why that was just seemed a little fuzzy at the moment. And, as relaxed as she was and, surprisingly, not feeling nervous at all, it didn’t seem to matter anyway. “You don’t?”

      Matt reached over, slipped the glass from her fingers. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.” He took a swallow of wine. Rather than handing the goblet back, he kept it for himself. “In your mind, is going for a swim without a suit the most outrageous thing you could do?”

      He spoke quietly, thoughtfully, as if he really wanted to know her secrets. As if learning them might tell him something he had always wanted to know.

      The thought that he might have always wanted to know more about her drew her eyes to the shadowed angles of his face. The years had carved character into his compelling features and СКАЧАТЬ