Valentine's Day. Nicola Marsh

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      ‘It’ll be back tomorrow.’

      She nodded. But still they didn’t move.

      ‘Why are we here, Zander?’ she breathed into the fading light.

      He stared at her in the rapidly cooling, darkening evening. ‘Because you followed me up here?’

      Half of her was terrified he’d just shrug and blame tradition. That this thing between them wasn’t mutual. But she wasn’t about to be put off so easily. ‘Here, by the twinkling water as the sun sets.’

      ‘Do you want to leave?’ he murmured, eyes locked on hers.

      She should. ‘No.’

      ‘Do you want to feel?’

      Her lungs locked up. Suddenly the grass and cows and water around them seemed to grow as if the two of them had just hauled themselves over the top of a beanstalk, forcing them closer together and making the scant distance separating them into something negligible.

      Her pulse began to hammer in earnest.

      Zander raised his hand and slipped it behind her head, lowering his forehead to rest on hers. His heat radiated outwards. His eyes drifted shut.

      She hesitated for only a moment, then turned her face to rub her jaw along his, twisting inwards, seeking out the lips that hunted for hers. The full lips she’d been wanting to taste since she’d seen them stained with bolognese sauce and a smile in the restaurant kitchen.

      Was that how long she’d been wanting it for?

      Her breath came heavy and fast and mingled with his. Then she turned inwards, drawn by the plaintive breath that was her name on his lips. Their mouths touched. Sensation sparked between them and birthed a flame, hot and raw. Zander pressed their lips more firmly together, leaned into her. Curled his fingers into the hair at her nape. Georgia pressed a hand to the damp, cool earth and used it to lever herself closer to him, to hold the connection fast. To explore and taste and experience. His breath became hers. Her breath sustained them both. She kissed him harder. Greedy for his taste.

      Desire raged up around them as though the setting sun had boiled the waters of the firth and they’d spilled over to the banks where they lay.

      And, yes, it was lay. Somehow, between one desperate breath and the next, they’d sunk down to the grass and Zander twisted half over her. She couldn’t remember getting there. Her entire consciousness was consumed with the press of his mouth against hers and the weight of his body on hers. He leaned on his elbows, both hands free to tangle in her hair, his mouth free to roam wherever it pleased.

      And, boy, did it please.

      Her head spun, her chest squeezed, her insides squirmed. Every cell in her body cried out to just merge with his. As though they recognised their chemical equal.

      It wasn’t until his thigh slid down between hers that reality intruded.

      For both of them.

      She twisted her face away from his and sucked in a breath of fresh coastal air. Sweeter and colder than anything they got in London. It helped to clear her muddled head, just a little.

      Zander lifted his lips and stared down at her. Speechless.

      ‘Um...’ What more could she say?

      Where the hell had that come from?

      One minute they were talking and the next she was crawling down his throat, hungry for more of the best kiss she’d ever had.

      He pressed back up, grinding closer where it really counted and sending a new wave of heat to her cheeks. He twisted sideways and his heavy, sexy weight lifted off her.

      She missed him instantly.

      She sat up and blew air slowly through swollen lips.

      ‘Georgia, I—’ He cut himself off to clear his throat.

      She couldn’t bear to hear him apologise, or declare it a mistake or express remorse. Not for a kiss like that. Not him. So she jumped in before he could start again, laughing lightly. Faking heavily. ‘Chalk it up to your post-race high? All those conquering impulses?’

      He’d conquered her all right—like a Viking. And that thought triggered a rush of new images and sensations. God, how she’d love to just lie back and concede defeat.

      Weighing up his choices showed in his face, even in the dim light. ‘We could say that.’

      She took a breath.

      ‘Or we could acknowledge the chemistry that’s been between us since we met.’

      Acknowledge it sounded a lot like forgiving it. Releasing it.

      Ignoring it.

      ‘Since we met?’ Though she still remembered the spark as he’d handed her the coat out at Wakehurst.

      ‘It had to come to a head at some time.’

      ‘You ignored me for so many weeks.’

      ‘I was trying to ignore it. Not you. Our relationship was a professional one.’

      Past tense? ‘And now?’

      ‘Now it’s going to be even harder keeping things professional.’

      ‘Back in London?’ Back in the real world. Where adrenaline-fuelled kisses and dramatic sunsets didn’t happen.

      ‘It would be inappropriate for me to start something with you.’

      ‘Inappropriate?’ She sat up and tucked her knees to her chest. How politically correct.

      He followed her upright. ‘I’m the manager of the station running your promotion. I sign the cheques that pay for your classes.’

      And would do for months yet.

      ‘And it’s not fair to you, either. You’re not equipped for something like this.’

      She sat back, hard. Shook her head. ‘Like what?’

      ‘Something happening between us.’

      Not everyone’s cut out for seduction, he’d joked back at spy school, though maybe it hadn’t been entirely a joke. She had failed abysmally at flirting her way to information from a stranger in class, though Zander’s eyes had remained glued to her the whole time. But that was...you know...a stranger. And this was Zander.

      Totally different situation.

      Though maybe not for him. How cruel to kiss her half to death, to make her feel so desirable, and then to back-pedal so very obviously.

      He rambled on. ‘This was—’

      Fantastic? Overdue?

      ‘—an aberration.’

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