The Wedding Party Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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see inside his head, fathom what he was thinking.
But his intentions became no clearer with each day that followed. Each evening Damon would come home, play a little with her and T.J. and Demetra—sometimes Savvas would be there, too—and afterward he’d take her out. Once it was to see a movie she’d idly mentioned wanting to see, a couple of times he took her to dinner and on Thursday night he took her to a jazz concert. He was attentive, amusing and charming—a far cry from the hostile, critical man of the past. Rebecca was discovering a side of him that she’d never known existed. A side of him that made her crave more time in his company.
This was what she’d wanted—Damon to like her. For herself.
So that she could tell him the truth, so that he would believe she’d done what she had for the best reasons in the world, a little mischievous voice whispered. Because she’d wanted to spare him. But the man staring at her oozed confidence and power and far too much sex appeal for his own good. Her heart jolted. The blue eyes seared her, making her burn up inside and convincing her to push aside the little voice. Just a few days longer, she told herself, then she’d tell him. A few precious days to treasure this connection between them.
Because she knew it wouldn’t last.
By Friday night Rebecca was ready to crack. It had been a busy week and she’d gotten lots done on the wedding. But it wasn’t the wedding that had her in a tizz, it was Damon. Aside from the occasional hand under her elbow, he hadn’t touched her, hadn’t kissed her, and it was driving her mad.
She was confused. Out of her depth.
And she suspected he knew it.
They were meeting at seven on the deck for a drink. She’d forgotten to ask what they were doing tonight, forgotten to check if Demetra and Savvas could babysit T.J. No doubt Damon had it all under control. Like everything else in his life—including her.
Rebecca wasn’t sure if she could endure another night out with the perfect escort…leaving her uncertain and yearning for more afterward.
It was seven o’clock on the dot when Rebecca stepped out through the ranch sliders onto the spacious raised deck overlooking the long sunken pool that reflected the crimson rays of the sinking sun.
Something tightened in Damon’s chest as she paused, stilling for an instant before she stepped forward. A pair of black pants in a soft fabric swirled around her legs, and she wore high strappy sandals that made her look tall and lithe and incredibly sexy. His gazed moved up to the peacock-blue shirt that hugged her lush breasts, lingering briefly at the unbuttoned vee neckline where a blue opal set in gold dangled against her creamy skin. His brows contracted at the sight of the expensive pendant. Soon she would be his. She would wear jewellery he bought for her, not baubles from other men.
He leashed the primal wave of possessiveness that flooded him and jerked his eyes back to her face. “A punctual woman,” he drawled. “A pearl beyond price.”
She looked unsettled. Then she smiled her slow, sexy smile and heat kicked through him. He forgot about the opal, about the man who’d bought it for her.
“Old habits die hard,” she said, sitting down on the chair he’d drawn up for her and taking the glass of white wine he held out with a smile of thanks.
“Yes, I remember that about you. You always had a reputation for being professional in your business dealings.” He frowned. Her private reputation had been very different indeed.
A shadow fell across her face.
“What are you thinking?” He couldn’t rid himself of this compulsion to delve into her thoughts, crawl under her skin to find out what made her tick.
“Nothing,” she said. She touched the opal at her neck.
“Tell me.”
She drew a breath. “It was Aaron who drilled the importance of punctuality into me. Your comment made me remember how much he taught me.”
Damon forced himself not to glance at the pendant. He didn’t want to think about her dead husband any more than he wanted to think about his dead wife. He didn’t want the past or the future intruding. All he wanted was tonight—and the intriguing woman sitting beside him.
His woman. From tonight.
Until he tired of her. As he knew he would. It couldn’t be otherwise.
He moved his chair closer and changed the subject. “What do you think of the wine?”
Rebecca lifted the glass to her lips. “Mmm. Buttery. Like a good Chardonnay should be.” She held the glass up against the last rays of the evening light. The liquid turned to pure gold. “Good colour, too.” Another sip. “Chilled. There’s a hint of something else there…something slightly sweet.”
“Melon? Pineapple?” Damon found he enjoyed teasing her.
She slanted him a wry look. “Honey, I think.”
“Honey?”
Honey reminded him of that too-brief kiss they’d shared at lunch the other day. She had tasted of honey. Sweet. Addictive. He could feel his eyes darkening, could feel the heavy languor in his limbs as he remembered the desire that had forked through him.
Rebecca had gone utterly still, caught in the same intense thrall that ensnared him. She gave a shiver and rubbed her arms.
“Cold?” he asked softly. But he knew it wasn’t cold that had caused the rows of goose bumps that disappeared under the sleeves of her shirt. It was excitement. The same raw excitement that writhed within him.
She shook her head.
“Rebecca—”
“Where’s Demetra?” she interrupted. “Where’s Savvas?”
He sat back, forced himself to relax, to take it slowly. One step at a time. “Demetra said she wanted to see glowworms, so Savvas whipped her away to Waitomo. They plan to go blackwater rafting as well. They won’t be back until Sunday afternoon at the earliest.” He grinned wickedly. “There’s no need to wait up for them.”
“What about Jane? I’d hate to think she’s waiting for us to eat.” Rebecca sounded rattled. She took another quick sip of wine, leaned forward to set her glass down on the patio table.
He moved closer, enjoying her loss of composure. He wanted to see her abandon her cool, her poise. “Jane left about half an hour ago for the weekend. She prepared a cold spread. We’ll eat when you’re ready. The night is still young.”
“And Johnny?”
“Johnny’s gone to tea at his daughter’s—he is a grandfather twice over now. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
He waited.
She didn’t disappoint him. Her eyes widened, darkening as the import of his words struck her. “That means…” Her voice became husky, trailed off.
“That we are alone.”
She stared wordlessly at him, her eyes huge, dark and velvety.
He placed a hand over hers. Her fingers were icy. “Except for T.J.—”
“He’s…he’s sleeping,” she stuttered.
“Then, yes, we are alone.”
She shuddered convulsively.
He let his fingers stroke over the back of her hand, softly, over her pale bare wrists, up her arm. The sleek, silky material of her sleeve clung to his fingers. His hand rested against the soft skin of her throat and then he placed his index finger under her chin. Her head tilted up.
Her lovely eyes were wary, but beneath the uncertainty there was a flare of fire.
“You know what I plan to do, don’t you?”
“Yes.” A whisper.
But