The Blind-Date Bride. Emma Darcy
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her mouth…and lose out on having Zack Freeman as her lover for one night.
This immensely desirable man…
Even in profile he was strikingly handsome. And his aggressively male physique had a sexual power which stirred basic instincts she could neither ignore nor deny. More than that, every time he looked at her, his eyes seemed to connect to what she was thinking, what she was feeling…dark burning eyes, challenging her to acknowledge that the desire between them was real. Not a fantasy. Real and urgent and compelling. Every jangling nerve end in her body was still affirming this reality.
Whether it was right or wrong for her…was such a question relevant at this point?
She was over thirty. Thirty-one. And going nowhere with the man who’d monopolised her interest for the past few years. It was time to face the fact that Stuart Carstairs was a footloose philanderer and always would be. Zack Freeman might be one, too, for all she knew, but at least he wasn’t pretending to have fallen in love with her and he’d been honest about not holding out more than one night with him. This blind date did not have a blind end to it. She knew precisely what was on offer.
Well, not precisely. Her imagination was running riot, fueled by the feelings Zack had stirred in her. It might be a wild, reckless act to ride this tide until time ran out but she didn’t want to go home wondering what it might have been like. She needed to know there was something more than Stuart had given her, something she could look for in the future, knowing it was real.
The car slowed, turned into Crystal Street, the road to Pete’s place. ‘We’re going to Forresters?’ she blurted out, seized by the panicky thought that he had changed his mind, deciding she wasn’t worth losing sleep over.
‘No.’ He flashed her a smile that sparkled with anticipation. ‘To a little bay just past the headland at Forresters. You’ll see. It’s the perfect place for us.’
Perfect… He didn’t have any doubts. There was no struggle over any sense of right or wrong in his conscience. It was full steam ahead for Zack Freeman. And maybe that was part of his strength, part of his overwhelming attraction. He knew what he wanted and went after it with single-minded purpose.
They turned right at the end of Crystal Street. The car climbed a steep hill—the headland—went over it and down the other side, turning sharp left and coming to a halt in a large dead-end parking circle that was closed in by a nature reserve, a thick belt of trees and bushes cutting off any sight of the ocean.
Shadows from overhanging foliage put them in a pool of darkness. There were no other vehicles here. The sense of being very much alone with Zack Freeman sent a quiver of apprehension down Catherine’s spine. Was she mad to do this? Was she?
Then he was opening the passenger door, drawing her out of the car and into an embrace that shot a flood of positive responses through her body, swamping any chilling fears. He planted soft little kisses around her face, gentle smiling kisses, transmitting a pleasure in her that Catherine revelled in.
‘Do you have a rug in the boot of the car?’ he murmured.
She always kept a picnic rug there. More a rubber-backed mat than a rug. It could be laid on damp ground. Or firm, wave-washed sand. She could hear the ocean now, booming behind the trees, and the idea of a secluded little beach all to themselves misted what they’d be using the rug for in a romantic haze.
‘Yes,’ she said, and knew it was a yes to all that might ensue, regardless of how reckless it was.
Again he cupped her cheek, subjecting her eyes to an intense focus from his. ‘I didn’t come prepared for this. Tell me now, Catherine, do I need to use…’
‘No. There’s no risk. Unless…’ Did he have sex indiscriminately, whenever and wherever the urge took him?
He read her question and shook his head. ‘I’ve always been careful.’ His mouth tilted ruefully. ‘You’re the only woman who’s made me forget…momentarily…what intimacy can lead to.’
The power of his desire for her was exhilarating. The only woman… And he was the only man who had ever incited this compelling sense of need in her. A man of control, she thought giddily, a man she could trust to look after her.
He collected the picnic rug from the boot of the car, then took her hand, holding it with warm possessive strength as he led her onto a paved path that wound through the nature reserve. It stopped where the beach began. With the shadows of the bushland behind them and the full moon lighting their way, it was easy to see the boards marking sand-filled steps which took them down a long dune to the seashore.
‘Sit for a minute,’ Zack commanded, pausing to drop the rug on the step behind them. ‘I’ll take your shoes off.’
The first bit of undressing, Catherine thought, her heart thumping erratically as she sank onto the rug-covered step and Zack descended a couple more before crouching to remove her shoes. She hadn’t worn stockings or pantihose. It was a hot night. It felt even hotter as Zack handled her ankles, undoing the crisscross straps, his fingers sliding along the soles of her feet with each shoe removal, making her toes twitch from the sensitivity aroused by his touch.
‘Cramp?’ he asked.
‘No. Just…’
He massaged her toes anyway, leaving her speechless and breathless.
It was some slight relief when he handed over her shoes and sat down beside her to take off his own, which were casual slip-ons, no socks.
Rather than stare at his naked feet, she trained her gaze on the big surf which was crashing onto a circle of rocks, sending up spectacular sprays, their froth gleaming white in the moonlight. The rocks enclosed a small bay, reducing the waves rolling past them to small swells, a safe swimming area close to the beach.
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