The Italian's Baby of Passion. Susan Stephens
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not on offer! Once more with a little more conviction, Scarlet.
While she was still thinking he took action and a step that brought him closer, close enough for her to smell the warm male scent that rose from his body. The smile, the dangerous confident smile on his face kick-started her pulse. Now was the time to tell him she wasn’t interested, spell it out once and for all.
She instinctively knew that with Roman saying no would be enough.
She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out to break the silence. His movements were unhurried, deliberate even, but for Scarlet he seemed to move in slow motion. She wasn’t aware that she had been holding her breath until he took her face between his big hands.
Her breath escaped in a series of uneven gasps as his brown fingers moved along the curve of her jaw.
‘You have lovely hair,’ he rasped, releasing the clip that confined her curls on top of her head. Quite deliberately he fanned it out around her face, running his fingers through the silky damp strands.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s brown.’
Roman paused in the act of sliding his hands down her back. A baffled expression crossed his handsome face. ‘This is something you need to apologise for?’
‘And it’s too fine. I can’t do anything with it.’
She felt his laughter. ‘Brown and fine suits your face.’
He tilted her head back to inspect the face he referred to. Scarlet was very conscious of his other hand, which was resting very firmly on the curve of her bottom.
‘A nice face,’ he decided just before he kissed her.
Scarlet gave a sigh as all the strength left her limbs. She had no choice or, for that matter, desire to do anything but let her body mould itself to his lithe, lean male frame.
‘Please…Roman,’ she moaned when his head lifted. She buried her own in his shoulder with a muffled sob.
He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to him. ‘Please what?’
‘This is stupid. You know this is stupid. Things are complicated enough without putting…’ the colour deepened in her cheeks ‘…this,’ she added with an agonised grimace, ‘into the equation.’
‘This is not going to complicate things,’ he contradicted, running a finger over the downy soft curve of her cheek. A distracted expression drifted over his hard, strong-boned features. ‘God, but your skin is so soft,’ he marvelled, his voice a deep, throaty purr. ‘So incredibly soft.’
Scarlet dragged his hand from her face. It was so large compared to hers, his brown fingers long and tapering, she could feel the definite suggestion of calluses on his palm. These were not the hands of a man who was desk-bound.
As if reading her mind he offered an explanation. ‘The gym bores me. I prefer to climb; it helps me concentrate.’
Once he’d said it she had no problem seeing him clinging to a rock face, using a combination of skill, strength and recklessness, pitting himself against a rock face and the elements, solo because he was not a natural team player.
‘There’s not much climbing to be had in London.’
‘There are some very good climbing walls, though, and I don’t live in the city all the time.’
Responding to a sudden crazy impulse, she raised his hand to her mouth and pressed an open-mouthed kiss into his open palm.
She felt his sharp inhalation and with a self-condemnatory groan dropped his fingers as though burnt, which in a way she was. The expression ‘playing with fire’ could have been created specially to cover this situation.
‘Sorry!’ she said in an agonised whisper. ‘I shouldn’t have. This is not sensible.’
A reckless-sounding laugh was wrenched from his throat. ‘Who needs sensible?’
Scarlet lifted her head. ‘Me.’
His dark, glittering eyes scanned her face. ‘Fine, then look at it this way. Let’s use what we’re feeling.’
Scarlet managed to drag her eyes from his mouth. Her brain felt slow and stupid as she parroted, ‘“Use” it? Use what?’
‘The fact there is a strong sexual attraction.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘What do you normally do when you feel this way?’
A difficult question to answer honestly when she had never felt this way before. She had never longed to plaster herself against a man she barely knew; she had not fantasised about feeling his weight on top of her or wanted to explore every inch of his body with her hands and lips. Honesty was clearly not an option here.
‘I don’t do anything. I’m too busy for relationships and I don’t do one-night stands.’ She could understand it if he found her last claim difficult to believe after the way she’d behaved.
‘I doubt if one night would be sufficient.’ Roman slanted her a heavy-eyed look of such sensuous promise that her knees trembled. ‘You would date the guy…right?’
‘“Date…?”’ she echoed as though he were talking a foreign language. ‘You’re not suggesting me going to dinner or the movies with you is going to help anything?’
‘When you are attracted to a man and the feeling is reciprocated that is what most people do…though dinner is not essential and personally I’m adaptable and could skip this preliminary stage of the mating ritual.’
‘Too much detail!’ she interrupted, holding up her hand to halt the flow of information and shaking her head vigorously from side to side.
‘Think about it. Sam needs to get to know me, but not in a forced, fake way. If we were dating—’
‘Which we’re not.’
‘If I was the new boyfriend we’d be bound to spend time together.’
He sounded so damned pleased with himself Scarlet was torn between laughter and hysterical tears. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? You want me to pretend we’re going out together so you can get to know Sam.’
Me the girlfriend of Roman O’Hagan—sure, and the world really is going to believe that. Heavens, even a three-year-old would see through that one!
‘Not pretend, no.’
The colour seeped out of her face and then flooded back. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Sam must be used to seeing your boyfriends around the place?’
She shook her head, still stunned by his suggestion. ‘No, he isn’t.’
‘Don’t you have a social life, then?’ he asked, clearly not taking her statement at face value.
‘Of course I have a social life. I go to a yoga class and I belong to a quilting—’
His dark brows twitched. ‘Quilting? I frequently can’t tell if you’re on the level or you’re trying to wind me up.’
‘I don’t see why me talking about quilting can possibly be considered trying to wind you up.’
‘I’m not talking about quilting!’ he exploded.
‘Quilting is very relaxing,’ she informed him with dignity. ‘And you have something pretty and practical to show for your efforts at the end of the day. I’ve not got very far yet, but just because you’ve no aptitude for something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stick with it.’
‘I am sticking with it but I can’t guarantee for how long. Will you quit talking about quilting?’ he revealed in a low, driven tone. ‘I’m talking about sex, unless you’ve