'You didn't know him.'
'No. But I know you.'
For some reason his gentleness upset her.
'Well, I wasn't sorry. At least not for us. For him. For me. But not for us.'
If she had hoped to shock him she was disappointed. He just, very softly, lifted one hand to her chin and tilted it up towards him.
'And now? What now? Are you still sorry for yourself? Still afraid?'
She pulled her chin away, eyes sparkling greenly. 'No. And I don't need your particular brand of therapy, thank you.' 'And what brand is that?'
'Sex!' she blurted out. It was a mistake, an admission of a kind, and physical awareness snaked out to encircle them both.
'You should wait until you're asked,' he murmured mockingly, 'but would that be so awful? Sex has nothing to do with possession, not in the psychic sense—it's a sharing, giving and taking in equal measure. I have no intention of hurting you, Sarah.'
'Then leave me alone.' That smooth, creamy, coaxing voice slid insidiously along her sensitive nerves.
'Your lips say one thing, your eyes another,' he said, reaching out for her.
'You arrogant, conceited—' she gasped as an arm fastened around her waist, curving her close to him on the soft cushion of grass. His other hand came up behind the damp coronet of her hair and his mouth neared hers, lips curving, parting. Fearful . . . wanting . . . she closed her eyes and waited for the soft touch of his mouth and when it didn't come she opened her eyes again to find him grinning at her.
'See?'
Her teeth snapped shut and she wrenched herself away and scrambled to her feet. So he thought she was going to succumb easily to that practised charm! She almost made it away from him, but he was too fast for her, grabbing her ankle as she stepped out, and the result was an ignominious tumble down the slope almost to the foot of the rocks.
She was still lying, breathless, in a little sandy hollow when he reached her, placing his hands on her bare waist, holding her down, laughing openly as she hit out wildly. It was all a great game to him, he didn't care whether he was hurting her or not.
Her blows had no effect. He merely held her until at last she stopped and lay panting, glaring at him, hot and flustered by the sun and the struggle and the pressure of his hands against her ribcage. She was terribly conscious of their lack of clothing, only her two scraps of fabric and his thin blue swimming briefs between convention and nakedness. She moved restlessly, feeling the delicious languor of desire begin to weight her limbs.
Suddenly, disappointingly, he let her go and sat back on his heels. Sarah, bewildered by a sense of loss, lay staring at the thin, serious face. No trace of his former mockery remained, only a kind of tender restraint that made Sarah's heart lurch oddly.
'That was unfair of me,' he said, amazingly. 'I don't want to make you do anything that you will regret. All I want to do is kiss you ... or rather, for you to kiss me.'
Sarah's eyes widened. Max humble? Max asking? She must be hallucinating! In her experience men didn't usually ask, they took first and asked later!
'I. . .' What could she say? Yes, I want to kiss you but I don't want to want to? Remembering what had happened the last time she shivered, she had gone in over her head.
Max met her uncertain gaze quite openly as she too got up on to her knees, wanting to brush the sand from herself but afraid to draw his attention to her betraying body, which still felt warm and tingly.
'Look, no hands,' he said softly, and spread his arms, palm up, out from his sides.
Was this another part of his game? Sarah, distrustful, was yet bewitched by that uncharacteristic supplication of his. Her eyes were drawn to that firm, flirtatious mouth, and she imagined renewing her acquaintance with its pleasures.
'Promise?' she murmured absently.
'Cross my heart,' was the grave reply.
Her eyes fell from his mouth to his chest, where the dark hair curled damp, now matted with sand and a few thin Strands of grass. As she watched, the tenor of his breathing changed, became slower, the rise and fall of his chest acquiring a deep, hypnotic rhythm. There was a peculiar attraction in knowing that he was waiting on her, that he had placed the situation firmly in her hands. That she was in control.
Tentatively, she touched him, she couldn't help it, resting a hand just above his heart, feeling the strong, rapid beat. It was like feeling the beat of her own heart.
'Sarah?' the word was low, husky, almost strained, and she looked up. The expression on his face made her tremble inside.
Very carefully she moved closer and kissed him, very quickly and lightly on the lips and drew back. No threatening reaction, he merely knelt there, waiting. Feeling bolder, she kissed him again. Again no reaction; it was like kissing a warm statue, and just as unsatisfactory.
'What's the matter?' he asked of her frown.