No. He wanted to strip off the dress rendered see-through by the evening sun streaming in and tumble her to the sofa so much it was addling his brain, a brain that was already running on empty thanks to a severe lack of sleep. He’d had an uncomfortable night, and not just because his six-foot-three frame was too big for this room’s compact two-seater sofa. Enveloped by the warm, velvety darkness, the still silence broken only by the cicadas chirruping in the vines, he’d tossed and turned, his imagination going into overdrive as he’d revisited the events of the day.
What if he’d kissed Orla awake instead of shaking her shoulder? had been the thought rolling around his head even though he was no fairy-tale prince. What if he’d capitalised on the brief flare of desire he’d caught in the depths of her eyes the moment before she’d leapt from the bed as if it were on fire?
His imagination hadn’t cared about how inappropriate that would have been. His imagination had embraced hindsight, which recognised that she quite possibly felt the attraction too, and had gone wild, bombarding his head with visions of the two of them setting the sheets alight until he’d had to head to an old disused bathroom to take an ice-cold shower, where finally he’d found relief.
‘All right,’ he said, his mind teeming with ideas about how he might make the most of the situation that had landed in his lap. ‘I’ll honour your deal.’
‘Thank you,’ she said with a brief, confident nod, as if she’d expected his agreement all along. ‘And the one between us?’
The one that meant he wouldn’t have to find someone else to finish readying the estate, provided the chance to get the answers to the questions he had and offered him the potential to find out if she was as attracted to him as he was to her and, if so, do something about it? It was a no-brainer.
‘That one too.’