‘When earlier?’
‘Dawn. Before you were up.’
The croissant hurtled back to the plate and her hands slammed to her hips. He backed up a step. ‘I wasn’t casting aspersions on your croissant-making abilities. But I wanted a back-up plan because...because I wanted to eat croissants.’ Because she’d seemed so set on them.
Her glare didn’t abate. ‘What else have you been doing at the crack of dawn each morning?’
He shook his head, at a loss. ‘Nothing, why?’
‘Have you been running into the village and back every morning?’
He frowned. ‘I took the car.’ Anyway, he wasn’t up to running that distance yet. And he hadn’t felt like walking. Every day he felt a little stronger, but... It hadn’t occurred to him to run into the village. Or to run anywhere for that matter. Except with her on the beach, when it was his turn to choose their daily activities. Only then he didn’t make her jog anyway. They usually walked the length of the beach and then swam back.
‘Or...or throwing yourself off cliffs or...or kite surfing or—’
He crowded in close then, his own temper rising, and it made her eyes widen...and darken. ‘That wouldn’t be in the spirit of the deal we made, would it?’
She visibly swallowed. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘And I’m a man of my word.’
Her gaze momentarily lowered to his lips before lifting again. ‘You’re also a self-professed adrenaline junkie.’
Except the adrenaline flooding his body at the moment had nothing to do with extreme sports. It had to do with the perfect shape of Audra’s mouth and the burning need to know what she’d taste like. Would she taste of peaches and coconut? Coffee and croissant? Salty or sweet? His skin tightened, stretching itself across his frame in torturous tautness.
Her breathing grew shallow and a light flared to life in her eyes and he knew she’d recognised his hunger, his need, but she didn’t move away, didn’t retreat. Instead her gaze roved across his face and lingered for a beat too long on his mouth, and her lips parted with an answering hunger.
‘A man of his word?’ she murmured, swaying towards him.
Her words penetrated the fog surrounding his brain. What are you doing? You can’t kiss her!
He snapped away, his breathing harsh. Silence echoed off the walls for three heart-rending beats and then he heard her fussing around behind him...dumping the failed croissants in the bin, rinsing the oven trays. ‘Thank you for buying backup croissants, Finn.’
He closed his eyes and counted to three, before turning around. He found her surveying him, her tone nonchalant and untroubled—as if she hadn’t been about to reach up on her tiptoes and kiss him. He’d seen the temptation in her eyes, but somehow she’d bundled up her needs and desires and hidden them behind a prim wall of control and restraint. It had his back molars grinding together.
He didn’t know how he knew, but this was all related—her tight rein on her desires and needs, her refusal to let her hair down and have fun, the dogged determination to repress it all because...?
He had no idea! He had no answer for why she didn’t simply reach out and take what she wanted from life.
She bit into her croissant and it was all he could do then not to groan.
‘I have a “truth or dare” question for you, Finn.’
He tried to match her coolness and composure. ‘So you’ve decided to take me up on the quid pro quo bargain?’
She nodded and stuck out a hip. If he’d been wearing a tie he’d have had to loosen it. ‘If you’re still game,’ she purred.
In normal circumstances her snark would’ve had him fighting a grin. But nothing about today and this kitchen and Audra felt the least bit normal. Or the least bit familiar. ‘Ask your question.’
She eyed him for a moment, her eyes stormy. ‘Don’t you want something more out of life?’
‘More?’ He felt his eyes narrow. ‘Like what?’
‘I mean, you flit from adventure to adventure, but...’ That beautiful brow of hers creased. ‘Don’t you want something more worthwhile, more...lasting?’
His lips twisted. A man showed no interest in settling down—
‘I’m not talking about marriage and babies!’ she snapped as if reading his mind. ‘I’m talking about doing something good with your life, making a mark, leaving a legacy.’
Her innate and too familiar disapproval stung him in ways it never had before. Normally he’d have laughed it off, but...
He found himself leaning towards her. He had to fight the urge to loom. He wasn’t Thomas-blasted-Farquhar. He didn’t go in for physical intimidation. ‘Do you seriously think I just live off my trust fund while I go trekking through the Amazon and train for the London marathon, and—’