'I need sleep, so why make a drama out of sharing a bed? I've already told you, Emmy, that the initiative is yours, sweetheart. I'm prepared to be seduced if your offer is good enough.'
The air whistled through her clenched teeth. Of all the arrogant… A shudder ran through her as he threw back the quilt and slid beneath it. He raised himself and regarded her, dark brows drawn together in a line of disdain. 'I want you where I know you can come to no harm.'
'Sharing your bed is not my idea of security!' The fact that the heat from his body had already invaded the small space that separated them, that all she had to do was reach out, made her skin prickle as though subjected to a constant, ruthless friction.
He slid down. 'Just think how convenient it will be if you have any more erotic dreams,' he told her, leaning over to flick off the bedside lamp.
'Nightmares,' she hissed.
'Erotic nightmares,' he obliged. 'Goodnight, Emmy.' He rolled on to his side, his breathing quickly becoming deep and regular.
She lay stiff and miserable at his side. The whole situation put things alarmingly into perspective. The sort of longing which was attacking every atom of her being was searing…agonising. Yet Luke could calmly fall asleep! Any desire he felt for her had been incited by his ruthless determination to flaunt their liaison under her father's nose; it was pointless for her to elevate it to anything more worthy.
Eventually she must have slept, and surprisingly she was troubled by none of the recent turbulent dreams. Consciousness returned slowly, a warm, drifting sensation she reluctantly permitted herself to obey. Light. Sleepily her eyes focused on a wooden beam above her head. She tried to roll over and gave a puzzled, sleepy frown as a dead weight restricted her movements.
Reality swiftly replaced the hazy sense of well-being. Her eyes darted around the alien room and confirmed she'd had no right to indulge in optimism. The dead weight was Luke's arm, and the warmth was the length of his body. Stifling panic, she twisted on to her side and pulled herself free of his arm. Desperate not to disturb him, she lay listening for any sign of returning consciousness in him. Feeling safer as he continued to lie supine and unmoving, she slid her legs towards the edge of the bed. At this point she permitted herself a covert glance towards his sleeping figure. Asleep, Luke's face had lost the ingrained cynicism. He looked younger and, if not quite vulnerable, certainly less remote. With a will of their own her eyes moved covetously lower.
The impact made her gasp, the sound the only audible noise in the room. Clothes had not hidden the sleek strength of his body, but they had blurred the details. In the morning light what had been the suggestion of power was breathtakingly explicit. The densely packed muscles were more defined than she had imagined and, yes, she admitted, she had imagined! This was no boy's body; the raw masculine power hit some exposed area of her brain like a bolt of neat electricity. She stared dry-mouthed at the dark, curling hair scattered across the breadth of his chest, tailing to a narrow dart where it disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxer-shorts. His thighs were covered with the same fine dusting—strong, deeply muscled, athletic legs.
The effort not to touch him made her feel physically ill. Inside she began to experience a self-revulsion at the erotic images she couldn't extinguish. Images full of tactile sensations, sensations she felt desperate to experience. Her head felt incredibly light and she knew her flesh was burning; she felt branded by the heightened awareness.
'Did you sleep?'
Dazed, her eyes flickered back to his face. How long had he been awake, watching her? Guilt and self- disgust filtered into her eyes. How could she permit him to do this to her? She was a tool…a means of achieving his ultimate revenge…
She had to say something; he was watching her with that impenetrable stare. 'You have a nice tan.' She curled up inside as the fatuous words came blurting out and she steeled herself for the facetious response he would undoubtedly deliver.
Lazily he stretched. The muscles in her jaw felt tight enough to snap as she watched his muscles bunch and relax as he sat up in one fluid motion. His air of relaxation only deepened her horror at the feelings which writhed hungrily in the pit of her stomach.
'Seychelles, remember?'
'What were you doing there?' Her interest could be described as marginal, but she was making a supreme effort to disguise the fact that her eyes kept straying to the expanse of evenly tanned flesh.
'I was interviewing Bernie Cavanaugh for a Sunday supplement spread,' he announced, rubbing the stubble that shadowed his jaw.
Even at that moment, barely able to string two words together, she was impressed. 'The sculptor?'
Luke nodded. 'You know the work?'
'I've only seen it second-hand. How did you manage that, Luke? I thought he was a recluse. No one has set eyes on him for years.'