Lily was completely tongue-tied. She felt a fool just standing there staring at him. She could feel her face glowing with heat as the silence stretched and stretched.
‘Don’t look so shocked, Miss Archer,’ he said dryly. ‘I’m not asking you to rehabilitate me.’
‘I wouldn’t agree to it if you did,’ she threw back quickly.
A glint of something indefinable entered his gaze as it tussled with hers. The massage room seemed suddenly smaller. The air thinner and tighter. Her breathing faster and more uneven. More audible.
She couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting to his mouth. It was quite possibly the most sensual-looking mouth she had ever laid eyes on. She hadn’t been kissed in years. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to have a man’s mouth moving on hers.
Raoul Caffarelli’s mouth looked like it knew how to kiss. A fuller lower lip hinted at the sensual power at his command; the slightly thinner top one spoke of a man who liked his own way and made no apologies for going out and getting it.
‘Find what you’re looking for?’ His deep voice jolted her out of her stasis.
Her eyes met his briefly before falling away. ‘I’ll just leave you to—’
Before Lily could bolt he caught her loosely by the wrist. The Taser-like shock of his touch sent tingles down her spine. She looked at his darkly tanned fingers overlapping the slender bones of her wrist. If he so much as pushed up her sleeve an inch he would see the crisscross map of her shame.
She brought her gaze back to his, her mouth dry, her heart hammering like a piston in a faulty engine. Time seemed to stand still as she looked into that green-and-brown gaze. His lashes were thick and plentiful; his pupils were wide and inky black.
A girl could get lost in those eyes if she wasn’t careful. ‘You have a towel crease.’ Could you not have thought of something a little more sophisticated to say?
His mouth slanted, making his eyes crinkle up at the corners in a staggeringly gorgeous way. ‘Where?’
‘On your forehead.’
* * *
His thumb moved slowly over the underside of her wrist as he kept her gaze tethered to his. It was the slightest, barely moving stroke, but it caused a tsunami of sensations to erupt like bubbling lava beneath her skin. She was acutely aware of how close she was to him. She was standing between his open thighs in an erotic enclosure that should have terrified her but somehow didn’t.
His eyes went to her mouth. Stayed there. Burned there. Tingled there.
Tempted there.
He brought his gaze back to mesh with hers. ‘Do you ever smile, Miss Archer?’
Lily moistened her parchment-dry lips. ‘Sometimes.’
His thumb located her pulse and measured it. ‘You’re not very relaxed, are you?’
‘I’m not the one who just had a massage.’
His smile tilted his mouth again. ‘It was a good massage. Very professional.’
‘Thank you.’
He slowly released her wrist. Lily could still feel where his fingers had been long after she had brought her arm back close to her side. It was like a hot brand that had somehow transferred its molten heat all the way to her core. She could feel it swirling there in a tide of longing. Needs she had ignored for years shifted, stirred, stretched. She felt the movement of it in her blood, the way her heart picked up its beat to keep pace with the heady rush of primal, earthy desire.
‘Can you push my chair a little closer?’
Lily took a skittering breath. ‘Of course.’ She brought the chair to him. The towel draped over his lap did little to hide the unmistakable evidence of his erection. Her gaze seemed to be drawn to it like a magnet. She gulped. Was it getting bigger?
She finally managed to tear her eyes away. ‘I’ll just...go and let you get dressed.’ She turned and bolted for the door, almost knocking herself out in her haste to open it.
Raoul watched her leave with a smile lingering on his mouth. She was an intriguing mix of sassy-smart mouth and shy schoolgirl. He couldn’t make up his mind which persona he liked best.
You like her?
He looked down at the bulge of his erection. Yeah, it seems I do.
He pushed back from where his mind was heading, a frown rapidly replacing his smile. He didn’t want an affair with anyone until he could be physically whole again. He could not bear the thought of a pity lay. He could just imagine the utter humiliation of it. Could there be a crueller punishment than to reduce a playboy to that?
He was used to taking the lead in sex. He enjoyed sex. He had a strong drive but he knew how to contain it. He was a good lover. He wasn’t selfish or self-serving; he wasn’t averse to the odd quickie up against a wall or kitchen worktop, but only if the woman was with him all the way.