‘You need to feast your eyes on something truly awful, and you’d agree with me that the hand looks fine.’
‘Something…like what?’
‘Something…like a human missing a bit because of an overhungry croc? Or something…like a person with a hand infected with snake toxin.’
‘I don’t know how you do it.’ Her hand was still on his leg and she looked at him, her mouth half-open, acutely conscious of the feel of his hard thigh under her fingers, even though he seemed blissfully unaware of it.
‘Do what?’ she asked, shutting her mouth.
‘Live the life that you do.’ Their eyes met. To her, they seemed to fuse and she felt a wave of giddiness steal over her.
‘You make it sound as though I’m some kind of latter-day heroine,’ she said a little breathlessly, ‘and I’m not.’
‘Do you ever long for escape?’
‘Don’t we all?’ She wished that the lighting wasn’t quite so dim, but there was no overhead light. The room was lit by a series of lamps, only two of which were actually turned on.
‘How’s the hand?’
‘Barely feel a thing,’ she answered truthfully. She dutifully stared at it, and he lightly traced a pattern along her fingers.
‘Will you miss this evil city of ours, then? Or are you itching to get back to your country? God, I make it sound as if you’re not English, but of course you are. In fact, you even speak better English than most people over here do.’
She laughed nervously. Her hand had developed a will of its own and was enjoying itself on his thigh. ‘That’s only because my parents were so adamant about speaking it at home. I never really picked up an accent or slang from anyone else. Can you imagine if you spoke English only to your parents?’
‘Oh, I can imagine a lot of things—’ he paused ‘—but not that. You still haven’t answered me. Are you itching to get back to Panama?’
‘Is this your way of asking me whether I’ve made my mind up about the house as yet?’ She withdrew her hand from its compromising position and cradled it on her own lap with her other hand.
‘No, it’s not!’ he shot back at her. ‘Damn the house. It’s the last thing on my mind at the moment.’
Destiny looked at him warily. ‘And what is the first thing on your mind?’
For a few seconds he didn’t answer. He just looked at her until she could feel every drop of colour leave her face and then rush back in a tidal wave, turning her crimson.
‘This is,’ he muttered. He put his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her towards him, then his mouth met hers.
Or, rather, his mouth assaulted hers. His lips were hungry and his tongue pushed into the moistness of her mouth. His hand pulled her towards him, fingers buried in her thick hair and, after a split second of confusion, during which she made a feeble attempt to break away, Destiny surrendered to all the powerful, primal feelings suddenly released inside her.
From her near-frozen state of virginal innocence, this awakening was explosive. Had she been conducting her entire life in a state of slumber? she wondered. She coiled her arms around his neck, moaning in surprise and pleasure when his mouth left hers to trail wetly along the slim column of her neck.
She knew all about the birds and the bees. Before her mother had died, she had sat Destiny down and told her. And, of course, she had studied enough medical journals to be fully acquainted with the act of mating and reproduction. But what she was experiencing now bore no resemblance to all those clinical explanations she had read about in her youth, and it bore even less resemblance to what she had felt with Henri, during their occasional amateurish gropings.
A wild animal had taken over her body. She writhed and groaned and wanted. They slipped backwards onto the huge sofa and she closed her eyes as he pushed up her baggy shirt, pulling it over her head while she obligingly extended her arms to accommodate him. She had never been inhibited about her body and the removal of her shirt felt wonderful, allowed her more movement.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he rasped huskily, and she half-opened her eyes and smiled.
‘Don’t talk,’ she whispered and those two words sent a shiver of crazy adrenaline rushing around his body like a fever. He could feel her breathing heavily beneath him. Her breathing was an aphrodisiac. In fact, he had never felt so consumed by lust in his life before. Every experience he’d ever had with any woman now seemed like minor dress rehearsals for this one big, overwhelming experience.
Just restraining his urge to rip off the bra that barely contained her breasts was both painful and wildly intoxicating. He kissed and nibbled the thrusting swell, guiding his tongue into her cleavage and enjoying her abandoned response to his touch.