Lovers Not Friends

CHAPTER FIVE

MUCH to her surprise the next morning Amy found she must have fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. She had expected to lie awake for hours but sheer mental exhaustion had sent her into the transient world of dreams and shadows from which she awoke feeling much much better. Probably the human spirit could only take so much grief in short doses, she thought vaguely as she lay watching the dancing sunlight on the far wall of the small room, but today she felt a sense of peace and surety about her actions that was a balm to her sore heart. She had to be positive, had to put the past behind her and forget the future and live only in the present. And she could and would.

That comforting conviction lasted for exactly five minutes, the time it took for her to rouse herself and don her thin silk dressing-gown after brushing her mass of ruffled gold waves into sleek obedience before she wandered downstairs to the tiny kitchen to make herself toast and tea.

‘Good morning, Amy.’ It wasn’t so much the deep rich American voice that caused her heart to stop and then pound madly out of control as the sight of Blade, stripped to the waist and clad only in a pair of grass-stained jeans and light trainers, drinking a cup of coffee with Mrs Cox as he surveyed her standing in the doorway through narrowed black eyes. ‘You slept well?’ The tone was velvet-smooth.

‘What—?’ She stopped abruptly. ‘I mean …’

‘I’ll just go and hang out that washing,’ Mrs Cox said hurriedly, ‘now you’ve cleared all the overgrown grass and moss from the path. Be a real treat, it will, instead of just using that little patch at the end.’ She had scuttled out of the back door before Amy could stop her and Blade closed it carefully, levering himself off the far wall where he had been leaning in lazy conversation with the little woman and moving to Amy’s side with animal grace.

She tried, with every ounce of will she possessed, to draw her eyes away from that magnificent body but it was no good. The hard, strong male shoulders, broad hair-roughened chest and muscular arms were just as she remembered but better, and as an aching heat spread like wildfire through every vein and muscle she could feel its warmth reflected in her face and, worse, her body. The thin silk of her nightdress and dressing-gown did nothing to hide the hard, pointed tips of her breasts as they responded to the age-old call of his masculinity and she knew, she just knew, he was thoroughly enjoying her predicament.

‘I asked you if you slept well,’ he drawled mockingly, ‘in your chaste little bed.’

‘Fine, thank you.’ She sidestepped him adroitly and switched the kettle on with shaking hands, knowing full well that in the confined space of the tiny kitchen one wrong movement would bring her up against the tanned hardness of his flesh.

‘That’s good.’ He had moved behind her, his body moulded like a second skin to her back, and as his hands went round her waist and he nuzzled his chin into the scented silk of her hair, she froze helplessly. This felt so good, so good… ‘You’ve got your morning smell.’ He sniffed into her neck appreciatively and a wave of desire flooded down her spine so hotly she almost fainted. ‘A mixture of scented soap, shampoo and something else, something else that is all you. It’s—’ he growled softly against her skin ‘—very moreish.’

‘You smell of the garden,’ she said abruptly as she tried to break away from his grasp. ‘And would you please let me go?’

‘I didn’t smell of the garden when I first got here,’ he whispered seductively in her ear, blatantly ignoring the second part of her sentence with arrogant disregard. ‘Then I was fresh and cool from my shower and with a little of that aftershave you like so much. Remember?’

Did she remember? Her senses were racing in hyperdrive as she caught the sensual, heady scent of the exclusive aftershave he had made specially for him, a mixture of lemon, musk and something altogether wicked.

‘I didn’t sleep too well,’ he continued lazily as he settled her more firmly into the hard planes and contours of his body, his warm breath causing a million ripples of sensation she fought with all her might to hide. ‘In fact after three cold showers at two, four and six respectively I thought maybe a spell in Mrs Cox’s garden would get rid of some of my excess energy. It was working too, until you walked in half naked.’

‘I am not half naked,’ she protested vigorously, turning angrily in his hold as she did so. It was a mistake. Now she was facing him and the slight slackening of his arms that had enabled her to shift her position tightened instantly as the soft curves of her body were pressed against the length of his. ‘Let me go, Blade, I mean it. I—’