She really did have the most beautiful eyes, Sin acknowledged distractedly, of the deepest, loveliest sky-blue, and fringed with the longest, thickest black lashes he had ever seen.
In fact, as he knew intimately, this woman was beautiful all over…
Too much so for him to have simply walked away without finding out more about her. Although a part of him now wished he had just left that night as a pleasant memory. Instead of what it really was!
His mouth tightened. ‘If you really believe that, Luccy, then your memory is much more conveniently accommodating than mine.’
No, it wasn’t—because Luccy could remember every single intimate detail of their time together in this man’s hotel suite.
Every. Single. Intimate. Detail.
Her breasts tingled uncomfortably just being in the same room with him again, and the heated awareness between her thighs was distracting too.
‘Oh, please,’ she scorned. ‘Let’s not get carried away and act as if that night really meant anything to you!’
‘You think not?’
Luccy gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘Probably the only thing that bothers you about that night is that I walked away from you at the end of it!’
He became very still, eyes narrowed to steely slits as he studied her, once again looking like that tiger with the sheathed but ready-to-pounce claws. ‘Why did you do it, Luccy?’ he finally asked softly.
‘It was an impulse. A reckless impulse!’ She sighed. ‘It certainly isn’t something I’m particularly proud of—’
‘That’s something, I suppose,’ Sin acknowledged hardly.
Luccy raised bewildered brows. ‘Exactly what are you implying?’
‘Why don’t you tell me?’ he invited, no longer relaxed in his chair as he sat forward.
‘Probably because I have no idea what you’re talking about!’
Sin had never been as intrigued by any woman as he had been that night with Luccy—or Lucinda Harper-O’Neill, as she had turned out to be. Except he hadn’t been the one indulging in intrigue!
Although he somehow doubted that night had worked out quite the way Luccy had thought it would; Sin was experienced enough to know that her physical response when they’d made love had been too wild, too out of control, to be in the least bit faked.
Luccy’s expression became guarded. ‘I’ve already told you that night was a mistake, that we should both just forget about it.’
‘Is that really what you intend doing, Luccy—forgetting about it?’ Sin asked.
She gave a puzzled frown. ‘I’ve already said it is.’
Sin inclined his head. ‘So you have. The only problem is that I don’t believe you.’
‘You don’t—!’ Why hadn’t she seen how overbearingly arrogant this man really was? Luccy berated herself fiercely.
Overbearing, yes…
Arrogant, too.
But still pulse-racingly attractive in spite of all that!
Luccy abruptly pulled herself together. ‘I don’t have the time to sit here and talk nonsense with you. I have work I need to do in my studio. But I’m sure that if you insist on staying, my receptionist will be only too happy to get you a cup of coffee or something when she gets back from lunch—’ She broke off, her eyes widening at the speed with which Sin had moved so that he now stood beside her, his fingers clamped like steel about the slenderness of her wrist preventing her from moving away. ‘Let go of me, Sin,’ she ordered vehemently.
She didn’t like him touching her. Didn’t like the way she felt when he touched her.
‘Just get it over with, Luccy,’ he grated harshly. ‘Tell me exactly why you went to bed with me.’
She shook her head. ‘As you pointed out so succinctly at the time, we didn’t actually go to bed!’
He didn’t answer her, merely continued to hold her gaze as his thumb moved caressingly across her wrist at the exact point where her pulse was beating. Erratically.
Luccy turned her gaze away from his, very aware of the warm lethargy that was creeping over her body. Of the increased tingling of her breasts as her nipples pressed against the silky material of her blouse. Of the raw ache she felt pressing inside her, urging her to curve her body against the heat of this man’s powerful chest and thighs.
This man was sin incarnate…!
Luccy had convinced herself over the last few days that she had to have imagined the physical fascination this man held for her, that her behaviour in his hotel suite had been a momentary aberration, that if she ever saw him again she would once again see him only as the man who had helped her out of a difficult situation, rather than the man she had also made love with.
Unfortunately, now that she was seeing him again Luccy couldn’t deny her completely physical response to him or the memory of the intimacies the two of them had shared. The way this man had kissed and touched her. Been inside her. Given her such overwhelming pleasure with each measured stroke of his body…
Sin was caught completely unaware as Luccy wrenched her wrist from his grasp to move abruptly away from him, frowning slightly as he realised that there would be bruises later on the pale delicacy of her skin. Bruises she obviously preferred rather than suffering his touch a moment longer.
‘I don’t remember asking you for an explanation about your own behaviour that night!’ she exclaimed.
‘Maybe because you already know it was because you deliberately set out to make me want you!’ Sin rasped.
‘Past tense?’ she taunted.
‘For you or for me?’ Sin was stung into retorting, very aware of the way she had been unable to stop herself responding to him seconds ago.
And the way his own body had responded to her proximity. Was still responding to it…
‘Oh, definitely past tense as far as I’m concerned, yes!’ Luccy declared.
Sin knew she was lying. To herself as well as to him. He knew when a woman’s response to him was genuine, when her climax was out of her control—and, no matter what she might choose to tell herself now, he knew that Lucinda Harper-O’Neill had been totally out of control three nights ago.
‘Would you like me to prove otherwise?’ he challenged mildly.
Her eyes widened in alarm before she quickly masked the emotion with a challenging rise of her chin. ‘You could try, I suppose,’ she accepted. ‘If, that is, you enjoy the experience of making love to a woman who doesn’t want you?’