The Passionate Mistake Page 9

  She felt the expansion within her as she was suddenly able to draw a deep breath, released by the relief of her own decision.

  It was foolish. It was stupid. But her heart wanted to sing inside her.

  She had to wash. Wash and reapply the armor of her makeup. Then they would see what he made of it, to find her still in his bed, the morning after the night before. Maybe this was impossible anyway, because Mike Summers would want nothing to do with his one night stand.

  Chapter Ten

  When he woke she was watching him, as she had been for more than an hour. Simply watching the rise and fall of his chest, the twitch of his fingers as they lay curled on the sheets. He sighed, stretched luxuriously, smiled and yawned a jaw-cracking yawn. Then his eyes popped open, searching for her and finding her next to him, her chin propped on her wrists.

  He grinned, not troubling to hide his delight.

  “G’ morning.” He rolled to his stomach and scooted the single foot needed to bring their faces together, cupped her cheek in one big hand and kissed her. Her eyes opened wide in surprise, the careful dignity she had intended completely derailed by his gesture. At close range she saw the creases around his eyes crinkle even deeper before he made appreciative, “Mmm mmmmmm,” noises and began to nibble on her jaw, ear, then down her neck.

  She drew in a sobbing breath at the tickling, still on edge and upset but willing to be drawn out of it if he only knew how. She put out a hand to hold him off but changing her mind as she cupped the solid muscle of his shoulder, flexed by his position. She squeezed it, measuring the difference between the two of them, the masculine hardness a thrill to her fingertips even now.

  He gave a mock snarl like a lion at a meal, pushing her over onto her back so she sighed then laughed a little. His silliness caught her off guard. Where she expected the man she knew from the office, she found boyish exuberance. She let herself be tumbled and when he covered her body with his she deliberately opened her legs so he came to settle between them.

  “Clothes,” he said with a tut tut in his voice, one finger lifting the spaghetti strap at her shoulder and running under it, back and forth. But the hand that went up her thigh under the hem of her dress discovered the variation on last night’s outfit. “Ahah,” he said with satisfaction when he found only naked womanflesh there.

  He kissed her again, tongue stroking hers, erection prodding her thigh as his hand cupped her intimately.

  “Yes, well I was about to go,” she said, then closed her eyes as he slid a finger inside her, his thumb finding her clitoris, touching her oh so delicately.

  “You could come first,” he offered. “Start the day off right.”

  “Oh I . . . ah . . . guess I could . . . hmmm . . . make a little time in my schedule.”

  “You are so wise.” He slid down the length of her body, ruching her skirt up around his forearms. “Such a good example of time management. Inspiring.” He laid a sucking kiss on the inside of each thigh. “I am humbled in the face of your . . .” he reared up and surveyed the treasure he had uncovered. “. . . pure awesomeness,” he finished on a gratified exhalation, as if she were some extraordinary wonder of nature.

  She blushed, completely undone by him. By his open enjoyment of her. She didn’t feel worthy of such regard. But she’d never admit such a thing aloud. Not for a moment. So she bit her lip and was silent.

  Her uncertainty only lasted a moment, for that was how long it took for him to settle down to a more physical demonstration of his enjoyment.

  She took a second shower in his intimidatingly high-tech and gleaming bathroom. This time she knew which button not to push. The multi-directional showerheads were all-too-ready to explore every crevice and aperture with high-pressure spray. A single jet from above was all she was prepared to deal with so early in the morning. Or possibly ever, after the shock she had received from her innocent investigations earlier.

  Wriggling back into the red dress a third time struck her as seedy. Now she was certain of her welcome she borrowed the man-size white robe that hung on the hook, doubling the waffle fabric around her waist and cinching it tight with the belt.

  She touched up the make up she had applied at the break of day, working with the limited but carefully planned resources of her tiny handbag. It wasn’t quite the dramatic alteration of the night before but there was still far more of Kate than Cathy about her. She was careful to sweep her fringe back out of her eyes and scrunch her hair into an artful tumble with what remained of last night’s waves.

  Then she went looking for Mike.

  He was in the kitchen, humming to himself as he threw things into a bowl then took up a fork and began to whisk the contents briskly, looking completely at ease.

  “I’m making omelets, if that’s okay with you.”

  “You can make what you want. It’s your house.”

  “I’m making one for you, if you want it,” he said patiently, a tolerant smile curving his full lips at her snippy answer.

  “Sounds great,” she said, embarrassed by herself. She wandered over to the window, arms wrapped around her waist.

  The view was extraordinary. Delicate blues of sea and sky, rooftops peeking out of the mature trees that covered the slopes, boats of early-rising Saturday sailors puttering out of the estuary into the bay. All was silent behind the double glazing. They might have been far from the city instead of in the inner suburbs, for all the traffic noise.

  “Nice place to live,” she said with assumed casualness, as if she saw such sights every day.

  “It’s the view that sold it to me, really. I’m not a big fan of the design or décor. Flashy and soulless. But that,” he made an expansive, sweeping gesture that she caught as she tilted her head towards him, “you can’t beat that as a sight to wake up to. If you have to live in the city that’s the way to do it.”

  “You don’t like the city?”

  “It has its advantages. It’s hard to do what I do away from it. And I like the opportunities. But I’m a small town boy at heart. Here.” He handed her a glass of orange juice then crossed the expanse of carpet back to the shiny granite-and-marble zone of the kitchen.

  She took in the scatter of orange halves at the end of the kitchen island.

  “Mmm, fresh.”

  “You betcha,” he tossed her a grin then bent to rummage under the counter and came up with two frying pans.

  “I hadn’t picked you for the domestic type.”

  “You mean it wasn’t the hint of apron and oven mitts about my aura that drew you to me?” he said with a ridiculous leer and waggle of eyebrows. She gave a startled laugh at the strange mental image and then remembered as far as he was concerned they had known each other for less than twenty-four hours.

  “I had my eye more on the way you filled out your suit,” she said with a confiding air, and he nodded.

  “Of course. I see how it is. I myself would never be so shallow.” His tone was superior.

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes. Quite.” He set aside the bowl of eggs and sauntered towards her, the khaki shorts that were all he wore hanging tantalizingly low on his hips. “I am quite capable of seeing past the stunning,” he seized her around the waist, “sensuous,” he dipped her suddenly backwards so she shrieked and clung to him, “intoxicating temptress to the hungry woman within.” He bit her lip gently.

  “Hungry?” she said breathlessly.

  “Starving. That woman – I said to myself – that woman needs a decent meal. And I am the man to give it to her.” He set her back on her feet, waited a moment to ensure she had her balance, and then left her staring after him as he walked back to the kitchen. After a second she chortled.

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “It’s all part of my charm,” he said without missing a beat, carving off a wedge of butter and sliding it into one of the pans.

  She came to sit at one of the chrome stools at the breakfast bar. The thing was damned difficult to mount but she persevered, g
lad his back was towards her as she slid about clumsily before finding her balance precariously atop it. Brand new and slippery like it had been waxed and polished. Keeping her backside carefully motionless she leaned her elbows on the counter and watched him.

  He moved well, graceful and long-limbed. If he wore this outfit – or lack of one – to the office she would never get any work done. Instead she’d spend all day staring at him.

  She smelt the richness of browning butter as he divided the eggs between the two pans, watched them carefully for a moment then started giving them judicious pokes with his spatula. Then he set the spatula aside and sprinkled the contents of another bowl over the top of each omelet. She recognized the grated cheese but had no idea what else was going in.

  After a minute more he took the two pans from the heat and slid them into the massive oven under the grill. To one side sat a pair of plates with salad already heaped on them.

  She was terribly impressed. She could barely feed herself out of cans and jars. Most meals she made for herself were a sandwich or tinned soup.

  “Who taught you to cook?”

  “Mum,” he said, bending over to check the progress of the omelets and giving her a wonderful view of his tight buttocks through the fabric of his shorts. She regarded them dreamily. “She can make anything. I don’t have her skills but I’ve picked up a thing or two. And if you’re going to work until midnight you have to know how to feed yourself or you’ll starve. There’s nothing worthwhile open that time of night.” He wrinkled his nose fastidiously, and she thought with some guilt of the fast food outlets that almost knew her by name.

  “You are what you eat,” she murmured, and he nodded.

  “Absolutely.” He deftly transferred the omelets to their respective plate, folding them in the process to create a masterful effect that could have graced a restaurant table.

  “Wow!” she exclaimed as one arrived under her nose. “This looks fantastic.’

  “It should be. That’s how I like them, anyway. Here, let’s sit at the table. I always fall off those stools if I try to sit on them. ”

  She slid off gratefully and followed him to the immensely long table, where they sat side by side at one corner facing the view. All her attention was for the steaming pocket of egg, which smelt divine. As soon as she was seated she attacked it. The taste of the savory mass, oozing with molten cheese, exploded across her taste buds. She groaned with delight and shoveled in another mouthful, and another. After an ecstatic interval she looked up to see him watching her with mingled amusement and satisfaction. He hadn’t yet taken his first bite. Hurriedly she set down her cutlery and toyed with her glass of orange juice, trying to look casual.

  “Um, it’s really tasty,” she mumbled around the hot egg.

  “Good. I’m glad you like it.” He started to eat.

  She took a sip from her glass, and involuntarily screwed up her face at the sourness. That was horrid! “I think there might be something up with your oranges though.”

  He raised his brows in query, then said, “Oh, not oranges. Those are grapefruit. It’s quite bitter if you’re not used to it. You don’t have to drink it if you prefer. I don’t mind.”

  Bravely she took a second, larger swallow. “No, no that’s fine. It’s good to try something new.” But she was pleased to return to the more palatable eggs. “What’s in this? I don’t think I’ve ever tasted one as good as this.”

  “Mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, cheese, thyme. Ham. Salt and pepper. And butter of course.”

  “You can cook me breakfast anytime.”

  “That’s kind of you,” he said, and from the quiet amusement on his face she knew he thought her innuendo accidental.

  “No, I swear. You can ravish me from top to toe if you feed me eggs like this afterwards.”

  He laughed outright. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  They shared a companionable five minutes of silence as they emptied their plates, Kate tempted to lick hers clean.

  “What do you have planned for today?” he asked conversationally.

  “Nothing specific,” she replied in the same tone. “Some chores at home.”

  “Fancy a walk along the waterfront? The jazz festival’s on today and I thought I’d give it a look. You’re welcome to come.”

  She leaned back in her chair, lifting the neglected grapefruit juice to her lips and sipping it tentatively to give herself a moment to consider. Every new exposure to him was a new opportunity for danger. Danger of deception revealed. Danger of deepening emotions. Her instincts warned her off. Her hunger for him waved her onwards.

  “Sounds great,” she said warily, and he quirked an eyebrow at her tone.

  “There’s no obligation. We could always do something else if you prefer.”

  That warmed her. He was willing to put aside plans for the sake of her company. She felt so tentative, knowing for him this was a one night stand and not certain if his sophistication – not to mention the image she had created last night with her overt seduction – would make a night of sex a disposable commodity. It had seemed tender to her but . . . well, one couldn’t assume too much.

  But he had invited her to stay, cooked her breakfast, suggested they share the morning if not the whole day. He treated her with consideration and respect. She liked it. She liked him. He was so much more than she expected.

  Her hand stole out, independent of her thinking mind, and settled into his where it rested on the table. He accepted the gesture instantly, wrapping his own large hand around hers and holding it gently.

  “Jazz sounds fine to me. But let me wash the dishes for you first. And I’ll need to grab a change of clothes from my car. It’s parked back at the Singhs’ house.”

  “I’ll have a shower, then I’ll drop you off there.”

  “Perfect.”

  He let her gather up their plates and glasses, a tokenistic gesture as he showed her where the dishwasher was and piled rinsed cooking utensils on the bench above while she tried to figure out the best way to stack the dishes inside it. In the end he’d done as much of the dishes as she, but he did it almost automatically then disappeared into his bedroom.

  A moment later he leaned out of the doorway, strong hand gripping the lintel to maintain his balance.

  “Heads up,” he called out, and pitched a wad of folded cotton cloth in her direction. She caught it and shook it out. It was a T-shirt, plain white and new-looking, and wrapped up in it the red dress he must have taken from the chair back where she had left it.

  “Too small for me, but I thought it might look good with a red skirt,’ he said with a twinkle, then disappeared out of sight. She realized he meant for her to put the shirt over the dress, and quickly stepped out of the robe and whipped the two items on, feeling exposed in front of the plate glass. It might not win awards for style but it was a better outfit for the daytime; he was right.

  Dressed, ready to go apart from her bare feet, she stood lost in the middle of the huge room, adrift without him there. After a moment she padded over the soft carpet to the bookshelves that lined the wall to one side of the kitchen. Here surely was some further clue to Mike’s character. Boss, lover and now leisure-time Mike. She dropped to her knees to get a better look, smiling as she recognized the programming textbooks that could have come from her own shelves; science fiction too, though not much of it; and some fantasy. He really was a geek. She ran a finger over the tops of the books. No dust. He must have one hell of a housekeeper, to keep this giant place so spotless. Little as she’d be shown so far, the cavernous proportions and the descending roofline she could see through the window hinted at mansion-like proportions; A monster of a house for a single man.

  When he strode into the room she was sprawled on a couch, her nose in a book she’d discovered: the newest by her favorite author.

  “Hey,” he said, catching sight of her.

  “Hiya.” She took in the polo-neck shirt and linen pants in a single glance. Effortlessly stylish, classi
cally masculine. His dark hair was still damp, swept back off his forehead. He looked even tastier than his omelet. She could eat him up.

  When his gaze heated she realized she was mentally undressing him and telegraphing her thoughts with a sensual, heavy-lidded gaze and smirk.

  “So, are we still going out?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said hurriedly, rolling off the couch and standing.

  “Because if you’d prefer to go straight back to bed I can oblige.”

  She paused, pretended to consider the idea, sauntered to him and ran a hand over his abdomen, leaning in slightly to enjoy the scent of soap and freshly-washed man. His eyes glinted, loaded with sexual knowledge. He leaned in to kiss her but she stopped him with a single finger laid on his lips.

  “I’d love to. We’ll go walking, enjoy your jazz festival, then come back and crawl into bed.”

  “Why wait?” he growled, wrapping his arms around her, bringing her hips close to his so she could feel his burgeoning arousal press against her. She savored the sensation for a brief moment, the heady power of rousing him so quickly, so easily. Then she twisted out of his arms and danced away, light on her feet and faintly mocking as she said:

  “I wouldn’t want you to get bored now.”

  “Bored? I doubt it,” he snorted, stalking her with lustful intent.

  She shrieked and ran, laughing, back to the entryway, fumbling at the front door latch and crying out as he caught her and spun her around, pressing her up against the wall and kissing her with single-minded fervor, his tongue plunging into her mouth.

  She returned the kiss with interest, rubbing up against him like a cat, her arms wrapped around his neck. She was breathing heavily when she broke away, her nipples hardened and knees weak. It was difficult to recall why she wanted to go out at all.

  But she was stubborn, and determined not to be swayed from a plan, even one so recently made. Feminine instinct directed her to keep him off balance, demand his indulgence. Drive him a little mad; a madness to match her own internal unsteadiness.