The Right Mr Wrong. Natalie Anderson

teased. ‘I see how you look at me.’

      She averted her eyes immediately. ‘Unbelievable.’

      ‘But true nonetheless.’ He nodded. ‘Look, I respect your aims. And you’re right, you have no time. But let’s clear the air a little.’

      In what way exactly? That wicked look in his eye was only growing.

      ‘I don’t think the air needs clearing,’ she said firmly. ‘One kiss,’ he tempted. ‘We never even kissed.’

      That was true. She’d turned away. She still didn’t know how she’d managed it. But she was repeating it now— there’d be no kissing.

      He laughed at her expression. ‘Don’t look so worried. It might be a huge let-down.’

      ‘I thought you were too much of a Casanova to let any woman down that way.’

      ‘You might let me down,’ he taunted.

      ‘You’re questioning my abilities?’ She winced at the high pitch of her attempted comeback. Not exactly sizzling.

      His smile came so quick, so lethal it shot heat into her abdomen. ‘Well, how good are you?’

      ‘Better than you.’ She snapped the obvious answer straight back—smart all the way and unwilling to concede a thing.

      His smiled broadened.

      But hers faltered. She thought about what she’d said. Fact was she was more fizzle than sizzle. The fantasy was shattered. She wasn’t good at all. She’d had one lover in her life—Oliver. And he’d gone and found greater warmth with another woman.

      ‘Victoria?’

      Liam’s smile had died. Was it concern that he was looking at her with? She looked away again. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want a pity kiss, she didn’t want to be a disappointment.

      ‘It’s not going to be good.’ She cleared her throat and then glued on a smile so he’d think she was feeling it as an easy joke. ‘So let’s just keep it as an unfulfilled fantasy.’

      He muttered something, she didn’t know what. She just wanted him to leave now. She had a headache coming on, she had so much work to do. And the emotional spin he’d put her in? It was like going through the washing machine on heavy duty. Only he wasn’t washing away all those old emotions. He was hauling them out again— the stains of the past. Want and desire and silly things that she’d forgotten about.

      Except she’d not forgotten. And it still wasn’t the right time. It never would be.

      He touched her. His hand cupping, then lifting her chin. She couldn’t look at him. All that sass-talk of a few minutes ago fled, leaving her empty inside. Doubt flurried into the vacant spaces within. He might have stuck with only one girlfriend for a while, but he was still vastly more experienced than she. He’d laugh at how hopeless she was.

      He stepped closer, into her space. ‘Look at me.’

      She swallowed, trying to suck back the stupid pity moment. She lifted her chin herself, working her stiff mouth into some kind of smile, summoning the words to brush him off and escape this embarrassment. She didn’t need to be mortified. She didn’t need to kiss him and be exposed. He knew too much as it was.

      ‘Liam, I—’

      He put his hands on her waist. Firmly. Her gaze collided with his and was captured. Whatever she’d meant to say slipped away.

      Silence. Heat. Sensation.

      Light from the late summer sun streamed through the window, encasing him in a golden glow. There was no hiding from his scrutiny, or his expression. And his expression revealed desire. Naked want.

      Victoria blinked but couldn’t tear her focus away from the fire in his eyes. His hands slid over her firmly, shaping her hips. Her hands were useless—her fingers curled into fists. She held them pressed tight in the space just beneath her breasts. She stood as still as a small bird aware of a predator too close by.

      He swept a hand to the small of her spine and then downwards. He pressed her forward, until her hips collided with his. She trembled at the searing impact—the shocking, undeniable proof of his attraction. That big bulge pressed against her—instantly scattering some of her doubt. Her dry lips parted so she could draw in a shaky breath. He stared, his focus fixed on her eyes.

      They must have shown him something good, because his mouth eased, one corner lifting slightly.

      He pressed her closer, then eased the pressure before pressing her against him again. He didn’t break contact with her, but the rippling rhythm intensified the sensations cascading through her. Her skin felt scalded—as if she’d been plunged into a pool of boiling water. She couldn’t look away from him, from the way he was watching her so intently. Lulling her. Inviting her. Making her feel as if it was all going to be okay.

      It was going to be more than okay.

      Breathing became difficult, as if the heat between them had burned all the oxygen. She tried to draw more air in. But breathing deeper took her chest closer to his. She lifted her hands—pushing them against his rock-hard heat. But slowly, unable to resist the urge, she stretched out her fingers to splay them over his broad chest. Through the navy cotton she could feel his skin burning, and she could feel the strong, regular drive of his heart. She pressed her lips together again—firmly, trying to ease the swollen feeling of them as her blood pulsed faster to all her most sensitive extremities.

      He shifted, planting his feet wider. Both his hands were at her back now. Bending her into his heat. Saying nothing in words but everything in actions. She felt the impact right to her toes.

      I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.

      She heard the words in her head though his mouth hadn’t moved. Nor had hers. Did he say it? Did she? Or had she just dreamed it?

      Her throat was tight; she couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried. But she felt the most intense yearning deep within herself. And within him.

      She was so hot. And that heat slid in greater waves over her skin as he teased, pulling her closer, closer, closer. Stringing out that searing tension. Tormenting her with his steel-strong body.

      Until she could no longer bear it.

      Until she lifted her chin.

      Until her lips broke apart as she gasped in defeat.

      Until in hunger she pressed her mouth to his.

      He instantly moved, wrapping his arms right around her, locking her fast into his embrace. One hand held her core against him, his other swept firmly up her spine, to her neck and into her hair. Tangling there. His lips rubbed over hers, firm and warm and possessive. His tongue teased—a slide across her mouth, then a stroke inside—tasting, taking.

      She quivered at the intimacy. Her nerve endings sent excitement hurtling along her veins and deep into her belly. She slid her hands over his shoulders, exploring their breadth before smoothing her palms on the back of his neck, his head. Holding him. She’d dreamt of holding him so many times—but never had she imagined she’d feel as hot as this.

      Her breasts were pressed to his chest. She shivered in delight as her taut nipples rubbed against him. Her pulse sprinted. It was too quick, her heart thumping too fast, too hard. She couldn’t breathe at all. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to break the seal of her lips to his. The moan came from some place buried a mile within her.

      Such a long time.

      The kiss grew hotter, wetter. So did she.

      Her body weakened, strengthened, slid. She wanted to fall to the floor and lock her legs around him. Wanted the weight of him, all of him on her, inside her. Most of all she never wanted it to stop.