Once Upon A Kiss.... Оливия Гейтс

his failed relationships. She felt closer to him than ever before.

      “You’re right. And I travel a lot.”

      “You’d have to get your housekeeper to walk it.” She tilted her head. “Housekeepers can handle that kind of responsibility.”

      “Sounds like I need a housekeeper more than I need a wife.”

      “Lucky thing you already have one.” She sipped her champagne. “And apparently she’s a housekeeper with benefits.” She raised a brow.

      Sinclair’s shocked expression made her regret her little jibe. Then his face softened and the look he gave her made her stomach do a somersault. “Which proves, I suppose, that just having a housekeeper isn’t enough.” His voice was gruff, rich with all the emotion he kept buried beneath his chiseled and polished surface.

      “You’re a unique individual.” She tried to look arch, like the heroine in a regency novel. Though she wasn’t really sure what arch looked like so she probably didn’t pull it off. “You need a very special housekeeper.” Clearly she was tipsy. Or the dress had once again unleashed a part of her that dared to do things the usual Annie wouldn’t dream of.

      “What are you two doing all the way over here?” A voice beckoned to them across the lawn. “Come back to civilization for some oysters.”

      “Oysters.” Sinclair laughed. “Just what we need.”

      “Aren’t they supposed to be an aphrodisiac?”

      “Exactly. Do you and I really need an aphrodisiac?” His gaze lingered on her face long enough to heat her skin.

      No. We don’t need one. Desire flashed between them like electric current, and he’d just admitted he could feel it. “I’ve never tried oysters.”

      “Never? Then let’s go fix that terrible omission.” He held his arm out for her to take it. A gesture that was formal but breathtakingly intimate at the same time. When she slid her arm through his, she could swear she felt the heat of him through his elegant suit, though maybe she imagined it. She was so overstimulated by his presence that she couldn’t trust her senses anymore. She knew that a muscled body, capable of passion and abandon no one here would have expected, lay beneath his formal attire. Did anyone here imagine what had gone on between them?

      Couples strolled on the lawn and the terrace, arm in arm like them, laughing. Everyone seemed to be paired up, but that was the theme of the party. Caterers in black-and-white uniforms moved among them, brandishing silver platters piled high with oyster shells. Tables for two had sprung up all over the lawn like mushrooms after a rain, each set with two delicate patterned plates and oyster forks. A bucket of fresh champagne stood beside each table, and chairs decorated with ribbons beckoned each couple to sit. Sinclair pulled out a chair for her and she arranged her wide skirt around her legs.

      Three sauce bowls, each with a tiny spoon, sat in the middle of the table, next to a dish of lemon wedges. Sinclair poured them each a flute of champagne. The opened oysters glowed intriguingly in the moonlight in their mother-of-pearl-lined shells. He picked up a shell and spooned one of the sauces onto it. “Open your mouth.”

      She obeyed, her stomach clenching slightly, either because of the strange food or the prospect of Sinclair feeding it to her—or both. He tipped the shell toward her mouth and she gently sucked. The cool, oceany taste of the oyster met with a pleasantly sharp explosion of picante sauce on her tongue.

      “Swallow.”

      She swallowed, blinking at the strange sensation of the smooth oyster sliding down her throat. “That was different.”

      Sinclair smiled. “Now you feed me one.”

      “My duties as a housekeeper keep expanding in strange directions.” She glanced flirtatiously at him. She wasn’t sure why she kept reminding him—and herself—that he was her employer, but somehow it seemed preferable to having them both forget again. It made whatever romance they did share feel more … real.

      “You’re not here as my housekeeper.” Sinclair obviously didn’t find comfort in her words. “But feed me an oyster anyway.” His voice contained a hint of suggestion that made her skin tingle with awareness. She reached for the plate and took one of the pearly shells. She surveyed the sauces. One looked tomatoey, like a cocktail sauce. One was thinner and a little darker, probably hot sauce. The other had herbs floating in it—garlic? She decided to go classic and squeezed a spritz of lemon onto the fish, then held it out. Sinclair’s lips struggled with a slight smile as he opened them for her to tip the contents of the shell into his mouth. Her fingers trembled but she managed to hold it steady as he slurped the oyster gracefully into his mouth and swallowed it. “Delicious.”

      The satisfied look on his face suggested that it wasn’t only their appetizer that he spoke about. Some strange place way below her belly button shimmied in response. Was this the aphrodisiac effect of the oysters?

      “Your turn.” Their champagne sat untouched as he fed her another oyster, then she fed him. Then he caught hold of her fingers that proffered the shell and kissed them, sending sparks of arousal dancing up her arm.

      “You’re glowing tonight.” He spoke softly, serious.

      “Like the oyster shells.” She said the first thing that came to mind. His compliment shocked and embarrassed her.

      Those adorable smile crinkles showed around his eyes. “In most of the women I know, modesty sounds like they’re fishing for compliments. In you it’s far more annoying because I suspect you really mean it.” He kissed her fingertips again before letting them go.

      “No one growing up in my family could suffer from a swelled head for long.”

      He leaned forward. “I don’t know anything about your family, except that you need to buy your own house so you don’t have to live with them anymore.”

      She laughed. “They’re not that bad. Just loud and bossy and funny. They’re nice, really, except Granny when she’s in one of her moods. She’s the dictator of the family and what she says, goes.”

      “Partly because she owns the house everyone lives in.”

      “Exactly.” She smiled. “You have personal experience with how that works.”

      “I don’t have moods,” he protested. His eyes glittered with amusement.

      “Not often, anyway,” she teased. “But if you did I’d have to put up with them, wouldn’t I?”

      “Definitely not. I don’t encourage people to slink about like mute sheep. I wouldn’t have much of a business if everyone yessed me to death.”

      “I suppose you’re right.” She had tiptoed around him for a long time. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t seemed to notice her before. Judging from his past wives, he was attracted to rather strong-minded women—even if he couldn’t actually stay married to them. “I’ll make a point of being more assertive. Then again, I’m not sure I need to be, since I do everything my way and you all seem to be happy anyway.”

      A smile crept across his mouth. “Sounds like the ideal state of affairs. Obviously your way is perfect.” He tilted his head slightly, and held her gaze with those relentless dark eyes. “For me, anyway.”

      Annie’s chest tightened inside her elegant gown. This sounded like some kind of major declaration. Or was it simply dinner-party chatter? She didn’t have enough experience to tell the difference. And Sinclair’s eyes were having a very unsettling effect on her.

      He lifted both of their glasses and handed one to her. “To perfection. Long may it reign in castle Drummond.” She smiled and clinked her glass against his. The champagne contrasted pleasurably with the smooth saltiness of the oyster.

      “Castle Drummond. I like that. The house doesn’t have a name, does it?”

      “We’ve always called it Dog Harbor, after the town. It should, though.