The Good, the Bad and the Wild. Heidi Rice
The words echoed in her mind. But his gaze flared, as if he had heard her plea and he leaned close, surrounding her in his spicy scent, then pressed firm lips to hers. She let out a staggered breath, the contact as unexpected as having the silent yearning instantly fulfilled.
His tongue traced her bottom lip then explored in expert strokes, his hand capturing her head. She opened her mouth to let him in, her palms flattening against his chest, fingers clutching at the soft wool of his sweater as heat sizzled across her skin. Her tongue delved back, timid at first, then growing in confidence, coaxed into action by the warm, wet skill of his lips, his tongue.
The kiss seemed to go on for an eternity, and yet ended too soon.
He lifted his head, those golden eyes locked on hers. Her breathing rasped, her heartbeat hammered, the frantic pounding drowning out the distant hum of passing traffic, the keening cry of a bird of prey.
‘You taste good,’ he said, before nipping at her bottom lip.
‘So do you,’ she replied, mesmerised.
A drop of water splashed on her cheek and she jumped.
‘Damn,’ he cursed softly, brushing the rain off her cheekbone with his thumb. He held his palm up to the sky. ‘We better take this indoors. It’s about to rain.’ His eyes took on a feral gleam in the dark. ‘You want to come back to mine?’
She knew what he was asking, knew what would happen if she took him up on the bold invitation. And knew at every other time in her life before now she would have refused. But the rebellious instinct that had made her climb on his bike and made her hoot for joy as they crossed the bridge geysered up inside her again, like a volcano of need forced to be dormant for far too long. And the refusal got stuck somewhere around her solar plexus.
Tomorrow she would meet him at his agent’s office, give him the details of his inheritance and arrange his first contact with the Duca D’Alegria. Roots Registry would get their all-important commission, her promotion would be secure and she and Nick would never see each other again.
Nick Delisantro was not a tormented pirate captain about to forsake his wicked ways so he could declare his everlasting love. He was a flesh-and-blood man who was clearly exceptionally well adjusted to his wicked ways.
And she wasn’t a gullible fool despite the guilty pleasure she took in reading larger-than-life romantic fantasies. She knew what Nick Delisantro was offering was strictly a one-night deal.
But why shouldn’t she take that crazy leap into sexual fantasy and indulge in the heat of the moment, just for tonight?
She sucked in a calming breath. This was crazy thinking. Was she seriously considering racing headlong into bed with a man she barely knew?
Her breath gushed out and she heard herself say, ever so politely. ‘I’d love to, thank you.’
That would be a yes, then.
The fierce arousal in his gaze was anything but polite as he nodded back. ‘Great, let’s go.’
He gripped her hand, hauling her towards the bike as she picked her way across the rocky ground in the heels.
The lights of the bridge blurred in the drizzle of autumn rain as the powerful machine lurched down the hill in the darkness. Eva’s pulse lurched right along with it, the thunder of her heartbeat drowning out the engine’s roar as she clung to her fantasy man and refused to contemplate the notion that she’d just made the most catastrophic mistake of her adult life.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE trip back sped past, despite the stop to pay a toll on the bridge, the bike travelling through a tunnel before emerging into parkland. The spitting rain hit Eva’s cheeks, soaking her clothes as she huddled behind Nick’s back and tried not to envision herself hurtling full pelt towards disaster.
It had taken her all her adult life to come into contact with someone as potent as Nick Delisantro. What if she had to wait another lifetime to meet someone this attractive again? This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, which she refused to regret. At least until tomorrow.
Edging the park, they entered a neighbourhood decorated with psychedelic murals and scribbled graffiti. People in colourful slickers stood outside bars, defiantly smoking in the rain, while down-and-outs huddled in doorways and under awnings. Eva knew from her research that Nick lived in an area called Haight Ash-bury, a place that had become famous during the Flower Power days of the late sixties. As they drifted past a cornucopia of hippie chic—from smoothie bars, to vegan cafés and a New Age market with a marijuana leaf logo and enough neon-coloured tie-dye clothing in the window to make your eyes bleed—Eva figured the Haight hadn’t quite left the Summer of Love behind.
Turning off the main street, the bike rumbled to a stop on a wide tree-lined avenue in front of a five-storey Victorian terrace. Pale blue wooden siding, giant bay windows, elaborately carved trim and a stunning pergola at the top gave it a kitsch antique grandeur that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Disneyland’s Main Street.
Shifting round, Nick shouted, ‘There’s a gizmo in the jacket pocket. Give it a buzz.’
Finding the smooth plastic device, Eva pressed the button and a large door beneath the front steps lifted with an electric whine. Harsh neon lights flickered on as Nick drove the bike into a musty cellar garage. Shelves crowded with boxes lined one wall while a washing machine and drier stood in the opposite corner.
Eva clambered off the bike as the door whirred closed, but not before every one of the doubts that she’d been busy trying to pretend didn’t exist sneaked in with her. She levered off the helmet. Her hair plopped onto her shoulders, the artfully arranged chignon now a mass of wet tangles. The velvet of Tess’s beautiful dress clung to her thighs in sodden patches.
Inadequacy assailed her as she watched Nick dismount and shove the bike onto its stand. His tall physique only looked more spectacular in the soaking jeans and jumper. Spotlighted by the brittle white light, the denim moulded to long, lean thighs while damp cashmere clung to the sleek musculature of his chest and shoulders.
Maybe this hadn’t been such an excellent idea after all. She looked about as sexy as a drowned collie while he looked like Adonis. Her stomach squeezed. Maybe she simply wasn’t capable of being a bad girl, even for one night.
He disengaged the bike key and shoved it in his back pocket, then swiped his hair off his forehead. Drops of water dampened the concrete as she debated how best to decline his offer without seeming rude.
But then he whisked his wet jumper over his head—and she forgot to breathe, let alone look for an escape route.
‘It’s always freezing down here,’ he said, crossing towards her. ‘Even in the summer.’
She stared, her gaze riveted to his naked chest. Not just giddy any more but light-headed.
Goodness.
She’d never seen anything so beautiful. Bronzed, olive skin defined the bunch of muscle that looked so much leaner and tougher than the steroidal excess of the romance cover models she’d once fantasised about. She certainly wouldn’t be fantasising about them any more.
A faded tattoo of a coiled snake writhed on his left bicep as he rubbed the garment over his hair, making it stick up in rough spikes. Her gaze locked on the springy curls of hair under his arms, which also grew much more sparsely around flat brown nipples. The dusting of hair angled down into a thin line that bisected the ridges of his six pack before disappearing beneath the low waistband of his jeans. Her heartbeat bumped against her neck as she noticed the thin white scar that stood out against the bronzed skin of his abdomen, slashing across his ribs to follow the line of his hipbone. She struggled to breathe, horrified and yet entranced by the other smaller scars she spotted marring smooth skin. She’d known he was dangerous, but she hadn’t realised quite how dangerous.
Her eyes jerked to his face as he lobbed the wet sweater into a wicker laundry basket beside the