She kissed him, loving his taste, the roughness of his beard, the hard strength of his body pressed close to hers. ‘I’d have to argue that you’re the most wonderful of the wonderful,’ he murmured against her mouth.
‘I’ve never been so lonely as those days in Dolphin Bay after you went home. I ached to be with you,’ she confessed.
‘One night, after a business dinner, I got into the car and decided to drive down just to see you for an hour or two,’ he said.
‘So why didn’t you?’
‘Because I figured I’d end up driving home at night without sleeping at all and thought there was a good chance I’d crash the car.’
She stilled as she thought of the accident that had injured Emily and ultimately, because of its repercussions, taken her father’s life too. ‘I’m so glad you stayed put,’ she said. ‘Although I probably wouldn’t have let you go back if you’d come.’
He kissed her and she eagerly kissed him back. Then she broke away to plant hungry little kisses along the line of his jaw, and came back to claim his mouth again in a deep kiss that rapidly became urgent with desire.
Without breaking the kiss, he slid her jacket off her shoulders so it fell to the floor. She fumbled with his tie, and when it didn’t come undone easily she broke away from the kiss with a murmur of frustration so she could see what she was doing.
‘Did I tell you how incredibly sexy you look in a suit?’ she asked, her breath coming rapidly as she pulled off his tie and started to unbutton his shirt so she could push her hands inside. His chest was rock-solid with muscle, his skin smooth and warm. ‘But then you look incredibly sexy in jeans too. Maybe you look incredibly sexy in anything—or maybe nothing.’
Her body ached with want for him. And this time there was no reason to stop—except he stopped. ‘Wait,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to wait,’ she urged breathlessly. ‘We’re in the honeymoon suite.’
He stepped back. ‘Seriously. I have to tell you something,’ he said, the words an effort through his laboured breathing.
‘Okay,’ she replied, thinking of the bed behind her and how soon she could manoeuvre him onto it.
‘Kate, listen—I can see where this is heading.’
‘Good,’ she said.
‘And I don’t think you’re ready for it.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Let me be the judge—’ she started to say.
‘Please,’ he broke in. ‘This is important. I’ve told you before, I want you to be able to trust me.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘I want you to be sure of me before we...we make love.’
She wasn’t certain what he was trying to say but she sensed it was important. Very important.
‘What I’m trying to say is that if we wait until we’re married you’ll have no doubts about how committed I am to you. And it will give you the security I think you really need.’
She stared at him, lost for words, but with a feeling of intense joy bubbling through her.
‘I’m asking you to marry me, Kate,’ he said hoarsely.
‘And...and I’m saying yes,’ she whispered.
He gathered her into his arms and hugged her close. They stood, arms wrapped around each other for a long moment, when all she was aware of was his warmth and strength, the thudding of his heart and their own ragged breathing.
‘I love you, Sam,’ she said. ‘I...I couldn’t say it at the airport in front of all those people. It’s too...too private.’
‘I didn’t mean to say it there; no one was more surprised than I was. I was just so relieved you hadn’t flown away already, never to speak to me again, when you discovered I wasn’t in Singapore to meet you.’
Then and there, she resolved never to tell him that she’d been on her way out of the airport when he’d found her.
‘There’s another thing,’ he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little black velvet box. ‘I want to make it official.’
She drew a sharp intake of breath. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. That would be too, too perfect.
With a hand that wasn’t quite steady, she took the box from him and opened it. Inside was an exquisite ring, set with a baguette-cut emerald surrounded by two baguette-cut diamonds. ‘Sam. It’s perfect.’
‘I thought it went with the colour of your eyes,’ he said, sounding very pleased with himself in a gruff, masculine way. ‘There’s a good jewellery shop in the shopping arcade attached to the hotel.’
‘I love it,’ she whispered as Sam slipped it on to the third finger of her left hand. ‘I absolutely love it.’ She held her hand up in front of her for them both to admire. ‘It’s a perfect fit.’
‘Lucky guess,’ he said. ‘Though, we builders are good with measurements.’
‘Clever you,’ she said, kissing him.
‘I’d like to get married as soon as possible,’ he declared.
‘So we can...?’
‘Not just because of that. Because I want you to be my wife.’
‘And I love the idea of you being my husband,’ she murmured. ‘My husband,’ she repeated, liking the sound of the words.
‘Obviously, with the business, there’s no way I can live in Dolphin Bay—though we can buy a holiday house there if you like. We’ll have to live in Sydney. If that’s okay with you.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that. Though, there are things we need to sort out. Like Ben. My job.’
‘I don’t think Ben will be at all surprised to be losing you, and you’ll still be involved with the new resort as a part owner.’
‘And through my connection with the owner of the construction company,’ she said.
‘I was thinking of setting up a hotel development division in the business,’ he told her. ‘What do you think?’
‘That I could work with?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Of course, that would involve necessary research visiting fabulous hotels all around the world with your husband.’
‘That seems a sound business proposition,’ she said.
‘Starting with a certain palace hotel in India where we can have our real honeymoon.’
‘And write it off on expenses,’ she said with a giggle.
‘I like your thinking,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Lancaster & Son Construction, Mrs Lancaster-To-Be.’
‘We...we might have a son,’ she said. ‘The name would live on.’
‘Or a daughter. Or both. I want at least two children, if that’s okay by you. I hated being an only child.’
‘Quite okay with me,’ she said on a sigh of happiness.
She wound her arms around his neck, loving it when her ring flashed under the light. ‘Sam? I feel like I really trust you now. And I’m very sure of your commitment.’
‘Yes,’ he murmured, kissing the soft hollow at the base of her throat.
‘And I want you to be sure of my love and commitment.’
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘We’re officially engaged now, aren’t we? You’re my fiancé, right?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, planting a trail of little kisses up her neck to the particularly sensitive spot under her ear. It was almost unbearably pleasurable.
‘So do you think we could start our practice honeymoon now?’
She looked meaningfully across at the enormous bed, covered in pink rose petals.
‘Good idea,’ he said as he picked her up and carried her towards it.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from HER IRRESISTIBLE PROTECTOR by Michelle Douglas.
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CHAPTER ONE
‘YES!’ TASH FLUNG up the lid of the washing machine, bunched up a T-shirt and lobbed it into the dryer. A pair of shorts followed and then another T-shirt and a pair of tracksuit pants. ‘Oh, yes, and she’s going for the record...’ A rolled-up sweatshirt sailed through the air and into the dryer without touching the sides. She grinned. As soon as she switched that baby on, her holiday officially started.
One glorious week.
Just to herself.
She did a little dance. A week! A whole week.
A knock on the front door pulled her up mid-shimmy and the next T-shirt sailed past the dryer to land in the laundry tub. She turned to glare.
No, no, don’t glare. Holiday, remember?
She let out a breath, reaching for her customary languor and shrugged it on. As soon as she was out of Sydney she could carry on with as much uncool excitement as she pleased, but until then she had no intention of ruining her tough-customer image.
Chin tilted?
Check.
Swagger?
Check.
Bored facial expression?
Check.
At seventeen it had taken her weeks—months!—to perfect that particular attitude. Now she could slip it on at will.
She strode down the hallway, determined to get rid of whoever was on the other side as quickly as she could. Throwing open the door, she glanced at the figure outlined on the other side of the screen and everything slammed to a halt—her feet, her mind, her holiday mood. Screaming started up inside her head. Air pressed hard against her lungs—hot, dry and choking.
She swallowed to mute the screaming and folded her arms to hide the way her hands had started to shake from the surge of adrenaline that flooded her. Every stomach muscle she possessed—and her weekly Judo class ensured they were all well-honed—clenched up hard and tight until they hurt.
Mitch King.
Officer Mitchell King stared back at her like some upright holy warrior. From the top of his close-cut blond hair to the tips of his scrubbed-to-within-an-inch-of-their-lives boots. Even out of uniform he looked as if he should be wearing one. Everything about him shouted clean-cut hero—the strong square jaw, the not quite even teeth and the direct blue of his eyes. A man on a mission. A man who knew right from wrong. No shades of grey here, thank you very much.
Tash didn’t reach out to unlatch the screen. She didn’t break the silence.
‘May I come in?’ he finally asked.
She let her attitude prickle up around her like razor wire. Kinking an eyebrow, she leant one shoulder against the wall. ‘Are you here to arrest me?’
His eyes narrowed. She knew their exact shade of blue, though the screen guarded her against their potency. Sort of. Her stomach clenched so hard she thought it might cramp.
‘Of course not.’
‘Then no, I don’t think so.’
She started to close the door. He kept his voice even. ‘It wasn’t really a question, Tash. If you close the door in my face I’ll break it down.’
She didn’t doubt that for a single moment. As far as Officer Mitchell King was concerned, the ends always justified the means. For sheer cold-blooded ruthlessness, nobody else came close.
Without a word, she unclasped the door and then turned and hip-swayed down the corridor into the kitchen. She added the provocative sway to her hips because it was more dignified than thumbing her nose. And because without her usual uniform of jeans and work boots she felt vulnerable. A hip-sway distracted most men
Not that Mitch King was most men.
She turned, hands on hips, when she reached the kitchen, but the sun flooding in at the windows reminded her it was summer and that she had big plans for this week.
Just as soon as she got rid of her unwelcome visitor.
‘How can I help you?’
The twist of his lips told her he’d read her animosity. As she’d meant him to. She’d lived in the same suburb as Mitch for most of her twenty-five years, but they hadn’t spoken once in the last eight.
And if it’d been another eight it would’ve been too soon.
He didn’t bother with pleasantries. ‘We have a problem and I’m afraid you’re not going to like the solution.’ He planted his feet, but his eyes gentled. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that.’
He might look like an angel, but the man could probably deceive the devil himself.
She shook the thought off, refusing to allow soft summer eyes or firm lips that promised heaven to sway her. She wasn’t seventeen years old anymore. ‘I’m not interested in your sentiments.’
His mouth hardened.
‘What’s this problem? If it’s anything to do with the pub then you’ll have to speak to Clarke.’
‘It’s not about the pub.’
For the last three years Tash had managed the Royal Oak, a local establishment that serviced the factory workers in the area. It wasn’t a genteel or trendy establishment by any means, but it was clean and generally free of trouble and Tash had every intention of making sure it stayed that way. She folded her arms and stuck out a hip. ‘Well, if it isn’t about the pub...?’
Mitch didn’t even glance at her hip and she couldn’t have said why, but it irked her. A tic did start up at the side of his jaw, though. He wasn’t as calm as he’d like her to think.
‘Have you spoken to Rick Bradford recently?’
It took every muscle she possessed to not let her jaw drop. When she was sure she had that under control she let rip with a short savage laugh. ‘You have to be joking, right? The last time you and I spoke about Rick, you arrested him. Unfairly, I might add. If you think I’m going to chew the fat with you about Rick then you are an unmitigated idiot.’ She put all the feeling she could into that unmitigated. It was a nice big word for a girl like her to know.
One of Mitch’s hands clenched—a strong brown hand. He leaned in towards her, his eyes chips of ice, all warmth gone. ‘So nothing’s changed? You still see him through rose-coloured glasses?’ His lip curled. ‘What is it with women and bad boys?’
She lifted her chin. ‘From memory, it wasn’t the bad boy I fell for.’
He froze. He glanced away. So did she, wishing she could take the words back. It grew so silent the only sounds she was aware of were the low hum of the refrigerator and one of her neighbours starting up a lawnmower.
Mitch cleared his throat and from the corner of her eye she saw him reach into his pocket. He pulled out a packet of photographs and held them out towards her. ‘We believe Rick is responsible for this.’
She didn’t want to take the photographs. She wanted to slap his hand away, herd him back down the hallway and shove him out of her door. Mitch had always considered Rick a troublemaker. When she and Rick had been in school, if anyone had been caught shoplifting then, according to Mitch, Rick must’ve been behind it. If there’d been a fight in the playground then Rick must’ve instigated it. If there was graffiti on the train station walls Rick must’ve put it there. She snorted. Crazy! And yet it had always been Rick’s grandmother’s door the police had come knocking on first.
And when kids in the area had been caught smoking pot, Mitch had been convinced that Rick was the supplier.
Mitch had been wrong. Oh, so, wrong. But that hadn’t stopped her best friend from goi
ng down for it all the same. He’d served fifteen months in prison. And she’d unwittingly helped put him there.
But not again. She’d learned some smarts in the last eight years. She knew better than to trust any man. Especially the one standing in front of her.
She reached out and took the photographs. The first one showed a house gutted by fire. She tossed it onto the counter. ‘Rick is not, nor has he ever been, an arsonist.’
The second showed a crashed car. She glanced up and raised an eyebrow.
‘The brake lines on the car were deliberately severed. The woman was lucky to get out of it with nothing but a broken collarbone and a concussion.’
She threw it to the bench to join its partner. ‘Rick would never hurt a woman.’ Rick protected women. She didn’t bother saying that out loud, though. Mitch would never believe her.
The third and fourth photos made her stomach churn. ‘And he certainly wouldn’t senselessly slaughter animals. That’s...’ The photographs showed a field of sheep with their throats cut. One of them was a close-up. She slammed it face down to the bench. Acid burned her stomach. This was just another of Mitch’s witch-hunts.
‘That’s what’s happened to Rick’s last three girlfriends.’
‘I’m sorry, Officer King, but I’m afraid I can’t help you with your enquiries.’
‘Have you spoken to Rick recently?’
He’d rung her two nights ago to tell her he was coming to town.
‘No.’ She kept her face bland and unreadable. She’d practised and practised that skill until she had it down pat. ‘I haven’t spoken to Rick in months.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not sure I believe you.’
She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. ‘I don’t care what you believe.’ She paused and forced herself to complete an insolent survey of all six feet two inches of honed male flesh. Mitch still had a great body. She kinked an eyebrow when she met his gaze again, keeping her face bland. ‘But it has to be said, you used a smoother approach last time.’
The Tycoon and the Wedding Planner Page 17
