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‘What is this—witchcraft? Or are you taking meteorology as a sideline?’ he said, slowing to a brisk walk, his grip sliding naturally from her elbow to her hand.
‘Which would you prefer?’ Even under the thick canopy of rustling leaves the haze of moisture swirled in their faces, but it was a warm and sensuous rain that was a
t once caressing and cleansing.
‘I think I’d prefer a scientific explanation but I suspect you’ll have a more romantic view.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being romantic.’ Anne took issue with the cynical edge to his words.
‘Not unless it’s confused with something else. Then it can have painful consequences.’
She was panting a little to keep up with him. ‘Are you warning me not to get romantic about you, Hunter?’
He shortened his stride abruptly, half turning towards her. ‘Do you need to be warned?’
She tossed her head, inadvertently loosening the casual French twist that anchored her slippery-clean hair. ‘That could be construed as a very arrogant thing to say.’
He stopped in the shadow of a towering trunk, their linked hands jerking her to a sharp halt that caused her hairpins to dislodge further. ‘Is that a yes or no?’ he demanded tautly.
‘Which would you prefer?’ she asked again, mocking him with the altered context.
He was relentless, his other hand grasping her shoulder and giving her the hint of a shake. ‘Just answer me, dammit! Why are you being so evasive?’
Suddenly she was angry with him for trying to force her into analysing her feelings as if they were a research project she was submitting for an exam. They were feelings, for goodness’ sake, they didn’t have to be logical. They were supposed to be wild and wonderful.
‘To avoid having to confess that I’ve fallen madly in love with you, of course,’ she said with a sweet malice that she knew he would instantly discount.
Sure enough he made an impatient growl. ‘You really like playing with fire, don’t you?’
‘Haven’t you noticed I’m a little singed around the edges?’ she said throatily, raising her free hand and loosening his tie before he could stop her. It made him look as reckless as she suddenly felt. After the way he had looked at her in the restaurant it was a little bit late to issue warnings! ‘I hate the cold, don’t you, Hunter? I’d far rather burn than freeze…’
She flicked his collar button open and brushed her fingers against the hard collarbone, the taut sinews of his throat. Her thumb sank into a vulnerable hollow. His pulse was thundering as wildly as hers. Anne went weak with relief. She wasn’t sure how far she could carry this brazen overture without some responsive encouragement.
With a movement that was blurringly fast he caught her hand and whipped it aside, moving forward at the same time so that their bodies collided with a cushioned force that sent Anne stumbling backwards into the nearest tree. When she caught her breath again she found herself trapped against the smooth bark, caged by Hunter’s hands firmly planted on either side of her narrow shoulders and the looming bulk of his body.
‘Hunter!’ In spite of her exultation that she had sparked a response, any response, she wondered apprehensively whether she had pushed him too far.
‘Anne…’ His face was in shadow, his eyes faint, glimmering slits in the dark that were no more expressive than his voice.
He said nothing more and the silence stretched, along with her nerves. Only the occasional car passed up the hill and there were no other pedestrians. Over the hushed fall of rain she could hear his breathing keeping pace with hers, fast and uneven. What was he waiting for?
Anne’s nerve broke first.
‘Hunter, we’re in a public place. What do you think you’re doing?’ Her demand was weak as she saw the whiteness of his teeth flash. She shifted, her one good pair of heels grating against the tree roots, one shoe turning so that she had to clutch at his shirt to stop herself pitching sideways, dragging him closer in the process. He didn’t protest, his torso crushing hers, his head lowering with deliberate slowness until his reply feathered against her lips.
‘What you want me to do…’
Dammit, she wasn’t going to let him make this seduction sound totally one-sided. She jerked her head aside. ‘I never said I wanted to be manhandled—’
He had the audacity to laugh, his breath caressing on her averted cheek.
‘No? I never said I wanted to be woman-handled, but you went ahead and did it anyway. So stop playing coy. You want this as much as I do.’
At least he was admitting it. Anne slanted him a look from the corner of her eyes. A flurry of leaves parted overhead, allowing a shaft of street-lighting to strike his face, revealing its hungry tension.
‘Are you going to make me beg for it, Anne?’ he taunted as the shadows cloaked him again. ‘Is that the way you like it? Does it take a spicing of humiliation to turn you on?’
Her chin whipped proudly up. ‘I don’t have any fetishes!’
