real man responding to her at last, the man behind the mask acknowledging her beauty and her desirability, his amazing eyes referring directly to what they shared when they had sex together.
Darryl was simply thunderstruck, his beautiful mouth dropping open in wonder and staying that way for a full ten seconds.
“Wow! You look amazing, Hettie,” he said, his voice awed and his eyes like hot coals. His body seemed suddenly tense as if acutely uncomfortable. Hettie could almost taste him wanting her. It was like a vapor in the air, thickening in intensity as they climbed into the back seat of the car together and the door was closed to seal them in a private world.
Hettie smiled, a little nervously, and thanked Darryl for the compliment.
I’ve made a mistake, haven’t I? Her body seemed to tingle under his scrutiny. I should have worn jeans after all. This is all too much. She twitched her skirt over her knees and shifted uneasily in her seat.
As if to deliberately make matters worse, Starr pushed a button and the tinted glass barrier rose up between him and his passengers. Hettie felt a pang of loss and then a rush of intense, female anger at him. He’d deliberately detached himself from her all over again.
Sitting in such an enclosed space with Darryl was like being in a pressure cooker. He wasn’t Starr, but he was near. Too near. And the scent of him, and the sudden tension, made her feel a bit dizzy. It was a familiar cologne—light and spicy—but she couldn’t put a name to it. She doubted if she could put a name to anything right now, her mind was in such a jumble.
“How long will it take?” Darryl said suddenly as the car began its glide through the London streets, guided by Starr’s experienced hand.
Will what take?
Hettie felt blood warm her face and throat. The question had caught her unaware, but she realized now it was an innocent enquiry. It was only in her mind that it had acquired significant overtones.
“A couple of hours,” she said, schooling her voice to casualness, “More if there are roadworks anywhere. Less if Starr’s feeling lucky. He likes to make the car earn its keep, so to speak. But don’t worry, he’s an expert driver. We’re quite safe.”
Safe on the road , she added silently, knowing that there was a different kind of danger in sitting next to a hot-blooded man in tight jeans and a chest-hugging T-shirt.
Especially when I can’t stop thinking about sex!
To distract herself, she launched into a sudden nervous description of the house they were heading for. She knew that she sounded like a robotic stately home tour guide, but the flow of words was a soothing distraction from her turbulent thoughts and feelings.
Whether Darryl understood her tactics or not she had no way of knowing, but he listened attentively nevertheless.
Dragonwood was a modest Queen Anne house, set in its own park and halfway between the South Downs coast and the village of Melton Parva. Talking about it was a therapy to Hettie, and as the car snaked its way steadily out of the metropolis, the images in her mind of the elegant pale-stoned building calmed her. Her pulse steadied as she cataloged its many joys and treasures—the warm-toned wood-paneled rooms, the paintings and furniture, the library full of rare and precious books, the gardens full of flowers and shrubs and trees.
“Can you swim, Darryl?” she asked him presently. “There’s a lovely pool.”
“I-I think so.” He hesitated, frowning, and Hettie realized he honestly didn’t remember. She felt a surge of pity and without thinking, reached out to touch his bare arm. What a nightmare, not to know what you’d done and what you’d learned. Even who you were, really.
Surprisingly her touch didn’t seem to startle him. His hand and arm remained still and warm beneath her fingers, but he raised the other and started rubbing at a small area of his forehead. He frowned again, his smooth face crumpling in a way that Hettie
Darryl was simply thunderstruck, his beautiful mouth dropping open in wonder and staying that way for a full ten seconds.
“Wow! You look amazing, Hettie,” he said, his voice awed and his eyes like hot coals. His body seemed suddenly tense as if acutely uncomfortable. Hettie could almost taste him wanting her. It was like a vapor in the air, thickening in intensity as they climbed into the back seat of the car together and the door was closed to seal them in a private world.
Hettie smiled, a little nervously, and thanked Darryl for the compliment.
I’ve made a mistake, haven’t I? Her body seemed to tingle under his scrutiny. I should have worn jeans after all. This is all too much. She twitched her skirt over her knees and shifted uneasily in her seat.
As if to deliberately make matters worse, Starr pushed a button and the tinted glass barrier rose up between him and his passengers. Hettie felt a pang of loss and then a rush of intense, female anger at him. He’d deliberately detached himself from her all over again.
Sitting in such an enclosed space with Darryl was like being in a pressure cooker. He wasn’t Starr, but he was near. Too near. And the scent of him, and the sudden tension, made her feel a bit dizzy. It was a familiar cologne—light and spicy—but she couldn’t put a name to it. She doubted if she could put a name to anything right now, her mind was in such a jumble.
“How long will it take?” Darryl said suddenly as the car began its glide through the London streets, guided by Starr’s experienced hand.
Will what take?
Hettie felt blood warm her face and throat. The question had caught her unaware, but she realized now it was an innocent enquiry. It was only in her mind that it had acquired significant overtones.
“A couple of hours,” she said, schooling her voice to casualness, “More if there are roadworks anywhere. Less if Starr’s feeling lucky. He likes to make the car earn its keep, so to speak. But don’t worry, he’s an expert driver. We’re quite safe.”
Safe on the road , she added silently, knowing that there was a different kind of danger in sitting next to a hot-blooded man in tight jeans and a chest-hugging T-shirt.
Especially when I can’t stop thinking about sex!
To distract herself, she launched into a sudden nervous description of the house they were heading for. She knew that she sounded like a robotic stately home tour guide, but the flow of words was a soothing distraction from her turbulent thoughts and feelings.
Whether Darryl understood her tactics or not she had no way of knowing, but he listened attentively nevertheless.
Dragonwood was a modest Queen Anne house, set in its own park and halfway between the South Downs coast and the village of Melton Parva. Talking about it was a therapy to Hettie, and as the car snaked its way steadily out of the metropolis, the images in her mind of the elegant pale-stoned building calmed her. Her pulse steadied as she cataloged its many joys and treasures—the warm-toned wood-paneled rooms, the paintings and furniture, the library full of rare and precious books, the gardens full of flowers and shrubs and trees.
“Can you swim, Darryl?” she asked him presently. “There’s a lovely pool.”
“I-I think so.” He hesitated, frowning, and Hettie realized he honestly didn’t remember. She felt a surge of pity and without thinking, reached out to touch his bare arm. What a nightmare, not to know what you’d done and what you’d learned. Even who you were, really.
Surprisingly her touch didn’t seem to startle him. His hand and arm remained still and warm beneath her fingers, but he raised the other and started rubbing at a small area of his forehead. He frowned again, his smooth face crumpling in a way that Hettie
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