choice?’
Phoebe watched, confused, as the laughter faded from his eyes, leaving a bleak, remote expression in its place.
‘I’m not the man to ask about choices, Phoebe. I’m an expert at making the wrong ones.’
Phoebe’s eyes slid uneasily from his. She got the impression he was leaving a lot unsaid—furthermore, she wasn’t sure she’d have wanted to hear what he’d had to say had he not clammed up.
‘If it makes you happy,’ she conceded abruptly, ‘I’ll go along with this, but I can only spare you an hour.’
Some of the tension seemed to ease from his broad shoulders. ‘Excellent!’
Uneasy about the wisdom of her swift surrender, she rationalised her reckless decision by reflecting on the innate stubbornness of Connor’s character. In the long run it would be simpler and less time-consuming to humour him. It had nothing whatever to do with the fact that she hungered for his company, it had even less to do with the fact she felt more alive in his presence than she had done for years.
‘It might be an idea if you got dressed,’ he said, wondering what she’d have said if he’d opted for the much more pleasurable option of, Let me undress you. His imagination provided a very stimulating mental image of his own hands pulling down those satiny trousers over pale slim thighs...
It wasn’t as if there was anything particularly suggestive about the way his blue gaze travelled over her body, but it did make her uneasily wish she’d paused to put on a dressing-gown earlier.
‘Why?’ Phoebe was alarmed to hear her voice crack huskily.
‘Don’t ask questions, just—’ The effort of getting his libido in line made Connor’s mellow voice unusually harsh.
‘Do as I’m told?’ she derided.
‘There’s a first time for everything,’ he drawled wryly.
Phoebe showered and dressed in record time. She sat in front of the dressing-table mirror and combed her wet hair, trying not to think about what she was doing. If she did, almost certainly panic would set in.
‘I brought your coffee through.’
Phoebe shot to her feet, sending several items off the dressing-table to the floor as the broad shoulders attached to the only man in the world who had a voice that could reduce her to a mass of inarticulate craving appeared in the doorway.
‘Your crutches!’ she cried out huskily in alarm. Of the two things which had sprung to mind, it was a slightly safer choice. Take me, I’m yours. That might have produced more dramatic results—although that might have been wishful thinking on her part—but on the whole she felt she’d made the grown-up decision.
‘Don’t panic. I hopped, and I hardly spilt any,’ he boasted, a hint of smug pride for this achievement in his voice.
If I don’t get hold of myself I won’t be able to make the same boast, she thought, accepting the cup into her tremulous hand. This seemed a good time to remind herself that Connor was Penny’s. And she couldn’t betray her, not again.
‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, without looking up at him. In the confined space her flaring nostrils could detect the faint warm male muskiness of his body. A wave of dizziness made her clutch with her free hand for support. The only available support happened to be his chest. She was conscious of the steely strength and warmth beneath her fingers before she lifted her hand with a startled yelp.
‘My pleasure.’
A stranger might have read all the wrong things into that gravelly drawl—but she wasn’t a stranger.
If a person wanted to hear something enough, they’d hear it, she told herself, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the open top button of Connor’s casual blue cambric shirt. He had the single most sexy voice in the world. If he ever gave up on medicine, a fortune awaited him doing voice-over work! He could make the most prosaic statements sound like an indecent and highly attractive proposition.
Do you really think that pretending nothing is happening between you is
Phoebe watched, confused, as the laughter faded from his eyes, leaving a bleak, remote expression in its place.
‘I’m not the man to ask about choices, Phoebe. I’m an expert at making the wrong ones.’
Phoebe’s eyes slid uneasily from his. She got the impression he was leaving a lot unsaid—furthermore, she wasn’t sure she’d have wanted to hear what he’d had to say had he not clammed up.
‘If it makes you happy,’ she conceded abruptly, ‘I’ll go along with this, but I can only spare you an hour.’
Some of the tension seemed to ease from his broad shoulders. ‘Excellent!’
Uneasy about the wisdom of her swift surrender, she rationalised her reckless decision by reflecting on the innate stubbornness of Connor’s character. In the long run it would be simpler and less time-consuming to humour him. It had nothing whatever to do with the fact that she hungered for his company, it had even less to do with the fact she felt more alive in his presence than she had done for years.
‘It might be an idea if you got dressed,’ he said, wondering what she’d have said if he’d opted for the much more pleasurable option of, Let me undress you. His imagination provided a very stimulating mental image of his own hands pulling down those satiny trousers over pale slim thighs...
It wasn’t as if there was anything particularly suggestive about the way his blue gaze travelled over her body, but it did make her uneasily wish she’d paused to put on a dressing-gown earlier.
‘Why?’ Phoebe was alarmed to hear her voice crack huskily.
‘Don’t ask questions, just—’ The effort of getting his libido in line made Connor’s mellow voice unusually harsh.
‘Do as I’m told?’ she derided.
‘There’s a first time for everything,’ he drawled wryly.
Phoebe showered and dressed in record time. She sat in front of the dressing-table mirror and combed her wet hair, trying not to think about what she was doing. If she did, almost certainly panic would set in.
‘I brought your coffee through.’
Phoebe shot to her feet, sending several items off the dressing-table to the floor as the broad shoulders attached to the only man in the world who had a voice that could reduce her to a mass of inarticulate craving appeared in the doorway.
‘Your crutches!’ she cried out huskily in alarm. Of the two things which had sprung to mind, it was a slightly safer choice. Take me, I’m yours. That might have produced more dramatic results—although that might have been wishful thinking on her part—but on the whole she felt she’d made the grown-up decision.
‘Don’t panic. I hopped, and I hardly spilt any,’ he boasted, a hint of smug pride for this achievement in his voice.
If I don’t get hold of myself I won’t be able to make the same boast, she thought, accepting the cup into her tremulous hand. This seemed a good time to remind herself that Connor was Penny’s. And she couldn’t betray her, not again.
‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, without looking up at him. In the confined space her flaring nostrils could detect the faint warm male muskiness of his body. A wave of dizziness made her clutch with her free hand for support. The only available support happened to be his chest. She was conscious of the steely strength and warmth beneath her fingers before she lifted her hand with a startled yelp.
‘My pleasure.’
A stranger might have read all the wrong things into that gravelly drawl—but she wasn’t a stranger.
If a person wanted to hear something enough, they’d hear it, she told herself, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the open top button of Connor’s casual blue cambric shirt. He had the single most sexy voice in the world. If he ever gave up on medicine, a fortune awaited him doing voice-over work! He could make the most prosaic statements sound like an indecent and highly attractive proposition.
Do you really think that pretending nothing is happening between you is
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