again struggled to unknot the strings of the food bag. “I’ve asked all day, and yet I ask again. Will you please stop calling me Buttercup.”
“But you are so sweet.”
“I am not that sweet,” she muttered. “Damn these tangles. I can’t get them—”
Roane slipped the burlap sac from her hand and examined the knotted strings. Calloused, patient fingers coaxed the tangles loose. She did not glance up when he placed the food bag on the rock.
“Yes, you are sweet.” He hooked his finger under her chin and nudged her head up. Their eyes met, then he dropped his gaze down to her lips. “Sweet and spicy and tempting as sin.”
It was a simple glance, but it left her hot.
Hot and achy and full of want.
This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. “Tempting as sin? Really?” She arched away from his touch. “How original.”
His lips tilted up. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all day, Buttercup.”
“And why would I let you kiss me?”
“Because I could make you feel wonderful. Exceptionally wonderful. ”
Her face flushed at his silly words. She would put an end to this immediately. She could no longer stand his teasing. The compliments and double entendres. For heaven’s sake, she was beginning to believe them.
Somewhere, in the deep of her soul where longing was stronger than reason, she wanted Roane to be telling the truth.
She wanted to be beautiful, enchanting. Tempting as sin.
She wanted to be kissable.
And that was even more dangerous than his honeyed words. Her wanting.
One kiss and she would be free from her attraction. Free from him. Surely their embrace would be bumbling and awkward and full of lies.
She took a deep breath and looked up. “Very well, Roane, you’ve convinced me.” She waved her hand toward her lips. “Kiss me.”
“What?” Roane jerked his chin up. His blue eyes were hot on her.
“I said you’ve convinced me. Let us on with it.”
“What?” he said again.
“I’m raising the white flag of defeat. I’m charmed by your roguish ways. I’m awash with desire. Your flirting and pretty words have hit their mark. Kiss me.”
He ran his hand through his hair, leaving the blond curls on end. “What game is this, Helen?”
“What makes you think it is a game?”
His brows lowered over his eyes. “You don’t appear like a woman who needs to be kissed.”
She drew back, stung by his remark.
“Your lips are smashed together,” he continued. “And your shoulders are tense.”
So they were. She let herself relax, softened her neck and shoulders. This was no game, no challenge. She wanted Roane to kiss her. Needed him to kiss her.
She took a deep breath and unlaced her desire. Let her wanting show on her face, just this one time. Later, she would tuck it away where it belonged, hidden in the darkness of her dreams.
Now, tonight in this shadowed meadow, she wanted to touch the tempting man before her. To run her hands over the hard span of his shoulders. Over his stubbled jaw and smooth lips.
She wanted to taste him.
Her lips parted.
“Much better,” he rumbled.
His hand landed on her wrist. Warm fingers wrapped around her delicate bones and tugged her forward. Too far gone for rhythm, her heartbeat crashed against her ribs.
What had she done?
Roane slid his hand up her arm to the back of her neck. “I am not a nice man, Helen. I kiss sweet girls who should know better than to taunt me.”
“I am not a girl, Roane. I know what I want.”
“Good, because I make no promises about my behavior.” His voice was low and sent a tremor skittering across her skin. It was a tone that very well did make promises. Promises of touches, tastes, lingering caresses. And pleasure.
He bent down, a lock of hair sliding over his forhead, but stopped when his mouth was just inches from hers. In the end, it was she who pressed her lips to his. His mouth was softer than she had expected. His lips full and warm.
He wrapped his hands around her waist and drew
“But you are so sweet.”
“I am not that sweet,” she muttered. “Damn these tangles. I can’t get them—”
Roane slipped the burlap sac from her hand and examined the knotted strings. Calloused, patient fingers coaxed the tangles loose. She did not glance up when he placed the food bag on the rock.
“Yes, you are sweet.” He hooked his finger under her chin and nudged her head up. Their eyes met, then he dropped his gaze down to her lips. “Sweet and spicy and tempting as sin.”
It was a simple glance, but it left her hot.
Hot and achy and full of want.
This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. “Tempting as sin? Really?” She arched away from his touch. “How original.”
His lips tilted up. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all day, Buttercup.”
“And why would I let you kiss me?”
“Because I could make you feel wonderful. Exceptionally wonderful. ”
Her face flushed at his silly words. She would put an end to this immediately. She could no longer stand his teasing. The compliments and double entendres. For heaven’s sake, she was beginning to believe them.
Somewhere, in the deep of her soul where longing was stronger than reason, she wanted Roane to be telling the truth.
She wanted to be beautiful, enchanting. Tempting as sin.
She wanted to be kissable.
And that was even more dangerous than his honeyed words. Her wanting.
One kiss and she would be free from her attraction. Free from him. Surely their embrace would be bumbling and awkward and full of lies.
She took a deep breath and looked up. “Very well, Roane, you’ve convinced me.” She waved her hand toward her lips. “Kiss me.”
“What?” Roane jerked his chin up. His blue eyes were hot on her.
“I said you’ve convinced me. Let us on with it.”
“What?” he said again.
“I’m raising the white flag of defeat. I’m charmed by your roguish ways. I’m awash with desire. Your flirting and pretty words have hit their mark. Kiss me.”
He ran his hand through his hair, leaving the blond curls on end. “What game is this, Helen?”
“What makes you think it is a game?”
His brows lowered over his eyes. “You don’t appear like a woman who needs to be kissed.”
She drew back, stung by his remark.
“Your lips are smashed together,” he continued. “And your shoulders are tense.”
So they were. She let herself relax, softened her neck and shoulders. This was no game, no challenge. She wanted Roane to kiss her. Needed him to kiss her.
She took a deep breath and unlaced her desire. Let her wanting show on her face, just this one time. Later, she would tuck it away where it belonged, hidden in the darkness of her dreams.
Now, tonight in this shadowed meadow, she wanted to touch the tempting man before her. To run her hands over the hard span of his shoulders. Over his stubbled jaw and smooth lips.
She wanted to taste him.
Her lips parted.
“Much better,” he rumbled.
His hand landed on her wrist. Warm fingers wrapped around her delicate bones and tugged her forward. Too far gone for rhythm, her heartbeat crashed against her ribs.
What had she done?
Roane slid his hand up her arm to the back of her neck. “I am not a nice man, Helen. I kiss sweet girls who should know better than to taunt me.”
“I am not a girl, Roane. I know what I want.”
“Good, because I make no promises about my behavior.” His voice was low and sent a tremor skittering across her skin. It was a tone that very well did make promises. Promises of touches, tastes, lingering caresses. And pleasure.
He bent down, a lock of hair sliding over his forhead, but stopped when his mouth was just inches from hers. In the end, it was she who pressed her lips to his. His mouth was softer than she had expected. His lips full and warm.
He wrapped his hands around her waist and drew
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