Touch of Heaven by Maureen Smith Page B

finally gotten her wish. Warrick had kissed her—and it had far surpassed all her fantasies and expectations.
    Raina pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle the hysterical sound that bubbled up in her throat, something between a laugh and a sob.
    What in the world had she been thinking?
    She’d been in trouble the moment she had stepped into the garageand seen Warrick standing across the room, a smudge of grease on his rugged jaw, his impossibly broad shoulders and wide chest planed with hard, sinewy muscle that glistened with sweat. Her mouth had gone dry, and her legs had turned to water. It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed to appear calm and collected, when all she wanted to do was fly across the room and jump his damned bones.
    All bets were off once they were left alone.
    Raina shivered, a slow, delicious heat curling through her veins at the memory of touching Warrick’s powerfully built chest, his skin feeling like steel beneath warm silk. The heat of his mouth, the feel of those soft, sensual lips moving possessively over hers, had her wanting to climb inside him. The way he kissed—slow, deep and drugging—left no doubt in her mind that he was a magnificent lover, a skilled, patient lover who would take his time to bring her body and soul to unimagined heights of ecstasy.
    Raina let out an agonized groan as she slowed to a red traffic light. She dropped her face into her hands and deeply inhaled. Almost immediately she realized what a mistake that had been, because she could still smell Warrick on her hands, a masculine musk of sweat and desire that went straight to her head and flooded her loins.
    Closing her eyes, she shoved her hands between her clamped thighs as a fresh wave of arousal threatened another orgasm.
    What the hell was wrong with her, getting off on a man’s scent like some animal in heat! And not just any man, either. Warrick Mayne. The last man on earth she should have allowed herself to get so worked up over.
    The only man she’d ever gotten worked up over.
    She’d had no business touching him, kissing him, wrapping her legs around his waist and writhing desperately against him. They’d practically had sex on the hood of his uncle’s car! If Randall Mayne had returned a second sooner, Raina would have been mortified beyond belief to be caught in such a compromising position. But Warrick had been as cool as the proverbial cucumber, leaving Raina to wonder if he did this sort of thing all the time.
    Of course he does, her conscience mocked. He’s Warrick Mayne. He earned his playboy reputation as legitimately as he earned his fortune.
    If that weren’t enough to convince her to steer clear of the man, the fact that he was her enemy, that he was on a mission to put her out of business, should have done the trick.
    But it hadn’t.
    Nothing had stopped her from succumbing to temptation and melting in Warrick’s arms. And now that he had discerned her weakness for him, Raina knew that he was ruthless enough—vindictive enough—to try to exploit his advantage. She couldn’t let that happen.
    Raina was so consumed by her thoughts that she didn’t realize she had reached her sister’s house until she nearly rear-ended the shiny silver Lexus luxury sedan parked in the driveway. She stomped on the brake just in time, jerking to a stop behind the car.
    She breathed in deeply to compose herself, then climbed out of the car and made her way up to the large, two-story redbrick house with tall windows and surrounded by an impeccably manicured lawn.
    The woman who answered the door bore such a striking resemblance to Raina that the two women, though four years apart, had often been mistaken for twins. They were both the same height at five-six, sharing the same high cheekbones, full lips and slanted dark eyes that others had been known to teasingly call “cat eyes.” The two sisters had even cut their