By Request Collection Part 2. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
were parked there. Instinctively, though, she knew that his eyes were following her retreating figure, the way her hair cascaded down her back like a golden waterfall, and the not entirely involuntary sway of her hips as she prayed she wouldn’t miss her footing in her high-heeled sandals all the way back to the car. She even begged Lance Culverwell to let her drive, and she pulled out of that tired-looking little boatyard with her head high and her hair blowing in the breeze, laughing a little too brightly at some remark her grandfather made, wanting to get herself noticed—wanted—and by him.
He wasn’t right for her, of course. He was a mere boat hand, after all, and far removed from the professional type of young men she usually dated. But something had happened between her and that gorgeous hunk she’d exchanged glances with that day, something that defied cultural and financial differences, and the boundaries of class and status. It was something primeval and wholly animal that made her drive back from town in a fever of excitement, guessing that Lance Culverwell would be appalled if he knew what she was thinking, feeling—which was an overwhelming desire to see that paragon of masculinity who had made her so aware of herself as a woman again, and soon.
She didn’t have long to wait. It was the following week, after she had been shopping in town.
Laden with purchases for a party her grandparents were giving, she was just starting up the hill, wishing she hadn’t decided to walk down that morning but had brought her car instead, when one of her carrier bags suddenly slipped out of her hand just as she was crossing the road.
Making a lunge for it, and dropping another bag in the process, she sucked in a breath as a motorbike suddenly cruised to a halt in front of her and a black-booted foot nudged the first errant carrier to the side of the carriageway.
‘Hello again.’ The sexily curving mouth of the leather-clad figure on the bike was unmistakable: Seth Mason. She remembered her grandfather casually referring to him on the way home the previous week, and had hugged the name to her like a guilty secret. Her heart seemed to go into free fall as he spoke to her, then felt like it was beating out of control.
‘You’ve bitten off more than you can chew.’ He looked amused at her plight. His voice, though, was deep and so warm that she fell in love with it just standing there on that rural road as he bent to pick up the one bag she still hadn’t retrieved and restored it to her flustered arms. ‘You look as though you could do with a lift.’
Every instinct of survival screamed at Grace to refuse, to listen to the nagging little voice of wisdom that warned her that involving herself with this man would definitely be biting off more than she could chew! But everything about him was exciting, from his dark, enigmatic features to his hard, lean body and the heavy pulsing of the motorbike’s engine between those powerful, leather-clad thighs.
‘I’m Seth Mason…if you’re wondering,’ he stated dryly, after she deposited her bags in the pannier and sat astride the bike.
‘I know,’ she said, easing down her mini-skirt that had ridden up to reveal more golden thigh than she wanted him to see.
‘Aren’t you going to tell me your name?’ A distinct edge crept into his voice as he added, ‘Or do you think I should know it?’
Grace had laughed at that. ‘Don’t you?’ she asked cheekily.
From the look he sent over his shoulder, he wasn’t particularly impressed.
‘I’m Grace,’ she told him quickly in the light of his challenging, brooding gaze.
‘Here.’ He thrust a crash helmet into her hand. ‘Put this on.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘If you want to ride with me, you do.’
He was responsible for her safety, that was what he was saying. The thought of having his protection sent a little frisson through Grace.
Somewhat nervously she said, ‘I’ve never been on a motorbike before.’
‘Then hold on to me,’ was his firm command.
Even now, letting herself into the flat, Grace could still remember the thrill of putting her arms around his hard, masculine body. Of laying her cheek against the warm leather that spanned his back while the bike had throbbed and vibrated like a live thing beneath them.
‘Lean when I do!’ he shouted back above the engine’s sudden roar. ‘Don’t pull against me.’
Never in a million years! the young Grace sighed inwardly, utterly enthralled, though she kept her feelings to herself for the unusually lengthy journey home.
‘You took the long way round.’ She pretended to chastise him, stepping off the bike. Her legs felt like jelly and for more reasons than just the vibration, or the speed with which he had driven the powerful machine along a particularly fast stretch of road.
Something tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘Well, they do say a girl always remembers her first time.’
Her cheeks felt as though they were on fire as she took off her helmet and handed it back to him. ‘I will. It was truly unforgettable. Thanks.’ But her voice shook at the images his comment about a girl’s first time gave rise to. What would he say, she wondered, if he knew that there never had been a first time in that most basic of respects? That she was still a virgin? Would he lose interest in her? Because she was sure there was interest there. Or would he regard her as a challenge, like a lot of the men she’d dated had, backing off when they’d realised she wasn’t an easy lay?
He was looking at the impressive security gates, and the big house with its curving drive visible behind them, but as she moved to retrieve her purchases from the pannier he said, ‘Would you like a hand carrying those in?’
Setting the electric gates in motion, she laughed, saying, ‘I don’t think that’s really necessary, do you?’ But then, impelled by something outside her usually reserved nature, she was shocked to hear herself adding provocatively, ‘Or do you?’
It was a game she had been playing with him; she knew that now—in hindsight. Now that she had the benefit of maturity on her side. But she had wanted him, so badly, even while she’d known that a relationship with a man like Seth Mason was strictly taboo.
She cringed now as she thought about her behaviour at that time. Even so, she couldn’t stop the memories from spilling over into every nook and cranny of her consciousness, no matter how much she wanted to hold them at bay.
‘Exactly what do you want from me, Grace?’
She remembered those words like they’d been spoken yesterday as, helmet removed, he’d come round to the rear of the bike and helped recover the last of her bags.
She took it from him with a hooked finger, laughing, but nervously this time. ‘Who says I want anything from you?’
He studied her long and hard, those penetrating grey eyes so disquieting that she was the first one to break eye-contact. Distinctly she remembered now how vividly blue the sky had been behind his gleaming ebony head, and how the colours of the busy Lizzies in the borders along her grandparents’ drive had dazzled her eyes almost painfully with their brilliance as she averted her gaze from his unsettling regard.
‘You know where to find me,’ he drawled, turning away from her with almost marked indifference, so that she felt deflated as she moved along the drive.
The starting up of his bike was an explosion of sound that ripped through the air and which brought her round to see only the back of his arrogant figure as he shot off like an avenging angel down the long, steep hill. The roar of his engine seemed to stamp his personality on every brick and balcony of the quiet, prestigious neighbourhood, and seemed to linger long after he had gone.
She didn’t go down to the boatyard again. She couldn’t bring herself to be so totally brazen as to let him think she was actually chasing him, even though it was torture for her not to make some feeble excuse to her grandparents and sneak down into town to see him.
In