“You look like you did on that seawall. A stunning creature made for the island Gods to covet.”
Briana shivered as she listened to the haunting semblance of a dream she often envisioned for herself. The part about the bungalow, that is. This condominium was convenient for work, however. The fantasy of a bungalow along the sea was just that—a fantasy. It was not practical for Briana Holt, the contractor, as Nick had so adroitly pointed out. But the way he had spoken of her —Briana, the woman—there was a hushed reverence in his voice that captivated her.
What the hell? This man should not be getting to her like this. She shrugged away the effect and swung open the car door, using it as a barrier between them.
In a business capacity, she was great at handling men. Staring across the car door at a mouth that had made love to her own, she faltered.
“Tell me something, Nick.”
Dark eyes encouraged her.
“Did I miscalculate? Should the specs for that seawall have been higher? The first structure is only forty yards from the water. Should I have built it further back?”
No barrier could keep Nick from touching her. His hand reached across the door and settled on the flip of hair draped over her shoulder. He toyed with the tresses, reluctant to let go.
“I’m no expert, Briana. And believe me, I was first in line to cast stones at Manale Palms .” Noticing the quirk of her lips, he dropped his hand.
Once again, the cool businesswoman stood before him with a thrust of the chin and the grim set of her mouth. Composed on the outside, Briana’s eyes divulged a turbulent ocean. Nick blinked in an attempt to free himself from that maelstrom.
Such a contradiction this woman was—riding a fine line between poise and passion. It was a recipe that made him want to unravel the cool woman, and comfort the frightened girl.
“But honestly, I have found nothing wrong with your site. You’ve met all the laws and yielded to them more so than I’ve seen any other outfit.”
Briana sighed and gently clicked the door shut.
“Well, thank you for—thank you for—” she struggled,“—an interesting evening.”
“You’re welcome.”
Damn, if her expression wasn’t so — naked . Nick saw more than he should be privy to. She was a mess. Barefoot, damp, and disheveled. Her silk blouse was yanked loose from her skirt, and her blond hair was thrown into erratic wisps from the open jeep.
He wanted her. God damn , he wanted her. Right now .
Flawed logic convinced him that he could handle kissing her again . Just a simple one—short and sweet, to say goodnight.
He dipped his head and scarcely touched Briana’s lips. His mouth hovered, indecisive, and then returned for another swipe. On the next stroke, the contact lingered until his arm snaked around her back to haul her against him. Briana gasped and he took advantage of the gap between her lips.
And then he stopped.
They stood face to face, breathing erratic, locked in silent bewilderment.
Beneath Briana’s palms which were flat against his chest, he could feel the staccato rhythm of his heart. This was crazy. He had never felt such a lack of control. Fortunately, Briana was removing temptation. She began to retreat, mounting the first concrete step .
She mustered up a smile, one of those business-deal beams.
“Good night, Nick.”
Son of a bitch, I want to kiss her.
He cleared his throat and followed her to the illuminated entryway, but stopped short a few feet from the double doors.
“No awkward discouragements,” he whispered. “Remember?”
“I remember.”
But had she asked, he didn’t think he would have discouraged.
***
Briana swiveled in her chair so that her back was to the desk, and her bare foot was tapping restlessly against the glass wall. She stared out at Sand Island, but didn’t really focus on the freight community. Lifting a cup of coffee to her lips, she barely felt it scald her tongue. For the umpteenth time she
Briana shivered as she listened to the haunting semblance of a dream she often envisioned for herself. The part about the bungalow, that is. This condominium was convenient for work, however. The fantasy of a bungalow along the sea was just that—a fantasy. It was not practical for Briana Holt, the contractor, as Nick had so adroitly pointed out. But the way he had spoken of her —Briana, the woman—there was a hushed reverence in his voice that captivated her.
What the hell? This man should not be getting to her like this. She shrugged away the effect and swung open the car door, using it as a barrier between them.
In a business capacity, she was great at handling men. Staring across the car door at a mouth that had made love to her own, she faltered.
“Tell me something, Nick.”
Dark eyes encouraged her.
“Did I miscalculate? Should the specs for that seawall have been higher? The first structure is only forty yards from the water. Should I have built it further back?”
No barrier could keep Nick from touching her. His hand reached across the door and settled on the flip of hair draped over her shoulder. He toyed with the tresses, reluctant to let go.
“I’m no expert, Briana. And believe me, I was first in line to cast stones at Manale Palms .” Noticing the quirk of her lips, he dropped his hand.
Once again, the cool businesswoman stood before him with a thrust of the chin and the grim set of her mouth. Composed on the outside, Briana’s eyes divulged a turbulent ocean. Nick blinked in an attempt to free himself from that maelstrom.
Such a contradiction this woman was—riding a fine line between poise and passion. It was a recipe that made him want to unravel the cool woman, and comfort the frightened girl.
“But honestly, I have found nothing wrong with your site. You’ve met all the laws and yielded to them more so than I’ve seen any other outfit.”
Briana sighed and gently clicked the door shut.
“Well, thank you for—thank you for—” she struggled,“—an interesting evening.”
“You’re welcome.”
Damn, if her expression wasn’t so — naked . Nick saw more than he should be privy to. She was a mess. Barefoot, damp, and disheveled. Her silk blouse was yanked loose from her skirt, and her blond hair was thrown into erratic wisps from the open jeep.
He wanted her. God damn , he wanted her. Right now .
Flawed logic convinced him that he could handle kissing her again . Just a simple one—short and sweet, to say goodnight.
He dipped his head and scarcely touched Briana’s lips. His mouth hovered, indecisive, and then returned for another swipe. On the next stroke, the contact lingered until his arm snaked around her back to haul her against him. Briana gasped and he took advantage of the gap between her lips.
And then he stopped.
They stood face to face, breathing erratic, locked in silent bewilderment.
Beneath Briana’s palms which were flat against his chest, he could feel the staccato rhythm of his heart. This was crazy. He had never felt such a lack of control. Fortunately, Briana was removing temptation. She began to retreat, mounting the first concrete step .
She mustered up a smile, one of those business-deal beams.
“Good night, Nick.”
Son of a bitch, I want to kiss her.
He cleared his throat and followed her to the illuminated entryway, but stopped short a few feet from the double doors.
“No awkward discouragements,” he whispered. “Remember?”
“I remember.”
But had she asked, he didn’t think he would have discouraged.
***
Briana swiveled in her chair so that her back was to the desk, and her bare foot was tapping restlessly against the glass wall. She stared out at Sand Island, but didn’t really focus on the freight community. Lifting a cup of coffee to her lips, she barely felt it scald her tongue. For the umpteenth time she
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