Dylan dropped on his haunches and moved the steaks in the fridge up to make way for the chocolate.
“Yeah. About dinner…”
“You didn’t cook it, did you?”
“I wanted to,” he said, casting a hand around the paltry kitchen. “The boat let me down, man.”
“They say a bad workman blames his tools.”
He held the raw steak in its packet out as evidence. “This was dinner.”
Kara huffed. “Maybe it’s just as well then. I’m a vegetarian.”
Shit, he’d ordered mixed paella, and knew for a fact that it included chicken and chorizo.
“First rule of dating, Sailor. Check your facts.”
Dylan frowned, remembering back to the dinner party at the villa. His expression relaxed.
“So. You’re a vegetarian who eats ham?”
Kara’s face cracked into a grin. “I had you there for a second though, didn’t I?”
“Funny girl.” He pushed the steaks back into the fridge and stood up. “We’re eating up on deck. Go on, I’ll be up there in a minute.”
He handed Kara a bottle of wine, then stood back to allow her out. The Love Tug definitely encouraged close proximity, there wasn’t room to swing a kitten, let alone a cat. Did she sniff him as she squeezed by? The overwhelming urge to drop a kiss on the curve of her neck had him clenching his teeth. He wouldn’t make the first move. If his conscience was going to survive this girl, the ball had to stay entirely in Kara’s court. He badly wanted her to decide to play, but she had to be the one to make a move.
She turned to him as he leaned against the open doorway.
“You know the drill. Don’t look up my dress.”
Chapter Nine
“Paella,” Dylan said, placing the cooking pot down on the floor by his chair because the table was so small. He’d laid it earlier in the evening, or at least he’d gone as far as putting plates and cutlery out.
Kara watched him. Barefoot and beautiful in jeans and a soft, fitted white shirt with tiny, faded blue flowers on it, he was a good fit with his laid back, hippy-cool boat. To his credit he did seem at ease with the food, as he ladled delicious-looking paella onto their plates. Before he sat down to eat, he skipped down the steps again. A second later, fairy lights winked on all around the boat’s railings. The effect was impossibly pretty, adding a soft haze of romance to the evening air.
Kara said, as usual, the first thing that came to mind when Dylan reappeared.
“Ah, shoot. I’m allergic to shell-fish.”
She touched the shell of a mussel with her fork with a pained look.
“No you’re fucking not,” he said, pouring wine into their glasses. He wasn’t falling for it for a second this time.
“You’re right, I’m not,” she said, conceding with good grace as she tested the paella. “Wow, this is gorgeous. You must give me the recipe some time.”
“No can do, English. It’s top secret.”
Dylan only wished his cooking skills ran to such knowledge, because Kara was right, it was delicious. They ate the entire pot, and their relaxed conversation meandered lightly around topics loosely linked to work. When he opened a second bottle of wine she looked at him steadily.
“Are you plying me with wine in the hope that I’ll ask you to take your shirt off again?”
Dylan cleared the plates and his throat.
“I’m fast learning not to try and guess what’s going to come out of your mouth next.”
Kara knew that feeling. She dearly wished she could master the art of engaging her brain before her mouth.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No. It’s a very good thing.”
When he poured the wine, she sighed and raised a deliberate glance to his.
“I can’t drive if I have another glass of wine.”
He relaxed back and picked up his own glass. “Me neither.”
Kara reached down and rummaged in her handbag, then laid her toothbrush carefully down on the table between them. She watched Dylan’s face, scrutinising his expression. His lowered lashes hid it from her as he seemed to study the toothbrush for a few seconds, but when he lifted his eyes again, there was no mistaking the understanding that passed between them.
He reached into his jeans pocket and did a little rummaging of his own, then laid a silver-foiled condom packet down next to her toothbrush.
It was Kara’s turn to study the table for a second before she spoke.
“Just the one?”
He settled back in his chair, then shook his head and sipped his wine.
“Whole box.”
She weighed this up, then moved to kneel in front of him. Dylan was aware that a line was probably being crossed.
“I think it’s probably time I took your shirt off.”
A line had definitely been crossed.
Dylan widened his knees so she could move in between them. He closed his eyes briefly when she touched the first button of his shirt. He opened them again when she slid it free, reaching out to stroke his hand down her hair as she wordlessly finished unfastening his shirt and slipped it back off his shoulders.
She’d seen his naked torso already, but it did nothing to deaden the effect of seeing it again, here and now. He had the body of a man who paid attention to detail. But not too much. Conditioned and tanned, sure, but without vanity. Perfect.
His shirt hit the deck, and he slid forward on the chair and moved his arms around her until he had her held against his warm, naked chest.
“You nervous, English?” He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You’re trembling.”
“Yeah.” Kara bit her bottom lip and nodded, tentative. Then, without missing a beat, she added, “I’m nervous that you’re going to be a terrible kisser.”
He laughed softly, so close she could taste him, so near she could smell him, that heady scent that seemed to short-circuit her brain.
“We’d better find out then, hadn’t we?” Dylan held her chin between his thumb and fingers and tipped her mouth up to his.
Slow. So, so slow, and agonisingly tender. He barely let his lips graze hers, once, then again. Oh God. Kara’s palms were flat against his chest, enough to feel his heartbeat pick up when she opened her mouth and touched her tongue against his.
“How’m I doing here?” he murmured, smoothing her hair back from her face with both hands.
“Not bad,” she whispered.
“Not bad, huh?” Kara felt his smile on her lips.
She realised a few seconds too late that she’d been hustled. He yanked her hard against him and lowered his head. This time he wasn’t slow, and he wasn’t tender. His mouth was hot and open over hers, and the sudden kick up from tentative to filthy had her body screaming for more. Sweet baby Jesus, his tongue. Kara heard herself whimper and couldn’t have cared less.
The man was world class. If there were kissing medals, Dylan Day would get the gold.
He hadn’t so much as touched her body yet, but she was closer to orgasm than she would care to admit. One touch. One touch, and she’d go.
“Undress me,” she breathed, desperate to feel his skin pressed against hers.
He pushed her hair away from her ear and sank his teeth into her earlobe as he lifted the hem of her dress. Kara raised her arms above her head and let him tug it up her body. It landed on the deck on top of his shirt.
“Stand up.” The raw edge in his voice made her stomach flip. “I want to see you.”
She stood for him. He moved to stand in front of her. Holding her hand, drinking her in.
Standing up there on the roof deck of Dylan’s boat, illuminated only by the pinpricks of the fairy lights, Kara knew without doubt that sex with this man was going to change her forever. There was no question in her mind about whether it was a good idea. At this moment, it was a necessity.