"Taking a coffee break?" she said caustically, furious with the way her nipples hardened and rubbed against the lace that covered them, the way her pulses throbbed in all the wrong places. The way her chest hummed at just the sight, the nearness of the man.
"Nope-quitting time." Nikolas took her bucket from her and motioned with his head. "Job's all done."
She saw then that the other pickers were drifting in from the vineyard, laughing, chattering, teasing one another as they passed their laden buckets up to someone on the wagons to be dumped into the grinders mounted on barrels. Phillipe was there in the midst of it all, bantering and exchanging back-slaps with the men, kisses with the women, as they removed hats and scarves, wiped necks and brows, lit cigarettes or drank from water bottles.
"So, what now?" Rhia closed one eye. squinted up at the sun and added hopefully. "Lunch?"
His smile kindled, and she felt herself responding to it even though she very much did not want to. "If you mean like yesterday's bacchanalia, sorry to disappoint you, luv, but no. No marc for you today, I'm afraid. Everybody'll be heading on home, I should imagine. They've chores of their own to take care of. after all. Things to do…"
"So, tomorrow you all move on to another farm, is that the way it works?"
"Not tomorrow, it's Sunday. Nobody picks on Sunday." He made a scolding noise with his tongue. "Shame on you-nice Catholic girl, you should know that."
Rhia gave him a look as she lifted a hand and pulled the scarf from her head, gave it a shake to let what breeze there was move through her sweat-damp hair. She was too hot and tired to banter with him. And hungry. "Right now, all I know is, I need a sandwich and a shower-not necessarily in that order."
"I think I can arrange that." His lashes lowered, his smile grew lazy and his movements unhurried as he casually reached out and fingered a damply curling lock of her hair off her neck and guided it over her shoulder.
Somewhere, far, far away, bees were humming, birds were singing, people were laughing…and Rhia heard none of it. She heard only the pounding of her heart, felt only the sizzle of the sunlight on her cheeks, and the shivery baish of Nikolas's fingers on her neck. She swayed slightly; she couldn't help it.
"Though…I must say, I like you this way-all wet and wild, hot-eyed and dusty. Rather like a gypsy."
He knew he shouldn't do it. Shouldn't touch her, shouldn't tease her-though it amounted to teasing himself more than anything. But he couldn't seem to help it. Somewhere along the line, his wanting had become need, and since he wasn't in the habit of allowing his physical and sexual needs to get in the way of his commitments and responsibilities, he wondered if he was allowing this particular need to blossom on purpose, as a distraction and a buffer from the chaos of his life.
As good an explanation as any. he thought. A tiny ember of alien emotions flared within him-anger, a touch of fear, touches of bitterness and bleak despair-and was quickly smothered. In a day or two he would face whatever the future had in store for him, but for now… for now, by damn, he would allow himself toenjoy whatever pleasures this beautiful, exotic, intriguing creature might offer him. No guilt, no regrets.
He'd devoted his life so far-his youth, certainly-to a cause, denied himself the comfort and fulfillment of relationships, settling instead for the temporary ease of casual affairs, the willing company of the type of woman that seemed to come his way in endless supply. He had no idea what he might be doing a week or a month from now. but for today, and perhaps tomorrow, there was this woman. Rhia. That the most beautiful and fascinating woman he'd ever met should have come into his life at such a time seemed to him more than chance. More, even, than serendipity. It almost…almost… made him believe in fate.
Fate. The thought jarred him back to awareness, where he discovered green cat's eyes gazing into his. hazy with confusion, and his hand resting on Rhia's neck, his thumb stroking up and down her sweat-slick throat, and a hot coal of desire in his belly that threatened to set him on fire.
Taking back his hand, he said. "Right, then, let's see what we can do about getting you your heart's desire…" Brisk was what he'd intended, and instead heard his voice emerge thick and furry as woolen mittens. He swiped his hand across the leg of his jeans-as if that could wipe the feel of her skin from his sensory memory-then walked the length of the wagon, checking the load of filled barrels. He paused beside the tractor to give Rhia a come-here gesture with his head and hand. "Here, this rig looks ready to go-come on, up you get."
He watched her eyes get that certain glow and her chin that particular little tilt that he was coming to know very well. It meant her independent nature was about to do battle with her feminine side. He felt a ridiculous surge of purely masculine triumph when she stepped forward and gave him her hand, allowing him to "help" her onto the tractor's high step. And a surge of something much more mysterious, a kind of exotic delight, when she gave him a sideways look as she did so. a look that clearly said. I'm only doing this to humor your masculine ego, you know.
She gave her head a toss as she seated herself on the high rear fender. Nik chuckled as he took the driver's seat and started up the tractor. He waved to Phillipe and the other pickers and pulled out of the line and onto the road, smiling to himself, all his senses, his nerves, his whole body sizzling with a particular excitement…alertness…expectancy He remembered it well, that feeling, though it had been a good long while since he'd experienced it.
The thrill of the chase.
Chapter 6
The shower was primitive by American plumbing standards, obviously a late-though not recent-addition to the old stone farmhouse. It consisted, as so many European showers do, of a handheld device that had a tendency to snake out of control and spray tepid water in unintended directions, usually. Rhia found, when her eyes were tightly shut and her face covered with shampoo. So it wasn't the sensual pleasure of it that made her linger much longer than she should have.
She needed to think. She did some of her best thinking in the shower; something about the gentle drumming on her scalp, the relaxing massage and caress of the water, the shushing sounds that drowned out all distractions. Sometimes she thought it seemed as though the water actually loosened up her mind…washed away clutter…made things clearer. And she desperately needed to think clearly-about many things, but mostly about Nikolas Donovan.
Thoughts of Nikolas were dangerous. Even painful. But she forced herself to think of him anyway, like pressing on a bruise to assure herself that it really did hurt. The attraction she felt for him that had seemed so entertaining at first-daring…a little wicked, but ultimately harmless-had begun to feel instead like being caught in a flood. The water had risen before she'd realized it. and now she was being swept away by the torrent. Sometimes swimming hard and still fighting it. tme. Sometimes, for a moment, giving in and letting the current cany her. Those times, the giving-in times, the letting go of the struggle times, were beginning to feel like such a relief to her. and every second the temptation grew to simply…let go. Stop fighting it. Stop trying to cling to what remained of her sanity and good sense, which were as useless anyway against the rising tide of her feelings as grabbing for twigs in a flood.