“And you’re not my bride, yet I still can’t stop myself from wondering.”
“Stop putting ideas in my head.”
“Where would you rather I put them?” he teased.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, moving fractionally toward him. “You’re temptation incarnate.”
He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the railing on either side of her. “And what’s your position on temptation?”
“Never turn it down.”
“Why?”
She moved into him, closing that final distance so their bodies touched. One slender hand rested on his chest; the other wound through his hair, gripping just tight enough to exert control. Eyes locked with his, she pulled him toward her at the same time she rose on her toes. “You never know when it might come around again.”
Liam groaned as their mouths came together in a rush of heat and hurry and hunger. There was nothing tentative about the kiss. It would burn hot and then hotter until it became a supernova that consumed them both.
Her body was pliant, yielding to his, pushing back against him in every critical place. Liam wondered that their clothes didn’t turn to ash at every point of contact.
And he wanted more of her, then and there, than he’d ever wanted of another woman.
He hesitated a split second, but it was enough.
Ella broke the kiss, slipped under his arm and took several long strides toward the bedroom. Pausing, she reached down and slipped her heels off. Liam watched as she curled her bare feet into the fluffy rug and then uncurled them.
He couldn’t believe that this woman, this siren, would have toenails painted the faintest seashell pink. It seemed like a secret that he alone knew, and he had the strangest urge to keep anyone else from knowing this tiny private thing about her.
This had to stop.
He hadn’t come here to engage in a tryst. The only reason compelling enough to take him away from the office mid–corporate takeover was his little sister’s well-being. When she’d told him she needed help planning the perfect wedding, he’d met her and her fiancé in London for dinner. The man, semiprofessional baseball player Mike Feigenbaum, had been attentive at first. That had quickly devolved following a phone call the man had taken midmeal—answering without apology and leaving the table without excusing himself. He’d missed most of the main course and had snapped at Jenna when she went to check on him. She’d been upset, and her proposed groom had done nothing to console her. Instead, he’d shown signs of a temper Liam wouldn’t allow Jenna to become tied to.
So he’d flown halfway round the world to stop his sister from marrying a domineering asshole following a whirlwind romance that had been documented by all the gossip rags.
Rolling up his sleeves and strolling with feigned casualness to the hammock, Liam lay down and locked his hands behind his head. He watched Ella from under half-lowered eyelids. She was temptation incarnate. Her body was in lush profile to him, her unapologetic stare locked on his.
“So that’s what our kiss would have been like?” He rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. “Sufficient.”
She chuffed out a sound of indignation laced with disbelief. “If that driving wood behind your zipper isanyindication, that kiss was far more than sufficient.” Bending, she scooped up her shoes. “And seeing as I’ve been more than clear on my lack of appreciation for liars, I’d suggest you cut the crap.”
“Testy.” Liam gently set the hammock to rocking and continued to watch Ella. “Tell me, have you always had this aversion to fibbers, or is this something new?”
“I’ve never been a fan of lying. What’s the point?”
“To get what one wants, I assume.”
Her face closed up, any and all emotion under lock and key. “No matter whom you hurt?”
“Who hurt you?” The question wasn’t meant to be as weighty as it sounded, but Liam found himself desperately wanting to resolve the problem for this fiery woman. It would cost him little and potentially relieve her of some personal baggage.
She looked at him askance, worrying her bottom lip.
“Tell me.”
“Ask nicely,” she retorted.
He waited.
So did she.