Margaret Mayo - Her Wealthy Husband

But Lara couldn’t relax; she stepped out onto the veranda that ran the width of the loft and looked down at Bryce. Her breath caught in her throat. He’d stripped off his shirt and as he leaned over the engine powerful muscles flexed beneath darkly tanned skin. His shoulders were wide, his hips narrow, and she saw a power and strength that she’d only guessed at. It did strange things to her, knotting muscles and quickening pulses, and it became increasingly clear that Bryce Kellerman was beginning to creep beneath her skin. She turned back into the room, needing to escape while she could still breathe.

It was a perfect place to live. Why would anyone want to buy a huge house full of rooms that were rarely used? This was spacious enough to entertain and yet small enough to look after with the minimum of fuss.

Even in the kitchen there was everything to make life easy, a huge fridge and freezer standing side by side, a dishwasher, washing machine, microwave, a double oven with separate hob. It was a dream kitchen. I could work in here, she thought, and never want for anything.

So engrossed was Lara that she didn’t hear Bryce come up the stairs and enter the apartment, wasn’t even aware of his presence until she turned around—and cannoned into him.

Instinctively she put her hands out to steady herself and felt firsthand those powerful muscles, felt the hardness and warmth of his body. And again desire flared through her—hot, instant desire. It ripped through her body like an exploding firework.

Involuntarily she looked up into Bryce’s face—and saw her own raw need mirrored there. Move, before it’s too late, she ordered, before something happens that you’ll regret, but she was incapable even of speaking, much less retreating.

It felt like for ever that she stood there touching him, her palms burning, her heartbeats racing, her eyes locked into his. And even when she heard him groan, saw his head bow down towards her, she could do nothing about it except wait for the inevitable.

When, with another groan, one sounding like despair this time, he backed away from her, shot away in fact, it came as a distinct shock. ‘Why did you have to do that?’ he asked harshly.

Lara felt bemused all of a sudden and shook her head. ‘Do what?’

‘Touch me like that, dammit.’

Bryce’s belly was on fire, his pulses jerked uncontrollably, and it had taken every ounce of his not inconsiderable will-power to back out of the situation that had begun to look so promising.

He knew that Lara would have hated him for it afterwards. She might not have been able to help herself in that instant—it was one of those moments of madness that crept up on most people at some time or another—but she’d made her feelings crystal clear.

If he dared go beyond the bounds of friendship he would lose her altogether. Much as he might want to make love to her, hold her in his arms and feel that wonderfully sexy body against his, he had to be patient. Even if it meant a long, ice-cold shower every time he left her.

‘I wasn’t touching you.’ She spat the words back. ‘Not in the way you mean. I was simply steadying myself. You’re a fool to yourself if you took it to mean anything else.’

She looked beautiful, blue eyes flashing, cheeks an angry red, her whole body pulsating. She would never have admitted it, he knew, but that moment of contact had disturbed her as much as it had him. If he’d given in to temptation she would have returned his kiss with the passion she was strongly trying to deny.

He tried to control his deepened breathing, tried to take his eyes away from her, but it was like attempting to stem a tidal flow. ‘You took long enough about moving.’ He grunted. ‘It looked to me like an invitation.’ It wasn’t true, but it was his best form of defence. ‘If that’s the type of relationship you want, why don’t you be honest with yourself and admit it?’

Lara shook her head angrily and turned her back on him, hands splayed on the counter top, not even deigning to answer. She was rigid from head to foot—and it was entirely his fault! He cursed himself for his stupidity. He should have backed away the instant she fell against him; he should never have allowed time for desire to erupt—except that it had been so instant he could have done nothing about it.

‘Is the boat ready?’ she asked raggedly.

She’d had enough of his company! She wanted to go home! She probably never wanted to see him again! He pulled a wry face, fists clenched at his side. ‘Almost. I came up for a drink. Would you like one?’ Trying to appear normal, almost impossible considering the state of his hormones, Bryce opened the fridge and took out an ice-cold can.

‘No, thanks.’ It was a tight, tiny voice, still shutting him out, still telling him in no uncertain terms that she disapproved of his behaviour.

‘Well, there’s one here if you want it.’ He left the room; he couldn’t remain there watching her hating him. The whole day had started wrongly and he blamed it on Roger. If the damn man hadn’t upset her none of this would have happened.

Why on earth would he go through with a divorce and then want her back? It didn’t make sense. And how much of the truth was he ever likely to learn? Lara could have been exaggerating. He might be a very nice guy. It might be that she hadn’t been ready for marriage and had felt the constraints, had regretted losing her carefree, single status. It did happen.

He gulped down the drink and threw the can in the bin, then tried to concentrate on what he was doing. He hadn’t really needed to go upstairs to get a drink when there was one in the cool-box. But he had sensed Lara looking down at him and it had created urges. Urges he could do nothing about, but at least he could be near her.

It was a ridiculous state of affairs. He was treading on dangerous ground. He wasn’t even being perfectly honest with her. Yet she was getting beneath his skin like no other woman ever had, and time spent apart was like being under the surgeon’s knife with no anaesthetic.

He worked feverishly, trying to shut her out of his mind, but it was impossible. The merest thought sent his testosterone levels rising. The best thing he could do would be to take her back to Helen’s and then forget her. There was no hope for him. This friendship thing wasn’t working. She was too dangerously attractive.

He’d tried—he hadn’t given it very long, admittedly—but this latest incident had proved how unattainable such a friendship was. Why he’d suggested it in the first place he didn’t know. He’d wanted her from the second he’d clapped eyes on her. How could he have even contemplated settling for anything less?

As soon as the new fuel pump was connected and all was running sweetly he washed his hands beneath the outside tap before running up to the loft apartment, this time taking care to let her know he was coming.

Lara was reading a magazine. A man’s magazine! Or maybe she was pretending to read it. She looked up as he entered, her expression cool and disinterested. ‘Ready?’

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