With an inarticulate sound of dismay she pulled away. This broke the tactile embarrassment, but rather too late she realised that it revealed her to his unashamedly interested eyes. The blue gaze flickered from her flushed face down to the gentle sway of her breasts, pearly pale in the subdued light, gleaming with an opalescence that made Luke's breathing grow shallower. He seemed transfixed by the sight; his eyes followed the blue tracery of veins that were visible through the skin. The expression in his eyes was primitively ferocious

It was as if she was immobilised by the onslaught of his silent gaze. A robe, black, knotted loosely at the waist and gaping where her head had moments before lain, was all he appeared to be wearing. Involuntarily her eyes slid down the length of his legs, darkly tanned, covered with a dusting of dark hair. She made the return journey with an unfocused, dazed expression, trying to blot out the impact of the muscular power of his thighs on her senses.

She was trying to analyse the paroxysm of sensation that was aggravating every nerve-ending in her body. Luke's eyes, glowing with a frightening intensity, made her instantaneously aware of an important part of his personality—the earthy sensuality that suddenly hit her with a stunning force.

Her mind was a disorganised maze of impressions, half-formed concepts; she longed for solitude to allow these things to develop undisturbed by the analysis— the knowledge—she could see in the sapphire stare. Why did Luke always seem to know something she didn't?

'He's not worth dreaming about,' he said tightly.

'He?' She stared at him blankly. He was talking about Gavin, she realised, interpreting his words incredulously. She ought to have been dreaming of her ex-fiancé.

She was still sitting there, her nakedness on display, and the realisation came with a surge of blood that stained her skin. Shaking, she clutched at the sleeping- bag, pulling it up to her chin. Her knees went up to her chest and she hugged her arms protectively around herself.

'It was just a nightmare,' she said huskily, feeling obliged to infuse a touch of normality into the proceedings—not that there was the first thing normal in Luke's sitting half naked on her bed!

The expression on his face as he watched her frenzied efforts at concealment made her feel even more flustered and unsophisticated. Women were seen topless around countless pools and on numerous beaches; she should have been able to deal with the situation with more panache, more finesse.

It wasn't being caught disrobed, it was being caught by Luke. She digested this insight with unease. If Gavin had discovered her in a similar situation she wouldn't have felt this acute painful awareness of her body; she'd have laughed the incident off and probably fought off his easily subdued advances. Luke wasn't about to make any advances to a Stapely, she reminded herself, unless, as earlier, he wanted to prove a point. A surge of adrenalin made her heart step up a beat as she skimmed over the idea. He wouldn't… She'd never… Was this really her feeling the heat of excitement as she speculated about the unthinkable? What would it feel like to have him touch her skin…?

'Was it a bad nightmare?'

Which one? she wondered with self-derisive irony. She tensed, startled by the fact that his soft words had set up a chain reaction that was trying to make her relax and accept the languor, incited by his casual enquiry. It had nothing to do with the content of his words; it was just a gut response to the sound of his voice. Luke didn't actually care, she reminded herself; he was a man devoid of humanity and compassion. He was using her, which was fine, because she would only use him. What was not fine was this inexplicable arrival in her erotically arid life of a tenacious thread of interest. She mentally corrected herself—interest was too insipid a term to describe the reluctant fascination that was in danger of turning the silken thread to steel bonds which would cut deep into her native inhibitions and sense of self-preservation. At all costs she wanted to avoid any repeat obsessiveness.

'I don't know.' Her voice sounded staccato and disconnected, as though the words held no meaning. 'I mean, I never remember; it's just the impression I'm left with. I'm fine now.' She gave a nervous laugh which hit the high ceiling and disintegrated into a series of small half-echoes.

'You look a little feverish.'

Her eyes, which had been skittering around the small room, avoiding his face, returned. He returned her suspicious glare with calm impassivity and she began to feel paranoid, reading innuendo in the simple statement. Did he know about the overheated core of irrational attraction she was futilely trying to subdue, trying to rationalise?

'It's a warm night,' she responded gruffly, striving to sound prosaic and unaffected by the impact his physical presence was having on her body and mind. He continued to watch her silently, his brilliant eyes smiling in a way she found profoundly troubling. It was as if he knew exactly what thoughts were passing through her mind.




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