Sweet as Honey (The Seven Sisters) - By Caitlyn Robertson Page 0,72

never have left her alone at a party.

He looked fantastic that evening. He wore a dark tux and a lavender-coloured waistcoat and tie, and he’d tamed his unruly brown hair into a respectable style. With the ever-present naughty glint in his eye, he looked like a 1920’s gangster, suave and wicked, so much so that she half expected him to start talking about prohibition. And now he’d taken off his jacket, and his shirt sleeves stretched over his impressive biceps, hiding his glorious tattoo, the one she used to lie in bed and trace her fingers over.

He put the drink he was holding on the nearest table and turned and looked at her. His brown eyes looked black in the low lighting, and to her surprise they weren’t filled with his usual good humour but instead surveyed her steadily, dark with an emotion she couldn’t identify.

“Dance with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

It sounded like a statement rather than an invitation. Normally, that would have made her bristle, but she was lonely and cross with Reuben for abandoning her, so she put down her glass meekly and followed Chase onto the dance floor.

He turned her to face him and rested his right hand on her waist, and she placed her left on his shoulder. With three or four inches separating them, they began to move.

It must have looked very respectable, Daisy thought wildly, two old friends having a final dance together, but what nobody else could see was the hot desire in Chase’s eyes, and the invisible, chemical reaction that was occurring between them. The warmth of the room caused the faint smell of his aftershave to rise off his skin, and the muscles in his shoulder and upper arm were firm beneath her fingertips. His hand was warm in hers. Her body responded to him of its own accord, tightening, aching, moistening at the thought of his hands on her.

Without another word, the hand resting on her hip slid to the small of her back and pulled her closer, and she let him, heart pounding at the nearness of him, so familiar and yet so different at the same time. Her cheek rested against his chin, and his faint stubble rasped against her skin. Reuben shaved morning and night, hating bristles, and very rarely had a five o’clock shadow. She’d forgotten how it felt, how utterly masculine it was.

Apart from subtly pulling her closer, Chase did nothing else untoward. He didn’t try to kiss her, his hand stayed politely on her back and neither did he say anything else, for once not trying to persuade her to go out with him. But his unspoken seduction was all the more powerful for that. Never had she felt more wanted, more desired than for the duration of that song. The music thrummed in her blood, echoing her thundering heartbeat. She hungered for him, wanted him inside her more than she’d ever wanted Reuben in the months they’d been together. She missed Chase so much it hurt.

And then the song ended and he pulled back.

She thought he was going to say thanks for the dance, but to her surprise he cupped her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. She stared back, breathless, captivated by his blatant desire, his overwhelming need for her.

“Come back to my room with me,” he said huskily. His lips hovered inches from hers, so near and yet so far, luscious, tempting.

She wavered, so close to giving in. He’d been so good in bed. Reuben made love like preparing a document for distribution, methodical, perfunctory and precise, and although he always made sure she enjoyed it, she half expected him to flick on his BlackBerry and cross “Do Daisy” off his list afterwards.

Chase had been completely the opposite to Reuben—wild, abandoned, uncaring about anything except taking his pleasure from her and returning it tenfold. Reuben disliked having sex outside the bedroom, preferring the luxury and privacy of bed to the fear of being seen outdoors or the lack of comfort involved in trying out other places in the house. But Chase had been insatiable pretty much everywhere, hadn’t given a hoot about carpet burns or grass stains or hard surfaces, had even swept the entire contents of the living room coffee table to the floor once—including a laptop, a plate of biscuits and half a dozen other knickknacks—just so he could have her there, unhindered.

His recklessness had been the thing she’d loved most about him,