The Beautiful Widow - By Helen Brooks Page 0,54
could read her mind. ‘I can’t get enough of you.’
Her soft sigh shuddered through her body as he pulled her into him, kissing her again, and then as he caught himself on part of the car he swore softly. ‘If anyone had told me a few months ago I’d be necking in the front seat of my car I’d have laughed at them. One day I’m going to have you exactly where I want you. You know that, don’t you?’
He slid fully into his seat as he spoke, starting the engine and pulling out of the car park as the first employee drove in.
They drove straight to Steel’s apartment. She hadn’t been there since her interview months ago, and it was as beautifully indifferent as she remembered, right down to the bowls of hothouse blooms arranged about the sitting room. She glanced round and then started as Steel put his arms round her middle, nuzzling the back of her neck as he said, ‘You were frowning—why?’
She spoke the truth. ‘The plans I’ve got for that lovely old house are nothing like this. You do realise that, don’t you? Are you sure you want me to have a free hand?’
‘Never been so sure of anything in my life.’ He turned her round to face him, his eyes glowing a deep silver made all the more striking by his thick lashes and the black stubble coating the lower part of his face. ‘And I told you, the house is to be a home. This place is convenient but it’s never really been that.’
It was slowly dawning on her that she had the right to touch him, to act like a girlfriend, and now she placed her palms along either side of his face. This man had swept away all the rules she’d made for herself when Richard had died and she knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t help herself.
His day-old beard was sandpapery against the soft skin of her fingers, and he smiled as she grimaced. ‘I know, I’m rough.’
She touched the odd grey hair in the jet black; he was greying slightly at his temples too and it suited him, adding a devastating maturity to his sexiness. ‘Silver threads,’ she murmured. ‘And very distinguished too.’
‘I’m thirty-eight years old, Toni. Thirty-nine in the New Year. Does that worry you?’ He was suddenly very serious.
‘Worry me?’ She didn’t understand. ‘Why would it worry me?’
‘I’m eight years older than you.’
‘My father is ten years older than my mother, as it happens. They used to laugh about it when I was growing up. My mother’s always called him her sugar daddy.’
He grinned the grin that had the power to make her weak at the knees as he released her. ‘I’ll go and freshen up. Make some coffee, would you? You’ll find everything somewhere in the kitchen.’ He waved a vague hand.
She took off her coat and left it with her handbag on one of the sofas, wandering through to the kitchen as Steel disappeared. The kitchen was amazing, all stainless steel, pale maple wood and glittering black granite worktops, with an Italian porcelain floor Toni knew would have cost an arm and a leg. Here, though, Maggie’s touch was evident. A pile of cookery books next to the fabulous stove, an apron slung over the back of a chair and a row of fresh herbs in little glass containers on the window sill. Homely touches to soften the show-room perfection.
She dug and delved and managed to have the coffee poured out and waiting when Steel strolled into the kitchen a few minutes later, shaved and hair still damp from the shower. He was wearing a brilliant white shirt, unbuttoned, and tailored black trousers, and he was barefoot.
Toni took one look and knew she was lost. The next stage of their relationship was going to progress as fast as wildfire and right now, she thought as she walked straight into his open arms. He didn’t kiss her at once, simply holding her against him as he looked deeply into her eyes. ‘I’ve missed you while I’ve been gone,’ he murmured lazily, his eyes smiling into hers.
She giggled, wrapping her arms round his lean waist. ‘You’ve only been gone five minutes.’
‘Five minutes is five lifetimes if I can’t see you, touch you, taste you. What have you done to me? I’m a wreck.’
‘Not you, Steel Landry.’
‘Yes, me. You’ve got me tied up in knots.’ His voice was rueful and she realised with a bolt