Page 29 of Lela's Choice

The freedom to be and feel without considering consequences was a shiny temptation. Hamish, with his perception and his integrity wrapped in a gorgeous package, was a shiny temptation. The enormity of knowing such a man desired her sizzled through her, creating a kaleidoscope of colours freeing her mind to soar.

When he’d looked at her, heat was a wildfire inside her. An all-engulfing, demanding fire that making love to him might quench or stoke higher. She’d welcome both.

The shocking revelation had her dropping back onto the side of the bed and scrambling to bring order to her jumbled head. She’d reached a truce with Hamish, an agreement to share information to find Sophie.

Sophie had to remain her primary goal.

* * *

THE HOPEFUL LIGHT OFdawn called to Hamish. By mid-morning the sun would be high, the sky a shattering blue, and the heat unforgiving. He stood on his balcony, undecided about a swim, when Lela emerged from a side door and crossed to the pool.

Her swimming costume was modest, but the memory of her abandoned and willing in his arms shot a bolt of lust to his loins. Long sleepless hours hadn’t given him the answer to why he’d broken his own rules on not mixing business and pleasure.

Awakening a goddess? That was a stupid fancy.

Lela was like Shakespeare’s Miranda, inexperienced in sexual games, innocent of kisses and where they might lead. Still, the spell she wove was dangerous. Or was he reading her all wrong? Sexually inexperienced but emotionally mature, hers was the passion of a woman who understood herself and her choices—not an innocent. She undermined his self-control and imperilled the vow he’d made after Olivia’s death not to get close to another woman. Putting Lela in danger was untenable.

Hamish guessed Lela’s reaction to him was new territory for her, just as his desire to abandon the contract he’d accepted—regardless of the rights or wrongs of the case—and throw his weight behind her was alien to him. Mouthing clichés about moonlight and kissing wasn’t his usual style, but walking back to the hotel beside her, her scent had been more intoxicating than the wine he’d shared with her. Tantalising hints of what her skin would be like to touch tempted him when her arm had briefly brushed against his—pure silk.

Wanting to tell her, to show her she was beautiful was no excuse.

Now, watching her slip into the pool, he let out a small groan, envying the water caressing her skin, the small eddies embracing her with her first strokes. His reaction shook him to the core, leaving him needy, protective, and strangely invincible.

Giving in to the compulsion to join her, he reached the pool’s edge in mere minutes. She’d pulled up at the other end, assessing him with those olive-dark eyes that held secrets he’d started to learn. Stripping off his shirt, he dived in, swimming beside her, matching her rhythm for twenty minutes.

“We need to talk about last night,” he said.

Her arm splashed awkwardly, but she completed another lap before stopping. Apologising was the safest option—moonlit night, a little too much wine, then he’d steer them back to the professional plane he should have kept to. His personal, not just his professional, ethical standards demanded he not act further on this attraction.

Her existence brought his ethics and desire into conflict.

Every sane, reasoned thought was wiped from his mind when Lela turned to him.

“I like the costume.” He’d braced his arms on either side of her, not touching her, but trying to establish a little privacy. She wrapped her hands around his forearms, her gentle touch sharpening his hunger for her. Hamish fought for the distance he’d told himself they needed to finish this job.

“Same one as yesterday. I bought it at the hotel shop. I didn’t think to bring one with me.” She spoke quickly. “I thought swimming would banish the last of my jet lag.”

“Did it?” He tried to summon the words he’d played over in his head in the hotel room. Kind words, step-back-from-the-precipice words.

“What happened last night was out of character for me,” she blurted.

“Don’t you share friendly kisses?” Hamish congratulated himself for not bobbling the word “friendly.”

“Rarely. And we shared more than a kiss.” She didn’t shy away from the truth. She had no artifice—she didn’t seek to evade, pretend or deceive in this most intimate conversation.

There was no room in his life for someone as crazy brave as her.

No room in my life for anyone. Not after Olivia.

Carefree happiness, the belief he could protect anyone he loved, had also been casualties on the violent day Olivia had died.

“We shared a lovely meal, enjoyed each other’s company and ended the evening as consenting adults often do, with a chaste kiss.”Chaste—hell—I’m an idiot.

He’d intended to go slower last night, to sample her mouth the first time, because he liked the look of it, craved a taste of it, believed he was in control. Her sweetness leaked straight into a sugar addiction that blew his head off. He hadn’t been able to get enough of the taste of her. And the feel. She was lightning in his hands—bright, fast, dangerous—and his hands had raced everywhere, wanting to absorb her silky softness through his fingertips.

“It wasn’t chaste.” Each unconscious brush of her legs against his undermined his determination to push her away.

“Chaste compared to what I wanted to do to you,” he admitted defeat, “to what we wanted to do to each other.” Like any addict, he imagined what it would be like to kiss her again, to hold her delicious body against his own. He knew now she fitted perfectly, that her softness would mould against his hardness.

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