Page 72 of Lela's Choice

“I feel wicked.”

“Hold that thought.” He drew her close for a lingering kiss.

The glow of remembered loving clung to Lela. Entering her room, she laughed quietly to herself. The room looked different; the world looked different. She walked onto the balcony and leaned against the railing. The bay glittered, the sky was a brilliant blue with light clouds scudding at higher altitudes, the sea a darker shade shimmering in sunlight.

For long minutes, she soaked up the beauty and peacefulness offered by the view. After calling Papa, she could surrender to the timeless charm of Malta and its languorous heat haze, spend her remaining time before meeting Hamish in the cool chill of the pool, or be pampered with a massage or beauty treatment, pummelled into suppleness with exotic creams, potions and unguents. She’d be soft on the outside and squishy on the inside from hours of indulgent hedonism.

Or she could shop for frivolous wisps of lingerie for Hamish to talk her out of tonight. Silk and lace. Tingles of remembered pleasure skittered down her spine. Perhaps she’d just lie on her bed and summon sensations from a night of Hamish’s lovemaking when sleep had become a diminishing priority for both of them.

She’d told him she loved him.

The glorious freedom of being able to tell him. Pressing a hand against her heart, she imagined her fingers could pick up the vibrations love caused. He hadn’t said he loved her, but he must. He’d initiated her into lovemaking with such tenderness, touched her with exquisite passion, worshipped every inch of her body. Every action spoke of love. His every advance and retreat had been attuned to her needs. Inexperience couldn’t blind her to that truth.

Tonight. She’d tell him again tonight. Floating on air, Lela hugged to herself the heady sensation of making love to the man she loved. She’d sweep him off his feet. The flimsy scraps of lingerie she’d spotted in the lobby boutique would contrast with her Monet green and blue sheath, the one dress she’d packed. Spinning in a circle, she let her head fall back, another laugh bubbling through her. He’d seen through her defensive shield and her uncertainties and let her be who she could be.

No man ever had. She’d been afraid no man ever would.

Afraid that it wasn’t just her circumstances, her loyalty to her family, which had made previous boyfriends walk away. But that she was lacking, that the toughness she’d developed while still a child made the woman unlovable.

Hamish had laid that fear to rest.

Chapter Ten

With the doorbell stillchiming, Hamish drew Lela into his room and into his arms. Pressing her against the solid wood of the door, he covered her face with kisses, ran his hands over the delicate fabric of her dress, catching fistfuls of it against her thighs as he sank into her.

“I thought you’d never get here.” He lifted his mouth for a moment. “What took you so long? You look gorgeous.”

Laughing, nervous, excited, Lela whispered against his lips. “You haven’t looked at me yet.”

He kissed her again—imprinting his mark on her—then drew back. “I’ve looked. You’re still beautiful. I didn’t plan to pounce the second you walked in the door.”

“I like your pouncing.”

“I’ve got glasses and some wine ready on the balcony.” He put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her across the room. “Best to move away from the bed.” He handed her a drink and raised it in a toast. “You’re looking at a free man.”

“You resigned?”

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