Chapter 13
13
D ylan had known this evening would end in disaster, yet he’d gone ahead anyway, consequences be damned.
From the moment he laid eyes on Sam, in her slinky black pants and shimmering red top, his caveman instincts had risen to the fore and all he wanted to do was drag her back to his room.
Ridiculous, as he’d never had that urge with any other woman in his past. He’d done the dating rounds, but every relationship soured when his girlfriends revealed their true colours.
They’d never been truly interested in him; the major attraction being marrying for the Harmon name and fortune. Since the last disaster three years ago, he’d sworn to avoid game players, women who’d lie to get what they wanted.
Perhaps that explained his attraction to Sam? She was a refreshing change from the contrived, artificial women that usually graced his path, from her tousled blonde curls to her quirky sense of humour. She teased him, reeling him in with a beguiling openness that had him hankering for more.
And what had he done?
The one thing he’d sworn he wouldn’t do again.
He kissed her.
Correction, he devoured her, until they’d been breathless and in dire danger of being tipped into the icy Yarra River.
Rather than berating him, she had the audacity to laugh.
“Stop it. It’s not funny.” His mouth twitched with the effort of trying not to join in her laughter.
Her peals of laughter drew curious glances from other couples drifting along the river in nearby gondolas.
“Sam, your mirth is putting a serious dent in my male ego. Was my technique that bad?”
Her chuckles petered out and she stared at him with those wide green eyes that bewitched him from the first minute he’d seen her.
“I’m pretty sure you can gauge from my response exactly how well you kiss.” She touched his hand. “And that’s the first time you’ve called me that.”
“What?”
“Sam. You usually call me ‘Samantha’ in that plummy accent of yours.”
“I don’t have a plummy accent.”
“Do so.”
“Do not.”
She smiled, the moonlight glinting off her teeth. “Who would’ve thought, the high and mighty Dylan Harmon reduced to bickering like a child?”
“Must be your influence.” He poked out his tongue like a ten-year-old trying to prove a point.
Her expression sobered as she stared at his tongue, her intensity reviving memories of the scorching kiss they had shared moments ago.
It had started so innocently, with her excited jiggling rocking the boat and he’d admonished her, reluctantly admitting he couldn’t swim. She proceeded to rock the boat even more, until he seriously thought they might tip into the river.
So he’d done the first thing that entered his head to stop her; reached for her and held her within his arms. However, he hadn’t planned the part where she tilted her head up, with that playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, mere inches from his.
He’d lost it, his lips crushing hers before he knew what he was doing. Her response, startling in its eagerness, had only served to fire his libido and they’d kissed like two teenagers barely coming up for air. The violent swaying of the boat had brought him back to the present and he realised their predicament. If common sense wasn’t a passion-dampener, maybe a dip in the icy Yarra would be?
And what had she done? She laughed at him, loud, infectious chuckles that begged him to join in. So much for keeping his distance. He’d landed himself smack bang in the middle of a situation he had no idea how to extricate from.
He admired her for confronting their attraction back at the house, for making it clear she wanted something to happen between them with no repercussions. But he hadn’t been brought up to treat women that way, and it didn’t sit well with him that she wanted to start something while under his roof.
“At the risk of rocking the boat again, how about that coffee you mentioned earlier?” She smirked, and all he could do was stare at the slight dimple that flashed in and out at the corner of her mouth.
He folded his arms, wishing the simple defensive gesture could hold his wayward emotions at bay.
“Sounds good to me. I think you’ve done enough boat rocking for one night.”
“Spoilsport,” Sam murmured, watching Dylan use the pole to manoeuvre them toward shore.
She’d never been on a gondola before, believing Venice had the monopoly on them. She’d been pleasantly surprised when their cruise on the Yarra entailed a trip in one of the long, narrow boats, until Dylan sat next to her on the padded seat and she realised exactly how small the boat was.
If she had a hard time controlling her imagination at dinner, she had no hope in the confines of a boat with his muscular body pressed up against her, radiating enough heat to spontaneously combust her on the spot.
Unable to get a grip on her burgeoning crush, she behaved like a mischievous imp in the hope her antics would distract from the urge to snuggle into his arms.
Instead, they backfired. If she thought their first kiss had been mind-blowing, this one had been earth-shattering.
The man could kiss.
Dylan managed to ignite sparks that exploded into fireworks, leaving her dazed.
She floated through the rest of the evening, barely noticing the stunning views of Melbourne from the top of the Rialto building while sipping a creamy latte. Though she’d done her utmost to convince herself this wasn’t a date, it had been one of the best evenings she’d spent with a guy in a long time.
On a scale of one to ten, it scored a twelve.
It wasn’t until later, when she thanked him for a ‘nice’ evening with a polite nod of her head, that it struck her. Despite their strong working relationship—the main common link they shared—they hadn’t discussed business once tonight. They chatted about anything and everything, and seeing Dylan relax had captivated her.
She’d expected her speech earlier in the evening about indulging their attraction to send him scuttling for cover. Dylan, introverted at the best of times, should’ve been scared off by her bold declaration.
Instead, he kissed her.
And they ended up laughing about it. She could definitely get used to laidback Dylan, but she had a sneaking suspicion when she arrived for work in the morning, he’d be back to his hands-off best.