Page 49 of Lela's Choice

LEAVING THE SLIEMAbar, Hamish walked at Lela’s side to the ferry, sat at her side on the deck. Lela let warm night air envelop them, acting as a conduit for the prickles of awareness skating over her skin. The sparks flying between them were tangible.

The moon leered overhead, taunting them with a reminder of their first kiss. Still silent, they climbed the hill to the hotel. Slow torture. Side by side they walked, each careful not to get too close. Was he, like her, conscious that if they brushed against each other tonight it would trigger a firefight?

By the time they’d reached the hotel, Lela wanted to scream with the effort of keeping her hands off him.

“I’ll see you to your door.”

“No need,” she croaked.

“There’s need, all right, Miranda.” His voice was husky with intent.

At the door, she fumbled with the security card. Placing his hand over hers, he took the card from her and flipped the lock. Her shallow, desperate breathing sounded like a whirlwind to her ears, while his steady hand had halted her trembling. His scent surrounded her—inviting, sustaining her in ways she hadn’t imagined possible.

“Goodnight, Hamish.”

He flashed that half-grin that undid her and stepped closer. “No hands. That’s the best I can promise.”

His mouth covered hers—honey, heaven. She sank into the taste and texture of him. her mind wiped blank. Lifting her hands to embrace him, she formed fists in the air, then let them slowly drop to her sides. No hands—as if that lessened the impact.

As the seconds stretched to minutes, as his tongue dipped into her mouth, sensation pulled at her belly, and her heart soared. Kisses on her chin, the tip of her nose, and her forehead were a playful torment. She followed his lead, and creating her own game, rubbed her cheek against his, planted kisses along the line of his jaw, arousing herself. Her blood raced, her body strained to get closer—pleasure and pain. When he took her mouth again, want and need drowned out reason.

“Goodnight, Lela.”

She stumbled through the door, leaning against it, her hands flat against the wood, while she tried to get her breath back. He hadn’t laid a finger on her, yet had turned her inside out.

Chapter Seven

The wind snatched atLela’s clothes and hair where she sheltered on the front deck of the Gozo ferry. Fisting the fingers of one hand around the lapels of her jacket, she held the collar closed, intent on preventing stray gusts sneaking down the back of her neck and icing her spine. Her other hand wrapped around her midriff to anchor her jacket in place. Tendrils of hair whipped at her face, but she ignored the discomfort.

The exposed deck gave her the best view of Gozo as the ferry drew closer to its shores. Rugged, bare rocky outcrops, with no hint of the farmland she knew lay beyond. The flick of the wind and slap of the waves against the hull of the ship provided a soundtrack for her turbulent thoughts.

More turbulent today than yesterday. Then she hadn’t known Hamish was a widower.Did your wife and child die during childbirth?He hadn’t volunteered, and she’d been reluctant to push for confidences he wasn’t ready to share. When he’d returned with their drinks last night, she’d followed his lead back to Sophie.

Today was also about Sophie.

“Why did you run?”

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