Page 37 of Sorry Season

His self-deprecating shrug and exaggerated modesty had her chuckling and she planted a quick kiss on his lips before giving him a gentle shove toward the steering wheel.

“As a distraction technique, that was pretty lousy. Now drive and take me to this great surprise you have planned for me.”

Smiling, he said, “We’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Are you sure you can’t give me any hints?”

She turned to face him, taking any opportunity to look at him. He hadn’t shaved this morning—after much badgering on her part, when she’d pleaded with him to leave the sexy stubblealone—and with his dark hair ruffled by the wind, what appeared like his oldest polo shirt bearing a faded athletic logo, and a pair of charcoal cargo shorts, he could’ve been a poster boy for a weekend by the sea.

“I won’t give you any hints if you keep staring at me like that.”

Her gaze lifted to his, her breath catching at the blatant desire. Would it always be like this between them, the instant flare of fire deep within, the breathless feeling, the tumbling stomach?

Surely a connection this powerful, this intense, should fade? But it hadn’t, not in the six long years they’d been apart, and it never would if she had any say in it.

Reaching out to run a fingertip over his jaw, she murmured, “I was admiring this.”

“I could tell.”

His eyes darkened to molten silver an instant before he ducked across the seat and hauled her against him, crushing her breasts to his rock-hard chest, plastering his lips to hers in the type of scintillating, breath-stealing kiss only he could deliver.

Like a torch touched to tinder dry kindling, she combusted, heat exploding in a chemical reaction that left her gasping as he broke the kiss. The sounds of ragged breathing filled the car as she flopped back into the passenger seat and he ran a hand through his hair, his shocked expression mirroring hers.

“If you want to make it back to Melbourne and your café by nightfall, you better stop staring at me like that.”

“Melbourne? Where’s that?” Smiling, she raised a hand to her sensitized lips, touching them, savoring the residual tingle, wishing she’d had the sense to get Anna to cover for her tonight too.

“You’re a bad girl.”

He turned the ignition until the diesel engine rumbled to life and with a pat on the dashboard, steered the lumbering Ute onto the deserted street.

“And you love it.”

“I do,” he said, so softly she barely heard it, and a thrill—part exultation, part fear—shot through her.

She’d realized she still loved him last night, but what about him? He’d wanted to get reacquainted but did that mean he felt the same way?

Sure, he’d found her and mentioned he wanted to reunite, but he hadn’t exactly said those magical three words yet, no matter how much he hinted at it.

“You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Who said I’m worried?” She asked, amazed he could read her so easily after all this time.

She shot a glance at him and while he hadn’t taken his eyes off the road, the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement.

“You’re playing with your hair. You always do that when you’re worried about something.”

“A smartass, huh?”

“Just observant.”

Tossing her ponytail over her shoulder and clasping her hands in her lap to stop fiddling, she said, “What would I have to be worried about anyway?”

Apart from they were moving so fast she’d let him under her guard quicker than she could say cappuccino and she was willing to risk everything and take a chance on their marriage again?

“You’re scared.”

He indicated and turned left, pulling onto a dirt track with fine white sand along the edges, indicating they weren’t far from the beach.

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