LITMIR.BIZ

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he letting her go.

      When she started to pull away, his hands slid to her upper arms and held her in place; his eyes on her face did the same.

      “And since you’re not,” he said, low and dangerous, “I’m not bound to let you go.”

      Her nostrils flared as she drew a quick breath, and a new awareness shivered in the air between them. “Even if I ask?”

      “Are you asking?”

      A beat of pause, the green-diamond flash in her eyes, the quick lick of her tongue to moisten her lips, was all the time Ric allowed for her answer. Then he lifted a hand and touched his thumb to her mouth. He felt the warmth, the moisture, the shudder of her exhalation, and was lost.

      He lowered his head and took her mouth with the hunger of years of wanting and the ache of the past week’s emotion. It was no gentle exploration, no tender assault, not once she responded with her own longing, with her hands at last on his arms, his shoulders, twining around his neck to draw him more fiercely into the kiss.

      With a low growl, he changed the angle of contact so he could have more of her, more of the sweet heat he craved. When she welcomed him into her mouth, he tasted the impact all the way to his groin. It was sharp, intense, an exquisite surge of lust that he wanted to assuage, here and now.

      Hands on her back, he pulled her closer until their bodies were flush and the kiss exploded with a silken savagery. Thigh to thigh, hip to pelvis, breasts to chest, she was everything he remembered of raw heat and unrestrained passion … and still it was not enough. He cupped her buttocks and lifted her against him, all the while turning and backing her toward the credenza.

      Breaking the kiss, he lifted her onto the sleek cherrywood surface and her hands slid forward to cradle his face. Her thumbs stroked the corners of his mouth, the effect a gentle contrast to the rough rasp of their breaths. Their gazes locked for a long moment as he palmed the smooth warmth of her thighs, his thumbs circling inward with the same erotic motion as hers.

      At first he thought the vibrating hum was her response to his touch. Then she touched a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, her mouth turning down in a frown. “That’s your phone. Don’t you think you should answer it?”

      “No,” he growled against her throat. “I don’t.”

      But she slipped her hand into his jacket pocket and retrieved the phone. “Ryan,” she mouthed, hitting the answer button and holding the receiver to her ear.

      Ric’s growl turned into an internal groan … until she sat up straight, her eyes big and stark in her suddenly pale face.

      “What is it?” he asked.

      With a trembling hand she passed over the phone. “He’s just taken a call from the search area. They’ve located the wreckage.”

      Nine

      Closure, finally, Kimberley rationalised once the initial spear of shock had dulled. The interminable waiting was over. They could mourn Howard’s passing, make arrangements for his funeral service and burial, satisfy the press with final statements, move on at a personal and business level.

      Unfortunately it wasn’t that simple.

      An initial inspection located only three bodies in the wreckage, meaning one of the men—and the marine police couldn’t even speculate on whether this was passenger or crew member—remained missing. Due to the depth of the water and adverse weather conditions brewing off the coast, the recovery operation could take several days. The process of formal identification would require the use of dental records and DNA matching, which, their police contact warned them, could take weeks rather than days.

      Looming over it all was the real and sobering possibility that the lost body might never be found … and that it could be Howard.

      The waiting continued. Kimberley appreciated being included in the inner information circle this time, and for that she thanked Perrini. Or she would once they got through the weekend and the incessant phone calls. As the Blackstone PR mouthpiece she’d decided to be more open with the press, in the hope that regular statements and updates would result in more factual stories and less speculation.

      So far it seemed to be working. Several business and social commentators had already reported on the prodigal daughter’s return to Blackstone Diamonds, and she’d taken a deep breath and agreed to an interview for a magazine piece at a date to be fixed. Positive press, she reminded herself, when her heart palpitated at the thought of such public exposure of her private self.

      “Good start,” Perrini said, in one of their few moments alone. It was late Saturday afternoon and the official gatherings and press updates had given way to the personal. Garth, her uncle Vincent and two of Howard’s yacht club cronies had called at various intervals during the afternoon to offer sympathy and support. None had left. Sonya’s tea had given way to Howard’s best whisky, and Kimberley had retreated to the terrace for a brush with solitude.

      That’s where Perrini found her and those small words of praise resulted in an inordinate rush of satisfaction. Perhaps because his expression conveyed more than words, perhaps because she was enjoying their stolen seconds of privacy a little too much. Perhaps because, for a whisper of time, their incendiary boardroom kiss sizzled the air between them.

      She liked that it wiped her mind of the deathly images imprinted in the past forty-eight hours, that it melted the icy weight of angst in her stomach, that it focussed everything on this moment, this connection, this enlivening flame in her senses.

      “I hope it’s the right start,” she said in response to his comment … and because she couldn’t resist the thinly veiled allusion to what lay unfinished between them.

      “It is.” Arrogant, supremely certain, his gaze lingered on her mouth for a telling second before drifting back to her eyes. “I like that you seized the opportunity and ran with it.”

      “I gather you’re talking about the magazine article?”

      “Of course … unless you prefer to talk about us.”

      Did she? Her heart skipped an erratic beat as she met the still intensity of his gaze. Asking too much, too fast, too soon, that look sizzled through her, charging her senses with renewed memories of their white-hot kiss and the press of his body hard against hers. A loud burst of laughter from inside the house broke the connection, reminding her they weren’t alone. Reminding her that she’d given no thought to discretion in those crazy lost-to-the-world moments when he’d lifted her onto a cherrywood sideboard.

      And that she’d given no thought to what was next.

      “No.” She lifted her chin and shook her head resolutely. “Not yet.”

      “When you are ready—” for a scant second his fingertips skimmed the back of her hand, a touch as dark and hot and double-edged as his words “—you know where to find me.”

      He left soon after, but those final words and his dark, velvet touch kept Kimberley intimate company throughout a night of little sleep. She woke early, out of sorts with herself for chickening out of that talk, not just the previous evening but ever since she learned of his intentions. He wanted her. Five minutes of hot magic in the boardroom had demonstrated that desire. But on what terms?

      And what of tomorrow?

      Did she even want to know, when the answer might reveal future needs she could not deliver?

      Her heart constricted with an aching trepidation that sent her rocketing out of bed, too antsy to lie still any longer. She pulled on three-quarter yoga pants and a sports singlet, comfort clothes that made her feel no less comfortable in her own antsy skin. She needed to get out, to escape the claustrophobic press of this house and her restless mind.

      What she needed was a long, energetic walk. Her mind conjured her favourite jaunt of old, the path that dipped and rose from beach to clifftop between Bondi and Bronte. Open air, the sea breeze on her skin, the challenge of attacking steep rock stairs

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