Loving The Temperamental Adonis
Chapter 274 - 12

Chapter 274: Chapter 12

Trying to avoid the subject entirely, Rayne gave him a look of tolerant amusement. "You’re so full of yourself, Mr. Thompson."

"Not really," he replied calmly. "I might just be imagining that you’re almost as attracted to me as I am to you. If that’s the case, I’m guilty of wishful thinking, not arrogance." As if he hadn’t already wreaked enough havoc on her, he lifted his brows and said, "Those are the options. Pick one."

You’re on the wrong page... we’re not even in the same library... you’re just imagining, I’m not attracted to you. That’s all she needed to say, Rayne realized, but with his piercing black eyes and his knowing smile leveled on her, she wasn’t certain she could be convincing, not when she wasn’t completely sure herself anymore.

Trying to wriggle out of a dangerous position, she ignored his instruction to make a choice and laughingly said, "I hate multiple-choice questions. They’re so... limiting."

Before he could say another word or lure her into another trap—or onto his lap—Rayne said hastily, "I want to check on Eric and get some more ice for us. Please go on with your meal." With that, she turned and fled into the suite.

Instead of stopping at the ice bucket, Rayne walked straight into the bathroom, flipped on the lights, and closed the door.

Bracing her palms on the vanity table, she let her head fall forward and drew a long, steadying breath, trying to recover her balance. But what she thought about was how it would feel to be kissed by Liam and held in his arms.

Frustrated with the direction of her thoughts, Rayne lifted her head and scowled at herself in the mirror. How could she even contemplate a brief, meaningless sexual affair with another man tonight other than her boyfriend when she’d never done anything like that before?

The answer was obvious: The man waiting for her on the terrace was like a fantasy, the man of her dreams... he was witty, charming, urbane, thoughtful, kind, and—oh, yes—breathtakingly handsome and too sexy.

Even the setting was idyllic—they were on a tropical island, dining in the moonlight, surrounded by the heady fragrance of frangipani blossoms and the stirring beat of drums playing music on the beach.

The timing was flawless, too, Rayne realized, because she was about to end her long relationship with Max. All those things were nudging her straight into Liam Thompson’s arms, tempting her to make what would probably be a bad decision she’d regret afterward.

She’d never had a casual, one-night fling, not even in Ivy Grove or when she was working at the radio station. If she had one now, if she didn’t get a tight rein on herself, her pride and self-respect would be in tatters tomorrow.

Straightening, Rayne reconsidered. She was a grown woman, and she might not feel that way tomorrow. She did know that if she decided not to go to bed with him, she’d probably end up wondering for months what it would have been like.

Helplessly, Rayne decided not to decide. She reached for the light switch on the wall beside the telephone and stopped when she noticed a red message light flashing.

She didn’t need to be told to know that Max had tried to reach her on the telephone and had left a message when she didn’t pick up. The red message light flashed imperatively, insistently, and whether from guilt or caution, she suddenly felt as if she needed to find out what Max had called to tell her earlier. She lifted the receiver and pressed the Message button on the phone.

"You have one unheard voicemail message," the recording said, and a moment later, she heard Max’s familiar, cultured voice. "Rayne, it’s me. I called you on your phone a while ago, but you didn’t pick up. You’re probably out to dinner." He sounded frustrated and harassed, so Rayne knew what was coming next before she heard him say,

"I’m so sorry, but I’m not going to make it down there tomorrow. I’m doing my best to wrap this up as soon as I can, but I know you know that. There’s no way my pursuing the company can drag on beyond tomorrow, so I’ll be there the day after. Count on it." Rayne had been ’counting on it’ for five days already. She hung up the phone.

----

In the living room, she paused to check on the sleeping dog. Bending down, she touched Eric’s nose. It felt moist and cooler than earlier, and his breathing was even. Petting his head, she said softly, "How are you feeling, Eric?"

To her delighted surprise, he opened his eyes a little and gave his tail a feeble, answering wag.

"You’re going to be just fine," she whispered, scratching his ears. "If you happen to get your strength back in the next few minutes, and if you’re a good watchdog, feel free to come outside on the terrace. I need some watching tonight because I’m tempted to do something really stupid. Or maybe not so stupid."

She felt a strange prickling sensation on the back of her neck and looked over her shoulder. Liam was watching her.

"How is he?" he asked.

Rayne’s pulse edged up a notch. "He’s better," she said, standing up. "I’ll be right there as soon as I wash this flea powder off."

In the bathroom, Rayne quickly washed her hands. As she passed through the living room, she saw the wine cabinet, remembered the ice bucket she’d used as an excuse to get away for a couple of minutes, and she picked it up. For good measure, she swept up a bottle of whiskey, too.

"I come bearing gifts," she joked, putting the ice bucket and whiskey on the small table with the wine. "Would you like more wine?"

"I poured some for both of us while I was waiting for you."

Rayne glanced at his plate and realized he hadn’t touched his food since she left and had let it grow cold rather than eat without her. On top of everything else, the man had impeccable manners. Trying to atone for being gone so long, she picked up her fork so that he would pick up his, and she let him choose the topics and conversational pace.

To her relief—and just a tiny bit of disappointment—he kept everything impersonal after that, chatting easily with her about the hotel and the climate, and telling her an amusing story about two couples who rented a sailboat for three hours on the island and were lost for a week.

At the end of ten minutes, the only significant thing Rayne had learned about him was that he excelled at the art of entertaining small talk.

The musicians had either finished playing for the night or taken a break, but an occasional burst of cheerful laughter from the beach meant hotel guests were still enjoying themselves. Rayne gazed into the gardens on her right, listening to the surf tumbling rhythmically onto the shore while she contemplated ways to get him to talk about himself without appearing to pry.

She was more than just curious about him; she felt a compulsive need to know and understand him rather than judge him from all the rumors said about him in the media.

Despite his veneer of relaxed charm and indulgent cheerfulness, Rayne had the growing feeling that Liam Thompson was a very complicated man.

There was something about his unwillingness to talk about himself that struck her as guarded and detached. He obviously had no qualms about sexual intimacy, but she was beginning to wonder if he was accessible on an emotional level to anyone—specifically, her.

With an inner sigh, she chided herself for thinking—and feeling—like an infatuated, overeager thirteen-year-old who couldn’t wait to find out everything she could about the object of her infatuation.

Liam picked up his wineglass and leaned back in his chair, content for the moment with a view of her pretty profile and a tantalizing glimpse of that romantic mouth of hers. A smile tugged at his lips as he imagined her as a teenager sitting at her desk writing many love letters to him in camp.

One thing he couldn’t imagine for the life of him was Rayne being a nun. He couldn’t imagine that beautiful thick mass of curly red hair being under some headscarf.

He took another swallow of his wine and marveled at how natural and unaffected she was despite having a face and figure that most women would envy. Liam had enjoyed the company of many glamorous, clever women, and he’d known a number of plainer women who were delightfully funny and intelligent, and he enjoyed their company too.

But Rayne Wallace was the first woman he’d ever known who possessed an abundance of all their best traits, along with an amazingly soft heart and a trace of amusing primness. The package was damned near irresistible—so long as she didn’t carry that primness too far tonight.

She hadn’t mentioned her mother, and Liam wondered about that, but he didn’t intend to ask her. He knew if he questioned her further about her family, she’d expect to question him about his. And although he was prepared to indulge her with almost anything in order to get her into that king-size bed, he was not willing to gratify anyone’s curiosity about his family’s conflict.

She was staring absently at the border of trees and shrubs at the edge of the garden—probably thinking up a list of questions for him, Liam presumed wryly—when she stiffened suddenly and leaned forward. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Liam asked, already half out of his chair.

"Something moved in the trees, and I saw something shiny—a reflection in the moonlight, just for a second."

Shaking his head at the outlandish reaction of a born-and-bred city girl to the presence of a harmless animal, Liam decided to stand up instead of sitting back down. "A cat or dog," he assured her, walking around to her side of the table. "Their eyes gleam when light touches them at night."

"Then this cat or dog was close to six feet tall."

"Because it’s in a tree," Liam reasoned.

When she continued to stare dubiously at the trees behind him, he added, "Don’t expect me to start searching the woods. I’ve already exceeded my usual part of heroic acts tonight."

Rayne decided he was right about the animal being in a tree, and she fell into his joking mood. "Where’s your sense of chivalry?" she chided.

His deep voice acquired a deliberately meaningful note. "My chivalry expires when dessert is finished."

He was standing so close that the legs of his trousers were touching her knees, and she had to tip her head way back to talk to him, but she did her best to appear amused and calm despite her physical disadvantage. "We didn’t have dessert," she pointed out.

"Let’s have it now," he said with quiet implacability, and held out his hand.

Rayne’s heart slammed into her ribs. In slow motion, her hand reached toward his, her fingers sliding into his warm handclasp. He held out his other hand, and when she took it she felt herself drawn upward.

His right arm slid around her back, forcing her breasts into contact with a male chest like a wall of rock, and as he stepped farther away from the table, his left hand clasped her right, tucking it against his chest.

Expecting a kiss, Rayne started to tip her head back, but he stepped sideways and turned her slightly to the left. An instant before she lost her balance and tripped on his feet, Rayne realized the band at the beach was playing slow music now and he wasn’t trying to kiss her, he was trying to dance with her.

The operative word was trying, she realized, stifling a rush of embarrassed giggles, because she had to take two quick, awkward steps sideways in order to stay off his feet and two more forward steps to catch up with the rhythm.

"How’s it going?" he joked.

Moments before, she’d been afraid to touch him for fear she’d go up in flames. Now she leaned her forehead against the same rock-solid male chest that had made her breasts tingle and she laughed helplessly. "You might have mentioned that you intended to dance with me, not try to seduce me."

"But I do intend to seduce you," he warned quietly, his lips so close to the top of her head that his breath stirred her hair and sent electric like jolt to her body, especially her lower abdomen.