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Part of me is exultant, filled with joy at experiencing the most passion-filled moment of my life. At being wanted and desired. Fraser cupped my face so gently, and his lips were so tender, and yet as the seconds ticked by, I could feel the desire rising inside him. But instead of feeling scared, I only felt excited at the thought of where this might lead.
But another part of me is also angry, furious, even, that I’ve spent the past ten years with a man who never made me feel as special as Fraser has done in the past couple of minutes. How did I not know? I thought it was all a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I didn’t realize people actually felt this way. Or that sex—or kissing, at least—could actually be like this.
What would it be like to go to bed with him? I feel completely bewildered as my brain struggles to picture what he might do to me, and what he’d let me do to him. If it’s all true… how would it feel?
All these thoughts spin around in my head like clothes on a rotary washing line, whipped up by a stiff breeze. He still looks angry, and that fills me with sorrow.
The intensity of his gaze fades, he blinks, and then he blows a breath. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“My brain’s melted,” I reply with a sniff.
He gives a short laugh and looks out to sea for a moment. Then he says, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say hastily. “That kiss was the best thing that ever happened to me. Please, don’t be sorry for it.”
He just sighs.
Conscious of my racing heart still banging away behind my ribs, I say. “It’s okay. I’m not going to make trouble for you. I promise.”
He looks at me. “You’re already t-trouble for me, Hallie.”
Not sure what he means, I say, “I meant professionally.”
He looks away again, and this time he doesn’t reply.
I fight the urge to touch my lips. I can feel his kiss imprinted on them. I’m sure everyone’s going to be able to see it, as if I’ve had amoko kauae—the sacred tattoo that some Maori women have on their faces.
I can’t believe he kissed me. After all his talk about staying professional, and the fact that his job is on the line… Something happened when I told him that Ian wasn’t into kissing. I could see the change in Fraser’s eyes, a flare of anger at Ian’s idiocy, followed by a resolute determination to show me what it could be like.
But he regrets it. That much is clear. My heart slowly sinks.
He clears his throat. “Well, I might leave you to unpack. Maybe we’ll meet at five-thirty in the restaurant for something light?”
“Sounds great.”
Without looking at me, he rises, picks up our glasses, and goes into the suite.
My mouth goes dry, and I get up and follow him in. “Fraser…”
He puts the glasses on the kitchen counter, then turns. He looks a little tired and fraught. I can only imagine what he’s thinking.
I remind myself that it wasn’t as momentous for him. It was just a kiss. He’s obviously used to kissing women like that. It wasn’t anything special, even though it was special for me.
“I need to say something,” I tell him. “What just happened… it was amazing, and…” I gather my courage in both hands. “I would have liked more. But not at the expense of our working relationship. I love my job, and I love working for you, and I don’t want that to change.”
He slides his hands into the pockets of his chinos. “Me neither.”
I close the distance between us and force a smile on my lips. “Thank you… for kissing me. Don’t stress about it. We’re friends, aren’t we? You were being kind and just showing the possibilities, that’s all.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Don’t regret it,” I say, tears pricking my eyes. “I couldn’t bear it.”
He studies my face. Then he says, “I don’t. I’m just wondering how on earth I’m going to keep my hands off you for the next forty-eight hours.”
I’m so shocked, I can only stare at him.
“I’ll call for you just before five thirty,” he says. Then he turns on his heel, walks out, and closes the door behind him.