Page 12 of First Love

She shook her head, her long hair sweeping across her shoulders. And when she looked up, he was staring at her, his feet planted wide apart, his muscles tense. She felt the undercurrent of electricity in the air, as surely as the breeze causing the branches overhead to sway. The air smelled of water and cut cedar, and over the erratic beat of her heart she heard the muted sounds of birds chirping and the distant roar of motorboats.

She swallowed against a cotton-dry throat and licked her lips.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” he asked suddenly.

Oh, God! She couldn’t breathe. The air was trapped in her lungs.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Since the other day, when you gave me a ride.”

She could hardly believe her ears and wanted to pinch herself to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming. “You…haven’t called.”

“I didn’t want to call. I didn’t want to see you again.” He advanced slowly and sat down next to her, his body bare inches away. “I mean, I told myself I didn’t.”

“Then why did you stop at the dock?” she asked, her blood pulsing wildly.

“Because I saw you again and I couldn’t help myself.” He dropped his sunglasses into the sand and stared at her with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Intense. Electric. Erotic.

She licked her lips, and he let out his breath in a whistle through his teeth.

“Why didn’t you want to see me?”

Laughing derisively, he touched her arm. Her skin tingled with a heat so intense, she nearly jerked away as his fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Because it’ll only cause trouble.”

“I thought you liked trouble.”

His gaze sparked a little. “Some kinds.”

“But—”

“But not girl trouble.” His fingers grazed the inside of her wrist. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard all the stories about me—all the dark tales about my past.”

“I…I don’t believe everything I hear.”

He gazed at her long and hard, and a warmth curled inside her, gently turning over and causing her skin to tingle.

“You had a nickname for me.”

“What?”

“Prince.”

“Oh.” She smiled a trifle nervously. “You deserved it.”

“Yeah, I suppose I did,” he admitted, but he didn’t remove his hand. Like a manacle, the fingers encircling her wrist tightened, only warmly, gently. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Have you been thinking of me?”

She wanted to lie. She told herself she shouldn’t give him an inkling of what she really felt, and yet she despised women who calculated every thought or speech to manipulate men. She tried to yank her hand away, but couldn’t.

“Well, have you?”

“Thought about you? Not a whole lot.” She forced the words over her tongue.

“Liar.”

“Why would I lie?” Instinctively she inched up her chin a fraction and found herself staring into eyes so blue, the sky paled in comparison.