Myths Of The Moon

‘Right.’

She let out her breath in a rush, and shook her head.

‘This is hopeless,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m clearly wasting my time.’

‘Not at all. I appreciate the effort you’re making,’ he affirmed nonchalantly, ‘but, like you said, getting impatient doesn’t help. I can’t rush my memory back.’

‘Sorry. I am impatient, I admit,’ she confessed with a short laugh. ‘One of my many failings.’

‘Don’t put yourself down again, Carla,’ he advised, standing up. ‘If you want my opinion, I’d say you don’t have nearly as many failings as the rest of us mortals. Angelic verging on the martyred would be my verdict…’

‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’

She began to jump to her feet beside him. She caught her foot in the sleeve of his jacket, and, losing balance, she stumbled against him, felt him stagger slightly under the impact of her weight. Her upper arms were firmly clamped in supporting hands as he retrieved the situation. Speechless, she tried to jerk shyly away, but he held her still. She looked up, and met his shadowed gaze.

‘Yes, it was,’ he said quietly, ‘of sorts…’

There was silence between them suddenly. Carla opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. She was mesmerised by the expression in his eyes. Her throat tight, her heart thudding, she began shaking her head, unsure why.

‘Carla…’ It wasn’t a question exactly, more a stifled warning. Then slowly, and with almost exploratory caution, he bent his head and gently kissed her parted lips.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_8a9e9951-236f-50e8-9363-5790a2e3d4c8)

ALMOST simultaneously, they jumped apart as if they’d been stung. Daniel was gazing at Carla with blank, unfathomable eyes, then he squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to block out what he saw.

She felt electrified. Every nerve-end tingling. Her heart pounding. Abruptly she thrust her shaky hands through her wind-blown hair, then clutched her arms around her defensively.

‘Why did you do that?’ she demanded huskily.

He’d opened his eyes again. The sea-green gaze still held no recognisable emotion. Not anger, nor remorse, nor even mockery.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said flatly, expelling his breath on a short sharp burst. ‘It wasn’t a good idea.’

‘No. It wasn’t!’ Her response was automatic, but inside she vaguely recognised a surge of conflict. Unidentifiable emotions seemed to be scudding through her as haphazardly as the clouds across the sky. If he touched her again, if he touched his mouth to hers again, she didn’t know how she’d feel…

‘Maybe we’d better get one thing straight,’ she added frostily, dropping her arms and thrusting her hands into her pockets. ‘I’m not a…a frustrated widow, yearning for sexual fulfilment…’

One dark brow tilted as he watched her.

‘I’m sure you’re not.’

‘And let’s face it,’ she persisted, her anger hardening as she detected that teasing glint, ‘you could be anyone!’

He nodded slowly. ‘Anyone in expensive American boxer-shorts,’ he amended. The wicked gleam had sharpened to real amusement.