Wildest Hearts

Oliver said.

    “Yes, you were. Don't apologize. Your relationship with your stepmother is your business and you don't owe me any explanations. Heavens, it's not like I'm really one of the family just because I married you.”

    “Why don't we change the subject?”

    Annie flushed. “Right. Good idea. Let's change the subject. So, what about dinner? I don't know about you, but I'm starving.”

    “Bolt had instructions to leave dinner in the oven for us.” Oliver glanced at the black and gold watch on his wrist. “It will be waiting when we go downstairs.”

    Annie's brows climbed. “Bolt cooks?”

    “Bolt does anything I tell him to do.”

    “No offense, but he makes me think of a robot.”

    “Bolt is extremely useful.” Oliver straightened. He took Annie's arm and started along the gravel path toward the door.

    “I'm sorry I gave you the impression I don't trust you earlier,” Annie said in a soft rush. “I didn't mean to imply that I don't have complete faith in you.”

    “Thank you.”

    Annie smiled. “You know something? You really are a very nice man. I think your basic problem is that you have difficulty communicating with others.”

    She came to a halt and went up on tiptoe to give him a quick, impulsive little kiss on the side of his face.

    Desire roared through Oliver like an inferno. He stood like a rock, fighting for his self-control. It was as if Annie's small, meaningless caress had flipped a switch somewhere inside him. He had an almost overpowering urge to crush her into the nearest bank of ferns, lift up her skirt, and sink himself into her.

    Even as he watched her watching him he saw the dawning awareness in her eyes. She took an involuntary step back. Wariness replaced the warmth in her gaze.

    Oliver took a deep, steadying breath. “A lot of people don't think I'm very nice at all, Annie. And there's something you ought to know.”

    “What's that?” She whispered.

    “I'm not a monk.”

    Her cheeks turned a vivid pink. “I was afraid you had overhead that stupid remark. I didn't mean it the way it sounded.”

    “Forget it,” he advised brusquely.

    “I never meant to imply that you were asexual or anything.”

    “It's all right, Annie.”

    “No, it's not all right.” She was clearly flustered. “I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression. I mean, I want you to know that I definitely think of you as a man.”

    “Thank you,” he said dryly. It was all right now. He could feel his willpower taking hold again. He was back under control.

    Annie's blush intensified. “Good lord, this is getting worse by the minute. I'm only trying to explain that I think you're quite normal.”

    “Normal, but strange?”

    “In a very interesting way,” she said, clearly desperate.

    He smiled faintly. “Annie, I told you, it's all right.”

    “Yes, but I wouldn't want you to think that I…”

    He stopped the frantic apology by the simple expedient of putting his hand over her lips. “That's enough. Let's stop right there with interesting. I like interesting.”

    “You do?” she mumbled into his palm.

    “Yes. It so happens I find you very interesting, too.”

    “Really?” Her eyes widened above the edge of his hand.

    “Yes. Really.” It was too soon, Oliver thought, but he was going to kiss her anyway. He couldn't seem to stop himself. He leaned back against the bench, widened his stance, and pulled Annie slowly and inexorably between his thighs.

    She resisted only briefly. The next thing Oliver knew Annie was leaning into him with a joyful abandon. Her hands splayed across his shoulders. Her eyes glittered with feminine anticipation. When he took his palm off her mouth he saw that her lips were slightly parted with sensual excitement.

    “You remind me of one of my ferns,” Oliver said.

    “I do?” She appeared delighted by that information.

    “Yes.”

    He bent his head. Slowly and deliberately he covered her mouth with his own. He felt the sexual electricity race through her, felt it add fuel to his already aroused senses.

    She tasted exactly as he had known she would—fresh and vibrant and full of promise, the most exotic fern in his garden.

    Annie's fingers tightened abruptly on the fabric of his shirt. She clung to him, greeting him with a deep, hungry curiosity that was sending small shivers through her.

    And through him, Oliver acknowledged with a small shock. His hands were trembling a little with the force of his need.