He stayed where he was, with the firelight dancing over his face. And looking at him, she forgot about the storm and fears of the dark. She wondered if all that gorgeous hair that fell nearly to his shoulders was as soft as it looked, wondered why it seemed she knew exactly how it would feel under her fingers.

Why she had an image of him leaning over her, leaning close, with his mouth a breath away from hers. Only a breath away.

“You’re daydreaming again, Rowan.”

“Oh.” She blinked, flushed, shook herself clear. “Sorry. The storm’s made me jumpy. Would you like some wine?” She pushed herself up, began backing quickly toward the kitchen. “I have a very nice Italian white I tried last night. I’ll just … pour some. Won’t be a minute.”

For Lord’s sake, for Lord’s sake, she berated herself as she dashed into the kitchen, where a half dozen candles glowed on the counter. Why did being around him make her so skittish and stupid? She’d been alone with attractive men before. She was a grown woman, wasn’t she?

She got the bottle out of the refrigerator by the light of the candles, found glasses and filled them. When she turned, a glass in each hand, he was there just behind her, and she jolted.

Wine sloshed over the rim and onto the back of her hand.

“Must you do that?” She snapped it out before she could stop herself, then watched that fast, fabulous grin flash over his face, bright and blinding as the lightning in the storm.

“I suppose not.” Ah, the hell with it, he decided. He was entitled to some small pleasures. With his eyes on hers, he lifted her damp hand, bent his head and slowly licked.

The best she could manage was a small, quiet moan.

“You’re right. It’s very nice wine.” He took the glass, and when her freed hand fell limply to her side, he smiled. Sipped. “You’ve a lovely face, Rowan Murray. I’ve thought of it since last I saw you.”

“You have?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” She was so obviously befuddled, it was tempting to press his advantage, to go with the urge grinding in him to take before she knew all he wanted, and what he refused to want. One step closer, he mused, the slow slide of his fingers around the base of her neck, where the flesh was warm and smooth. Fragile. His mouth to hers while the taste of her was still mixed with the wine on his tongue.

And he wouldn’t be in the mood to leave it at something quite so simple, or quite so innocent.

“Come in by the fire.” He stepped back to give her room to pass. “Where it’s warmer.”