“Right,” she firmly told her doubtful reflection.
Someone rapped imperiously on her door, and her newfound boldness threatened to take a nosedive as her mind was suddenly flooded with memories of that spine-melting kiss. Her cheeks flamed, and her breath caught in anticipation.
She shook her head in disgust. She was being ridiculous again. He was just a man, for pete’s sake. Hadn’t she just told herself that Kit was not so very different from any other good-looking guy? So why was she acting like a starstruck teenager?
She jerked open the cottage door so abruptly that Kit’s smile was quizzical when she found him standing on her doorstep, looking fit and gorgeous in a red, white and blue color-blocked T-shirt and navy shorts that showed off long, tanned legs.
“Good morning,” he said in that deep, smooth voice, giving her that same rather dangerous smile that had curled her toes last night.
&n
bsp; Just another man? Yeah, right.
Savannah made herself breathe again, hoping her voice didn’t come out in an embarrassing squeak when she replied, “Good morning.”
Be very careful, Savannah, said the old, familiar voice of caution, while that new, wicked little voice urged, Go for it.
Ignoring both of the annoying voices in her head, Savannah lifted her chin, gave Kit a bright smile and stepped through her door.
“Ready?” she asked him.
He reached out to run à fingertip down her cheek, the touch fleeting and very light, but still enough to reignite that banked flame deep inside her.
“I’m more than ready,” he assured her huskily.
Oh, Savannah, her own voice whispered inside her dazed head. You’re headed for trouble.
2
HE COULDNT STOP staring at her.
Kit was barely conscious of the staff efficiently working the tables or the other diners around them. All he saw was Savannah, sitting across from him and eating her breakfast with a visible appreciation that made him ache to discover if all her appetites were as enthusiastic.
He wanted her. Maybe he had from the moment he’d first seen her. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman this fast, this strongly, this powerfully after such a brief time.
He didn’t even know her, he reminded himself.
And then she smiled at him over the rim of a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and the hunger hit him again. Hard.
Whoever she was, he wanted her.
How long should he wait before he could tell her so without scaring her away?
He’d had trouble getting her to talk at first. She’d seemed to have a bit of difficulty meeting his eyes across the table, and he suspected that she was remembering that incredible kiss they’d shared before parting last night. He hadn’t meant to kiss her quite so thoroughly. He’d intended only to allow himself a quick taste of her, something he’d been wanting to do for hours on the dance floor. But the kiss had flared out of control almost before he’d realized what was happening.
It had been all he could do to pull back last night To keep himself from sweeping her into his arms and carrying her inside her cabin and straight to bed. Only the knowledge that she hadn’t been ready, that it was much too soon, that he would ruin everything if he gave in to the impulse, had given him the strength to turn and walk away, before the quick flare of panic he’d seen in her eyes prompted her to cancel their plans for today.
She seemed to be relaxing a bit with him now. They’d discovered a mutual passion for old movies— particularly musicals—and that had given Savannah renewed confidence with him.
He could listen to her talk all day, he thought, finding himself gazing across the table at her again. He had no idea what he’d eaten, but he knew that Savannah liked Cary Grant better than Clark Gable, that she had wanted to grow up to be Leslie Caron, that she would happily watch any movie that starred Gene Kelly or Bing Crosby, and that she preferred old comedies and musicals to the tearjerkers typical of the Bette Davis and Joan Crawford era.
“The sillier the premise, the more I seem to like it,” she confessed wryly. “I’m a movie critic’s nightmare.”
“Maybe,” he agreed with a chuckle. “But you’re a movie producer’s dream. Have you checked the premises of the big blockbusters this summer? We aren’t talking rocket science.”
“If I wanted rocket science, I would read a science journal. I watch movies for fun and escapism, usually, though I can appreciate a truly serious film when I’m in the mood for one.”
“So,” he asked a bit too casually, “do you like adventure films? You know, flying bullets and two-fisted heroes?”