Fierce by Rosalind James Page A

also reckon that somebody at the top agrees with me.” I glanced at him from beneath my lashes, smiled just a little, and saw the instant response. I felt rather than saw his indrawn breath, the tightening of his muscles, and just like that, my heart had begun to pound even harder.
    All he said, though, was, “Not polite to mock my Kiwi ways.” 
    “No? How about if I say that I kind of like your Kiwi ways, if one of them’s about treating people the same, even if they don’t have a lot of money or a private office?”
    “Then you can mock a bit after all, because that’s pretty much the definition of a Kiwi. You brought your lunch, I see.” He reached for a deli container of his own and pulled out a sandwich. “How’m I going so far? Any better?”
    “Very nearly human,” I conceded, and this time, he actually grinned before he took a bite of sandwich, showing off some very, very white teeth. 
    But this time, it didn’t make me feel quite so nervous. It was hard to stay anxious with the sound of water purling gently down the rocks, the sight of silver streams cascading over greenery. 
    There were even a few carp in the pool, and I nodded at the fish as I opened my box. “I feel a little guilty eating this here. Like a cannibal.”
    “They eat their young. Just making them feel at home, aren’t you.”
    That made me laugh, and at last, I tasted my salmon. It was as good as I’d imagined, even reheated. I may have had to close my eyes again, too.
    “Extra points for me,” I heard Hemi murmur.
    I opened my eyes again to find him watching me. “Pardon?”
    “Not making any moves, even with you showing off your pretty legs again, not to mention showing me how much you enjoy…new experiences. Yeh, I’d call those major points.”
    “Especially now that I’ve let you know about the experiences I haven’t had,” I said, choosing a few green beans and popping them into my mouth.
    “Unfair,” he complained.
    I smiled, and not just from the taste of the fire-roasted green beans. I wasn’t a butterfly anymore, or a deer, either. I was in the power seat today, and he was letting me know it. 
    “What, like you’d forgotten?” I treated myself to another delectable bite of salmon. “Why do men take that as such an irresistible challenge? Why should it matter?”
    “You don’t understand why it matters,” he said slowly.
    “Let me put it this way. Every reason I can think of is pretty reprehensible.”
    “Oh, no doubt. No doubt at all.” His voice was silky-soft. “But then, I may have mentioned that I’m a pretty reprehensible fella. And, yeh. For the record? I love that idea.”
    “Whoops,” I muttered. “Butterfly time.” I had to force myself to keep working on my lunch, even though all I wanted was to keep looking at him. At his muscular forearms, and the start of that tattoo. At the thighs that stretched the fabric of his trousers. At the chest and shoulders and face and…never mind. 
    “Pardon?” He looked startled.
    “I keep doing these dumb animal metaphors,” I tried to explain. “About you.”
    “Oh, bugger. I’m a butterfly.” He shook his head and took another bite of sandwich, and, all right, I may have giggled. 
    “Of course you aren’t a butterfly.” And, to my horror, I’d reached out and swatted him on the arm as if he’d been Nathan.
    “Sorry.” I tried to scoot back, but he put a hand out and caught mine. And then he turned it and… kissed it. 
    He kissed my knuckles, and, all right, I melted. I mean, wouldn’t you, if you’d been sitting beside a pool with Hemi Te Mana, looking into his liquid brown eyes and watching him kiss your hand? And then having him turn it over to caress your palm with one big thumb? Because he did that, too, and who would’ve guessed that a palm could be so sensitive? When he put his lips to it, and my fingers may have stroked his bronzed cheek just a bit while he did…Let’s call it a weak moment and leave it at