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    Sandy struggled to sit up. To wake up. It was like she’d been in a dream for the last fifteen minutes or so, but now she was back in the real world with a vengeance. Sitting on a bench in the freezing cold with her pussy hanging out in front of what amounted to a total stranger.
    What the hell was I thinking?
    To give him his due, Jay looked as if he’d been in some kind of dreamland too. His dark eyes were slightly hazed, as if he’d been taking something. God, what if he was a junkie as well as some kind of sex maniac? But she didn’t think so, he looked too hard, too fierce, too self-disciplined to succumb to pharmaceutical entertainment.
    ‘Where are my knickers? I’m feeling a draught here. Can you see them?’ Swathed in Jay’s jacket, and turned on by his seduction, she hadn’t really noticed how cold it was, but now she was beginning to feel the sharp pinpricks of the winter air.
    Hardly the most romantic thing to say after a guy hadgiven you pleasure and apparently taken none for himself, but the weird expression on his face was spooking her. Seriously so. Flipping down her skirt, she patted it into place repeatedly, as if it might fly up of its own accord if she didn’t hold it down, or be lifted by some kind of mind control on Jay’s part.
    As she watched him, he blinked, and seemed to come back to earth alongside her. His scarred brow crimped into a slight frown, and the sudden hard set of his mouth seemed to suggest that her less than grateful utterance had annoyed him, perhaps as much as she was annoyed with herself for blurting it out.
    Swooping down, he caught up her knickers from where he’d cast them on the turf but, instead of handing them to her, he bunched them in his hand, then lifted them to his face and inhaled, very pointedly. His dark brows lifted and, what with the scars and the piratical beard, he looked like the very devil himself. Sandy blushed, knowing how strongly her little panties would be scented. And not just with Miss Dior either.
    ‘I thought I might keep them.’ He took another deep sniff. ‘A souvenir. Or perhaps a reward, for services rendered.’
    Confusion engulfed her. Embarrassment made it difficult to think. Suddenly getting back to normal social cocktail-party interaction seemed infinitely desirable. Risky sex games with a peculiar stranger just weren’t her usual scene and, right now, they scared her. She grabbed wildly for her knickers and he let her take them, eyeing her with another frown as she struggled to wiggle them back on. At first she resisted the arm he put out to support her as she stepped from one foot to the other. But when she allowedherself to succumb, his hard-hewn muscle felt like a hunk of solid granite.
    ‘I have to go. I need to get back. I came with someone.’
    As she reluctantly freed his magnificent bicep, the antipathy in his eyes was unmistakeable.
    ‘And no, it isn’t a man. It’s Kat, my cook. You know, she served you in the café … I came here with her and she’ll be wondering where I am.’
    Why do I need to explain myself to him? He’s just a man I temporarily lost my mind with. With luck I won’t see him again after tonight.
    ‘Good. I’m glad it’s not a man.’
    What was it to him? Did one orgasm make him think he owned her? Anger and other mad emotions set adrenaline pumping in her blood. She had to get away, think, calm down. Being around him, even though things were getting prickly, was messing with her senses and her judgement. Her mind might be processing antagonism, but her body was still responding to his brutal beauty like a filly in season flaunting her availability to a stallion.
    She shucked off his jacket and thrust it at him; grabbed her bag, turned on her heel, and started to walk. Or tried to. Her upper arm was suddenly in a vice. A gentle vice, but one that wouldn’t yield.
    ‘Let me go!’
    The vice opened. She was free.
    So why didn’t she dart away from him, run and never look