Читать книгу The Dare Collection: February 2018 - Anne Marsh - Страница 12
ОглавлениеLIBBY’S SCALP REBELLED. She’d pulled her hair into a severe braid this morning, as if an austere hairstyle might protect her from the reckless impulses of last night. Impulses that had not only had her agreeing to work with Alex Lancaster, but to stay in London for a week when she’d planned to be back in New York in two days.
Not to mention the crazy tit-for-tat deal they’d brokered—the one in which she’d pleasured herself in front of him, forced him to watch, and come so hard she was certain her heart had stopped for a beat.
She stepped from the elevator, the chafe of her stocking tops grazing her thighs, which were already embarrassingly slick.
She’d almost cancelled. Called his PA. Booked an earlier flight home. She wasn’t a coward, but the thought of what she’d done, of seeing Alex again in the cold light of day…
Whilst last night’s antics had blown her away with the best orgasm of her life, she’d be lying if she said she and Alex had concluded their business—either with Able-Active or in the personal game they’d begun.
His face flashed before her. He’d kept his word. Conceded control. Hadn’t once balked at her demands. She’d never have guessed a man as powerful and influential as him would be able to shelve his arrogance and give her what she needed. And now what had started as a battle of wills, a way to deal with her lust for him, had become the most daring and exhilarating game ever.
Not that she’d expected him to follow her instructions to the letter. She had almost sobbed with relief when he’d prowled from the chair and finished her off with his mouth. She closed her eyes, remembering the sight of him looking up at her from between her thighs.
How had he managed to walk away unfulfilled? She’d been on the verge of running after him, dragging him back to her room and riding his magnificent-looking cock. Not that she’d had a chance to get her hands on him. He’d barely broken a sweat. The man had some frustratingly impressive willpower. She’d just have to try harder.
But business first.
Libby pushed through etched glass doors emblazoned with the company logo and approached a sleek, minimalist reception desk.
‘Libby Noble for Alex Lancaster.’
Late last night, after showering, she’d checked her e-mails, spying one from his PA, Molly—the young woman now sitting in front of her, according to a name plaque on the desk—advising her of today’s itinerary.
‘Ah, yes, Ms Noble. He’s expecting you. I’ll show you in.’ Molly stood, her outstretched arm directing Libby towards another set of etched glass doors and an office beyond.
Her legs threatened to give out. She swallowed, plastered her most convincing, polite smile on her face and steeled herself against the impact of seeing Alex again—steeled herself like a butterfly about to enter a hurricane.
He stood at his desk, shoulder to shoulder with a shorter man in his forties. Their focus was directed to the screen of the tablet the other man carried, but as she hovered in the doorway Alex lifted his head, harpooning Libby with a dark, inscrutable stare across the space that divided them.
A flush of heat slammed through her, and the hurricane morphed into a tropical cyclone on the surface of the sun. She’d been right to fear the impact. It hadn’t lessened.
Even though she’d broken her dry spell, achieved some measure of relief from the sexual haze she’d been in since meeting him, the blow was twice as potent as the first time their eyes had met across a room.
She saw him now. The true him. Her eyes had been cleared of the self-imposed veil of abstinence. His raw sexuality simmered beneath his cultured, polite exterior. He stripped her with his stare, leaving her aching and needy and desperate to sample more of him than his spectacular mouth.
Libby swayed on her heels—a minute wobble in his direction that told her everything she needed to know about her chances of her steering her mind out of the bedroom and into the boardroom. No amount of prim business suits or severe hairstyles could protect her from Alex’s potent sex appeal and her body’s awakened cravings.
From behind her, Molly cleared her throat. ‘Ms Noble.’
Of course—they weren’t alone.
Alex gave a single nod to his assistant. ‘Thanks, Molly.’
The older man moved into Libby’s peripheral vision.
Alex kept his eyes on her. ‘Olivia, this is Jeremy Wells, my financial director.’
Jeremy tucked the tablet under his arm and moved in her direction.
Dragging her thoughts and her eyes from Alex, Libby smiled, heat warming her cheeks from her transparent leering at Jeremy’s boss.
Get a grip.
Alex sat on the edge of his desk, observing their interaction with an indifference that sent an army of ants marching beneath her skin.
‘Olivia will be in charge of marketing for Able-Active.’
His voice held none of the sexy drawl of last night, but the way his mouth caressed her name reverberated through her body until she felt the memory of that mouth’s intimate caress between her legs. A memory constantly at the forefront of her mind.
Jeremy offered a surprisingly limp handshake and a tepid smile. ‘I’ll leave you to your business.’
Alex nodded again, his stare back on Libby, flooding her body with wave after wave of turbulent heat. But she’d yet to see what she wanted to see—the same aching discord currently pounding her equilibrium.
Hormones. It was just hormones.
‘Molly, could you please bring coffee downstairs?’ He quirked an eyebrow at Libby in question.
She nodded to the younger woman, confirming that he’d guessed her beverage of choice.
‘I’m taking Ms Noble on a tour of the Able-Active office.’
Molly nodded and retreated, seemingly completely unaffected by the decadent rumble of her boss’s voice, whereas Libby felt it wash over her, lifting every hair and tingling every nerve ending.
She wanted more of it. More of the sexy grunts and groans he’d uttered last night from between her thighs. More of him asking her what she wanted, handing her control on a silver platter. More of his buttoned-up English accent cursing as he finally reached his limit of self-denial and lunged for her.
Who knew this part of her lurked inside? What had he unleashed?
They faced off, alone at last. He gave nothing away. She prayed her own transparency matched his. Would he renege on their deal? Send her home? Perhaps he’d simply pretend last night hadn’t happened and get straight down to business?
Not that he was dressed for business. She indulged herself, eyeing him from head to toe. She’d expected another of his expensive suits, to see his magnificent body encased in fine tailoring and crisp linen, but he wore jeans and a graphic T-shirt—an outfit that did nothing to diminish his attractiveness. If anything, it heightened it, and the T-shirt was a playful touch of whimsy that almost curled her lip in a smile. Alex Lancaster a gamer? She’d been right about the geeky surfer dude.
She lifted her stare from the casual, low-slung fit of his jeans, which showcased the bulge of his crotch. A bulge considerably smaller than the one he’d walked away with last night, when he’d left her hotel room unsatisfied. Fresh heat climbed her neck. She should have stopped him. Given him some relief. Finished him the way he’d finished her.
Her knees wobbled at the memory of his mouth on her, those dark eyes piercing, watching while she exploded on his tongue…
Damn. Must she eye-fuck him at every opportunity?
Her face burned. But the intensity of the look he gave her provided little respite from the boil of her blood.
The speech she’d prepared fled. She scanned the room rather that look at him, while her brain scrambled for suitable morning-after conversation—the spectacular view of the London skyline, the tasteful, minimalist art on the walls and the rich aroma of leather from the expensive furniture.
When her gaze ended its tour back on him, he continued to watch her with slightly narrowed eyes.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d turn up this morning.’
That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Fancy a repeat performance? Want to lean over my desk while I fuck you from behind? You’re a selfish lover and the deal is off. All those were closer to her imaginings.
‘Why? I agreed. I’m a professional.’
Sometimes. When she wasn’t drooling over him.
She was a big girl—one who could separate personal from business. Not that she’d ever been tested before now. Oh, how she hoped her faith in her own abilities was justified.
Liar.
Right now, all she wanted to do was strip him from his dressed-down street clothes and see if she could make him hard with just her mouth.
His expression inscrutable, his eyes flicked over her face and he stood. ‘Shall we?’
He moved to the door, holding it open and gesturing her to re-enter the real world. So calm. So indifferent.
Clearly they weren’t going to discuss last night. Discuss the inferno of chemistry they’d fanned to life. Only her mind was stuck there. Stuck on vivid images of him splaying her over his desk, his sofa, the floor, and continuing where they left off in her hotel room.
But Mr Lancaster was all business this morning. And that was where her head belonged. In the game. The game of marketing for Able-Active and the game of bedroom quid pro quo. She wouldn’t become professionally distracted from the first and she couldn’t become personally distracted by the second.
She crossed his office, her eyes flicking up to his as she passed him in the doorway, and headed back the way she’d come to the elevators. He walked beside her, his arm so close she could reach out and touch him. Perhaps she should. Apologise for last night. For leaving him…hanging. Suggest they rectify the imbalance of the situation later tonight.
He pressed the call button and they both gazed up. The feeling of déjà vu was strong enough to send licks of flame trickling down Libby’s spine. Just like last night, the elevator was empty. Alex pressed the button for a few floors down and the doors closed.
The crackle of tension ricocheted around inside Libby’s head. She craved more of those searing, all-consuming kisses. Damn, the man could kiss, and she’d already experienced his phenomenal oral skills. But instead of dispelling her torrid urges it had only intensified them. She wanted to stop the elevator and beg him to fuck her right here, right now.
Her eyes scanned the interior of the car, searching for security cameras.
And then the doors slid open, and his upper-class voice dragged her from her fantasies.
‘After you.’
Seriously? She could barely walk. Her nipples ached, her panties were ruined and her fingers twitched to get hold of him. She should have asked him to spend the night—that way she could have quenched her thirst with the perfect wake-up call this morning.
Alex, by comparison, seemed calm, efficient and businesslike. The ultimate professional. While she longed to play hooky with him, forget marketing budgets and brand awareness strategies and spend the week holed up in her hotel room, living out every dirty fantasy he’d inspired.
No. He’d definitely changed his mind. A cold, hard rock settled in her stomach.
He led her down a corridor that was a carbon copy of the one housing his office, again holding open the door for her to enter ahead of him when they reached their destination.
Libby stalled. ‘Office’ was a fairly grand term for what was essentially a small room with two desks, a single computer and a phone.
A woman in her early twenties looked up from the screen and stood on their arrival. ‘Hi, Alex.’
First-name terms? Of course.
He smiled, and Libby glanced away.
‘Hailey, this is Olivia Noble. She’s agreed to help with our marketing campaign. Put us on the map.’
He turned to Libby, the smile for his pretty young employee sliding from his face.
‘Hailey is the charity’s only full-time employee. The rest of the staff are volunteers.’
Libby shook hands with the woman, noting the way her eyes lingered on Alex. She didn’t blame her. ‘Magnetic’ didn’t really cover his appeal. And her resentment of Hailey, a woman she’d just met, originated in disappointment. He hadn’t brought her to this quiet part of the building for a repeat performance of last night. He wouldn’t be laying her over this desk and redressing the orgasm imbalance.
Damn.
If they’d been alone she might have broken her number one rule. Might have dropped to her knees in front of him, taken him in her mouth, given him something other than work to think about.
‘Any progress on the mountain biking trip?’
Alex took a folder from Hailey’s desk, his eyes scanning the contents.
Libby shook the tantalising images from her head. She could do indifference too.
Hailey nodded. ‘Some luck with the accommodation, thanks to the Welsh Tourism Board, but staffing is still an issue.’
Alex traced his bottom lip with his finger and thumb, his attention held by the paperwork in his hands.
Olivia cast her observant eye around the sparsely furnished and featureless room. One employee, an uninspiring space and staffing issues—hardly the picture of a successful Alex Lancaster venture. Why devote so much of his time to a fledgling charity? Time he could spend in more lucrative ways, building his empire. Surely Lancaster IT kept him busy?
With conversation clearly over, Libby followed Alex to the room’s spare desk, where he pulled out a chair for her before taking the second and moving it so they sat at right angles, rather than facing each other. Damn. She’d hoped a block of wood between them would coax her hormones into submission, or at least remind her to stay professional.
She busied herself with her tablet and her phone and then slid off her jacket, draping it over her bag at her feet.
Cool, calm, professional.
Right.
Her thighs still felt the imprint of that stubble he wore on his chin.
His low voice penetrated the lust filling her head as they faced off.
‘Are you okay? You seem…uncomfortable.’
Damn him—how dare he be so…unaffected? Her gaze flicked down. At least her hands weren’t trembling.
‘Not at all. I…’
She couldn’t confess the real direction of her lewd thoughts. Him. This desk. More orgasms good enough to make her forget her own name. Time for Plan B. Her trusty go-to—honesty.
‘I’m a little surprised, that’s all.’
He leaned back in his chair as he had last night in that armchair. A lazy slouch, thighs spread, one eyebrow cocked…waiting.
How was she going to get through today?
She squirmed, swallowing hard, then pointed around the room. ‘I guess I expected something…more. Something flashier.’ She clasped her hands on the desk in front of her.
He was silent for so long, she felt beads of moisture dotting her top lip. Silent and watchful.
‘I see.’
He hardened his stare and Libby fought the urge to hide in the restroom. Fuck, was it possible that work Alex was even hotter than play Alex? He certainly carried an intense air of authority she hadn’t witnessed before. One that should leave her cold, and angling for a heated debate, but it only heightened the ache between her legs.
‘You’ve made assumptions about me…developed preconceived ideas.’ He held up his hand, silencing the denial on the tip of her tongue. ‘The scruffy jeans and T-shirt have thrown you, and now this slightly shabby low-tech office has compounded those impressions.’
Haughty. The word perfectly described his cold voice. Had she made assumptions? She tried to remain open-minded, unbiased—especially where business was concerned. But with her humble past and his reckless reputation… An oil-and-water combination. Perhaps she’d subconsciously doomed this opportunity to failure. And if that were true there’d be no more… recreation.
She fought the weight on her shoulders.
He leaned closer, capturing her rapt stare and holding her breath to ransom. ‘I told you on the phone yesterday—Able-Active doesn’t happen in an office.’
Her eyes landed on his mouth. The hypnotic movement and the sound of his passionate voice were entrancing, luring her back into sensual waters. Waters that lapped at her, bringing every nerve ending screaming back to life.
‘It’s about adventure.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth. ‘Thrill. Adrenaline.’
His lips caressed every word as they’d caressed her clit, and the phantom tingles there reminded her how good it had been.
Were they still talking about the charity?
If the hot billionaire and his business proposal had had her panting, this passionate philanthropist with his sleeves rolled up would suffocate her. How would it feel to be the focus of all that…passion?
He continued while her brain reeled, trying to untangle his words from her overactive imagination.
‘Just because our clients are intellectually-disabled teens and young adults, it doesn’t mean they don’t want the same things from life that any other teen wants.’ A shrug. ‘That any of us wants.’
He leaned back in his seat and Libby’s heart stuttered back to life.
His finger and thumb traced his bottom lip in that way of his—a sign of deep contemplation. ‘Everyone deserves to experience that kind of…rush.’
She shivered, convinced he was referring to last night and her display. But he’d said nothing, done nothing even remotely inappropriate. It was her mind stuck in the gutter. Her mind choreographing a repeat performance of that rush he’d described so eloquently.
Alex steered her wayward thoughts back to business. ‘Have you visited the UK before?’
Libby cleared her throat, pressing her thighs together. ‘No. This is my first visit.’ What was wrong with her? Last night should have cured her of this fervid need crawling beneath her skin.
He nodded. Stared. ‘Let me show you what we have so far and where I’d like us to be in six months.’
His voice had snapped out of that low, confessional tone, was brisk and businesslike again. He flipped open the folder, forcing her attention away from him.
By the end of the morning he’d outlined his vision for the charity and, despite her best attempts at professionalism, Libby was as sexually frustrated as ever.
‘Up?’ Libby quizzed Alex.
His brief, decisive nod gave little away. When he’d suggested lunch she’d refused, preferring to work through and grab something later—alone—allowing herself some distance from his perplexing proximity. But he’d made a persuasive argument, stating that he’d missed breakfast, and her loud, rumbling stomach had chosen that precise moment to announce that she had too.
He nodded, those dark eyes cryptic, penetrating. All morning, he’d kept his hands to himself, never once touching her, as if he was maintaining a professional line and refusing to cross it. While she’d lusted and leered, ashamed of the lewd direction of her thoughts. Clearly he was more adept at separating business from pleasure. Or maybe, as far as he was concerned, they were through.
The slow simmer that gripped her every time she looked at him or thought about him drained away, leaving chills in its place.
After a beat, he said, ‘Pinot Gris or Sauvignon Blanc?’
The elevator arrived, interrupting her answer, which was still forming from the scramble of her thoughts. He ushered her inside, his hand finally finding the small of her back—the first time he’d touched her since his mouth had left her last night. The zing of electricity was so strong she expected to find her panties singed.
All morning she’d battled to stay professional while craving his touch. As he’d waxed lyrical about the Able-Active team, their inspirational clients and the multitude of ideas he had to expand their scope nationally, she’d fought to drag her eyes away from his animated features, lit up with an enthusiasm that had left her envious. Envious of his colleagues, who probably saw this side of him daily. Envious of his beloved clients, who inspired such heartfelt passion. And envious of the women who’d experienced that intensity transformed into a different kind of focus—one she craved like the next lungful of oxygen.
What had he asked her? Wine…
She lifted her chin, determined to appear as unaffected as him. ‘I prefer Pinot Gris, but I don’t mind. I’ll probably pass.’
The last thing she needed was to add alcohol to the heady mix of hormones and endorphins bubbling through her blood. Any further lowering of her inhibitions in Alex’s presence and she’d start clawing at his clothes in public. How could he be so unruffled?
But was she imagining the tension that built inside the elevator? He stood so close she could almost feel the tickle of the dark hairs on his arm, and the clean, soapy scent of him wafted over her on a cloud of warmth.
The air thickened as the car ascended. Libby locked her knees; scared she might sway towards him, throw herself into his arms or just simply press the emergency stop button and strip.
‘I thought you said lunch? Is there a restaurant in this building?’
It looked just like a typical office block. Still, this was his city. She merely hoped they’d arrive at their floor soon, so she could put some more space between them. Or persuade him to fuck her in the restroom…
‘I’m taking you to a restaurant I own. The Pinot Gris there is world-class.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth, his tongue swiping his bottom lip.
Was he thinking about wine, or tasting her?
‘You can allow yourself one glass, surely?’
His mouth curled. Was he daring her? He’d lost some of that morning’s surliness, and his eyes danced with gold flecks. To say she’d missed relaxed, playful Alex would be an understatement. But she admired his ability to compartmentalise—a skill she normally shared.
The car juddered to a halt, its doors opening to another bland, deserted corridor.
Where was he taking her? Was she about to become a murder statistic?
Hysterical laughter threatened—a side effect of too much adrenaline.
At the end of the corridor Alex swiped a card through a lock and held the door open for Libby. The narrow concrete stairs were draughty, and the height from the windows spun her head and flipped her stomach into her throat, pushing the thought of wine and even lunch far from her mind.
Alex took her hand and pushed open a fire door, escorting her onto the roof.
Her feet stalled.
No rooftop restaurant with views of the Thames.
No murderer’s lair.
Just a helicopter.
Gripping her waist, he ushered her frozen with shock form towards the sleek white death trap.
She dug her heels into the concrete, skidding them to a standstill. ‘I’m not going in that.’
His brow dipped, puzzlement cloaking his amused eyes. ‘Of course you are. It’s only a thirty-minute ride.’ He cocked a brow, his mouth twisted in challenge. ‘You’ll love it.’
In two strides he’d opened the door, was holding out his arm, enticing her inside a form of transportation she’d never experienced and never wanted to.
The wind whipped loosened strands of hair across her face, blinding her. Her stomach fell, settling somewhere behind her wobbling knees. The height of this building alone was enough to drain her adrenal glands. Just like at The Shard yesterday, being inside this skyscraper was enough of a trial for her, let alone standing on top of it with the elements determined to send her plummeting to the ground.
He strode back to her side, face contrite and eyes soft. ‘Olivia. I’m sorry.’
He reached for her cold hand, his warm fingers clasping. She clung to the lifeline, some of her fear dissipating at his touch.
‘I should have warned you instead of trying to surprise you.’ His thumb rubbed the back of her hand.
Her fickle mind switched. Now she prayed for the release of a ground-swallowing demise. She hated anyone seeing this weak side of her, but especially Alex. Fearless, sophisticated Alex, who thought nothing of jumping into a helicopter for lunch at his favourite restaurant.
He was still talking, still cajoling. She forced herself to hear him over the ringing in her ears.
‘It’s very safe. Weather conditions are perfect. I have thousands of hours in the air and that Pinot really is worth it, I promise.’
Her belly flopped again. She glanced down at her stiletto-clad toes, almost expecting to see it there on the concrete. Decision time. Ride in a helicopter or get blown from the roof? Accept his challenge or admit defeat and concede the bargaining chip? It was a close one.
She willed her breathing into submission as her mind dithered. At least he’d dropped the cocky smirks of moments ago and the hard, inscrutable stares present all morning and seemed genuinely concerned.
As if he’d made the decision for her, he turned back towards the door to the stairway. ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I was wrong. We’ll go somewhere else for lunch.’
He slid his arm around her shoulders, as if guiding a child or an old lady safely across the road.
‘No.’ Her declaration surprised both of them. ‘I’ll go.’
What was she saying? She didn’t need to impress him. She could admit she’d prefer not to put her life in the hands of a man she barely knew inside a chunk of flying metal. There’d be no shame in that. He didn’t need to know why she had an aversion to death traps, or to anything she considered risky. It was an aversion founded in past experience—one that had changed her life for ever.
No. That labyrinth of sickening memories wasn’t going to help her get off this roof with her dignity intact.
‘You sure? There’s no pressure.’
He pushed a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, his eyes tracing her features but his fingertips failing to make contact.
‘We’ll do whatever you want.’ His voice was low, sincere, calming.
The echo of those words from last night reminded her of the power she held. It surged through her veins, dispelling fear, forcing steel into her skeleton and redirecting her thoughts from all things death-related.
Latching on to her attraction for him, she blurted out the thought that had occupied most of her mind since the minute she’d walked into his office that morning.
‘I want you to kiss me.’
In an instant his face hardened, as if she’d slapped him. She swallowed, her cheeks hot. Why had she said that? If the deal was off, their sexual exploration over, she’d just set herself up for rejection.
Rejection and humiliation all in one morning—way to go, Libby.
Her gaze fell to his crotch, saw the bulge there expanding before her eyes.
No. He was still in this with her. The chemistry was still alive. She straightened her spine, the surge of power, of control, imbuing her limbs with courage.
‘Kiss me and I’ll go.’
Wow—pushy, much? But she was already so far out of her comfort zone she’d need a map to locate it again. She might as well get what she wanted from this situation.
He dropped his hands to his sides and made fists, his fingers flexing. Still trying to keep things professional? Acting the gentleman? Having second thoughts?
She took a half-step closer until his clean, soapy scent reached her, giving her a head rush that had nothing to with dizzying heights or stomach-dropping rides.
‘Kiss me like you’re telling me that you wanted to fuck me last night instead of leaving.’
Please—before she came to her senses and fled, or passed out.
His nostrils flared as he sucked in a harsh breath, focussed his intense stare on hers.
‘I did.’
His voice, full of gravel, scraped her raw—as raw as the hunger she saw flare in his eyes.
‘I did want to fuck you last night. You told me to watch.’
Yes. She’d got what she wanted—but the hollow victory had left her cold.
He closed the gap between them by another half step. ‘I can’t get the taste of you out of my mouth.’ His gaze flicked down, scorching her from head to toe. ‘The image of you lying there, your hand working between your legs…’
He dropped his head back, closing his eyes for a second before he pinned her with his penetrating stare once more.
‘Believe me, I’ve wanted to kiss you all fucking morning.’
His admission knocked the air from her lungs, and a surge of triumph banished the last of her doubts.
‘Why don’t you then?’ Barely a whisper.
His lips thinned, air gusting out of flared nostrils. ‘Fucked if I know.’
They reached for each other, closing the distance with a lurch. He slammed his mouth over hers and she practically jumped up to meet him. His arms locked around her waist to catch her in mid-air. Her fingers delved into his hair as he pressed her close, their mouths opening and tongues sliding with ravenous need. The icy fear of moments ago trickled away, replaced by the sluggish thrill of euphoria. Her limbs liquefied, and the thud of her heart was loud enough to block out all her reservations.
Yes. This was what she’d craved since last night. The knowledge that she wasn’t alone in her furious attraction to this man. He felt it too. Their searing connection. The all-consuming rush. The need to feed the fire with any available fuel.
They pulled back, breath gusting.
Alex gripped her face, his eyes darting between hers. ‘You sure?’
She couldn’t speak. His concern, his consideration in the wake of that kiss was too much.
She nodded. Another stomach flip—although she couldn’t tell if it was fear this time or the heady knowledge that there’d be more of those kisses if she wanted them. More of him.
He slid his hands from her face, one capturing her hand. Warm, confident, his grip was firm and comforting. With a single resolute nod that filled her with belief in his piloting skills he turned them back towards the helicopter.
But for all her bravado and bravery, the clack of her heels on the concrete roof echoed.
A death march or the soundtrack to an adventure?
