Читать книгу The Dare Collection: February 2018 - Anne Marsh - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

‘TOLD YOU IT was worth it.’

Alex eyed her over the rim of his wine glass. The early-evening sun glinted off her dark hair, revealing glowing streaks of gold. The same gold streaks that flashed in her eyes when she challenged him, berated him or when she was turned on.

How quickly he’d grown to crave those flashes—a sure sign that he’d got to her, whether to rile up her keen mind and razor-sharp wit or to witness the unapologetic hunger that mirrored his own. Despite the professional business attire and the way she tamed her hair, Olivia claimed her sexuality as she owned her forthright manner and articulate negotiation skills.

She put her glass to her lips and his eyes were mesmerised by their plump curves and the tiny flash of pink tongue.

She swallowed, shrugging one elegant shoulder. ‘It’s okay. I’ve had better. Californian wines are the best in the world.’

At least her acidic sense of humour had returned, along with the colour in her cheeks. Fuck, what an idiot he’d been. He should have asked her, rather than assumed she’d be happy to fly. His bird was his favourite mode of transportation. And some primitive part of his brain had wanted to impress her with a flashy stunt. A dick move.

But he’d made good on his promise. The flight to his Oxfordshire boutique winery and restaurant had lasted only thirty minutes. She’d even managed to open her eyes for long enough to enjoy the views, and a begrudging, tight smile had hovered on her beautiful mouth.

As soon as they’d landed he’d ushered her to the Thames-side restaurant on his estate, where the glass of wine had been chilled and waiting for her on the best table in the house.

She placed her glass back on the table, her eyes scanning the three-Michelin-starred restaurant. Two or three other parties occupied tables in the conservatory, which was decorated with a sea of twinkling fairy lights that bounced shards of light off the silver dinnerware and the crisp snow-white table linen.

‘So this is how you impress women?’

He laughed. She slayed him. The twitch of her mouth and the haughty tilt of her chin let him know that she was far from affected by him or his lifestyle. Her poise, her cutting wit, her acerbic tongue, her uncompromising cut-to-the-chase attitude—all of it made him want to put on airs and graces just to rile her up and see that flash in her eyes and the dismissive shake of her head. Why was sparring with her such a turn-on?

‘I don’t usually have to work so hard. And now I’m curious as to why you’re so impervious.’

What would it take to impress her? A prize certainly worth having.

Her eyes hardened and he discreetly adjusted his ever-present erection.

‘Is that what this is about? You show me your chopper and I fall at your grape-crushing feet? You’ll have to pay better attention if you’re expecting me to gush over your clever piloting skills.’

She opened the heavy embossed menu, lifting her nose and focussing her attention on the contents.

The flutter of her pulse at the base of her elegant neck gave her away and he shifted in his seat. Fuck. She turned him to steel—a pretty constant state and a bloody uncomfortable way to walk around. But he wasn’t complaining. The throb reminded him of the deal they’d brokered, adding a fresh slug of adrenaline to course through his bloodstream.

Two of his favourite things. The heady thrill of a business negotiation and the buzz of exhilaration just before you jumped from the cliff’s edge.

And the prize? Not only had this feisty, independent brunette agreed to lend her experience to his fledgling charity, she’d also instigated a game of control tag. A game that, as he saw it, he couldn’t lose. A game that was still on, even though he’d disregarded her rules and gorged himself on her last night.

Not that he regretted that for one second. The memory of her taste was still potent enough to fog his mind.

His stomach growled. He was hungry for food, but even hungrier for her. That brief taste of her mouth on the roof of Lancaster Tower earlier had done little to quench his craving. He’d been hard since leaving her hotel room last night, his balls a heavy ache that he’d carried all day while she sat mere inches away, her scent tantalising, her luminous eyes seeing through him and her voice scraping over his nerve endings until he’d contemplated banging one out in his private bathroom like a randy teenager.

He’d forced himself not to touch her—determined to fight his attraction to her in case she called off the deal. He’d half expected her to bail, simply not to show up for their meeting. When she’d asked him to kiss her he’d thought he’d hallucinated. The urge to drag her into the helicopter, splay her over the leather seats and taste her again had been so powerful he’d had to bite the inside of his cheek until he’d tasted blood.

Watching her now, all elegant and poised, ignoring his attempts to wine and dine her and feigning absorption in the first-class menu, he wanted to scrap dinner and follow the commands from that dirty mouth of hers.

‘I can recommend the filet mignon.’ His lips twitched. ‘The chef is a genius.’

He lounged back in his seat, enjoying the view of the slight flush at the base of her throat. What would that skin taste like? Better than any filet mignon—he’d bet his beloved helicopter on that.

She sniffed, her eyes trained on the menu. ‘I’m a vegetarian.’

Damn. It irked him that he knew so little about her, an inconvenience he planned to rectify as soon as possible.

Why wait?

‘Tell me something about yourself. Something I couldn’t know from reading your business profile.’ He stretched his legs out under the table, searching for hers.

She stared. ‘Why?’

Her fingers clenched around the base of her wine glass. His probing had clearly raised her hackles.

He sipped his wine, enjoying her rising colour. ‘Because we’re not animals, Olivia. Our sexual chemistry is intense, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk in between fucking. Your word, by the way.’

She shrugged, the pulse at her neck fluttering again, her smile sweet. ‘I just did. I don’t eat meat.’

Touché. Bewitching. He pressed his lips together.

‘Tell me something about you,’ she said. ‘Something none of the women you’ve impressed has ever asked you.’

That, right there, was what intrigued him so much. She was so unexpected, unpredictable. She didn’t give a damn about impressing him in return. She wasn’t interested in learning his preferences so she could mould herself into what she thought would be his perfect woman.

Fine. He could be blunt too.

‘No one’s ever asked me to watch them pleasure themselves before.’

A hint of pink touched her cheekbones, but her stare remained bold, direct, captivating.

‘Poor you.’ She glanced back at menu, as if they’d discussed the weather.

Alex bit back his delight as the waiter arrived to take their order.

When they were alone again, she said, ‘Why am I here? I appreciate the world-class dining experience, but you asked me to do a job—not to drink wine and eat truffle-infused mushrooms.’

He fought a smile. She cut straight to the chase, and her caustic turn of phrase… Did she know how much she turned him on?

‘I did. A job you accepted with one mutually satisfying condition.’

The colour in her cheeks heightened. ‘A job I could do perfectly adequately from my hotel room or even from New York.’ Her eyes hardened.

He ran his index and middle fingers along his lower lip, studying her until she shifted in her seat, revealing an alluring glimpse of pert breasts in the V of her blouse.

Last night he’d seen dark nipples through the lace of her bra. He wanted her naked, to taste those nipples, to nibble, scrape and suck until she squirmed and writhed and perhaps even came. Would she be that responsive? Instinct told him yes.

He hardened his own stare. ‘I thought we’d established the parameters of our working relationship?’

A little reminder of their deal. After all, if she intended to torture him as she had last night he’d push her boundaries in return. Quid pro quo.

At her silent scrutiny, he continued. ‘I want you to fully experience what I have in mind for Able-Active. As I said this morning, you can’t do that in an office.’

She wasn’t buying it—was still looking at him as if he’d sprouted a second head.

‘You need to experience the thrill. If the kids can do it, we can, right? You said yourself that the Able-Active headquarters is completely uninspiring.’

And he wanted to get her out of those elegant suits in more ways than one.

‘What exactly will it involve?’

Wary eyes, darker than midnight.

He shrugged. ‘Mountain biking, boating, kayaking, abseiling. You name it.’

Her brow pinched. ‘Why? I don’t need to hurl myself from a climbing wall to understand the concept.’

He clenched his jaw, pinning her with his stare. ‘You agreed to stay a week. I agreed to your terms. Are you backing out of our deal?’

Fuck, had he pushed too hard? Was this over before it had begun?

She flushed, her eyes dipping to the crystal glassware. ‘No. But I won’t be blindsided either. If you expect me to participate I’ll need advance warning.’

‘Why? Spontaneity is more rewarding.’

As last night had proved. He hadn’t intended to declare his hand. But the results…

A head-shake. Decisive and unyielding. ‘Maybe for you.’ Her chin lifted as she glared him down. ‘I like to plan.’

‘Control?’ His cock stirred again, remembering the last time she’d taken the lead.

A staring contest ensued, and the space between them sparked with tension. He was half tempted to cancel the food they’d ordered, clear the restaurant and hope her next demand would be that he fuck her on this very table, with the one-thousand-thread-count tablecloth clutched in her elegant hands as she came around him.

As if she knew his filthy thoughts she traced said tablecloth with her index finger. ‘Let’s say I do don a cycle helmet or a lifejacket. Couldn’t we do all that in London? Why here?’

He sobered, his lips turning in while he chose his next words. ‘I live here.’ He flicked his head in the direction of the main house he’d pointed out from the helicopter. ‘When I’m not in the city.’

He glanced down to where he rubbed the edge of his thick linen napkin between his thumb and forefinger, the hair rising at his nape as it always did when he was this close to his biggest vulnerability. Well, she’d wanted to know something about him no one else did.

‘I wanted you to see this place.’ When he looked up, he had her full attention. ‘I have bigger plans for the charity. Bigger than I outlined to you today.’

A small nod, encouraging him to continue.

‘Eventually I’d like Able-Active to have an employment arm. The statistics on unemployment in the disabled population are depressing.’

He shifted in his chair, forcing his voice to remain even, although this topic of conversation usually led to gut-wrenching impotence.

‘I’d like the winery here, the hotel, perhaps even Lancaster IT, to broaden its sphere. Improve on its equal opportunities policies, perhaps even become a world leader in reducing those unemployment statistics.’

It would be a start, at least.

Serious, with a small frown scrunching her forehead and her eyes thoughtful, she said, ‘Why?’

Her neck flushed, as if her own candour had shocked her.

‘Why what?’

She took another sip of wine, gave a small shrug. ‘I get it. You want your company to have a social conscience.’

His jaw tensed. ‘My company does have a social conscience.’

‘Sorry. That sounded…flippant of me. What I mean is, why does it matter to you so much? I would have thought you’re busy enough running Lancaster IT and the charity. What is it that motivates you?’

Wasn’t that the question? And he understood her curiosity. He longed to peel back her layers, to expose her secret yearnings, her belief systems, her philosophies on life. Her reaction to flying had completely thrown him. What had made her so cautious?

‘It should be important to all of us.’

At his non-answer, Libby nodded.

Then he completely stunned himself by adding, ‘My sister had an intellectual disability.’

His gut twisted, stealing his appetite.

‘I wish more people had cared about her potential, her future.’ Himself especially.

What a time to open this particular can of worms. Why had he brought up his sister? He never spoke of Jenny. To anyone. Let alone someone he’d just met. What had prompted him to tell this intriguing virtual stranger his motivations? Especially when he barely picked over them himself for fear of what he’d expose.

But, even though their acquaintance was in its infancy, didn’t some small part of him already feel closer to her than the hours they’d known each other warranted? She was easy to talk to. She cut through the bullshit. He didn’t have to second-guess her every thought and unspoken subtext. And she wasn’t constantly flattering him.

Perhaps it was just his dick doing all the thinking. Even so, the most serious of his ex-girlfriends knew nothing about Jenny. Well, nothing he’d spoken about. Gossip notwithstanding.

She gave a small nod, her eyes watchful. ‘Had?’

It was common knowledge—his professional success and the prominence of his family name had exposed his entire life to public scrutiny. Of course the media had sensationalised the tragedy—the intellectually disabled teenaged daughter of a wealthy family dying from an epileptic seizure had been big news for all of thirty seconds. But they hadn’t covered the devastating impact it had had on his parents’ marriage, his mother’s subsequent nervous breakdown or her intermittent dependence on alcohol.

‘She died.’

He swallowed hard, his failure a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.

‘I want to offer respite facilities for parents, so they can take a break, recharge, focus on themselves and their relationship. I’m building a purpose-built rural hotel here in the Oxfordshire countryside. Somewhere families can come, where the children can be occupied with the Able-Active programme while the parents get some well-deserved down-time. It’s important. Something that gets overlooked.’

Something that could have helped his family, perhaps.

She was quiet for so long he was half tempted to fly her back to London, pay her for her time and release her from their deal before she pulled out.

She sipped water, her shrewd eyes flaying him alive.

‘So what’s on the adrenaline menu tomorrow?’

Thank fuck.

His breath stuttered back to life. ‘I’ll show you the site of the hotel.’

Her stare held his, bold, astute, daring. ‘And…?’

If she kept looking at him like that he’d never make it through one mouthful, let alone a whole meal.

‘I thought we’d go hot air ballooning.’

Her composure wobbled, her throat working on a swallow. ‘Seriously?’

He nodded. Quid pro quo, Olivia. That stunt last night had cost him dearly in the self-denial stakes. Time to return the favour, make her step outside her comfort zone for a good cause, let down that tightly bound hair of hers until her eyes lit up from within.

Her controlled sigh gusted over parted lips, the tip of her tongue darting out. ‘Well, that’s going to cost you.’

Blood surged to his groin, his limbs twitchy with contained energy. What would that tongue look and feel like on his dick? What would he do to see it there?

‘What do you want?’ He spoke slowly, his words measured, voice low.

With almost Pavlovian predictability his body responded to the question he’d asked. A question he’d wanted to ask her all day. A question that sounded more like a dare.

For a second her eyelids drooped, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths that lifted her alluring breasts. Then she composed herself, gave a sexy tilt to her head.

‘Well, for starters I’d like a tour of your bedroom.’

He asked her again. ‘What do you want, Olivia?’

He was pressed up behind her, his words husking out with his warm breath on the back of her neck.

She practically melted into a puddle on the plush carpet of his palatial master suite. She’d barely registered the opulence and modern elegance of his home as he’d led her here. Every ounce of her focus had been required to keep herself upright and seemingly in control of her own body.

His words—so intoxicating—wrapped themselves around her, a warm cradle. She fought the urge to succumb to them, to blurt out her every wish, every fear, her very soul to him. But she pulled back, forcing herself to stay in command of herself and the heady situation.

If she couldn’t have what she wanted, she’d have what she needed right now. And that was Alex.

He’d agreed to play this game by her rules. The fine line of control and concession was a greased tightrope under her feet. But if he intended to push her out of her comfort zone with daredevil pursuits, she’d push back. Force his natural alpha tendencies into submission. See how far she could take him before he snapped.

She turned, and his warmth seared the tips of her breasts mere millimetres from his chest. ‘I want you to watch me strip.’

He nodded, face grim, nostrils flared. Euphoria surged inside her, robbing her limbs of structure until she stepped backwards to the bed, pressing her legs against the mattress to keep herself upright.

Just like the night before, Alex stayed where she’d directed him. His limbs twitched as she worked the buttons loose on her blouse, his palms curled into white-knuckled fists.

Libby slid the silk from her shoulders. The slow glide was torturous on her sensitised skin, which prickled under his heated stare until every tiny hair stood on end. She unclasped her bra, releasing aching breasts, and tossed it on top of the blouse.

‘Fuck…’ Alex hissed, eyes almost black, staring blatantly.

Libby felt his gaze slide over her nipples as if he’d touched her with those slightly callused hands of his. Her knees buckled. She could almost feel his mouth on her breasts, his bold tongue laving and lashing. In denying him, she denied herself, but the reward would be worth the wait.

She unzipped her skirt with trembling fingers and hooked her thumbs into the waistband, pushing both it and her panties to the floor in one swoop. Every second she tortured him, she tortured herself. The need to see him naked, to touch him, clawed at her, stifling the breath in her lungs until her head buzzed with lack of oxygen.

He teetered towards her, rocking on the balls of his feet.

‘Keep the shoes.’ Gruff. A command.

Libby raised one brow, a twist to her mouth. ‘Is that what you want?’

His command thrilled her. Hers to concede or deny. She’d love to see the excitement flare in his eyes as it had when she’d unclasped her bra. But this was her game. Her rules.

He nodded, his stare travelling the length of her naked body, stopping to linger on her breasts, the juncture of her thighs and the four-inch heels. When his eyes detoured to the scars on her left hip, she shifted her arm, hiding them from his view. She couldn’t go there.

His chest rose and fell, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides, and Libby guessed she didn’t have long to enjoy the power trip. But it was worth it. Any scrap of command she held over the scorching chemistry between them kept her grounded, reminding her that this was a game. No feelings allowed.

With a small smile she steadied herself on one of the simple posts of his contemporary four-poster bed and removed first one shoe and then another, her challenging glare pinning him to the spot.

The muscles of his jaw bunched as he lost the battle to meet her eyes and flicked his gaze over her nakedness once more.

‘What do you want?’ His sexy voice held an almost desperate edge.

Libby exhaled. He was still with her. His reactions matching her own.

‘I want you naked.’

She’d barely finished speaking before he’d heeled off his shoes and reached behind him to tug his T-shirt up and over his head. He tossed it away, his other hand tugging at the button fly of his jeans, and with rapid jerky movements pushed his jeans and tight cotton boxers down his muscular thighs, kicking them away.

Libby’s mouth had forgotten how to make saliva. She’d been right. His body was a magnificent display of long lean muscles encased in golden skin and scattered with a liberal sprinkling of dark hair, and it stole her ability to think. Her eyes followed the dark scatter of hair covering his pecs, touched on the ink decorating one shoulder and one side of his ribs before dipping to the trail of black hair below his navel that merged with the thatch at the base of his spectacular manhood.

Her brain shut down completely. Alex Lancaster, a specimen of male perfection in his prime, was completely at her disposal.

Awareness returned, and the slight chill of the dimly lit room countered the fire raging inside her. Her nipples pebbled, and moisture gathered between her thighs, She pressed them together to ease the hollow ache inside.

He rolled on the balls of his feet, every muscle tense as if he was forcing himself to stay away from her, at the distance she’d set.

‘What do you want?’

More desperation, mimicking the same thing firing along every nerve ending in her body.

‘I…’ Him. She wanted him. ‘What do you want?’

His stare burned into hers. ‘Everything.’ His voice a low rumble. ‘I want all of you.’

As if slapped, she sobered. His stark declaration brought her back to her senses. She couldn’t give him that. She’d done that once. Loved. Planned. Built a future. And she’d lost it all.

The floor solidified under her feet and resolve returned. ‘I want you to fuck me.’ That’s all.

In two long strides he reached her. His mouth crashed to hers, guided by her tug to the back of his neck, and she moaned, the relief so overwhelming that if he hadn’t banded his arms around her waist, she’d have collapsed to the floor. Her fingers tunnelled through the silky strands of his hair and she parted her lips, welcoming the surge of his powerful tongue with one of her own. Her hands roamed, glorying in the smooth fragrance of skin stretched over hard planes of taut muscle, every inch of him a tactile feast for her fingertips.

He slotted one thick thigh between her legs, the spring of his chest hair grazing her nipples as he pressed closer. Libby rubbed her wet sex on his leg, the friction sublime, but not nearly enough. She tore her mouth from his, her head spinning with an oxygen-deprived head-rush.

‘Now, Alex. Now.’

She reached between them, her hand circling his hard length, the satiny skin sliding over the steel beneath as she worked him from root to tip.

He stared, his chest working furiously, his mouth swollen and his eyes heavy-lidded.

She wanted him inside her. Yesterday.

With a grunt, he lifted her, depositing her in the centre of the bed and following her down. But rather than settling himself between her spread thighs, as she craved, he dipped his head to her breast, his mouth covering her nipple, sucking her inside the moist warmth.

Libby cried out, her flash of disappointment banished by sublime pleasure. Better than she’d imagined… the fantasy a poor relation to the reality. His cheeks hollowed as he drew more of her flesh inside, his tongue flicking the nub erect and then his teeth scraping with just a bite of pain—enough to shoot sensation to her core in a prelude to the spasms she hoped would soon follow.

As if he’d seen this arc of sensation he spread her thighs wider with his knees, his fingers finding her slick centre, homing in on her clit with pinpoint accuracy and the perfect amount of pressure.

She whimpered, her fingers frantic in his hair as he abandoned one nipple in favour of the second. There was no reprieve from his relentless barrage. His tongue laved, his fingers swirled and plunged, and Libby forgot to breathe as coils of rapture wrapped around her from the inside out.

His dark lashes fluttered open, his stare finding hers as his mouth curled around her breast.

‘Alex…’ She was close, so close. She wanted him inside her, but she wouldn’t make it.

He growled—a feral noise from the back of his cultured throat, as if encouraging her over the edge. Libby latched on to the dark swirls of his irises as his mouth and fingers continued to drag every drop of bliss from her strung-out body.

Her orgasm blindsided her, slamming her back into the mattress with a ragged cry. The spasms rocked her. Alex kept her thighs spread with his, his hand working furiously and his mouth relentless at her breast.

She shoved at him, the pleasure too intense. But he’d drained her of any strength she possessed and her hands flailed uselessly at his shoulders as he abandoned her clit but continued to suckle at her sensitive nipple.

‘Stop…please.’ She lay boneless, her head swimming.

He pulled back, releasing her from his wicked mouth and pursing his swollen lips to blow a stream of air over her wet, puckered nipple. He smiled. A predatory kind of smile. If she’d had any energy she’d have clawed back command of the situation. But she could only watch as he crawled over her, his lips grazing a path from her ribs across her belly and to the tops of her thighs.

He held her open, kissing first one thigh and then the other before staring at her sex with uninhibited candour and blowing cool air over her wet lips.

‘Alex…’ He’d completely disarmed her. And he still hadn’t given her what she’d asked for. This was her game. Her rules.

With a lazy smile he kissed one thigh again and then climbed from the bed. His muscular ass flexed as he strode to the nightstand. Amazed that she had any hormones left, Libby licked her lips. The clench of his buttocks and the jut of his thick, proud cock was enough to create an impressive second wind.

What was happening to her? She should leave. Show him she was still in control here. But she craved him inside her as much as she enjoyed her power over their liaison. Shoving away doubts, and the sting of memories, she focussed on him, compelling her breathing into a deep, regular pattern.

He returned to the bedside, his bold gaze on her as he tore open a condom packet with his teeth and rolled the latex down his length with practised, single-handed skill.

‘Come here.’

He held out his hand and Libby moved to the edge of the bed before him. He pushed her back until she rested on her elbows and then leaned over her, cupping her face in both hands and kissing her with a passion that stole her sanity and sent fresh spasms through her pelvis. Pulling back, he splayed his large hands on her thighs, slowly easing her open, his gaze darting between her face and her exposed sex.

The way he looked at her… As if he was seconds away from devouring her whole. And that was exactly how she felt. Consumed. His stare alone took her there.

‘I’m going to fuck you now. That’s what you want?’

She nodded, her blood boiling, any snarky retort lost behind her paralysed tongue. If she’d thought businessman, philanthropic, surfer dude Alex was hot, this determined, focussed man scorched the flesh from her bones.

He leaned over her, jaw rigid, and locked his arms either side of her head. Libby lay back, shifting her hips to the edge of the bed. He looked down between their bodies, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. With one hand he gripped the base of his magnificent cock and angled the tip at her entrance. Slowly his gaze locked with hers, and with the scent of sex wafting up between them, carried on a wave of body heat, he pushed inside her.

‘Alex—’

His mouth stole her words, his kiss searing as he stretched her, working his way in to the hilt. She whimpered, her nails raking his flanks and her calves pressed to his glorious backside, encouraging him all the way in.

Pulling back from the kiss, he removed her hands from his back, one by one, and his fingers slotted between hers as he pressed their joined hands into the mattress beside her head. Staring down at her, he began to move. Slowly at first, letting her body grow accustomed to him. But then he clenched his jaw and picked up the pace.

Libby closed her eyes—and then slammed them open again, unwilling to miss one second of seeing him stretched above her, his face contorted with pleasure and beads of sweat gathering at his hairline. This time he’d come. She’d make him come.

With every pummelling stroke he shunted her on the bed, the edge of the mattress providing a landing place for the force of his thrusts.

‘Libby…’ His eyes widened, nostrils flaring.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

She saw the battle in him, and knew she’d give him anything in that moment. Just for the thrill of witnessing his loss of control. The knowledge that she took him there.

He released her hands. ‘Touch your nipples.’

Another command. But she complied, too delirious to care about power play. Her fingers plucked at her breasts, twisting and rolling. Alex watched, his jaw hardening, and a strangled groan rumbled up from his chest.

His hips jerked in a relentless pounding that pushed her closer and closer. When he reached one hand down between them, pressed his thumb down on her clit, she exploded, every muscle in her body rigid as her internal muscles clung to his pistoning cock.

Alex roared, his head thrown back, neck taut, his hips slamming home one last time.

‘Fuck… Libby…’

He ground against her as his breathing slowed, forcing the last ripples of pleasure from her core.

After long, delirious seconds, he dropped a chaste kiss on her mouth.

Reality surged.

Libby winced as he gripped the base of the condom and withdrew, the slide of him over sensitised tissue bordering on pain. Allowing herself one last indulgence, she watched him saunter to the en-suite bathroom, his gait a little unsteady.

Despite the tremors and aftershocks jarring her body, Libby flew from the bed, donning her skirt and blouse and stuffing her damp underwear into her bag. She’d never undone her hair, but it had suffered nonetheless. Tucking the wayward strands back into their braid as best she could, she slipped on her jacket just as a still gloriously naked Alex re-entered the room.

He stalled. ‘You’re leaving?’ His sexy, just-fucked features hardened.

‘Yes.’ Shoulders back, as if she was convincing herself.

He raked at his dishevelled hair. ‘And if I wanted you to stay?’

She swallowed, lifting her chin.

She couldn’t stay. She’d wanted a fuck. She’d got what she wanted. It had to be enough.

He understood. His jaw bunched and he looked away with a small nod.

Without another word he tugged on his discarded clothes. The atmosphere in the room that still smelled of the intimacies they’d shared chilled Libby to the bone.

Alex grabbed his keys from the dresser, turning to lance her with his black stare. ‘Will you at least stay in my hotel?’

He shoved his free hand in his front pocket.

Her face burned as if craving the slide of his warm palm. She missed the warmth in his amber eyes. Missed his smile.

Libby nodded. She couldn’t expect him to fly her back to London—not if they had to return here in the morning to put their lives at the mercy of a wicker basket and a giant nylon balloon.

‘I’ll drive you over.’

‘I can live with that.’