Читать книгу Santa Baby: 5 Sexy Reads For Cold Winter Nights - Charlotte Phillips, Charlotte Phillips - Страница 16

A day out around the London sights and now dinner for two in his suite. Like a proper couple. It was as if this was a mini-break and they had a real life somewhere to go back to. She let her mind follow that fantasy for a while as they shared a bottle of wine and talked. She had thought limiting this to a fling would somehow automatically pitch them at that level and make it entirely about sex. She hadn’t expected talking and getting to know him. This time around she found herself liking him way beyond those parameters, and dangerous though she knew it was, she couldn’t help finding signs in his own behaviour that he felt the same. The way he’d spoiled her by ordering half the restaurant for breakfast, the way he’d listened to her plans for her jewellery business as if they hadn’t already been to bed and he still had to jump through those hoops.

And now he refilled their glasses and she stood up to follow him over to the velvet sofa and the crackling fire in the grate, anticipation knotting in her stomach at the thought of being intimate with him again.

And then his mobile rang. She watched as he checked the screen, literally saw the change in his face, and when she ran it through her mind later on she recognised it as the instant when the real world kicked back in.

He took the call, phone pressed to his ear, subconsciously or not, his shoulder was now tilted in her direction as he turned away and took a few paces away. She could pick up the gist of the call just from picking up the odd word from his side, she could hear him discussing departure times, transfers, social plans. It didn’t take a genius to know what the call was about.

‘My mother,’ he said, when he’d hung up. His expression was thoughtful and his focus was not there in the room.

‘Is everything OK?’ she asked, although any fool could see it wasn’t.

He shook his head lightly as if to clear it.

‘She’s just stressing because I’ve been delayed. My father’s had a couple of bad days apparently.’

She gave him a questioning look.

‘It’s not been easy for her,’ he said. ‘He’s needed a lot of extra support. Especially at first when he first had the stroke, but the rehab has been slow and he gets so frustrated at the time it takes to make progress.’

Sympathy twisted in her chest.

‘It must be very tough. I can remember when my Gran was ill. It was awful.’

Tom’s mind spiralled back eighteen months. He toyed with the phone absently, thinking that he should check in with reception for any messages, call the airline. She was watching him, leaning against the back of the velvet sofa, her glass of wine in her hand and giving him her full attention.

‘It was a tough time. At first there was just this awful shock, and the worry that he might not pull through it. I had to be strong for my mother, she was beside herself. Then once we knew he was going to be OK there was this time where you hope things will get back to normal. I knew the reality of it of course because of my work, I knew it could take time, months of physio, that kind of thing. And he’s done really well. He’s been able to get back to work, on and off, reduced hours of course.’

‘That must be a relief.’

He nodded.

‘It is. But it did bring it home to me that he’s not getting any younger. He looks his age now, which he never did before. And he gets tired very quickly.’

The constant undertone of worry for his parents, resurrected by the phone call, now gnawed at him. He felt guilty because he hadn’t made it to Barbados, and this guilt which he’d managed to crush whilst he’d been in Ella’s company, resurfaced at full strength. He hadn’t even called the airport yet today to check, he’d had to fob his mother off with yesterday’s weather report. His sense of responsibility kicked back in at full force. What was he playing at here, indulging himself in a no-strings fling when his family needed him?

‘My mother wanted to know if there was any news on my flight.’ He made a move towards the door. ‘I need to call the airline and maybe reception will have an up to date weather report. I’ll be right back.’

How easy it had been to just let himself exist in this bubble the past few days. All the time, reality had been waiting just outside, ready to yank him back into its realm. He had family responsibilities, people relying on him. If he was fast enough he could still make Barbados in time for Christmas.

As he left the room Ella felt a surge of stupid disappointment, anger at herself for feeling insignificant. She might be an attractive distraction for a short while but that phone call represented the real world for Tom. Something she wasn’t a part of either back then or now.

Her heart flipped into hideous lurching freefall. And the worst of it was the humiliation because she was expecting this, had thought herself prepared for it. Of course he was going to be rebooking his flight the moment he was able to. For Pete’s sake, she was supposed to be pulling off realist here. What the hell was the disappointment about? Had she actually thought for one second he might have considered delaying his departure somehow, that he might have really been thinking of a way to factor her into his future plans? This was about sex, nothing more, she’d made that clear herself from the outset, how could she blame him for acting accordingly now?

This situation was playing out in exactly the same way as it would have done the first time around if she hadn’t cut it short back then. And she had no one to blame but herself for letting it happen. She should have stuck to her no-second-time rule.

Had it really felt like they were a proper couple in this room? The magic dissipated the second he disappeared and she gathered up her cardigan and closed the door on the luxury suite where she didn’t belong. Had she really been fantasising that she might? She went back to her own twin room, picked up the stack of leaflets in the hotel information file and forced herself to focus on planning the following day’s outing. Solo this time. Maybe a trip on the London Eye? Or she could go to Knightsbridge and drool without spending at the jewellery in Tiffany.

A swift double tap at the door and she crossed to open it. She took the leaflets with her in one hand, to let him see she was perfectly fine; she could do London tourist weekend perfectly well by herself, thank you very much.

‘The airport’s open,’ he said the moment she opened the door, and her heart felt like it sank to the pit of her stomach.

She caught her breath, made an enormous effort to arrange her face into a fine-with-me posture and stood aside to let him into the room.

‘What time’s your flight?’ she said. She tried hard to pull off couldn’t-care-less in her tone of voice.

‘Half past ten.’

They had an hour or so then realistically before he would have to get to the airport for check-in. She swallowed hard, forced herself to nod. There was no point trying to deny it to herself, it was way too late for that now. She was in too deep. The déjà vu feeling of disappointment and inevitability churned in her stomach. She recognised it from last time and knew that any conviction she’d walked easily away from him last time was just a delusion. The only person worth denying her feelings to now was him.

This was the end then. An end they both knew was coming, one that they’d been in agreement on right from the outset. She covered up her sadness by emphasising the practical and readied herself for his leaving in the only way she knew that worked. She began backing off.

‘You’ll be wanting to get packed then,’ she said brightly. That was good. That sounded like she was absolutely fine with this. She forced her gaze away from his and automatically took a couple of paces back. Distance, that was what was needed now. Get some distance in there now, before he did.

‘No, Ella, I won’t be wanting to pack,’ he said, his voice exasperated. ‘Unlike you I don’t take half a dozen bags with me just for a weekend. I’ll throw a few things in a case in the morning and I’ll be away.’

Her heart gave a sudden little half-skip.

‘The morning?’ she said.

He nodded.

‘Half past ten. Tomorrow morning.’

She drew in a sharp breath. He held her gaze steadily in his own. One last night together.

He pulled her towards him, lacing his fingers through hers. He hadn’t mentioned them, what would happen to them tomorrow, and why would he? They’d both known from the outset that this was a fling. Same rules as last time. And that meant tomorrow morning it would be over. Why should she expect him to mention it when she’d made her own point of view crystal clear from the very beginning? Yet she already felt the wrench deep in her stomach. She shoved it from her mind with all her might.

Live in the moment.

She’d repeated that mantra to herself so often over the years that you’d think it would have a bit of clout now when she really needed it.

***

It was not the mad crazy sex of the last couple of days, the hungry rush for each other. Not this time. Tom wanted to savour her, to try and imprint on his mind how it felt to be with her. No wild tearing off each other’s clothes, no half-dressed fuck because they were both too charged up to do anything but rush.

This time he kissed her slowly, slid his hands beneath her shirt across smooth skin, making the most of every moment. She pulled his sweatshirt up and over his head, threw it carelessly to one side, and then her hand found the button of his jeans and tugged until it came free. He pushed them down and away. Her fingertips played lightly over his erection, teasing, driving him crazy.

He breathed in the scent of her hair and her light floral perfume, slid his lips across the smooth skin of her neck, and then she raised her hand to the centre of his chest and pushed him gently backward until he reached the nearest bed. He sat down and watched as she stepped out of her jeans and threw her panties aside, then climbed onto the bed and walked on her knees until she reached him, his back against the velvet headboard. He reached for her, curling his arms around her waist and pulling her gently into his lap, finding her mouth with his. Her small hands cradled his face as she kissed him. He could pick up the faint hint of white wine on her tongue. She wriggled softly against him until she could slide her legs each side of him. Hotly aware that she was wearing no panties beneath the shirt, he felt her smile against his lips, leaving him under no illusion that she knew exactly what she was doing to him, while she ground her hips lightly against his raging erection. The sensation was unbelievable, maddening.

He groped for the buttons of her shirt with his fingers, tugging the garment roughly open until he could ease the soft weight of her breasts into the deep open vee of it. He leaned forward and took the tight peak of a nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly, grazing the hard tip gently with his teeth until she sighed and arched her back. Sliding his free hand lower, he found her swollen entrance with his fingertips and a rush of satisfaction at how wet she was, how ready for him. He stroked delicately, teasing her with his fingers until she squirmed against his hand.

Before he could lose all control, he curled his arms around her, turned her gently onto her back and kissed his way down the hollow between her breasts. Removing her shirt as he went, revealing her skin inch by inch to be kissed, he trailed his lips over her soft stomach then lower still, feeling her tense in anticipation as he reached the very core of her. He parted her softly with a single stroke of his tongue, then found the swollen nub and drew it into his mouth, sucking gently, feeling every jump and flutter of her muscles as she responded. He slid hands across the warm silk of her skin, wanting her to envelop every one of his senses. Her fingers clutched at his hair as she writhed beneath him and as he pushed her to the edge. He held her hard against his mouth so as to eke out every moment of pleasure.

A brief pause while he reached to the side table for a condom, and then she was moving back against him, circling his rigid erection with one hand and sliding the swollen oversensitised tip against her until a moan escaped his lips.

He found the smooth curve of her bottom with his hand, gripped her in readiness to turn her onto her back so he could fuck her before he lost all threads of control, and then she pre-empted him, moved above him, sliding onto his length, taking him inside her inch by silken inch to the hilt. The sensation was exquisite, taking over his every sense. She’d found a rhythm now, grinding slowly and deliberately against him. He yanked her roughly against him, wanting her skin against his now, wanting that closeness of touch. He found her mouth with his, felt her hard nipples graze his chest, her knees drawn up, all the better to take him in deeper. And still she kept up the delicious grind until he could stand it no longer and in one swift movement he turned her onto her back on the bed.

Tangling one hand in her hair now, he thrust harder, taking her rhythm and increasing the pace as she wrapped her long legs around his back and raised her hips from the bed, pushing himself ever harder into her until he could control it no more and she cried her own ecstasy softly into his hair as he reached the height of his pleasure.

Every second that ticked by was something to treasure.

Her breathing slowly evened, and her body relaxed against his as she melted into sleep. He didn’t move, even though he was too hot to sleep, revelling instead in the scent of her hair and her warm breath against his chest. He didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to wake up and have just moments left with her. And there it hit him. What the hell was he doing, just accepting her unreasonable terms without question? He’d made that mistake five years ago and really, what did he have to lose by talking to her in the morning, maybe arranging a meeting when he made it back from Barbados?