Читать книгу Billionaires: The Tycoon - Julia James, Catherine Mann - Страница 16

CHAPTER SEVEN

AMBER HEARD A CREAK behind her and turned to see the handle turning and the door slowly opening to reveal Conall standing rock still on the threshold of her bedroom. The light from the corridor spilled in from behind him, turning his muscular physique into a powerful silhouette, but not for long—because he closed the door and walked across the room, his eyes shuttered as he grew close and looked down at her. His voice sounded like velvet encasing steel.

‘Changed your mind?’

She shook her head. Admittedly, she had been having second thoughts about their cold-blooded sexual liaison as she’d been sitting perched on the window seat waiting for him. Not undressing as per his curt instructions and feeling a bit like a sacrificial lamb in her evening dress as she stared out at the bright stars which spattered the night sky and the crescent moon which gleamed against the darkness. But her flutterings of apprehension were nothing compared to the stealthy creep of desire which was making her nerve endings feel so raw and her breasts so heavy and tingling. ‘No,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I haven’t changed my mind.’

Conall expelled the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding because hadn’t he almost wished she had? He’d been plagued by feelings of guilt the moment she had walked off the dance floor with her pale dress floating around her like a cloud. He had felt tortured by his conscience and even now something told him he should get out while he still could.

‘I told your father that I would set you on the right path,’ he growled.

She looked up into his face. ‘And you have. You know you have. I felt so confident tonight—as if anything was possible and it was because of you and the chance you gave me. A few weeks ago I wouldn’t have done that but you’ve made me see new possibilities. I’m a grown woman, Conall, not a child—so don’t treat me like one. And my father is not my keeper.’

Transfixed by the unusually steadfast note in her voice and the rise and fall of her breasts, Conall felt the last of his resistance melting away as he took hold of her hands and lifted her to her feet. In the moonlight her face was almost as pale as her silky dress and, in vivid contrast, her dark hair spilled like ebony over her shoulders. She looked like a witch, he thought longingly. Was she a witch? Able to enchant him with things he suspected were the wrong things for a man like him? His mouth hardened. So make sure she knows your boundaries. Make sure she doesn’t read anything into what is going to happen.

‘I guess we’d better have the disclaimer conversation,’ he said abruptly.

She blinked up at him. ‘Disclaimer conversation?’

‘Sure. I’m pretty certain a hard-partying woman like you isn’t going to object to a one-night stand on moral grounds but just in case—I’d better make it clear that this is all this is going to be. One night. Great sex. But no more.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Any objections?’

‘None from me,’ she said, in that flippant way which was so much a part of her, though for a second he wondered if he had imagined the faint shadow which crossed over her face. ‘So what are we waiting for?’

Heart pounding, he reached for the zip of her dress and slid it down. One small tug and it had pooled to her ankles and she was standing wearing nothing but her high-heeled silver shoes and her underwear.

Conall frowned because somehow her lingerie didn’t match her sassy image. Her plain white bra looked like something a woman might wear to the gym and she had on a pair of those big knickers which had been the butt of a national joke for a while. It was not the lingerie of a woman who had boldly whispered to him on the dance floor that she wanted to have sex with him and that puzzled him.

Had she sensed his disquiet? Was that why she reached behind her and unclipped her bra—as careless as a woman getting changed on the beach? He stilled as her breasts spilled free and he felt a jerk of almost unbearable lust as he stared at them. Did she know that they were the stuff of his fevered fantasies—large yet pert, with their rosy-pink and perfect nipples? Of course she did. With a groan he pulled her into his arms and pushed back the spill of her hair as he kissed her. He kissed her until she was melting and her lips opened eagerly beneath his, until she began to move restlessly in his arms. And when he drew his face away, her eyes looked huge and dark in her face. As if she was completely dazed by that kiss. Conall shook his head a little. Come to think of it—wasn’t he a little dazed himself?

‘You are the most unfathomable woman I’ve ever met, Amber Carter,’ he groaned, taking each nipple between a finger and a thumb and squeezing them until she squirmed with pleasure.

Her eyelids seemed to be having difficulty staying open. ‘And is that a good thing, or a bad thing?’

‘I haven’t made my mind up yet. It’s unusual, that’s for sure.’ He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. ‘I keep thinking I’ve got you all worked out and then you go and confound all my expectations.’

‘And what do you have me worked out as?’

He laughed and his voice grew serious as he traced the outline of her lips with his finger. ‘One minute you’re unbearably spoilt, with a sense of entitlement so strong it almost takes my breath away, while the next...’

But Amber halted his words by leaning forward to kiss him, mimicking the almost careless way he’d just brushed his lips over hers. She guessed what was coming and she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t dare. She didn’t want to hear about her flaws and she certainly didn’t want him to work out why she was feeling out of her depth. He was a sexually experienced man—and a perceptive man—who was doubtless going to make some comment about her seeming gauche and innocent. Some bone-deep instinct told her he would run a mile if he knew the truth—and that was something she wasn’t prepared to tolerate. Because she wanted Conall Devlin. She didn’t care if it was a one-night stand. She couldn’t think beyond the sudden urgent needs of her body and she wanted him more than she could remember wanting anything. More than the security she’d prayed for as a child, or the peace which had always eluded her. More than any of that.

So stop behaving like someone who is a stranger to intimacy. Start being the person he thinks you are.

Looping her arms around his neck, she slanted him a coquettish smile. ‘Look, I know the Irish are famous for talking, but do you think we could save this conversation until later?’

And suddenly they seemed to be reading from the same page, because his eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, I’m happy to skip the talking, sweetheart,’ he promised, his voice laden with silken intent. ‘What is it they say—action, not words?’

He picked her up and carried her over to the four-poster bed, laying her down on top of it and bending his head to a nipple. Her eyes closed as his tongue flicked over the puckered skin and his teeth gently grazed the engorged nub, making her wriggle her hips with helpless pleasure before he turned his attention to the other. Sweet sensation speared through her, flooding her body with a sudden rush of honeyed warmth as his dark head moved over her sensitive skin. Did he realise that her desire was rapidly building, or could he detect it from the subtle new perfume now scenting the air? Was that why he slipped his hand between her legs, burrowing beneath the plain white fabric of her briefs and brushing over the mound of curls before alighting on the heated flesh beneath?

She felt so wet. Maybe that was why he gave a low laugh which sent shivers down her spine. Amber’s mouth dried as he began to move his finger against her so that her little gasp was scarcely more than a sigh. It felt as if he were building a wall of pleasure, brick by delicious brick, and she fell back against the pillows, her thighs parting of their own accord, when suddenly he stopped. Her eyes snapped open, terrified he had changed his mind. Her heart pounded. He mustn’t change his mind!

But he was smiling as he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not like that. Not the first time.’

He moved away from the bed and began to undress—removing his clothes and producing a small silver packet from his pocket with an efficiency which suggested he’d done this many times before. Of course he had. And although fear that she would somehow disappoint him began to bubble up inside her—it quickly disappeared the moment she saw him in all his naked glory.

Amber shivered. He was like a classical statue you might see in a museum—with broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and muscular legs. But statues didn’t have tawny skin which glowed with life, nor midnight eyes which gleamed with hunger. Inevitably, her gaze was drawn down towards the cradle of his masculinity where, against a palette of jet-dark curls, his erection was thick and pale and prominent. Amber felt her pulse go shooting skywards. She’d never got this far before—she’d always fallen at much earlier hurdles—and perhaps she should have been daunted by what she saw. But she wasn’t. It felt natural. As if it was supposed to happen. As if fate had intended it to happen—before she reminded herself that she wasn’t going down that path. Stardust and roses weren’t part of this equation, she reminded herself fiercely. This was sex. Nothing but sex. He’d told her that himself.

‘I like it,’ he murmured as he came over to the bed and pulled her into his arms.

‘Wh-what?’

‘The look on your face.’ He smiled. ‘As if this was the first time all over again. Have you spent years perfecting that look of wonder and innocence, Amber—knowing just how much it will turn a man on?’

If she’d written the script herself, there wouldn’t have been a better time to tell him but Amber couldn’t bring herself to say it. Because now he was kissing her and his hands were starfishing over her breasts and she could feel his hardness pressing against her belly.

‘Conall,’ she gasped as he pulled back for a moment to slide her panties down and she lifted up her bottom to help him.

‘You were the one who didn’t want to talk,’ he murmured as he fumbled for the silver packet he’d put beside the bed. ‘Though maybe you’d better say something to distract me because I’ve never had so much trouble putting on a damned condom.’

‘Be...be careful.’

The smile on his lips died. ‘Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. Having a baby with you was never part of my agenda.’

The stark statement was oddly painful and yet somehow it helped. It helped her focus on the way he was making her feel and not the conflicting thoughts which were swirling around inside her head.

So she kissed him back with a passion which came from somewhere deep inside her, and with growing confidence began to explore the warm satin of his skin with her mouth and her fingers. And when he moved over her and parted her thighs, the fear she felt was only fleeting. She was twenty-four years old, for heaven’s sake. It was time.

Conall gave a groan as he thrust into her, knowing he was going to have to be very careful because he was so aroused he wanted to come straight away. And she was so tight. His heart pounded like some caged animal locked inside his chest. Too tight. He gave a near-silent curse as realisation dawned on him and his body stilled. For a moment he almost achieved the impossible by starting to withdraw from her, but the moment was lost the second she cried out and he couldn’t work out if the sound was pain or pleasure. Had he hurt her? He stared down into her face, into eyes which were wide—as if seeking some kind of approval—and instantly he shut his own with grim deliberation, not wanting her to see his anger or his disbelief as he began to move inside her. Part of him wanted to just spill his seed and have done with it, but the pride he took in his reputation as a lover made him take his time...

Duplicitous little bitch, he thought as he drove into her—each thrust making her gasp out her pleasure. With almost cold-hearted precision he did all the things to her which women liked best. He tilted up her hips to increase the level of penetration while he played with her clitoris. He rode her hard and he rode her slow, and only when he felt her body begin to tense did he let go—and then it was his time for bewilderment. Because it had never happened to him before. Not like this. Not at exactly the same time—as if they’d worked very hard at sexual choreography classes to ensure the ultimate in mutual fulfilment. So that as her back began to arch and her long legs began to splay, he couldn’t even watch her—he was too busy focusing on his own orgasm, which was welling up inside him like an almighty wave, before taking him under.

Had he thought that the chase was always more tantalising than the conquest? He had been wrong.

Because all he was aware of was the convulsive jerk of his body and the molten rush of heat. Of the sweetest pleasure he had ever known flooding him...and his shuddered cry drowning out the distant hoot of the night owl.