Читать книгу Be My Bride: The Right Mr Wrong / A Most Suitable Wife / Betrothed for the Baby - Natalie Anderson - Страница 17

SIX

In the foulest mood imaginable, Liam pulled on his jacket. He’d actually tried to do the right thing. He’d left Victoria to get on with it. She didn’t want complication—not even for a night.

Only she’d come onto him in the alleyway of the garden and torn his resolve to bits. She wanted to spend time with him. Really? What a horrific joke. Sure, he could text her. Tease her. Talk to her over the phone. But get him into the same airspace as her and all he wanted to do was kiss her. He couldn’t see straight for wanting her. Lust in another league from anything he’d ever experienced.

He’d enjoyed his relationship with Aurelie. But in truth most of the time they’d been a couple, they’d been apart. Him competing in one ocean, her surfing in another. It had been convenient and easy and he’d always been able to walk away.

It had nearly killed him to walk away from Victoria in the garden this morning. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like feeling tied. Even if it was only a sexual bond.

He frowned at his reflection. Today his suit gave him a social veneer, but in reality he worked in a competitive, ruthless, isolated world. He was away for weeks, months at a time. The only relationship that could possibly survive that was with one very tough chick. Victoria wasn’t anywhere near tough enough. He feared he’d tangle up her emotions. He knew he’d done that to Aurelie for a while— by taking what he wanted and not giving her enough. It eased his guilt, and pleased him, that she’d gone on to find what she needed with another, better man. Love— and that security and grounding.

Liam didn’t do grounding. Liam did freedom—sailing fast over the water. He didn’t want to feel as trapped as he had all his childhood. All he’d ever wanted to do was sail and keep on sailing. It wasn’t a family gig. It wasn’t a safe gig. And he didn’t want to be dependent on anyone else. He liked to be alone. Just like his father. They were not family men. He wasn’t having a kid only to ignore him the way his father had ignored him. And he would, because being on the water was the most important thing to him.

Victoria had always tried to give all of herself to everyone else—doing what she thought she had to to keep their affection. She had needs he couldn’t meet. She’d be unfulfilled. And more importantly, she knew what she wanted now and she was going for it and he wasn’t going to get in her way.

But he still wanted. And so did she. She’d wanted him back then—he’d seen it written all over her face. There was the irony. To anyone who’d bothered to look, her emotions were obvious. It was just that Oliver hadn’t looked— not hard enough. Nor had her parents.

Oliver had cared more about himself than he did about her. And as a result her confidence had been crushed. She’d got less than she deserved.

But Liam too was so much less than she deserved. He couldn’t give her the security he believed she still wanted. She’d been hurt already. Any kind of a relationship with him would see her hurt again.

But he could give her physical pleasure. He could show her. He ached all over wanting to give her that. He snorted at his own arrogance. So shallow. The best thing he’d done was shut it down and walk away.

Two hours later he watched Aurelie and Marcus exchange vows and wondered about Victoria’s wedding. How had she looked on that day? His stomach cramped. He’d never been able to imagine it. He’d avoided all mention of it amongst his friends of the time, certainly avoided any pictures.

Now jealousy of that past wedding boiled in his gut. He really needed to sort his head out. He’d go back to the coast early and train hard.

He followed the other guests through to where the tables were set, the silverware gleaming in the candlelight. Her calligraphy marked each guest’s place. It was overwhelmingly romantic. He sat and picked up the card bearing his name. Victoria’s letters were pretty and polite and flourishing. He ran his thumb along the edge of the card and then flipped it over. He suddenly felt as if he’d been shot straight into the sun. What was written on the back was penned by the same hand, but the flourishing swirls were absent.

One night. Tonight. Everything. Agreed? V.

* * *

Victoria poured herself a glass of wine. So much for hitting the club scene and finding a social life. Or even a sex life. She didn’t get dressed up, she stayed in her old shorts and work tee with a thin cotton robe over the top and sorted her desk. She had a new project, she’d get on with that—forget the past and take on the future. But she couldn’t help wondering what Liam was thinking as he watched Aurelie say her vows to another man. Victoria’s stomach twisted. How hard that must be. She shouldn’t have left him that message. As if he’d want to see that at Aurelie’s wedding? What had she been thinking?

And she’d not heard from him. What if someone at the table read it? They wouldn’t understand it, right? Good thing she’d only left her initial, not her full name.

Mad with her idiocy and annoyingly one-track thoughts, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and gathered the materials needed for the two-day job that she had all of the next week to do. But she needed to keep busy tonight. She’d keep very, very busy.

Forcing concentration took huge effort. She took her watch off, put her phone in a drawer in the bathroom, put her favourite song on replay and wouldn’t let herself move from her desk. For hours.

Eventually she settled into it. For this project she needed to be extra precise and neat. It was just what she needed.

The thud on her apartment door who-knew-how-long later killed her heart. Three seconds later it started beating back at a frenetic pace that had her breathless. She stood, glancing out of the window as she did. It was still reasonably light, not that late into the evening at all. So it wouldn’t be Liam. The wedding party would only be starting.

Whoever it was pounded on her door again just as she got to it. She opened it, took one look at him and had to lean against the jamb because her legs went so weak. Tuxedos made any man look good; the effect on Liam was mind-blowing.

‘It’s early.’ She sounded as if she hadn’t spoken in years.

‘You thought I’d stay there when you left me this?’ He lifted his hand, flipping the place card in his fingers.

‘I didn’t mean for you to miss the party.’

He gazed at her, his expression dark. ‘I’m not.’

‘How was the wedding?’ she asked, suddenly nervous about his answer.

‘Beautiful.’

She bit the inside of her lip—anything could be read into the way he’d said that. And suddenly she needed to know exactly what he was feeling. ‘Do you still love her?’

Liam put his hand flat against her belly and gave her a little push so she stepped backwards. He followed and then carefully closed the door behind him. Only then did he turn and face her. ‘There’s a part of me that will always love Aurelie.’

Victoria pressed her lips together, trying to stay strong and not let that stupid, unwonted hurt at his words show.

‘She was as different from you as I could get,’ he said. ‘It should have been the perfect set-up. She was busy with her career, happy to let me get on with mine. We met up whenever our schedules let us. It was fun—and carefree. I thought it was all I needed and all she wanted. But she became unhappier, wanted more. Then one day she called to say she’d met Marcus. I wasn’t heartbroken—in fact I was happy. We were more friends than we were lovers. And I’m happy to see her so happy. I’m not hurt.’

Victoria released the breath she’d been holding—the blockage in her throat eased. ‘For what it’s worth, I think she’s crazy to marry someone else.’

Her words dropped between them—leaving a sudden silence in their wake. She bit her lip, holding back from admitting more.

‘I couldn’t watch you marry him.’ His voice was so soft it was almost a slur.

Victoria’s breathing quickened as she tried to hold back the emotional storm building inside her. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. They should be in a tumble already. ‘Because you knew I was making a mistake.’ It wasn’t because her marrying Oliver had hurt Liam. Not really.

‘You both were. You weren’t the right woman for Oliver.’ Like a statue, he remained a few feet from her. But his soft words carried as clear as the sound of a glass shattering on a stone floor. ‘Why didn’t it work out?’

‘You know why,’ she said simply. ‘That I even looked at you?’

‘So why did you say yes?’

‘How could I say no to him? How could I humiliate him in front of everyone? And I wanted to please him, to please all of them…’ She swallowed. ‘They cast Stella out. She became nothing to them. I didn’t think I could cope with being nothing. Having no one.’

He stepped forward, his eyes not leaving her face. ‘Would that have happened?’

It had happened—almost. While she wasn’t as shunned by her parents as Stella was, it wasn’t far off. The relationship was icy; they disapproved of her current choices. Blamed her.

‘He was supposed to have been the safe bet,’ she answered in a sad whisper. But he was human. As much as she.

‘I’m sorry,’ Liam said.

‘Don’t be.’ She smiled. ‘I learned lots. And I like this me better than the old me.’ She had some backbone now. She had her plans.

‘He was an idiot.’ Liam’s expression clouded. ‘I’d never have done that to you. Never would.’

‘No.’ She actually managed a laugh. ‘You’d never have married me in the first place. You’ll never marry anyone.’

His lashes dropped. ‘You’re right.’ He lifted his head and intently looked at her again. ‘But I’d never cheat on you.’

She believed him. He had honour. All those years ago he had wanted, he had asked, but ultimately he had resisted. There was no real reason to resist now. She touched her tongue to her lips, her mouth dry. She wanted this conversation to be over. She wanted what she’d always wanted from him.

Touch.

He stepped closer still and she felt his magnetism pulling—urging her to move nearer too. But he still didn’t reach for her.

‘Why now?’ he asked.

‘I don’t want to make the same mistake.’ The mistake had been not saying yes to him.

‘Are you sure?’

‘You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.’

‘I thought you didn’t do one-night stands?’

‘I can’t fight it any more.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘It’s what I want.’ She wanted to be released from the passion that imprisoned her—that made her think of nothing and no one else.

He looked at her—his gaze lifting to her hair and then down her body. That old smile tugged one corner of his mouth.

‘What have you been doing?’ He lifted a finger and pressed it against her forehead and then pulled it away and held it in front of her eyes. A sparkle of gold glinted on his finger.

She wiped her forehead herself and looked at her fingers, grimacing wryly when she saw more of the sparkles on her hand. ‘I’ve been working on a poem for an anniversary. Using gold leaf.’

‘What anniversary?’

‘Fiftieth—the golden.’

‘Wow.’ He nodded.

‘Yeah.’ She smiled. ‘It’s a lovely poem too.’

‘You’re not tired from Aurelie’s work?’

Of course she was.

His smile quirked. ‘You’re a gold-flecked angel.’

‘I’m not that much of an angel.’

He traced the spots of gold on her face with his finger and then leant forward, pressing his lips to each marking. ‘You’re gilded.’

Victoria shivered and took a step back. She hadn’t expected such tenderness and didn’t know if she could handle it. She wanted fast, furious passion—carefree, right? ‘You’re just feeling soppy because you’ve been to a wedding.’ She reached for his belt buckle, her intention clear. ‘Enough talking.’

‘No.’ He grabbed her wrists and pulled them away, locking them behind her back. It forced her chest right into his so she wasn’t exactly disappointed. But why was he saying no?

His gold-flecked brown eyes drilled into hers. ‘I’ve wanted this for a long time and even though we have only one night, I’m not going to have it over in five seconds. I’m not going to just strip you and screw you and walk out the door two minutes later.’

She swallowed, sure he could feel her heart pounding against him.

‘I’m going to take my time and I’m going to savour every second I have. Don’t plan on sleeping any tonight.’

Oh.

He didn’t take his eyes off her and she couldn’t drag hers away, not when his eyes were deepening so quickly— and inviting. ‘Is that a problem?’

She shook her head, unable to make a sound.

He released her wrists, lifting his hand to cup her jaw. ‘Why have you changed your mind?’

‘I think I was wrong and you were right,’ she whispered. ‘This is…passion.’ She chose her word carefully. ‘And I think it needs to be dealt with.’

‘You think you can deal with me?’

That old arrogance brought back her smile. ‘I think for one night. Yes. I can deal with you.’ She had to.

His eyes flicked to her hair. The way he looked at her made her so hot. She wasn’t sure she was going to be able to go slow and savour; she thought she might incinerate first. She needed to cool off. And suddenly she was conscious of the ratty shorts and tee she had on—and the even rattier cotton robe she’d shrugged on as the evening cooled. ‘I was going to shower.’

‘Later,’ he said, his voice husky.

His fingers traced over her skin—her jaw, down her neck—causing her to shiver even though she was hotter than she’d been in her life. She drew in a deep breath and shifted her feet—so restless.

‘Slow,’ he reminded her with a smile.

‘I don’t want slow.’

He kissed her neck, his teeth giving her a scrape before his tongue and lips soothed the sensitive spot. ‘Yes, you do.’

Frankly she wasn’t going to be able to do slow if he kept touching her like this. She was embarrassingly turned on already, suddenly desperate for him to be inside her. She wanted that intimacy—and that orgasm—right this second. She inhaled deeply and stepped back. ‘Let me undress you.’

His eyes widened. ‘I want to. I have to. Otherwise…’ She trailed off. ‘Okay,’ he answered. ‘If that’s what you want.’

She wanted so many things, but doing this first might help her settle into it.

She started with his jacket, working one sleeve and then the other. He bent his head as she passed in front of him, briefly brushing a kiss on her jaw. She glanced up at him and smiled but said nothing. Slowly she undid the buttons on his shirt and opened it to reveal his chest. Sleek, hewn muscles, smooth strength. The kind of definition that was only built from daily training. And sweat.

Yeah, the guy was fit. So fine.

She hadn’t realised she was holding her breath and she released it now in a harsh sigh. He was silent now too but his chest rose and fell a little faster than it had before. His belt was leather and soft and her fingers struggled to work the fastenings. But he didn’t offer to help and she was glad. She wanted to do it all, discover it all.

She dropped to her haunches as she pulled his trousers down. He wore clinging black boxers beneath, fortunately made from that stretchy stuff as they were straining now. She slid her hands into the waistband. She pulled out the elastic, sweeping the boxers wide past his erection and down his muscled thighs. He stepped out of them. On her knees she glanced back up at him—practically agog at the magnificence of him.

‘Now you’re the one overdressed,’ he said roughly. She didn’t care. She just wanted to put her mouth on him.

But he drew in a hissing breath and stepped forward, bending to haul her to her feet.

‘My turn.’ He didn’t smile. He looked tense.

He pulled the belt of her robe right through until he’d tugged it completely free. She glanced at the length hanging in his hand. ‘What do you plan to do with that?’

‘I know how to tie knots.’

‘Yeah.’ She knew that; he’d had her in knots for a long time now.

But he tossed the belt to the side. ‘This time, I want to feel your hands on me.’

But another time he wanted to tie her up?

‘Ditto.’ She glanced at the belt. ‘But just so you know, I know how to tie some knots too.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ He stepped closer and took the hem of her tee in his hands. His fingers were trembling. She didn’t think he could fake that.

In a second her shirt was over her head and had landed somewhere on the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra—often didn’t at home. So now her painfully tight nipples were bared and screaming out for his touch.

He’d frozen—staring at her. She put her hands to the fastening of her shorts—that got him moving.

‘No.’ He put one hand over hers and pushed them out of the way.

He undid the button and slipped her shorts down. Then, so slowly, he slipped her thin knickers down too.

She stepped out of them both. For a fleeting moment she was surprised she wasn’t more self-conscious. But how could she be when he was on his knees looking up at her like that? He reached out, putting strong hands on her legs—one just above each knee. She stilled, her legs parted.

‘You’re even more beautiful than—’ He stopped, suddenly pressing close, his tongue swiping over her. She cried out and bent forward to put her hands on his shoulders for balance. Instinctively she pressed her hips close to him again.

It wouldn’t take much for her to orgasm. Another touch? It was crazy how close she was just from being stripped by him. But suddenly she didn’t want that—to come in a nanosecond. He was right to want to take this slow—to savour it. To indulge fully and finally complete what had been started so long ago. But she wouldn’t feel as if it was complete until—unless—he was right there with her, every step of the way.

She wanted him to feel this as strongly as she was.

‘I want to come when you’re inside me,’ she said in a quavery voice. ‘When you come too.’

His hands tightened on her legs as he lifted his chin, kissing her right there again. But then he stood, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close.

‘I’m not entering you until you’ve come.’

She blinked. ‘What?’

‘You heard.’

She snapped her spine and tilted her chin to look into his eyes. ‘Well, I’m not coming until you’re in me and on your way yourself.’

A smile stretched across his face. ‘Gonna be a fun night, isn’t it?’

She rose onto tiptoe and kissed him—openmouthed, wet, demanding. He shifted, widening his stance so he could keep them upright as she thrust against him, pushing her weight onto him. She could feel his erection slammed against her belly. She felt the way he kissed her back—as hot, as hungry, his hands sliding over her body, touching every part of her.

She smiled. So much for slow.

He lifted his head; his own smile was wicked. He kissed her again and his hands went to her breasts. She gasped at the touch. He didn’t dive straight for her nipples, instead he cupped the full weight of her breasts, gently pushing, fingers circling. She felt the tug deep inside as he kissed her again. The guy had the most incredible sense of rhythm—sweet, carnal torment.

Suddenly she couldn’t stand any more. Literally. He caught her as her knees sagged and he lifted her to her hideously narrow bed. She breathed out in relief, her legs parting, holding her arms out to him as he knelt over her.

But he didn’t put his weight on her, didn’t line up his pelvis with hers the way she really wanted. Instead he put his mouth and hands to work in tandem again—repeatedly, rhythmically sweeping over her until she was hot and writhing and so ready. She arched her hips, thrusting them against him again and again.

‘Liam,’ she begged. ‘Please.’

He leaned back on his arms to look into her face. ‘I’ve always wanted you,’ he said, his expression strained. ‘Always wanted this.’

‘Me too,’ she confessed shamelessly. ‘Please, please, please get on with it.’

To her immense relief, he left her, efficiently scooping his trousers from the floor and pulling a new pack of condoms from his pocket. A minute later she heard the snap as he sheathed himself.

She lay back on the bed and spread her legs in welcome. But he wrapped a hand around her ankle and started all over again—kissing from her toes, all the way up the length of her leg. It was torture. But it was bliss.

Why had she thought this wouldn’t be a good idea? This was the best idea she’d ever had. She writhed beneath him, almost in tears, almost laughing, and totally furious that he could still hold back from plunging into her. She rolled, deciding to take matters into her own hands—to mount him and initiate the ride herself.

He let her on top—but he didn’t let her slide onto him. Instead he laughed and caught her hips, using his insane, superior strength to keep her in place just above him. But still he didn’t penetrate.

‘Tease,’ she groaned.

‘Not ’til you come first.’

She closed her eyes. ‘Not without you inside me.’

He laughed. ‘Then we’re at a stalemate.’ He bent his knees and slid down the bed while lifting her so she remained in place—now higher above him.

‘You know how much I like to win,’ he muttered, lifting his hands to palm her breasts again. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to win.’

He shifted a little more so he could kiss her right where she needed him to. His tongue swept into her.

She cried out, her head falling back at the extreme intimacy. ‘Liam.’

‘Come on me,’ he muttered. He licked again and then fastened his lips around her clitoris and sucked.

Her thighs quivered and she pressed her fists onto her knees. He reached up, filling his hands with her breasts. She breathed hard, knowing there was no way she could beat him at this.

‘If I come…’ she panted.

‘Yes.’ He broke the rhythm of his tongue for only a split second to answer.

‘If…’ She couldn’t get it out. ‘Yes.’ He manipulated her breasts more—perfectly in time to the sweeps of his lips and tongue.

‘I…’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh—yes!’ She shuddered as the orgasm hit. Unstoppable. Delightful. Her prolonged groan escaped through gritted teeth.

A satisfied sound rumbled from his throat as he kept tormenting her, so the waves of pleasure kept rippling through her in intense contractions.

She gasped, panting for breath. ‘Please.’

He released her and she slid, bumping her head on the wall as she tumbled to the side of him.

‘Careful.’ He pulled her into his arms, moving to slide her beneath him, but her stupid bed was too small.

They gave up on it, falling to the floor in a tight embrace. Victoria felt consumed by fire. Hooking her legs around his body. Her hands knotted in his short hair.

He looked down at her. His eyes gleamed. Wide, focused. Desperate.

A sense of power filled Victoria. ‘Now,’ she commanded.

Immediately he bore down on her, driving so deep it almost hurt. And it was so incredibly good she wanted more. She arched, urging. He pulled back and pushed into her again. Again. She grunted as she took the brunt of each powerful thrust.

‘Okay?’ he asked, his face creasing in agony as he paused.

‘Don’t stop,’ she begged, grabbing his butt in her hands and squeezing to push him closer. ‘More…’ She groaned again. ‘All.’

He resumed his punishing, perfect rhythm. She wound her limbs round him and just hung on. She couldn’t stop the feral moans as he ground into her, closer and closer with every pounding motion.

‘Liam!’ She screamed as she was tossed into the intense waves of pleasure. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her heels into his lower back.

He roared. His body stiffened, his hands gripping her hard and painfully tight as he shouted again as the tension mirrored in him was released just as violently.

A long moment later he lifted his head from where he was slumped over her. ‘Don’t go to sleep.’

In answer she tightened her grip on him so he couldn’t lift away from her. She didn’t think she’d ever sleep again. Every cell and nerve in her body was so wired she didn’t think they’d ever calm enough for sleep to claim them. She was so hypersensitive she was afraid she might cry. She really didn’t want to do that.

He lifted his head again and looked at her—nose to nose. ‘I’m starving—you?’

His easy return to reality made her laugh. Relief swept through her as she relaxed. ‘You didn’t eat at the wedding?’

‘Funnily enough I didn’t feel like eating much after I got your message. Too tense. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.’

His honesty kept her smile wide. ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but there’s nothing in the pantry.’

He rose up from the floor and walked over to the kitchenette area of her studio. He opened the one cupboard and sighed. ‘That’s because you don’t have a pantry, you have a shelf. But—’ he turned and winked at her ‘—you’ll be amazed what I can conjure out of nothing.’

‘Really?’

He nodded. ‘I’ve come up with some desperate options in my time. Bet you’ve never had frozen-pea sandwiches the way I make ’em.’

‘Nice.’ She laughed but her heart tugged at the same time.

But he was laughing easily. ‘Especially with stale bread.’ In the end he found some rice and cooked it up with the few vegetables he found lurking in her fridge. They had some almond biscuits for afters. It was an odd meal for one in the morning. She didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t want to miss a minute.

She watched him as he ate, wondered how many dinners he’d thrown together out of limited supplies in isolation. ‘You don’t get lonely when you’re alone at sea for so long?’

‘No. I’ve always been alone. That’s the way it is.’

‘But you wanted to join in that family Christmas.’ She’d felt that longing in him. She’d recognised it because, if she was honest, it was echoed within herself.

‘I was trying to be a good guest. Helpful.’ He winked. ‘And I wanted to be near you.’

It wasn’t just her.

Liam picked up the belt from her robe and wound it round his hands, then unwound it. Now he’d refuelled, he was ready to have every inch of Victoria all over again. He’d glanced at the clock on the computer and felt a surge of panic. One night didn’t seem so long at all this side of midnight.

‘What are you planning to do with that?’

He smiled as he heard excitement tinge her not-quite-­innocent question. ‘Play with you.’

‘Only if I get to do the same to you.’

‘Sure. After me.’ He turned to look at her.

Gold leaf still glittered on her body, but it was nothing on the glitter in her eyes.

She’d switched her lamp on to partially light the room. The beam from the bulb highlighted a patch on her thigh. He reckoned he’d start there.

‘Why do you want to tie me up?’ she asked as she offered her wrists for him to bind to the headboard of her bed. That she trusted him so implicitly gave him an immense kick of satisfaction. That she was so willing to be so physically intimate with him. Finally.

‘I want to explore you without distraction,’ he answered honestly. He wanted to caress every curve, every inch of her skin. ‘It’s hard to keep control when you have your hands on me.’

He wanted to give her pleasure again and again. To discover her body, her secrets. To understand what it was she liked. Never had he wanted to please a lover more. And that competitive part of him wanted to ensure he was the best she’d ever had.

She shifted—experimentally moving her legs. But she was smiling as he bent over her. ‘So I nearly won, then?’

If he was honest, she’d won everything.

‘You okay?’ He checked again long minutes later as he finally did as she was begging and worked his fingers into her, his thumb circling over her most sensitive spot until she came wet, hot, screaming.

‘I’m so doing this to you,’ she panted.

‘Soon.’ He was pushing her over the edge again first.

It was over an hour later when he let her tether his wrists. She smiled at him with such wicked intent he was hard again in a second.

She swept her hands over him, looking at him as if he were something she’d wanted to toy with—and devour— since for ever. She bent over his body—kissing, caressing every bit of him with her hands, her lips, her hair. When she licked her lips and her gaze zeroed in on his erection he knew he was in trouble.

‘Victoria.’ Part of him wanted her to do it so much, but he also wanted to come inside her again.

But in the end he had no choice. She sucked him so hard, her hands working in tandem, there was no way he could hold back. No way he could resist diving head-first into the generous, seductive attention she was gifting him.

She didn’t untie him after—even though he was as limp as a dishrag. Dazed, he lifted his head with a huge effort as she slipped away from the bed.

‘Victoria?’

A couple of minutes later she came back to him. She had a fountain pen in her hand.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked lazily.

‘You’re missing something all sailors have.’ She carefully touched the nib of the pen to his chest.

‘What’s that?’ He twitched at the tickling sensation.

‘A tattoo.’ She chuckled. ‘A heart with ‘mother’ or something across it.’

He flinched.

‘Perhaps not ‘mother’,’ she said quietly and lifted the pen from him.

‘It’d be okay,’ he said, feigning ease. ‘She died when I was very small.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago.’ The pen tickled him some more.

‘Did your father find anyone else?’

‘No. He was a rough man. A stevedore who loaded and offloaded ships. He worked hard, drank hard. Frankly he stank. He didn’t have a lot about him to attract another woman.’ Except for the ones he paid for.

‘So what did you do?’

‘Found boats and sailed on them. As often as I could.’

He’d skipped school to sail. Until he’d become so good the schools had come to him wanting him to sail. Scholarships. Performance.

She ran a line down the side of his stomach. He flinched again because it tickled so much. She laughed softly as she dipped the pen in the well again and turned back to him. ‘Your abs are amazing.’

He grimaced. ‘I’m glad you appreciate them. They don’t come easy.’

‘Oh, I appreciate them.’ She blew, drying the ink.

‘Don’t put that any lower,’ he warned.

She laughed again. ‘You don’t want me to ink—’

‘No, I do not.’ He wondered what she’d written. But he wanted to feel her some more first. She clearly ached for more too, as suddenly she tossed the pen and straddled him.

‘Release me.’ He needed to hold her now—was desperate not just to cup her breasts and stroke her to ecstasy, but to embrace her. He wanted to hold her close. She still had gold leaf in spots over her skin and in her hair. His gilded, branded lover.

She slid off him and reached forward to untie the knots. On her way back down, she writhed her hips, teasing, freely expressing her enjoyment of him—of his touch, of his body. He shifted again—so his aching need was hard against her lush, wet heat. He arched up into her again and watched the burst of rapture on her face. He inhaled deeply, holding back the urge to dive into the mindless, exquisite release. Not yet.

She pushed on him, levering so she could ride him tighter. He rested his hands on her thighs, letting her. Until he felt her tiring—yet desperate.

‘Liam.’ Her call came, broken, needy.

He slid his hands higher, cupping her butt and supporting her as he thrust upwards, maintaining her tempo, then pushing it further, faster.

She cried out—pleasure bursting in brief phrases and then moans as words could no longer be formed. He watched the deepening flush and glow of her skin, the red, tight nipples, even redder plump lips and the wild, big eyes.

This was the Victoria he’d wanted—the one he’d caught a glimpse of all those years ago. The lusty, pleasure-bent, hungry woman who’d take what she wanted. Not aiming to please him—but taking pleasure, enjoying herself. Able to give so much—yes. But also able to receive. The woman made for loving.

It satisfied him immensely that she was open, receiving pleasure from him. He arched, his spine stiffening as he realised how much he wanted to give her. Passion rushed in his ears as a piercing cry broke from her. He saw it as she shuddered, bearing down on him as the convulsions racked through her body. And he felt it as she collapsed forward, lax in his arms, blanketing him with her soft warmth.

He wrapped both arms around her, gripping her shoulders hard, his forearms pressing down on her back so she was squashed even tighter against him as he finally allowed himself to come.

He found he liked the tiny bed after all. The only way for them to fit on it was if they were locked together, either side-by-side or with one on top of the other.

Mid-morning he fell asleep like that. Still inside her.