Читать книгу The Dare Collection February 2019 - Nicola Marsh, Avril Tremayne - Страница 18

I ARRIVE JUST after four and the room is deserted. Which is good, because it’s a hot day and I’ve moved quickly to get here and I need a couple of minutes to cool down. I place my handbag by the door then step into the room. No, it’s more a suite, actually, large and extravagant, with a king-size bed, a crystal chandelier and several large mirrors on the walls. I catch my reflection in one and smile.

I look like a woman on the path to adventure. Maybe not such a good girl after all?

I push the curtains open, revealing the view. London swirls beneath me, a hive of activity as people begin their journeys home. I stare down at the street for a moment, trying to catch a glimpse of Connor, and then move towards a door which I presume will lead to a bathroom.

It’s palatial. An enormous triangular spa bath sits in one corner, a window just above it showcasing an alternative view of town. There’s a shower, too, with two shower heads and a marble vanity unit below a large mirror with an ornate swirling gold frame.

I run some cold water from the tap and splash my neck and arms, refreshing myself and cooling down. I pat myself dry and then move back into the room just as I hear another card in the door’s locking mechanism.

I pause but every cell in my body is leaping with anticipation. My mouth is dry and my pulse is frantic. The door pushes inwards. I wait, my breath held.

Connor strides in and, despite the heat of the day, he looks perfect. His eyes meet mine and my stomach goes into free fall, like I’ve tumbled off the top of a cliff.

I can’t look away. I can only stare. He walks further into the room, shrugging out of his jacket as he does so, placing it over a chair-back to his side. I still don’t move, nor do I speak. I don’t know why I’m struck mute, only that this is the effect he has on me.

‘Hey.’ His voice is thick; my insides tremble.

‘Hey,’ I finally respond, forcing a smile to my lips. I stay where I am, even though my instinct is to launch myself at him. I clear my throat. ‘I thought we decided we couldn’t do this any more.’

‘No.’ His grin is disarming. He doesn’t smile enough. ‘We decided we couldn’t fuck in my office at university, which I should never have let happen.’ Now he moves to me, closing the distance easily. He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me so close I’m sure he must be able to hear my internal relief. ‘It was my fault.’

‘Was it?’

‘Yeah.’ His grin widens and my stomach flips. ‘My fault for not staying longer Saturday night.’ He presses a kiss to my forehead. ‘My fault for waiting until Tuesday to see you. My fault for losing my shit when you were talking to that guy. My fault for wanting you so much I can’t think straight.’

I blink up at him, confusion nipping at my heels. Confusion at what all of this means, at the intensity of what we feel. He’s supposed to be my rebellion, not my reason for breathing.

‘He’s just a friend.’

‘He looked like he wanted to lick you.’

I laugh. Hadn’t I been thinking the same thing? ‘It’s complicated,’ I say after I sober. ‘We go way back.’

Connor nods. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business. So long as you’re not fucking him, I don’t care.’

The confusion increases. The intensity of what we are apparently doesn’t extend to caring about potential and past boyfriends.

‘We dated a couple of years,’ I say, and I know it’s childish but I kind of hope I’m turning the screws in some way. ‘But it didn’t work out.’

His expression doesn’t shift, the same sexy-as-sin smile on those beautiful lips.

He drops his hands from around my waist and moves towards a glossy benchtop. He presses one of the cupboard doors and it springs open to reveal a miniature fridge. He removes a bottle of champagne and two iced glasses, placing them on the counter before retrieving a plate of fruit.

‘Something you organised earlier?’ I ask, padding over to him, watching as he unfurls the gold foil top from the champagne. His eyes meet mine and there is something in his expression that fires my belly.

‘What do you think of the hotel?’ he asks, without answering my question.

‘It’s nice.’ I shrug.

‘Good. We can meet here.’ He pops the top and reaches for a glass, pouring the frothy liquid into it and handing it to me.

‘We can?’ I sip the champagne just for something to do. He grins at me over the glass.

‘Yeah.’ He tops up the other flute and holds it towards me. I chink mine to the side of his and go to sip it. Our eyes meet and there’s something serious in his expression for a second. ‘I don’t want to stop this,’ he says honestly, and my stomach rolls. ‘But we have to be smarter. No one can ever know about it—about us. Your career would be over before it began.’

I tilt my head to the side. His concern is enormously touching. ‘I’m probably not the first student to sleep with her lecturer,’ I point out.

He nods. ‘Obviously.’

I think about this for a moment. He’s right—we need a way to be together outside of university. A bolthole. A hideout.

‘You think a hotel around the corner from the university is safe?’

He nods slowly. ‘We’ll never arrive together. Never leave together.’ His eyes burn me. ‘And we can get here quickly and easily. Given our schedules, it’s the best option.’

‘And what do I say if someone sees me come here?’

He arches a brow. ‘That you’re meeting a friend for a drink in the restaurant downstairs?’ he prompts and then a distracted smile catches his lips. ‘It’s like you’ve never lied before.’

I feel heat steal into my cheeks and a renewed light of interest flashes in his eyes.

‘Is that a bad thing?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘But you need to be able to keep this secret. Understood?’

He’s right. And there’s something convenient about having this option. I like it. A lot.

Still, his insistence on secrecy has me analysing what we’re doing from every angle. ‘I wonder if it would really be such a big deal. If people found out, I mean.’

He looks like I’ve threatened to jump from the window. ‘Jesus Christ, Olivia. What we’re doing is expressly prohibited by the university code of conduct. I’d lose my teaching job, but that’s not what matters. The Dean also reserves the right to expel any student engaging in inappropriate relations with a faculty member.’

‘I didn’t realise there was actually an official stance on it.’ It sounds naïve, but it’s true.

‘Yeah.’ He nods firmly. ‘And this isn’t like fucking some guy called Bob. People know who I am. If you got expelled because of what we’re doing, it would be in the news. Word would spread even if it didn’t make the papers. Law is a suffocatingly small world. You’d always be the girl who fucked her teacher. Who fucked me.’ He moves closer and it’s ridiculous but the way he’s talking is making me want to fuck him right now.

I wonder once more if it’s the illicitness of this that I find so appealing. Hearing him describe why we need to be careful is making my toes curl in the best possible way.

‘Duly noted, sir,’ I murmur. ‘You know—’ I place my champagne down ‘—this is a very interesting conversation to have with someone I’ve never even kissed.’

He doesn’t acknowledge my comment. ‘This is serious, Olivia. We really can’t do this if you’re not going to toe the line.’

‘Me?’ I ignore the fact he hasn’t taken the bait and kissed me. I now spend a considerable amount of my time imagining what that kiss will feel like. I sway a little closer.

‘Yes.’ He dips his finger into his champagne glass and lifts it to my lips. I open my mouth and taste what he’s offering, moaning a little at the sensuality that engulfs us. He moves his finger lower, running it down my chin to my front, holding it at the pulse point that is rapidly firing at the base of my throat.

‘You’re the one who went all Hulk-green and frogmarched me to your office.’

He laughs at the description. ‘Guilty as charged. But we both have to be more careful. That can’t happen again.’

‘I know.’ I nod. ‘I’ll be good. I swear.’

His eyes glisten as they meet mine. ‘Oh, no, you won’t, Miss Amorelli. This afternoon you’re going to be very, very bad.’ And he scoops me up out of nowhere, lifting me and dumping me in the middle of the king-size bed. ‘Starting right now.’

He spreads my legs and finds my thong, slipping it aside so he can push a finger into my wet, throbbing core. I moan low in my throat at his invasion, and he smiles above me.

‘So you used to date that guy?’

And though his face remains the same, his eyes glitter beyond the façade and I realise he does care after all. He was faking his complacence; I’m unreasonably pleased.

I push up on my elbows, my mind spinning as he moves his finger in small circles, his thumb finding my clit and brushing over it so that I can only whimper in agreement.

‘And you fucked him?’

I tilt my head back as pleasure spreads through me like a tidal wave. It starts low in my abdomen and pulses to all my extremities, making me quiver with a thick, throbbing need.

I can barely nod, but I move my head just enough to convey agreement.

He moves his fingers away then, just so that he can slide my thong down my legs. I sit up higher but he brings his mouth to me and I am lost once more as his tongue decimates what little is left of my control, my brainpower.

I subjugate myself completely to the power he wields and, in doing so, am aware of my own strength. He is as desperate for me as I am for him. That is a heady knowledge to have.

I am so close to coming. He must feel that, he must know, which makes his betrayal all the greater when he pulls away and brings his fully clothed body over mine. The weight of him on me is beautiful, but I want more. I need more.

‘Was it serious?’

I am panting for breath. ‘I don’t want to talk about Pietro right now.’

‘Ah. But you will.’ His smile is arrogant. ‘Answer my questions and I’ll reward you.’

My stomach flops. I shake my head. ‘Why?’

‘I’m curious,’ he says with a shrug. He props himself on his side next to me, his eyes staring at me almost dispassionately. ‘So? Was it?’

‘Serious?’ I mutter, annoyed as heck and not bothering to conceal it. ‘Yes. It was.’

The glittering in his eyes intensifies. ‘And he’s still in love with you.’

I’m almost certain that’s the case but somehow, admitting that here, to Connor, feels like a betrayal. To Pietro and what we were and, somehow, to what Connor and I share as well.

‘It’s complicated,’ I say again, skirting the issue. ‘Our families would love us to get back together. They always thought we’d get married. They were shocked when we split.’

‘So they invite him to your family lunches in the hope love blossoms,’ he prompts, the teasing smile annoying me. Because he’s not jealous, after all. He’s just interested in that way that his fierce intellect demands. Connor has to lift every rock and peer under it, just because there might be something crawling around. He wants to know about Pietro because of his fierce curiosity, not because he particularly cares.

I place my hand on my stomach and run it lower, defiance in my eyes as I touch myself. I have the satisfaction of seeing his surprise and, yes, most definitely his awareness, but then his hand catches mine and lifts it back to my side.

‘Allow me.’ The throaty request turns me to jelly. He runs his finger over me and I moan. Heat scorches my blood. ‘He drives you home because he’s still in love with you?’

‘Damn it, Connor,’ I snap, reaching for his hand and pushing it away. I stand up and I can tell he didn’t expect that. I stare at him, my hands on my hips, though my anger is possibly slightly diminished by the way my body won’t stop shaking. ‘This isn’t a game. Pietro is probably still in love with me, yes. And he’s a nice guy, and I feel really awful about the fact I don’t love him back, and I’m very careful not to appear that I’m leading him on, and I feel like a complete bitch that I’m the one who doesn’t want it. That I’m the one who’s letting him, my parents and his parents down because I won’t just settle for the very nice, very lukewarm, very safe relationship we had.’

He’s staring at me in a way that would usually arrest my breath in my throat but I’m too annoyed to properly notice.

‘So you’ll forgive me if I don’t want to talk about Pietro while we’re in bed. It’s disrespectful and he deserves better than that.’

‘Jesus.’ Connor sits up straight, his jaw squared as he watches me. My tirade hangs in the air as a storm cloud would, threatening to break, and then he reaches for me.

He stands up then and puts his arms around my waist, holding me to his body. ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s a quietly worded admission. ‘You’re right. That was a bullshit thing to do.’

‘Yeah.’ His apology has taken some of the sting out of my anger but I’m still pissed off. ‘I mean, come on, Connor. We’ve both got a past. I don’t want to drag anyone else into this.’ I step out of his arms and reach for the hem of my dress, lifting it up over my head and tossing it onto a chair. He watches my clothes sail through the air then faces me again.

‘Nor do I.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

I can’t look away. His eyes are burning into me and I feel his apology like a whisper across my skin and I know he means it, but also I’m not sure I care now. I can hardly remember what I was so annoyed about a moment ago.

Our eyes hold, our breaths match, the room swirls.

And then he crushes his mouth to mine. Our first kiss and it damned near kills me. His lips own me and his tongue duels with mine, wiping me of the ability to think, to breathe, to move. My knees weaken and only his arm around my back keeps me upright. He holds me to his body as he kisses me and I remember vividly what he said at his apartment.

I’ve wanted to own you.

This kiss owns me. I am his and I am glad.

* * *

Olivia is dozing beside me, her naked body a beautiful work of art that I ache to touch but don’t. Despite the fact I have made love to her for hours, I want her again. I force myself to be satisfied with looking and not touching.

I watch the gentle throb of her ribcage as she breathes. The soft undulations of her naked breasts. The way her lips part in her sleep and her long lashes fan against the creamy tan of her skin. The sheet is draped over her lower half and I resist the urge to push it down, refocusing my attention on the laptop on my knee.

It’s a funny thing, success. The firm that Michael and I started as two renegades, wanting to take on the world and win, is now a prestigious top-tier firm. We employ hundreds of people and there are thousands more clamouring to join us.

Being good at what I do has rendered me somewhat obsolete. Despite lending my name to the business, there’s not much for me to do on a daily basis to ensure our ongoing success.

Six partners report to me and I get myself up to speed on their trial notes, but even they run without requiring much input from me these days.

I am restless.

I’ve worked hard all my life and now I’m at a point where I don’t need to. I earn a shitload of money for doing not a lot.

I thought teaching would fill this hole inside me. That it would draw me back to what I love about practising law, but Olivia is the best thing about the work I do at the London Law School.

She shifts and I angle my laptop away, not wanting the light from the screen to wake her. She smiles a little in her sleep.

Her smile is beautiful.

I reach for my drink—I’ve progressed to Scotch—then get back to work. It’s the Donovan case, that’s all. It’s left me with a sense of unease, but that will pass.

Once I’ve put a little more time between me and the not guilty verdict, things will go back to normal.

Olivia, law school, this is all a great diversion, but it’s not my real life.

And I’m not her real life. This is a diversion for her, too, one she’ll get out of her system before she remembers that she’s a woman who does the right thing and works her arse off to get ahead.

This is uncharacteristic for both of us.

What the fuck was I thinking, interrogating her over her ex, turning it into a game? She’s far too sweet for that. Far too nice.

She stretches a little beneath my gaze and, fuck it, I reach down and curl a bit of blonde hair behind her ear. She makes a sleepy noise, her eyes blinking and lifting to me. Her smile is instinctive. It’s a smile just for me. My gut stretches and rolls in acknowledgement of this pull between us—of how I could get addicted to her smile, and all her sweetness.

‘Hi.’ Her voice is croaky. She blinks and yawns, covering it with the back of her hand. ‘Did I fall asleep?’

‘Yeah. About an hour ago.’

‘Sorry.’ She pushes up to half sit, reaching for the sheet as though she’s self-conscious. I shut my laptop and drop it to the carpet beside me then reach for her at the same time she scrambles onto my lap, straddling me, facing me.

‘Why sorry?’ I ask, my cock ever-ready for action when she’s near. She smiles as she feels me jerk against her.

She shrugs. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘You were worn out.’ I grin.

She returns it and nods. ‘Yep. And now I’m starving.’

‘Starving,’ I say, lifting her slightly and positioning her on my length. Her eyes widen and she moans at the invasion. But she rolls her hips and I fill her, and it is as though this is just how we have to be. Together. Joined. Coexisting.

I’m not going to lie to you. I’ve had my fair share of unforgettable sex. When I started to make good money and a name for myself, it was all too easy to hook up with women.

But I generally lose interest pretty fast.

Not Olivia.

I cannot get enough.

‘For food,’ she says on a laugh, but she’s already coming. God, she’s so responsive. Is it always like this for her? Her muscles squeeze me and it takes all my willpower not to come with her. I’m not wearing a condom—another thing that is different for me. I’ve never not practised safe sex. Never.

I push into her and she cries out, her nails digging into my shoulders as she tilts her head back, her breasts pushed right in my face. I take one of her nipples in my mouth. It’s right there. It’d be criminal not to, right?