Читать книгу Becoming The Boss - Maya Blake, Zuri Day - Страница 18

SERENA WAS DOOMED.

Finn had driven her across the city behind the wheel of his high-spec, custom-made, invitation-only sports car, slamming her to the edge of the hot zone. Her hormones were frantic as she imagined him making love with the same intensity—with an inordinate skill and a passionate appreciation for the machine in his hands.

The way he smoothed the leather of the steering wheel with an amorous touch, curled his long fingers around the gearstick with a firm, sensual grip… She’d shuddered with pleasure just watching him.

Now, seated in a super-comfy armchair in a magnificent tent in the middle of Montreal, she was right back on edge. A thrumming mass of expectation.

From the outside the structure appeared like a giant theatrical dome, with multiple conical peaks that soared into the sky in a colourful array of blue and yellow stripes—reminiscent of Arabian nights. And inside the capacious space rivalled the outside’s awe factor with a distinct flare of class and luxury. It was the type Serena liked—more avant-garde than ostentatious, cast by the heights of technology for performers to achieve mind-boggling feats. It was exciting and thrill seeking. Definitely her thing.

Something awesome was about to happen, and anticipation fired through her veins like gasoline sparking to ignite.

The dark-haired man sitting on the other side of Finn suddenly turned to face him. ‘You’re real familiar. Have we met before?’

Serena stifled a smile. She’d expected to lounge in some VIP suite, and being one of the masses was more scintillating than ever. Adding a kick of danger that they’d be discovered.

With the black caps pulled low on their foreheads and dressed in T-shirts and jeans—Finn in a yummy buttery black leather jacket, collar flipped high, and Serena in a dark blue hoodie—they created a perfect image of friends out for kicks.

Finn smiled, all charismatic charm, and held out his hand for an old-boy shake. ‘I’m sure I would have remembered you if I had, sir. It’s a pleasure.’

It struck her then. In many ways he was a showman himself. Although he blended seamless confidence and ease in any situation, she fancied he adapted to his surroundings, even altered his accent to fit. A veritable chameleon.

It was a talent she could only marvel at with no small amount of envy. Yet she couldn’t quite figure out why he felt the need. Why not just be himself?

She could only presume, from the way he blocked his emotions, it was some kind of survival technique—and, let’s face it, they’d both been reared on fame and fortune so she knew all about those. Except where she’d shunned it he’d danced beneath the limelight, albeit somewhat distanced by not being his true self. It was as if he preferred to be untouched by everyone around him. Now, that was something she definitely understood. Opening up wasn’t easy. It invited all sorts of pain, disappointment and heartache.

But, more profoundly, what seriously blew her mind was the stranger who came into view when Finn ditched his façades. That man was the most fascinating of all.

It was the man who’d made her spaghetti in his kitchen—the one who’d tucked her unruly hair behind her ear, pouted when he’d lost at the video games, the one who seemed perfectly happy to hang out with ‘normal’ folk and swig cola.

As for the secretive girly smile on her face—that was down to the way he seemed more content. Not so restless and edgy. No dark pain in his eyes tonight. So any regret she’d harboured about going to him earlier in the evening had flown by the wayside.

‘Hey!’ the man next to him said. ‘I know where I’ve seen you before. On the TV. You’re that guy.’

Serena bit down on her lips and held her breath, curious to see if he’d protect his privacy, give them this one night. Craving the real him for a bit longer.

Finn raised his chin, his bewildered expression worthy of an Oscar-winning actor. ‘Who?’

‘The one who races them fast cars.’

Frowning, Finn turned to face her, his voice thick and deep enough to carry a perfect American drawl. ‘Hey, baby, do I look like that race-car driver?’

Suddenly slap-happy, as if she’d had one too many beers, Serena glanced past Finn to the stranger. ‘That British guy?’ she asked incredulously.

With a dubious flush, the other man shrugged. ‘He could be.’

‘No way.’ Shaking her head, she leaned back against the pad of her chair. ‘He’s weird-looking. And his eyes…’ She deliberately pulled a shudder up her spine.

Finn cocked one dark blond brow, excused himself graciously, then twisted his mighty fine torso and leaned into her.

‘What’s wrong with his eyes?’

‘They’re weird. Cerulean blue and yet sometimes…’ She left him dangling for a few blissful seconds in an effort to get him back for all the times he’d toyed with her.

‘Sometimes…?’ he demanded.

‘They change colour. Gleam in a feral kind of way. Hypnotic.’

‘Hypnotic?’ he murmured silkily, his skin flushed beneath the shadowy peak of his cap. ‘Maybe it depends what he’s looking at.’

Their gazes caught, held in timeless suspension, and the pull tugged at the base of her abdomen until warmth flooded her knickers.

A groan ripped from his throat as if he knew. Could smell the scent of her arousal.

‘And…’ She smothered her lips with moisture. ‘He has this serious animalistic vibe going on. He growls.’

Sculpted in black leather, his broad shoulders rose and fell as the tempo of his breathing escalated. ‘Do you like it?’

‘I love it.’ She’d been lured, ensnared, and now she wanted to be caught—

No. No! God, what was going on with her? She had to cut this out. Think friends.

The hand that lay on his muscular thigh fisted and he pulled back an inch or three. ‘Do you know what Seraphina means, Miss Scott?’

She gave a little shake of her head and he elaborated.

‘The fiery one.’

Right now that made perfect sense.

‘So be careful that you don’t get set ablaze. You don’t want to get burned, do you, Seraphina?’

‘You burn women?’ she whispered, sounding more intrigued than appalled—and how ridiculous was that? Of course the man burned women. He had a much-publicised trail of ashes in his wake to prove it.

‘Badly,’ he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. ‘Hence my rules.’

Throat swollen, she had to squeeze out the words. ‘What rules are they, Finn?’

‘No commitment. No emotional ties. Just pleasure beyond your wildest imagination.’

‘That sounds…’

‘Good. It’s good, baby. For as long as it lasts. A few hours at the most. Then there’s nothing but emptiness. So believe me when I say keep safe and don’t be lured by your inner fire. Especially when it ignites for me.’

A ten-bell siren blared through her head, silenced her desire. He was only being brutally honest. No flippant innuendo from this man. No play on words. No clever retort. She liked the real Finn St George, she realised. Very much. He was an arrogant, seductive, sexy blend of bad-boy meets boy-next-door.

Keep safe. Good advice. Not that commitment interested her. Emotional ties made her blood run cold. She’d just lost one man she’d loved, and being obsessed with a player who rapped on death’s door with alarming frequency wasn’t her idea of a rollicking good time.

Still, what if Finn was the only man she’d ever want sexually? Was she crazy to want to experience such pleasure once in her life? She knew the game, the rote, had been a spectator all her life. She could play by the rules, couldn’t she?

Serena fancied he could see the internal battle warring inside her, because he raised his hand and swept a strand of hair from her brow with a shiver-inducing graze.

‘Trust me, beautiful. It’s a bad idea.’

The main lights dimmed and what remained was a black canvas ceiling dotted with tiny pricks of light. It was like sitting beneath a million twinkling stars. So romantic that yearning pulled at her soul.

Finn eased back into his own chair, leaving her oddly bereft. Until the music struck an almighty beat and she felt the punch of power deep in the pit of her stomach. Then the full instrumental peeled from the band, the sound caroming around the vast expanse to infuse the atmosphere with what she could only describe as a seriously evocative sensual bent.

‘Oh, my life.’

The thought slammed into her psyche within seconds. Finn hadn’t intended bringing her here at all. So who…?

As if he could hear her mental meanderings, he murmured, ‘I was coming by myself. This is a new cabaret-style show directed by a friend of mine and he sent some tickets over last night. He knows I like to blend occasionally, and they often debut in Montreal. I’ve no idea what to expect.’

She was pretty sure he had a better idea than she did.

‘All I know is that it’s strictly over eighteens and it explores human sexuality.’

Okay-dokey, then. Right up her street. Not.

The risqué undertone of the music was a prelude to a stage lifting from beneath the floor, bringing the performers into view, still as statues. Until the Moulin-Rouge-type beat peaked with an almighty crescendo…

The cushioned pad beneath her bottom quaked, sending a vibration straight to her core, making the hair on her arms stand on end.

And then the artists came to life.

Heat that had nothing to do with the amount of bodies packed in one space and all to do with the hedonistic bent of the performance shot through her bloodstream, growing ever hotter when the stage became a writhing mass of mind-boggling feats of flexibility and synchronicity.

Bodies were bending, stroking, touching. Hands glissaded over painted flesh, the vivid colours of their skin alive with sensuous beauty.

Hanging from the dollies above the plinth were three massive chandeliers from which acrobats were suspended, and they too began to move in a series of gyrations, spinning and twisting as they swung from one bar to another in a dizzying spectacle.

Oh. And they were all half naked. Half naked and—

She sucked in a sharp breath and Finn leaned over.

‘You okay?’

‘Mmm…’ It came out like a groan, because where Finn had made her hot and bothered seconds before the show, now she was burning up. The fiery one.

‘You want to leave?’

‘Absolutely—’ She had to take another breath as one of the female performers wrapped her legs around her partner, locked groins tight and bent backwards to the floor, as if he were sliding inside her, as if…

‘Okay, let’s go.’

‘—not. No, I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here. A tornado whipping through the room wouldn’t move me as much as this. It’s… They…they’re beautiful.’

Dancing, whirling, bending—the women were incredible acrobats, so much femininity and strength all rolled into one stunning blend.

‘So strong,’ she whispered in awe.

‘They have to be. Strong-willed to train so gruellingly. Strong-minded to hold their positions, trust in their abilities. Believe in their talent. But elegant and graceful at the same time.’

Yes, and all the while remaining strong of heart, body and soul. No shame, only dazzling radiance.

Still staring at the stage, her mind spun. ‘What are you getting at, Finn?’

‘Maybe I’m just pointing out that being a woman doesn’t render you weak, and being strong or unique doesn’t make you less feminine.’

She didn’t see all women as weak. Did she? Then again, she’d never known many women. Only her dad’s bits of fluff, and they all seemed desperate somehow. Serena had watched them, thinking how bizarre they all were, flitting to and fro, trying to make her dad happy, in the idiotic assumption he would keep them. Desperate. Weak. But wholly feminine. Had she subconsciously knitted the two together?

Finn had told her she was feminine. His words, ‘Of course you are… In your own unique way…’ came back to her. She’d taken them as a kind of insult, but at the same time had longed for him to mean it. Despite or perhaps because of the shoe-slipper debacle.

Finn saw far more than what met the eye. Behind the celebrity persona he had a depth of intensity and an intelligence that astounded and intrigued her.

‘People underestimate you, Finn,’ she murmured, and the show continued all around them, just as the world still spun, ignorant of the seismic shift inside of her.

Seismic since she suspected that he was not only right but that her issues ran far deeper. Too deep for her to delve into that gorge right now.

‘Always a bad idea,’ he said, with an arrogance that made her smile.

With her gaze glued to the sinuous, serpentine movements on stage, she could feel him staring at her.

‘It’s enthralling, don’t you think?’

‘Absolutely mesmerising,’ he said, still watching her.

‘Provocative,’ she whispered.

‘A unique kind of sensuality.’

Her heart did a trapeze artist flip in her chest. In Monaco he’d said similar words to her.

Unable to resist a moment longer, she turned to look at him.

Face flushed, he licked his lips, as if his mouth was over-dry.

‘Finn…?’ she breathed. ‘Aren’t you going to watch?’

‘I am watching, baby. The only thing worth looking at.’

Whoosh. Her heart did another flip. Three somersaults and a free fall. And just like that she struggled to breathe.

Before she knew it her eyes had closed and she leaned forward, needing his mouth on hers so badly her entire body ached—and that was nothing compared to the flood of moisture low in her pelvis, the incessant clench demanding satisfaction.

French vocals drifted on the air—a sultry line that enhanced the suggestive notes pluming around them:

Would you like to sleep with me tonight?

Another Serena might have asked—a braver version, one who was confident enough to know she could satisfy a man like him, one who knew she’d feel no regrets in the morning. The real Serena couldn’t guarantee any of that.

His warm breath trickled over her lips, yet intuition told her he wouldn’t close the ever-so-small gap—a virtual Grand Canyon, considering the past that lay between them and all the reasons for them to rebuff this weird and wonderful attraction and simply walk away.

Just the thought that he might take the decision from her kicked her doubts to the kerb and she prised her eyes wide.

His eyes were as dark as midnight, glittering like the stars above, and from nowhere she found the strength to move in, close that gap, lick over his full bottom lip and then bite down to tease with a gentle tug.

Lust…

Finn growled.

Heat…

‘Back off, Serena.’

More. Another lick. Another soft suck. Another tender bite. He returned it with sharp yet gentle teeth, then kissed away the sting, causing her to shiver and the deep ache in her body to spike.

‘You really want me to take you right here?’ he rasped.

That stopped her.

Visibly shaken, her hand trembled as she brushed the hair from her sticky nape and leaned back in her seat. Her sensitive breasts chafed against the cotton of her plain bra and she had to stifle a whimper.

Who knew how long she sat there, her lower body contracting around thin air, while a surge of mortification because she couldn’t control her own body inched her anger levels up the charts?

Intermission hit and, unknowing what to say, what to do, feeling seven kinds of stupid that she couldn’t make light of the fact that she was teetering on the edge of an orgasm or handle it in some practised feminine way, she launched to her feet.

‘I’m going to the Ladies’.’

And she shot through the crowd at a fast clip.

She had to cool off and there was only one way to do it. As far away from Finn St George as she could possibly get.