by Nicola Marsh
It stuck in his craw, the way she tried to suck him into her world. The elegant apartment, the posh restaurant, the exorbitant gift. Not that it was her wealth that bothered him—he had more than enough zeroes in his bank account to match hers—but that whole moneyed scene left him cold.
He didn’t need tangible proof to know he’d made it. Give him a night in his humble two-bedroom house in front of the TV watching the football and nursing an ice-cold beer rather than any of the fancy palaver in Hope’s world.
But he’d reacted badly to the watch and even now, two hours later, shame made his gut gripe. Or maybe that had more to do with the four lagers he’d downed on an empty stomach. He’d tried watching a football talk show, a replay of last week’s game, even the last quarter of the Echidnas’ last grand final win. Nothing soothed him.
He should apologise to Hope, but what was the point? They were over. He’d be moving on to Sydney next week to quote a new job. Better they end it now.
Before...what? Before he felt something more than lust for her? Before he divulged the whole truth behind his moods lately? Before he blurted out that she was the only woman he’d ever met who made him contemplate doing the unthinkable: staying put for once?
He couldn’t say any of that let alone admit it to himself so he lashed out at the nearest inanimate object, an old armchair, giving the rickety leg a resounding kick. The resulting throb in his big toe wasn’t worth it. Cursing his stupidity, he crushed the empty beer can in his fist and lobbed it into the rubbish bin in the corner as a loud pounding started on his door.
Nobody visited him, ever. In fact, not many knew his address, apart from Rick and the post office, which redirected his mail more often than not. And he certainly didn’t receive visitors at ten p.m.
Disgruntled, he trudged to the door and yanked it open, shocked to see Hope glaring at him with open hostility.
‘You’d better let me in.’ She jabbed a finger in his direction. ‘Otherwise I’ll throw stones at every one of your windows, not caring if they break or not.’
Logan bit back a smirk. While he wasn’t pleased to see her, was there anything more magnificent than a riled woman in full confrontation mode?
Her eyes flashed fire, her cheeks were flushed and her chest heaved, her breasts straining the silk of her dress. Her rigid nipples stuck out like emblems of her passion—even if it was anger in this case—and his dick reacted even while his head yelled, Down, boy.
‘Come in.’ He opened the door and stepped back, waving her in with an exaggerated flourish. ‘I don’t intend to call out a glazier in the middle of the night.’
‘Wise choice.’
She sailed past him, leaving a cloud of her expensive floral fragrance in her wake. He loved that smell, a heady mix of jasmine, rose and something deeper, maybe vanilla mixed with musk... Whatever it was, whenever he smelled those flowers in the future he’d think of her.
He closed the door and followed her into his humble lounge, barely big enough for the both of them. Before she could speak he held up his hand. ‘Don’t waste your breath talking about the watch. It was a nice thought but I can’t accept it, end of story.’
A frown slashed her elegant brows. ‘It was nothing more than an expression of gratitude, that’s it.’
‘You’re talking about it when I asked you not to.’ He shook his head, hating that he felt compelled to justify himself and knowing he couldn’t, not without telling her too much. ‘How the hell did you find me?’
She flashed a sickly sweet smile. ‘Your foreman is a lovely man.’
‘I’ll kill the prick,’ he muttered, knowing this would be Rick’s idea of matchmaking. Dickhead. ‘Now that you’re here, do you want a drink?’
‘No thanks.’ She clasped her hands together and stood in the middle of his lounge, a bright splash of colour against the drabness. It made the contrast between his life and hers all the more vivid. ‘When are you leaving?’
Her bluntness startled him. Most women played games and skirted around the tough stuff. Not Hope. She was assertive both in and out of the bedroom.
‘Early next week. There’s a job in Sydney I need to quote. A music recital hall.’
‘Your reputation for producing fine acoustics is preceding you.’
‘The indirect promotional grapevine is the most effective,’ he said, sounding like a stilted marketing advertisement as he gestured for her to take a seat. ‘So please feel free to tout me to any colleagues.’
‘But that might mean you’ll return to Melbourne.’ Her hand flew to her mouth in mock horror. ‘And, oh my, we might even get to hook up again.’
He had no idea if she meant it as a flippant remark or was testing the waters to see if he’d be amenable to the idea. Either way, he had to shut this down.
No way in hell would he ever have a woman waiting for him to return, her happiness dependent on him.
He wasn’t his fucking father.
So he dredged up the worst insult he could, ensuring that by belittling what they’d had she’d never want to see him again.
‘Being a refined Englishwoman, you’ve probably never heard the term “hit it and quit it”?’
She might not have heard the term but she understood the meaning, if her thinned lips and blazing eyes were any indication. ‘I said that in jest. I’m not an idiot, Logan. I know this thing between us was nothing more than a fling and that you wouldn’t look back once you “quit it”.’
She’d got the message. Good.
Why did it make him feel like the lowest slime?
‘What are you really doing here, Hope?’
If he deflected this onto her, it might stop him from hauling her into his arms and giving her the explanation she deserved.
‘I don’t like being walked out on. First at my apartment, then tonight at the restaurant.’ She took a step towards him, chin high, glaring and defiant. ‘Unlike you, I finish what I start.’
Another step brought her within touching distance. ‘And, seeing as we’re almost at the quit part, don’t you think it’s only fair we have one last “hit”?’
Logan stood his ground, gritting his teeth, his fingers curling into fists by his side.
He didn’t want to be responsible for hurting this woman more than he already had. He wasn’t a fool. He’d seen the pain in her eyes several times now, pain he’d caused in his lousy attempts to push her away. So no matter how badly he yearned to have her now, he wouldn’t initiate it.
‘Hope, this isn’t a good idea—’
‘Shh.’ She placed a fingertip against his mouth. ‘I’m calling the shots.’
‘You always have,’ he murmured, experiencing a jolt as her fingertip traced the shape of his mouth.
‘What can I say? I like being in charge.’
And she set about proving it by pushing him down onto the sofa and straddling him. Her dress was rucked up, revealing smooth thighs he had previously explored in great detail. Her skin glowed in the light cast from the sole lamp he’d switched on, pale and luminous. She rested her hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the back of the sofa.
Blood pounded in his head, drowning out any last resistance. He averted his gaze and swallowed, trying to regain control of his rampant libido when it came to this woman, and losing as she writhed against him a little and his cock throbbed.
‘You want this as much as I do,’ she said, grinding against him again, determined to make him lose it.
He sucked in a breath as their eyes met, her raging desire no match for his splintering resistance.
He shifted his pelvis so he was pressed against the spot he wanted to be and surrendered. ‘Fuck yeah.’
‘Good.’ She flicked her hair so it draped over one shoulder in a flowing golden cascade. ‘If this is our last time, let’s make it count...’
He surged forward to claim her mouth, anchoring her with
his hands on her waist, desperate for skin-on-skin contact. His fingers plucked uselessly at the silk and sensing his need she eased her mouth away and untied the knot behind her neck. The top of her dress slithered forward to reveal the tight buds of her nipples and he groaned, lowering his head to swirl his tongue over one, then the other.
They puckered to rigid nubs as he sucked and licked, flicking each nipple with his tongue before blowing on them. Her chest arched forward, thrusting her tits into his face, leaving him in no doubt that she loved what he was doing.
‘More—’ He cut off her demand in a searing kiss that made him lightheaded. She might enjoy being in charge but he got off on making her crazy just as much. He plundered her mouth as he tweaked her nipples, plucking at them with the barest pressure, her soft cries of encouragement spurring him on.
His right hand trailed down her taut abdomen, teasing her with a feather-light touch that raised goose bumps on her skin. She wriggled in an attempt to get closer to him and he smiled against her mouth. ‘Easy, babe, there’s no rush.’
‘Yeah, there is,’ she said, her voice husky. ‘We had phenomenal sex the other night then you left before we could have round two and I’ve been fantasising about doing it again ever since.’
He didn’t want to think about that night he had snuck out of her apartment after calling his dad, or the fact that Stephen hadn’t called him back, so he nuzzled the column of her neck, nipping gently with his teeth. She shivered and reached between them, covering his rigid cock with her hand, rubbing him.
‘You want that?’ He thrust up into her hand, rewarded by a smug smile curving her lips.
‘Oh, yeah.’ She scooted back, giving her access to his fly.
He held his breath as she unzipped him, slid her hand inside his jocks and wrapped around him, her grip firm. So fucking good. Then she took him out and her hand started to move up and down his length, sure and skilled. She watched from beneath lowered lids, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips.
He pushed her dress up so the entire thing bunched around her waist, leaving her gloriously bare. With her legs spread wide her pussy glistened, so fucking beautiful, and he pressed his thumb to her clit, making her jolt.
He stilled her hand on his cock. ‘Sit back and enjoy,’ he murmured, wanting her to watch him get her off.
She complied, straightening and leaning back a fraction. He kept her anchored with one hand on her waist, the other between her legs slick with her juices. His thumb circled her clit slowly as he slid one finger into her, another, mimicking a lazy pumping action that quickly had her writhing and panting.
Beads of perspiration dotted her skin as he increased the tempo until she was riding his hand with abandon. Her head flung back, elongating her neck, her tits thrust towards him; she was seeking pleasure and proud of it. She gave one final gyration before coming on a cry that sent a jolt of longing to his cock. He loved this about her, her sheer wanton enjoyment, in stark contrast to the prim exterior she presented to the world.
He made fast work of digging a condom out of his wallet and rolling it on so that when her eyes finally fluttered open he was ready for her.
‘You are...’ She shook her head, like waking from a daze. ‘There are no words.’
‘Good, because I’m not one for talking.’ He guided his cock to her pussy, nudging in exquisitely slowly.
‘Watch,’ he said, and when she looked down he surged all the way in, letting rip with a low growled ‘Fuck!’ as she tightened around him.
He flexed his hips upward, grasping her ass with his hands to guide her. She didn’t need it. She matched him perfectly. As he thrust up, she bore down, riding him with an expertise that made the tension pool in the base of his cock all too fast.
It had been like this that night at her apartment, wild and hedonistic, her enjoying the control that being on top gave her, him loving every fucking minute.
Everything began to blur into one erotic kaleidoscope as she rode him frantically: her sexy, throaty moans; the slide of her against his cock; the musky scent of their bodies joining.
His fingers dug into her ass as he gripped her tight, moving her faster, his hips pistoning as the fucker of all orgasms clawed at him. She arched back and the change in friction drove him over the edge with a brutal ecstasy that robbed him of everything.
‘That was so hot,’ she murmured, bringing him back to the present, and he blinked rapidly to dispel the fog clouding his brain.
All he could manage was a trite ‘Yeah,’ because he knew, deep down in a place he rarely acknowledged, that no matter what they said it would be hard to walk away from a connection this strong.
They’d meant it as a goodbye fuck.
But what if he wasn’t done with her yet?
CHAPTER TWENTY
HOPE WASN’T ASHAMED to admit she liked the finer things in life. Aged Shiraz, vintage champagne, hand-made chocolates. She worked hard to be able to afford her luxuries, keeping her granny’s trust fund money for major purchases like the studio and her apartment and their maintenance. She’d never been ashamed of her wealth but she hadn’t flaunted it either, considering it had attracted the wrong sort of male attention in the past.
Because she didn’t trust easily she never knew if guys liked her for her or if they were more interested in her money. She’d been on great dates that ended in one of two ways: the guy feeling intimidated and emasculated because of her wealth and begging off, or the guy not offering to pay because he felt entitled. Both scenarios were incredibly unattractive.
She’d felt safe in the knowledge that Logan wasn’t like those other men. A self-made millionaire, he wasn’t interested in her for her money. In fact, he’d gone to great lengths to explain their relationship was nothing more than transient.
So why did the obvious poverty of his home leave her questioning if he’d been entirely truthful with her?
She could tolerate many things, but lies weren’t one of them, and the thought he might’ve withheld the truth from her set off a deep-seated panic.
She hated the anxiety clawing at her common sense, a small insistent nagging that Logan could be yet another person she’d let into her heart who would ultimately lie and betray her.
Could she ever really trust anybody again?
As he showered, belting out some ancient rock classic, she strolled through his home. All six rooms of it: a lounge, a kitchen, two tiny bedrooms, a dingy bathroom and a makeshift sunroom tagged onto the back. The size surprised her but not as much as the shabby air that clung to the faded surfaces.
The kitchen decor hadn’t been changed since the seventies, with every cupboard and tile a burnished orange. The stove top resembled an antique, the mini-fridge the same. The sunroom was empty bar an old rocking chair with a frayed purple cushion.
She hadn’t taken much notice of the lounge when he’d been pleasuring her but now she took her time studying it: an old brick fireplace with a bluestone mantel, a dull grey carpet worn threadbare in patches, an ancient box TV and a sofa with two matching chairs covered in a chintz print. She’d stuck her head in the master bedroom door for a quick glance, having time to take in a modest double bed and a side table. That was it.
The sparse furnishing could be a guy thing, considering he spent a lot of time on the road for work. But the overall air of abandonment, of an empty shell of a house filled with old, ugly furniture, didn’t gel with her image of Logan.
Why would a successful CEO of his own company reside in a place like this?
Unless he had money problems. A secret gambling addiction? Debts? Alimony?
The doubts started building, swamping her. She’d been in this position before—discovering a man she loved had duped her, had gained her trust by careful manipulation, only to rip the blinders from her eyes in the cruellest of ways.
Loved?
Crap. She couldn’t
love Logan. A self-confessed wanderer would not a good boyfriend make. Besides, love meant opening her heart completely when she entered into a relationship, trusting him one hundred percent, and Hope seriously doubted she had the ability to trust anyone that explicitly.
She’d tried before. Even after Willem had broken her heart she’d put herself out there, hoping to find someone who would change her mind and make her a believer again.
But when it looked like a hook-up with the right guy had the potential to develop into something deeper, she’d sabotaged it every single time, too terrified to trust.
So she couldn’t love Logan. She wouldn’t. But what if she already did?
Anger at her stupidity made her want to lash out and unfortunately he chose that moment to stroll back into the lounge, wearing soft cotton boxer shorts and a smug grin.
‘Why is your place a hovel?’ she snapped, falling into that age-old pattern of sabotage, desperate for him to push her away before she fell any deeper.
His grin faded and sudden fury sparked his eyes, as intended. ‘I prefer “understated” but, hey, nice to know what you really think.’
She tried not to wince and squared her shoulders, preparing for a battle she’d lose. She didn’t want to do this but she had to. It was the only way to salvage anything when she walked away as she always did.
‘I’m curious as to why...all this?’ She swept her arm wide, gesturing at the furniture. ‘You’re a CEO, living in a very humble dwelling. It doesn’t make sense.’
She hated herself for prodding at an obvious sore spot with him and he reared back as if she’d poked him in the eye. ‘What’s it got to do with you how I live?’
What could she say? That she wanted to know more about what made him tick because she’d fallen for him? That she wanted more than a fling? That he’d wheedled his way into her heart without trying and she knew it would take a long time to get over him?
She had no answers so she reached for a little white lie. ‘I’ve had a guy lie to me before about his monetary status. I didn’t care for it.’
