‘Home,’ I grunt, moving my body, wanting to push up and straddle him even as I’m vaguely aware that would be a really stupid thing to do in a crowded restaurant. ‘Now.’
‘Mine or yours?’
‘Don’t. Care.’ I rip my face from his as though I’m pushing out of the ocean, on the brink of drowning. ‘Now.’
CHAPTER SIX
I HAVE NO idea if we’ll make it to either of our places. I throw a wad of bank notes on the table and pull her to standing, and then we’re weaving our way through the restaurant with a lift of my hand to the waitress. In the warm, sultry air of New York, I pull her body to mine, kissing her as we step away from the restaurant and around the corner. As soon as we’re in the lane I push Asha to the wall, my body hard against hers, need overpowering me.
I haven’t felt like this since I was a school kid—maybe not even then. Every decent bone in my body is screaming at me to wait but I can’t. I’m burning up with need. Her hands are pushing at my shirt, lifting it from my pants so her fingers can trace my flesh, feel the ridges of my chest, then she’s at my pants, undoing the belt so I laugh and shake my head because with almost zero encouragement I would lift her up and take her against this brick wall, so help me God. Only the sound of passing pedestrians has me stilling, burying my head against her hair, shielding her from view of passers-by.
They walk on, but the fever is still alive between us. I half pull, half drag Asha—or is it the other way around?—toward my car, not breaking our kiss, our hands moving fervently over each other’s bodies as we go. I fumble with the handle, wrenching the door to the back seat open with relief and pulling her inside on top of me.
‘Thank fuck for tinted windows,’ I grunt as she straddles me. It’s awkward as hell and she makes a noise of impatience when her ankle connects with my knee.
Her skirt rips as she straddles me but I’m not sure she notices.
‘Jesus.’ I reach behind me for my wallet, unfurling it and pulling out a foil square. I slip it over my length and a second later she’s taking me inside, her long, husky moan the sound of surrender and relief, of bliss and desperation. She rocks on her haunches as she takes me again and again, using my length to pleasure herself, tilting her head back, rocking on top of me as though she can’t get enough. I look up at her beautiful face and then I’m dragging her head down, kissing her and lifting my hips, holding her body lower so I can drive deeper into her.
Her cries grow faster, more urgent, and higher in pitch and then she’s coming, her muscles squeezing me tight, her body racked with the cacophony of her release. I want to hold off but I can’t. I grip her shoulders and kiss her as silently, desperately, I orgasm, spilling myself into her, wondering if anything has ever felt this perfect before.
Our breathing is the only noise in the confines of the car. She pants and I tilt my head back so I can look at her through the veil of stars that has filled my eyes. She looks how I feel—like she’s waking up from some kind of dream.
‘Well, that’s a first,’ she murmurs, pulling a little grimace that’s frankly adorable.
‘Sex in a car?’
‘Sex in a car.’ She nods, lifting up and pulling away from me. ‘Wanting someone so bad I either have to leave a restaurant or go under the table.’ She turns her face to mine, smiling at me so I know that, despite the intense way we just fucked, she’s okay.
‘Dinner was a stupid idea,’ I say with a nod. ‘We’re not cut out to sit across a table from each other.’
‘Nope.’ She lifts a hand and trails her finger over my cheek. ‘No more restaurants.’
‘Deal.’
She frowns. ‘I can’t look at you without touching.’
My chest swells with the force of a thousand and one bulls. ‘Just as well I like you touching me.’
‘Just as well.’
‘So—’ I angle myself in the seat, swiping the condom off my length and reaching for a tissue from the side door. I wrap it up and jam it in my pocket. ‘My place or yours?’
Her eyes flare wider. ‘You can drop me off if you want. You don’t need to...’
I stare at her for so long she tapers off into nothing. ‘You think once is enough?’
Pink floods her cheeks and she shakes her head, her lips lifting into a smile. ‘My place. My skirt...’
‘Ah.’ I remember the sound of it splitting and reach down to the side seam. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Not even a little?’
‘Well, maybe just a little,’ she agrees with a gentle laugh. ‘But I’d do it all again. It’s just fabric.’
Her place is only a short drive from the restaurant and I’m conscious of her the whole way there. I’m conscious of the expanse of thigh that’s shown by the split in her skirt, of the way her hair is all messy because of me. I’m conscious of the fact I’ll never be able to drive this car again without looking in the rear-view mirror and seeing the way our bodies came together in the back.
Fuck.
She is some kind of drug and I’m in a full-blown addiction cycle. Not for the first time, I reflect on the agreement we’ve come to, on the fact we’ve decided when this will end, and I’m immeasurably glad. Glad to have a calmly decided upon stop point, glad to know it’s going to be amazing sex until we say goodbye. I’ve never been in a relationship like this but it’s clearly the way to live.
And yet there is darkness deep inside of me, right at the back of my mind. It’s a darkness born of the certainty that in a few short weeks she’ll be gone from my life, a figment of my past that I’ll think of often but never again revisit. This will be over. I’ll be free to live my life as I did before, and she’ll be...with someone else. The idea lurches through me like a tsunami, the power of that thought inwardly knocking me off balance. Because I’m some kind of masochist, I imagine Asha smiling at some other guy, putting her hand in his, pulling him towards her. I imagine him smiling back, wrapping an arm around her body and pulling her close, nestling her into his side.
Something inside me shifts. Something that sparks pain and a total lack of comprehension. Nothing in that picture is what I want. I’m not the ‘for ever’ kind of guy, but with Asha I almost could be. I learned not to believe in the power of ‘for ever’, that it’s a foolish and childish concept to ascribe to, and yet, with Asha, I could let this run for as long and as far as we could take it. I could wake up next to her every morning until it stopped being fun. I could...
But I can’t. Because Asha laid her cards on the table from the very beginning. Fun, sure, but temporary. She has two reasons, and I respect both. Nothing gets in the way of her professional obligations, so the lightness of our agreement suits her perfectly. And secondly, where I was honest about not wanting to be in a bona fide relationship, she admitted she does, some day. With someone. Right from the start I’ve known that about her, and stringing this along for six months was totally selfish.
It’s sobering and strengthening. We’re doing the right thing to end this. I want her to be happy, which means I want her to meet someone else. And as much as I’m going to hate knowing I can’t just pick up the phone and call her, that’s life. People come, people go: nothing lasts for ever.
* * *
Her fingertips trace the tattoo, her eyes heavy, her exhaustion obvious. I should go, and let her sleep. I shift a little in the bed, watching her, and she smiles, but it’s slow, lazy, her tiredness making even the simple gesture difficult.
I lift my finger to her tattoo, doing what she’s just done and following the ink lines with the top of my nail. ‘Does this make you think of your ex?’
Her blinks get longer, slower. ‘Not really.’ She stifles a yawn. ‘He was a nice guy but just a part of my life back then.’
‘In your rebellious phase,’ I prompt, knowing I need to leave; she’s tired and we both have to work tomorrow.
‘He died,’ she says, but her eyes are closed, sleep so close at hand. ‘Drink driving. I was meant to be with him.’ Her words are heavy, slurred by exhaustion, but I’m instantly still, my whole body on alert while I contemplate what she’s just revealed. ‘We were going to a party. I got sick and had to cancel at the last minute. He tried to get me to change my mind but I had a migraine. I got them a fair bit, growing up. I don’t now though.’ Her words are so thick with tiredness I can barely make them out. I resist an urge to wake her, to get her to tell me this story properly. ‘If I hadn’t been sick, I’d probably be dead too.’
A shiver runs the length of my spine. The idea of someone like Asha—with so much vitality and vibrancy—no longer being here fills me with disgust and gratitude in equal measure—gratitude that she wasn’t with him that night, gratitude that she’s still here.
‘I’m sorry. About him.’
‘Ashes to ashes,’ she says prosaically, even as I hear the timbre of her voice and know it’s not something she can really pass off so easily.
‘Ashes to ashes,’ I repeat, letting her drift off to sleep, wondering about the teenager she was then, and the woman she is now. Wondering about the man she briefly loved, who inked her breast before dying, wondering about the impermanence of life and the cruelty of fate.
Finally, her breathing becomes deeper and more rhythmic and I know she’s fast asleep. I lie there for a moment, watching her, and then push out of bed, dressing as quietly as possible.
I take one last look at Asha as I shift through the door. In the light thrown through the window, the moon’s fine, milky blade passing over her skin, she looks sylphlike, majestic and magical, all at the same time. I don’t let myself think about what she’s said, the possibility that she could have been killed, just like her friend. A world without Asha would be significantly the poorer.
* * *
I read the report for the fourth time, thinking of Theo, thinking of the way we last made love, and my body dances with those memories, dances with need, frustration, desire and a bone-deep ache.
I lift my gaze to the window and stare out at New York. The weather is sultry and warm. His pool would be heaven today, bliss. But it’s only eleven in the morning; he won’t be finished until much later. And my body won’t wait that long. I stare out at New York and flashes of memory pierce me.
...for the next month, consider me fully at your disposal. Any time you have ‘needs’, I’m up for it.
A smile lifts my lips as an idea forms in my mind. I move to my desk quickly, slipping off my thong and spritzing my wrists with my signature fragrance—despite the fact Fleurs Sauvages has developed eleven perfumes in my lifetime, I always wear our signature brand, the one my great-grandmother and grandmother used to wear, the one that took our company from a small operation to a global powerhouse. I check my reflection and refresh my lipstick, then, still smiling, pull out of my office.
‘Kevin? I’ll be gone an hour or so. Don’t call me.’
My assistant nods. ‘Did you place your lunch order?’
‘Emailed it last night.’ I wave my hand in the air and jab the elevator button impatiently. Butterflies begin to flap their way around my belly as my car crosses Fifth.
Theo gave me a business card the first night we met. I don’t know why, probably out of habit. It has his office address but even if it hadn’t I would have known: Hart Towers are sort of a landmark in Manhattan. The limousine pulls up at the base of the steel monolith and I pause, taking in a breath, wondering for a moment if I should have texted him that I was coming, then dismissing the idea with another smile.
The surprise is part of the fun.
I scan the sign in the foyer, taking a guess he’ll be near the top floor. ‘Executive level’ is the best I can do.
Foolishly, I hadn’t anticipated the logistics of this. Surprising someone in this day and age at a high-security office block is not actually possible. There’s a row of five receptionists and security officials. I need to pass through them before I can progress. They ask my name and double check it against their day’s agenda. Obviously I’m not there.
One of them lifts a finger to me, having me wait while she makes a call, presumably to Theo’s assistant. I stand there, my desire only increasing at these hurdles. A moment later she reaches into the drawer beside her and pulls out a lanyard. She prints my name from a small machine and slides it into the plastic, passing the ID tag over to me with a nod to the end of the desk. ‘Sign yourself in and out. Thanks.’
I slip it over my head and do as she said, then I have to go through the security machines, and my cheeks heat at the fact I’m not wearing underwear—fortunately that detail doesn’t show up on the screen as I pass through it.
The whole way to the ninetieth floor, my stomach lurches but I don’t have much space for nerves when longing and need are taking over my body. The doors ping open and I’m greeted by a bank of three assistants.
‘Theo Hart,’ I murmur as I approach, my eyes lifting to scan the space. It’s a double-height void with floor to ceiling windows behind the reception desk. The furnishings are sparse and modern, all sleek timber and steel, and there are enormous flower arrangements spaced throughout, giving the bare environment a feeling of beauty and softness. The floor is highly polished concrete and my heels make a clicking noise as I walk.
They’re forewarned of my arrival, naturally, and so is Theo. He’ll be waiting for me, wondering what I’m doing here. Impatience and pleasure zip through me.
‘He’s just finishing a conference call, if you’d like to take a seat.’
But I’m not someone who likes being told what to do, and I have no intention of cooling my heels in Theo’s reception.
‘I’ll wait in his office—’ before she can open her mouth to object ‘—he won’t mind.’ I smile confidently and stride towards one of three doors on this level. His name is emblazoned across it in gold. With a smile, I push the heavy wood inwards. It’s everything I’d expect of Theo’s office. Huge, naturally, with more of the same modern designer décor as the reception. In here though, instead of flower arrangements, there are living plants. What looks like a fiddle leaf fig grows in one corner and a fern in another. And the pièce de résistance is a marble sculpture of Poseidon positioned beside the desk.
I smile at the piece and then my eyes fix on Theo. He’s sitting at the boardroom table in the centre of the room, and his eyes lift to mine in a way that sears my soul.
A smile lifts one side of his lips, a smile of curiosity.
A voice speaks out in the room, the kind of disembodied voice heard in teleconferences. I wonder who he’s talking to and how long he’ll be.
His eyes continue to hold mine for several seconds and then he turns back to the screen, speaking over whoever else is talking. ‘I only have a few minutes. Let’s wrap this up, shall we?’
Pleasure at my ability to command his attention shoots through me. I turn away from him briefly, returning to the door and clicking the lock into place. When I turn back to him, his eyes are resting on me so my tummy swoops. I walk slowly towards the table, making sure to keep myself behind his laptop, away from the camera.
I start with my hair. He loves my hair. Lifting my fingers to the pins that have it secured in a bun high on my head, I loosen them one by one, slowly, deliberately placing each pin on the boardroom table and eventually loosening my hair so it falls in wild, tumbling curls down my back before drawing it over one shoulder.
His eyes are locked to me.
Good.
‘We just need your sign-off on the plans before we can progress.’
Consternation
is clear on his face as he draws his gaze back to the screen. ‘I’m not going to sign off on them until they’re ready. The tests I’ve seen show half a dozen areas that don’t meet requirements.’
Flustered voices try to assuage his worries. It’s so like him to be able to throw a cat amongst the pigeons, so to speak, with a few short words.
I reach for my jacket next, removing it slowly, carefully, placing it over the back of the nearest chair. Then, one by one, I undo my buttons, deliberately moving slowly down the line of my chest until my silk blouse separates to reveal a simple lace bra.
A slight hiss escapes his lips.
I smile at him as I let the shirt fall down my arms, the rustle of silk against my skin only exacerbating my anticipation. His Adam’s apple jerks as he swallows. I unclasp my bra; his breathing grows heavy. I don’t push it off too quickly. Instead, I savour in the removal, sliding the straps down my arms, lifting my fingers to brush my nipples as I let the scrap of lace fall to the floor.
‘I need more details.’ He addresses the WebEx without taking his eyes off me.
I’m not smiling now. Holding his gaze, I reach for the zip of my skirt and glide it down my hip and then the fabric rustles to the floor, revealing my nakedness to his heated gaze. His cheeks are slashed with dark colour. Someone on the other side of the screen is talking in detail and I know it’s important or Theo would have disconnected the call already.
It gives me a rush of power to know I’m tormenting him. Stepping out of the skirt, I move slightly closer and then, at the edge of his desk, I cup my breasts first, letting my fingertips roll over my nipples, tweaking them slowly, imagining my fingers are his fingers, remembering all the ways he touches me there, all the ways he drives me crazy. One hand moves lower, drawing invisible circles over my flat stomach until I reach my sex.
His eyes widen and I hear a muttered curse. It silences everyone, even the people speaking.
‘Look—’ he stares at the screen, then at me, and there is a helplessness in his eyes that does something funny to my insides because Theo Hart is never helpless ‘—get me more details and we’ll speak tomorrow.’
Burn My Hart Page 8
