by Abby Green
He grimaced slightly. ‘Don’t be.’
He let her go again to pull down his trousers, letting them drop to the floor. He stepped out of them and said, ‘I want to see you.’
She bit her lip again for a moment and then brought her hands to her shirt, peeling it off slowly until it fell to the ground. Her breasts were still bared, and erotically upthrust by the underwired frame of her bra. Zac marvelled that he’d seen far more debauched states of undress on women, but this was possibly the most sensual thing he’d ever experienced.
She brought her hands behind her and undid her bra, and it too fell to the ground. Her high, perfectly formed breasts were now bared completely to his ravenous gaze. A small, hard, pink nipple topped each one. The darker pink of her areolae was puckered. His mouth watered. He wanted to taste them again.
She brought her arms up to cover herself. Gently he pulled them down.
‘You are beautiful.’
‘No one’s ever seen me like this before.’
Blood thrummed in Zac’s body at this further confirmation that he was the first man who would know her intimately. He ignored the tiny dim cynical voice that mocked him for being so easily entranced. He was losing it.
‘Thank you for trusting me.’
Something flashed in her eyes then, but it was gone so quickly he thought he must have imagined it. Because it had almost looked like guilt. And why would she be guilty?
Rose undid her skirt and pushed it over her hips, and then she was standing in front of him in nothing but sensible white underwear—which, again, seemed to Zac to be the height of eroticism after years of seeing women parade in front of him in all sorts of complicated diaphanous concoctions.
Words and thoughts fused into white heat. She was all long, slim limbs and pale skin. Delicate curves. High waist. Freckles dusting her upper arms and her chest.
Curbing the beast inside him, Zac took her hand and led her over to the bed. ‘Lie down, sweetheart.’ The endearment tripped easily off his tongue, when he was usually much more circumspect. But he hardly noticed.
She sat on the bed and scooted back, her breasts bouncing with her movement. Zac yanked down his underwear and kicked it off, watching how Rose stopped, her eyes fixated on him. He brought a hand to himself, as if that might calm the heat a little, but her eyes widened and he could feel a drop of moisture dewing the head of his erection.
He reached for the protection he kept in a drawer nearby. He’d never had to have it ready like this before. Almost as if he might forget. Rose tracked his movements as she sat on her hands on the bed, legs tightly together, drawn up.
‘Lie back.’
Slowly she lay down, eyes still on him, hair around her head like a cloud of red-gold. He came down alongside her on the massive bed, very aware of how dark his skin was next to hers.
He put a hand on her belly, stretched it out, almost encompassing all of it with the span. Her muscles jerked against him.
‘I’m going to make this good for you...but it might hurt a little at first. Just trust me, okay?’
She nodded jerkily. He dipped his head and kissed her, long and luxuriously, drawing her as close to his body as he could without exploding. She was soft and silky, but quivering like a taut bow under his touch.
She gave herself to him with sweetly innocent abandon, but then suddenly drew back, going tense. She looked over his shoulder at the huge windows in his room. ‘Won’t people be able to see in?’
Zac recalled how one of his previous lovers had specifically wanted him to make love to her up against the glass, for that very reason. It left a bitter taste in his mouth now.
‘No, it’s specially tinted glass...’
‘Oh...okay.’
She relaxed against him again and Zac smoothed a hand down from her neck to her breast, cupping it and squeezing the firm flesh, seeing how her nipple protruded like a sharp berry. Her breathing quickened—an untutored and totally sexy response. Zac prided himself on being a good lover, but right now he felt as if everything he knew was unravelling.
He bent and put his mouth to Rose’s sweet offering, lights exploding behind his eyes as he ran his tongue over her tight flesh and then sucked it into his mouth. He could feast on her breasts for days, he thought, his erection growing even harder at the sounds of her soft, breathy moans and the way her hands found his head and her fingers tightened in his hair.
He slid the hand on her belly down to where her legs were pressed tight together. Gently he encouraged her to relax them, and she opened up. The musky smell of her arousal hit his nostrils and he had to lift his head for a second to clear it.
Her hands were still in his hair and she was looking up at him, flushed and dazed, green eyes huge. Mouth plump and pink. The tips of her breasts wet from his mouth.
His penis twitched at her look and he knew he couldn’t hold on for much longer. He explored through the soft curls that hid the seam of her body and he almost groaned aloud when he felt how plumped and wet she was. Ready for him again.
He looked down as he efficiently pulled off her underwear. Soft golden curls hid her sex, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to taste her. He moved down the bed and hooked her legs over his shoulders.
She lifted her head, eyes wide. ‘Zac...?’
He just said, ‘Shh, lie back.’
She did, and he pressed kisses to her soft inner thighs before exploring her more intimately. Her smell was more intoxicating than the most expensive perfume in the world. He licked his way through her secret folds and thrust his tongue into that tight channel.
Her hands were on his head, fingers digging in painfully, but not even that could distract him. He was getting drunk on her, flicking her clitoris, then thrusting deep again, fighting the urge to grind his hips to the bed and find his own relief.
She was pushing her body at him now and he reached up a hand to cup her breast, squeezing it hard just as she came—her body convulsing as powerfully as it had before.
A fractured thought occurred to him that he could never lose his hunger for this woman and her swift responses, but it was drowned out by his need to bury himself inside her or go mad.
He reared up to see a dreamy smile on her face. Perspiration sheened her skin, making it even more luminous.
Sheathing himself with the protection, Zac positioned himself between her legs. ‘Ready?’ He sounded coarse, guttural. Desperate.
She nodded, still looking a little drugged. He slid in carefully, just the head breaching her body first. She was still slick, but tight.
Her hands came to his arms, holding tight. ‘I’m okay...keep going.’
Zac reached under her body and shifted her slightly, coming up on his knees, widening her thighs even further. She gasped as he slid in a little more. He wrapped her legs around his hips.
He bent over her and put his mouth on hers, sucking her tongue deep, and then he thrust again...hard. He swallowed her gasp and met it with a rough gasp of his own. He was embedded deep in her hot, tight embrace.
He drew back. She was panting, nails digging into his muscles. His insides curdled when he saw how pale she was. ‘Are you okay?’
She took a minute and then nodded. ‘I...I think so.’
Zac reached down between them and found her sensitised bud. He massaged her gently, feeling a quiver of reaction along his length. He gritted his jaw, trying to stay in control of his bodily functions when all he wanted to do was pull out and thrust back in so hard and deep he’d see stars for a week.
He moved slowly, inexorably, out and then in again, feeling Rose’s body relax its tighter-than-tight grip. Testosterone flooded him at the thought that he was the first man to experience this with her.
His arms wrapped tight around her as his powerful body struck up a rhythm, moving in and out. Any last vestiges
And then, when her hips started to circle in small movements, he couldn’t hold on. He thrust deep and long inside her, and somehow—miraculously—felt the telltale contractions of her own climax squeezing him just before he tipped over into a place of extreme pleasure so intense that he was aware of nothing for long moments but the frantic beating of his heart.
When he finally floated back to earth he realised he was crushing Rose into the bed, his body heavy on hers. His head was locked into the space between her neck and shoulder. Little weak pulsations rippled along his length every few seconds. His body responded. He raised his head to look down incredulously. Sex had never had this effect on him before.
Rose’s head was turned to the side; her eyes were closed. She was no longer holding his arms and something cold gripped him, dousing his desire. He pulled free of her body and saw her wince slightly.
He’d felt her body react—he’d been sure she’d been okay... But had he taken his pleasure with no regard for her well-being? He moved down beside her and saw her legs close together—saw also the telltale sign of blood on his sheets. He felt as if someone had just punched him in the gut.
He pulled up a sheet, covering her body. His voice sounded unbearably rough to his ears. ‘Rose...are you okay? Did I hurt you?’
* * *
Rose knew she couldn’t avoid Zac’s question forever. She could feel the weight of his gaze almost as tangibly as she’d felt the weight of his body. Deliciously. Surrounding her with his musky heat and hard muscles. Until a few moments ago he’d been inside her, a heavy thick weight. Still hard.
Slowly she turned to face him and saw his eyes widen with shock as he reared back.
‘You’re crying. I hurt you—but I thought—’
She hadn’t even realised till then that she was crying, but she shook her head and wiped at a tear, feeling raw and exposed. ‘No...’ When she saw the blatant disbelief on his face and the start of something like self-recrimination, she came up on one arm, the sheet slipping down. ‘No. You didn’t hurt me.’ Her voice felt rough. Different.
He shook his head. ‘Then...?’
Rose had never been so comprehensively laid bare, so she said honestly, ‘I never knew it could be like that. It was...beautiful.’
She winced inwardly. ‘Beautiful’ was an ineffectual word for what had just happened. It had been brutal, searing...pain and pleasure all bound up in pure sensation and incandescence. And pleasure like she’d never known. Too much, surely?
Zac reached out and touched her jaw as if she might break. ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded, turning her face into his hand, breathing him in deep. She looked back. ‘At first...when you...’ She blushed, stupidly. ‘It hurt. But it didn’t last...it became something else.’
Zac came down on his back and pulled Rose with him so she half fell across his chest, hair tumbling around her shoulders, breasts pressed against him. She thought of his mouth between her legs and blushed all over again.
He touched her burning cheek and half smiled, ‘What are you thinking of?’
She ducked her head, embarrassed by how hungry she was for him again—already. In spite of tender muscles. ‘Nothing.’
‘Liar,’ he said. and she could hear the smile in his voice.
Her gut curdled. The truth was that this whole evening was a lie. But at least he used protection, she thought with relief, recalling all too easily how those big hands had deftly rolled the latex over his impressive erection.
And then Zac was pressing her closer and saying, ‘Rest now.’
She knew that this was it—her time was up and she should leave—but her body was so full and heavy with a delicious afterglow that she just...clung to the dream for a little longer and slept.
CHAPTER FIVE
WHEN ZAC WOKE up his body felt uncharacteristically heavy, and yet lighter than it had ever felt. He frowned, his eyes still closed. It was such an unusual sensation. He was aware that his penis also felt heavy, yet sated. His whole body ached in a way he’d never experienced before.
A vague thought occurred to him: was he sick?
And then a very distinctive feminine scent caught at his nostrils and he was suddenly wide awake. He opened his eyes. He wasn’t sick. Rose. Sweet Rose...opening up to him with such abandon. And just like that his body was no longer heavy—it was waking up. Stirring.
A kaleidoscope of images crashed through his brain—firm breasts topped by small sharp nipples, pale slim thighs parting for him. His tongue tasting her sweet essence, feeling her muscles tighten around him, rose-gold hair, green eyes... Sliding into tight, slick heat...so tight he’d thought he might die.
Virgin. His.
He lifted his head and looked around his room, aware of the morning sun streaming in the windows. He never normally slept much beyond dawn, so this was disconcerting.
The bed beside him was empty, but the sheets were crumpled and her scent lingered. He hadn’t dreamed it. But then, disconcertingly, slivers of a dream came back to him: her bottom tucked into the cradle of his body, her turning, lifting her face, angling herself so that he slipped between her legs...
He’d notched himself inside her, hearing her gasp... There were snippets and fragments of hushed whispers... ‘Are you too sore?’
She’d shaken her head, eyes glittering green. ‘No, keep going...’
And so Zac had, thrusting harder and deeper, one hand clamped around her breast, his other hand finding the juncture between her legs, close to where he surged in and out, touching her there and coming apart as she’d milked him so powerfully he’d stopped breathing...
Zac frowned. He hadn’t used protection in the dream, and he would never not use protection, so it couldn’t have been real. Even so, the back of his neck prickled... It felt as if it had been real.
And where was she now? He got up and pulled on some old sweats and went through his apartment after checking the bathroom. There was no sign of the woman who had spent the night in his bed. Or any indication that she’d used the bathroom.
The thought of her somewhere...with his scent on her body and the markings of their lovemaking on her pale skin...was enough to make his body go hard in an instant. Zac scowled. Where the hell was she?
But the apartment was empty. Silent. She was gone. Again. He felt deflated. A novel sensation for a man who usually left women in his wake. That prickling sensation was back. His apartment looked untouched... Hell, was he so desperate for a connection that felt real that he’d dreamt it all up? Had some crazy erotic fantasy?
But his gut told him that it had been real. His body was too heavy with sensual satisfaction for it to have been a mere erotic dream. Still...he doubted himself. He padded back through to the bedroom, not even sure what he was looking for until he saw it: the unmistakable mark of her blood on his sheets.
So it had been real. She was real.
He turned to face his windows. He didn’t like it that she kept running away. It made him feel off-balance, exposed somehow...as if she knew something he didn’t. As if he’d been caught out.
Zac looked out over the city, glinting in the early-morning sunlight. She was out there somewhere. He would find her... He would be successful this time. And then he would see that she was not some ethereal, mysterious creature who’d scrambled his brain to pieces—twice. And he would get her out of his system, like every other woman he slept with.
Because women like Rose Murphy didn’t really exist. They just didn’t.
* * *
In spite of Zac’s best efforts he didn’t find her. Not a week after she’d left, or a month, nor two months. It had now been four months since he’d had her in his bed and his body still burned for her. Only her. All other women left him cold.
It was exposing, infuriating and it reminded him uncomfortably of the repercussions of the passion that had burnt between his parents, which had ultimately led to their destruction and a life of secrets and lies for him, growing up in a gilded prison with two severe and unloving caretakers.
A knock sounded on his office door, and he turned from where he was looking out over the downtown Manhattan view with a brooding glower. ‘Yes?’
His executive assistant came in, looking grim. ‘We’ve got her, Zac. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.’
The feelings jostling for space in Zac’s chest were nearly overpowered by the surge of heat in his blood. And then he frowned. ‘What do you mean, I’m not going to like it?’
The younger man put one of New York’s most popular newspapers down on Zac’s desk, face up. A screaming headline proclaimed: Real-life Maid in Manhattan scores the Lyndon-Holt jackpot with pregnancy!
And underneath the headline was a picture of Rose... O’Malley, not Murphy...looking wild-eyed and hunted. Hair scraped back.
He assessed the situation in an instant as an icy weight slammed into his gut. One word exploded in his head: Fool. Fool. Fool.
He was right to have believed women like her didn’t exist—because clearly they didn’t. He skim-read the article, taking in the fact that she’d worked for his grandmother as a maid in his family home. Something dark lodged in his gut. He should have recognised his grandmother’s handiwork. She had not been without the help of a willing accomplice, though...
The darkness spread like a seeping poison into the blood in his veins. He didn’t look up from the paper. He was afraid to move in case he exploded into pieces. He just said, with a quiet, controlled tone that belied his growing rage, ‘Find her and bring her to me. Now.’
* * *
Rose sat in the back of the chauffeur-driven car as they crossed the bridge onto the island of Manhattan. It wasn’t as if she’d had a choice when that scarily taciturn man had turned up at her place of work and said, ‘I’m here to take you to Mr Valenti.’
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