by Monodee, Zee
She looked down and started to move past him. A big hand snaked out and pulled her to him.
“Night’s far from over,” he added in a hushed tone.
Then he claimed her mouth, and all her resistance, resolution, and good sense evaporated under the scorching touch of his lips. She traced a hand up the bulging muscles of his upper arm, across a broad shoulder, along his neck, then tangled her fingers in his thick hair. With her palm pressed against the nape of his neck, she kept him in place while she returned every swipe of his lips, every stroke of his tongue, every nip of his teeth. Fire blazed hot and strong inside her, and she moaned against his mouth.
The night had a few more hours. She could still have him, one more time. One last time…
Without releasing her, he snaked his free arm under her knees and lifted her to carry her back into the bedroom. The sounds of the storm outside—the rattle of the windows, the crash of the rain, the whistle of the wind in the trees—blanketed them inside a cocoon where the violence and the intensity of their feelings and their need warred with the cyclone.
He made short work of undressing her—she helped him along. Then they were naked, skin-to-skin, hot, sweaty, and delirious with want.
If she had him, would she ever get enough of this man? Not likely.
But she didn’t. She had no more than a few hours.
He sat on the edge of the bed, drew her down onto his lap. Breaking their kiss, he reached onto the bedside table for yet another condom, rolled the thin latex protection onto his hard cock. Then he scooted toward the headboard, propped himself against it, and pulled her on top.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he entered her in their sitting position. Her torso lay flush against his, not an inch of distance between them. They found each other’s mouths and kissed. He stroked his tongue inside her mouth, in the same rhythm he coaxed his erect member in her.
Simmi gave herself up to him taking her. She suspended all thoughts from her mind, anything but the feeling of being in his arms, of having him make her his with so much passion, need, and tenderness.
This time when ecstasy came, she stifled the cry of pleasure against his shoulder. He pressed his face against the side of her head, and with his mouth right next to her ear, she heard every nuance of his groan when his orgasm rocked him.
Spent, she sagged against him. He brought those steel band arms around her and cradled her, ever so gentle, against his huge body.
“Don’t leave,” he murmured.
I can’t. I don’t want to. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.”
He eased himself down on the bed and tucked her against him.
When sleep found them a few minutes later, Simmi abandoned herself to its feathered fingers and sighed.
A few more stolen moments, before she had to go…
***
The telephone rang, shattered through the blanket quiet inside the bedroom.
Simmi stirred, while next to her, she felt him move to reach for the receiver on the bedside table.
“Yes?” he mumbled.
Against her, his whole body grew tense, and she dared to look up. Fury masked his features. Even in the pale glow of a cloudy morning, she could see the stark emotion on his face.
She grew afraid and retreated from his embrace. “Wha…what is it?”
He clamped his jaw, mouth drawn into a thin slash. “That was the concierge. He said to inform you the cyclone warnings have been lifted, and a car is waiting for you at reception, as you requested during your last call.”
Cold, like a bucket of icy water thrown over her, engulfed her.
Get a grip, girl. She embodied the Ice Dragon at work. Men twice her age cowered in their shoes when she sat across from them at a boardroom table. Surely she could deal with one single man, even if he fired her blood, held her heart, and soothed her soul.
“This is what we signed up for. You know that.” She threw the sheet off, scooted to the edge of the mattress. But before she could get up, he lunged for her and wrapped one hand around her wrist.
“You won’t even tell me your name?” he asked.
“Trust me. It’s better if you don’t know.”
Better for me—at least that way, she could hold on to the remembrance of their time together. Even if she never graced another man’s bed, she would live with the memory of their night, know that once, her life had been perfect.
Because he hadn’t known her, and she him, they came together and worked magic that had been unhindered, uncolored by previous perceptions and ideas.
“Why?” he asked.
She trained her eyes on him, to drink her fill of his beautiful face. Not a hard task, to make her mind commit every square inch of him to memory. He would always burn bright and alive inside her. She’d cherish that thought, fall back onto it whenever her life made her that reefed island again.
“I want you to remember one thing about me,” she said.
He sat up straight but didn’t let go of her wrist.
“For the first time in my life, I’ve been me, and nothing else. Thank you for letting me experience that.”
The doorbell chimed.
Without a word, he released her. Agony tore through her heart with thick, blunt claws when she saw how his face grew shuttered. He knew she would leave—what she gave him as explanation would never be enough, but that’s all she could afford.
She got up and dressed with her back to him. She didn’t dare turn, afraid she’d cry or even run to him and beg him to never let her go.
Her shoes were in the living room, and she slid her feet into them, didn’t bother to tie the straps around her ankles. The faster she got out of that villa, away from him, the better. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold onto the calm façade and not break down.
When the doorbell chimed again, she rushed to it with shuffling feet. She opened the door to find the same driver from the night before. He tipped his hat, told her he’d been sent to take her back to reception.
She nodded in greeting, not trusting herself to speak, and had one foot lifted forward when the front door banged shut in front of her.
“I don’t want you to leave, Simmi.”
Her lover stood next to her dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. In the narrow entrance foyer, he sucked in all the air around her, reduced her surroundings to his presence.
And, did she hear right? He’d used her name?
“Wha…what did you say?”
“You heard me.”
She blinked. “No. What did you call me?”
“Simmi.”
A gasp tore from her lips. “I…I never told you my name.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who you are. Simmi Moyer, Vice-President, Legal Affairs of Dunmore Group of Companies.”
She took a step back and bumped against the door panel. He’d known all along? “How?” Had Madame Evangeline divulged her identity? The woman had assured her no names would be exchanged unless the two parties decided to do so.
“My name is Lars Rutherford, and—”
A fist slammed into her stomach. “—you’re the regional director of Elriksen Shipping,” she finished for him.
“If you’d let me tell you, you’d have found out I knew all along who you are. But you refused to tell me your name, or anything about you. Why?”
“Because…” I was afraid. Afraid he’d play her, or treat her like all the men she’d gotten embroiled with so far in her life.
He moved forward until his broad chest stood inches from her. Lars Rutherford, the thirty-five-year-old, half-British, half-Swedish director of one of her company’s partners—a man she hadn’t had a chance to meet yet—brought one hand up and cradled her jaw.
The same feeling of security as before drifted through her. Whether she knew his identity or he knew her identity, what existed between them had burned bright when they were just two strangers and still blazed strong despite the disclos
ure.
And if that meant what she thought it meant… She pulled in a deep breath.
He’d known all along who she was. The way he’d treated her, soothed her, made love to her—that had all been for her, Simmi. Not a nameless woman in his bed. He’d cared, and what about now?
She had to pick up her courage and figure this out.
“If I don’t leave,” she started, and watched the way he focused on her face, “that means I stay here.” She paused, gulped, and ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. “Is that what you want?”
His hand still lay on her jaw; with the pad of his thumb, he stroked her cheek with a gentle caress. “I want you, Simmi,” he said, “and not just for one night.”
She closed her eyes. “Do you mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t. I’m not promising forever—”
She shushed him with one hand on his mouth. “I’m not asking for forever.”
Lars brought his other hand up and clasped her fingers, which he pressed to his chin. “Then let the rest of that ‘not forever’ start now.”
She smiled and pressed a kiss against the palm of his hand. “You’re wrong. Our time together started last night.”
Once upon a stormy night…
~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~
Stories about love, life, relationships…in a melting-pot of culture
Zee is an author who grew up on a fence – on one side there was modernity and the global world, on the other there was culture and traditions. Putting up with the culture for half of her life, one day she decided she'd stand tall on her wall and dip toes every now and then into both sides of her non-conventional upbringing.
From this resolution spanned a world of adaptation and learning to live on said wall. The realization also came that many other young women of the world were on their own fence.
This particular position became her favorite when she decided to pursue her lifelong dream of writing – her heroines all sit 'on a fence', whether cultural or societal, in today's world or in times past, and face dilemmas about life and love.
Hailing from the multicultural island of Mauritius, Zee is a degree holder in Communications Science. She is married, mum to a tween son, & stepmum to a teenage lad.
You can visit Zee at:
http://zeemonodee.blogspot.com/
Almost Perfect by Jenna Jaxon
Pamela Kimball’s birthday present, a 1Night Stand adventure, promises to jump start her life, put a new man in her bed, and help her forget her past. Unfortunately, movie-buff Pam’s Pirates of the Caribbean fantasy takes an alarming wrong turn when she’s abandoned on a not quite deserted island—with ex-husband Roger Ware.
Forced by hunger to accept Roger’s offer of dinner, Pam realizes the geek she married has transformed into one of the most charming, sexiest men she’s ever met. His newfound confidence—and hot body—re-kindles old fires. A simple kiss leads Roger to challenge her to discover how much his lovemaking skills have improved, leaving Pam torn between self-preservation and burning desire.
With time running out before they’re rescued, Pam must decide if her heart can survive the consequences of becoming Roger’s “almost” perfect 1Night Stand.
A Hard Day's Knight by Cate Masters
Some days, it’s best to lay low. Lance Knight finds out the hard way – when he encounters his longtime foe, witch Morgan le Fay, at Medieval Merriment. Her curse kept him wandering the world for centuries. When he also meets Gwyn McCartney there through a 1NS date, he’s struck by her resemblance to his true love, Guinevere. It gives him hope for the first time in centuries. First, he must face Morgan to break the curse, and he has only one hope: his sword, forged in the fires with Excalibur and imbued with magical powers by Merlin.
Gwyn McCartney’s had it with dating. Her friend’s setup through 1NS with Lance Knight irritates her, especially when Lance acts bored at Medieval Merriment – her employer and greatest fantasy. When a wench threatens Lance – a witch, he says – her fantasy world seems all too real. After Lance kisses her, she knows she has to battle Morgan le Fay. Can she free him, or will she lose him forever to the witch’s curse?
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
