One Hot Winter's Night

by Woods, Serenity

  He looked puzzled. “What what’s like?”

  “Last time was wonderful,” she admitted, “it was slow and gentle and tender, but I want to know how it feels to…” She couldn’t think how to put it in words. All she knew was that she wanted him, needed him, and she wanted it like she’d seen in the movies, hot and rough and fast.

  As he looked deep into her eyes, she could see he finally understood what she wanted—not love and affection, but pure physical desire and arousal. Maybe he understood that she wanted to keep him at arm’s length—make it all about the body instead of the emotions. If so, he didn’t seem too concerned about it.

  “Fair enough,” he said, and he slid back and thrust hard inside her.

  She exclaimed and clutched hold of him. He began to set a punishing pace, thrusting fast, although he watched her carefully as if making sure he wasn’t hurting her.

  It wasn’t hurting. It was bliss. The sensation of him sliding inside her was incredible, plus as he slid forward, his pubic hair brushed against her, arousing her to the point of no return. She’d never imagined it could be like this, so sexy and sensual and animal. He was so manly, so…strong and determined. Even though she’d practically forced him to take her quickly, now he seemed utterly in charge of her, and she sensed he was holding in his own climax as he waited for her.

  He didn’t have long to wait. It was less than thirty seconds before they both came, her first, him a close second, both of them beginning to laugh even before their muscles had stopped pulsing and their breathing had slowed.

  “Jesus Christ.” He put his head on her shoulder. “This must be what it feels like to be a Porsche Carrera.”

  “What?”

  “Nought to sixty in three and a half seconds.”

  She giggled, unable to believe how quickly they’d done it.

  He lifted his head, amused. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked up at the ceiling, closing her eyes, mortified. What must he think of her?

  She peeked at him. His eyes were very warm and tender, and he touched her face gently, brushing back a lock of hair. “Sweetheart, don’t ever apologize for making me feel like that.”

  “I’m embarrassed. My hormones took over.”

  “So I noticed.” Smiling, still inside her, he kissed her, soft and slow. “I didn’t hurt you?”

  “No, of course not.” She meant it. She couldn’t ever imagine him hurting her. The thought filled her with warmth, although with it came a touch of caution. He was just a nice guy—he would be tender with all the women he went with. She was nothing special.

  He kissed her again, longer this time. How could her heart start pounding all over again when they’d only just finished?

  When he finally lifted his head, a hint of mischievousness showed back in his eyes. “Next time, it’s my turn to dictate the pace.”

  “Um… Next time?” She hadn’t been sure he was serious about the whole night thing he’d joked about.

  He withdrew from her, disposed of the condom, tucked himself back into his boxers and fastened his trousers. He indicated the box lying next to her. “I’ve still got eleven condoms left. Don’t need them for…” He paused, thinking of a suitable phrase.

  “A flute solo?”

  He laughed and turned as someone knocked at the door. Still laughing, he went over and opened it.

  Heath’s smile faded. Alexander stood there, frowning, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “I’m sorry to bother you Dr Roberts,” said the older man.

  “Heath, please.” He stepped outside the room and pulled the door almost closed behind him. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to have a quick word with you about Cat.”

  Heath was suddenly very conscious he’d just had sex. Alexander could probably smell her all over him. He began to button up his shirt, resisting the urge to check his flies, sure he’d already zipped them up. “Oh?”

  “Yes. I just wanted to say she appears strong and in control, but she’s not. She’s so vulnerable, she’ll be easily hurt, and if she were to be, she would find it very hard to pick herself up again.”

  Heath finished his buttons and stuck his hands in his pockets. “We’ve been through this already.”

  “You said you have no intention of hurting her. But you can’t be sure of that.”

  “Yes I can.”

  “How?” Alexander’s eyes had narrowed.

  Heath shrugged. “From what I understand, when you marry someone it’s ’till death do us part.” He kept his voice low.

  Alexander’s face was a picture. He blinked as if Heath had said he wanted to take Cat back to Mars with him. “Marry?” he whispered furiously.

  Heath met his gaze and held it. “Sorry, did I not mention that I’m going to ask her to be my wife? Not yet, obviously. But I will. At some point.”

  Alexander’s face turned thunderous. “I think there’s something I need to make very clear to you.”

  Cat finished running her fingers through her hair and tried to zip up the back of her dress, but couldn’t quite get the zipper to the top. How had she done it earlier? Struggling, she walked over to the door in time to hear Alexander threaten Heath. Her eyes widened and, without thinking, she opened the door and went out into the corridor.

  Heath’s gaze slid over to her. He’d buttoned up his shirt but clearly didn’t know his flies were undone. She gestured at them just before Alexander turned around and saw her.

  Alexander stared at her. His gaze ran down her, from her bare feet to her ruffled hair and lipstick-free lips, as well as the more obvious sign that she was clutching the bodice of her dress to her. He slowly looked back at Heath, who—flies now closed—just grinned.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded, determined not to be embarrassed. She’d done nothing wrong. This wasn’t Alexander’s business.

  Heath looked at Alexander, obviously daring him to say something. The older man met his gaze, his face scarlet with rage. When he spoke, however, he kept his voice low. “Cat is coming with me, now.”

  Heath didn’t react to the anger Alexander was radiating. If anything, he appeared even more relaxed and leant casually against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “I kind of think that’s up to Catherine, don’t you?”

  Alexander walked up to him until he’d almost pressed his nose against Heath’s. “Nobody calls her that,” he snarled.

  Heath didn’t move. He just looked mildly amused. “I do.”

  Cat’s heart pounded, her feet frozen to the floor. Alexander breathed heavily. “You know nothing about her,” he spat. “You think because you’ve taken advantage of a young, vulnerable woman, you’re suddenly the expert on her life?”

  “Hey.” She finally found her voice. “Alex, if anybody took advantage here, it was me. Heath didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t want done.”

  Alexander spun around to face her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Have you forgotten this is the Silver Fox? The man you’ve spent the past few months cursing with every swear word you can think of?”

  “No.” She kept a tight control on her own anger. “But what I do in my private life isn’t any of your business. I know you’re worried about me, but you can’t wrap me in cotton wool forever. I’m a big girl now.”

  He looked upset, and her stomach gave a strange flip. “Don’t do this—it really isn’t worth it. Heath and I…” she glanced over at him. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

  Behind Alexander’s back, Heath held up his hands, showing her ten fingers, then a further one, and mouthed Eleven. It was such an irreverent thing to do at such a tense moment, it threw her. She glared at him, but had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing as she forced her gaze back to Alexander, who was still frowning. Heath’s impertinence had nevertheless reminded her she was her own woman who should make her own choices. She trusted Alexander, but she shouldn’t always let herself be influenced him. What did she want
to do?

  Of course, she knew immediately. Heath’s ruffled silver hair, hastily buttoned shirt hanging over his pants and black tie still dangling around his neck were irresistible. She reached out and touched Alexander’s arm. “It’s only sex, Alex. It’s not like we’re engaged or anything.”

  Alexander glanced at Heath, who met his gaze evenly. The two of them stared at each other, and she got the impression there was a battle of wits going on, a bit like a duel, their minds as sharp as the blades once used in this situation. Eventually, the older man sighed. “Just…be careful.”

  Heath grinned. “It’s okay, we’re using protection.” Casting a last, amused look at Alexander’s stunned face, he caught Cat’s hand, backing away and leading her inside the room.

  The laugh bubbled up inside her, in spite of her attempt to quell it. She caught hold of the doorpost, bringing Heath to a stop, and peered around at Alexander. “Please don’t worry. He’s a nice guy.” She wanted to say more, but Heath’s tugging on her hand was insistent, and she went in, letting the door close behind her.

  Heath pulled her into his arms. His eyes gleamed, and she started giggling. “That was so wicked.”

  “I couldn’t resist it, sorry.” He looked down at her. “So, I’m a nice guy now? You must be warming to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You called me a bastard in Sweden. You said ‘you’re gorgeous, bastard’.”

  “Ah, I didn’t realise you’d heard that.”

  “I thought I’d misheard, until I woke up and found you gone.”

  “I was talking to the Silver Fox at the time.” She shrugged. “You’re okay.”

  “You know we’re one and the same, right? Like Superman and Clark Kent?”

  “Nuh-uh.” She shook her head and moved away from him. “Thinking of you as two separate people is the only thing getting me through this.”

  His words gave her pause, though. Alexander had been right to remind her exactly who she was sleeping with. It had been fun, but that’s all it was, and the sooner she extricated herself from this situation, the better it would be all round.

  But then he smiled at her, and her heart melted. In the bedroom, he wasn’t the Silver Fox, he was just Heath, tall and gorgeous and sexy. But she knew she shouldn’t forget his alter ego.

  She walked further into the room, crossing her arms over the bodice that still gaped slightly, and stood in the centre, wondering what to do. Her instincts told her to fly, but her heart told her to stay.

  Heath walked over to the fridge, took out a bottle of wine, and poured a glass. He held it out to her. “One for the road?”

  She swallowed. “Alex was right. You don’t know anything about me.”

  He shrugged and walked closer to her, holding out the glass of wine. “So tell me.”

  Chapter 13

  She hesitated, wary. But his eyes were gentle, his smile genuine. Sighing, she took the wine.

  He went over to the bed and sat, leaned against the pillows and stretched out his legs. Then he tapped the mattress next to him. “Come and sit down.”

  She curled up on the bed beside him, feeling shy. “What do you want to know?”

  He sipped his wine. “Whose ring is it you normally wear?”

  She bit her lip. “It belonged to Alex’s wife, Melissa.”

  “Ah. She passed away?”

  “Yes. Two years ago. Cancer.” It had been a difficult time for them both, and she didn’t particularly want to talk about the traumatic end.

  Luckily he must have picked up on that, because he didn’t push her. “Are you related to them?” he asked instead.

  “No.”

  “So how do you know them?”

  She studied her fingernails. She’d never spoken about this to anyone before.

  But his eyes were gentle, and something in her wanted to confide. “I…saved her life once.”

  His eyes widened. “Well, quite clearly I want to know more about that.”

  Did she really want to relive it all again? Part of her panicked at the thought of raking up old emotions. But it had happened so long ago, she reminded herself, trying to keep calm. The events had no power over her now—Alex had told her this repeatedly.

  She gave in. “They were going to the opera and were attacked by a mugger. I just happened to be nearby.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “Like that’s the whole story. Come on, spit it out. How did you stop the mugger?”

  “I used his knife on him.”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “I know a few moves.” Although she was proud of her self-defence skills, she didn’t particularly want to demonstrate them on him.

  He heaved a sigh, obviously frustrated at her lack of detail. “What were you doing there? Were you going to the opera too?”

  She laughed. “No, not quite.”

  He waited, one eyebrow raised. Clearly he was going to wait until she said something.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I was homeless at the time.”

  His smile faded. “Homeless?”

  “Yes. I ran away from home when I was fifteen. I went to London and lived on the streets for two years. By pure chance I was outside the opera house when Alex and Melissa were attacked. I knocked the mugger’s knife out of his hand and threatened him with it, and he ran off. Melissa asked me to come back with them to their house. I wasn’t going to, but I hadn’t eaten properly for weeks. They took me in, gave me a meal and a shower, and let me sleep the night on the sofa. And I never left.” She related it all as matter-of-factly as she could, as if it had happened to someone else.

  “Fucking hell…” For once, he seemed speechless. She let him stare at her as she sipped her wine, trying to calm her pounding heart. Eventually he found his tongue. “So your love of archaeology came from Alex?”

  “Yes. He worked for the British Museum, and he used to take me there and show me around.” She couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on her face when she recalled those early trips to the museum. She’d been fascinated from the moment they walked into the building, and Alex had quickly realised what a promising student she was. “He knew about all the exhibits in detail. I fell in love with the place, and when he realised I enjoyed the subject, there was no stopping him—they couldn’t have kids, you see, so they sort of took me on as their own daughter. He put me through university and got me the job at the museum afterward. I owe him a lot. Well, everything, in fact. He’s like a father to me. More than my own father was, anyway.” She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice.

  Heath reached out and touched her hand. “I didn’t know he meant so much to you. I’m sorry I insulted him. I won’t do it again.”

  “Well, he can be over-protective, and he needs to understand I have my own life now. I feel sorry for him sometimes—he was devoted to Melissa, and he misses her very much.” Her throat tightened, and she sipped her wine to cover her emotion.

  “What about your real parents?” Heath kept his hand on hers. “Why did you run away?”

  That was a step too far. She didn’t want to discuss her birth parents.

  She finished her glass of wine and stood. “I should go.” Crossing her arms over the bodice of her dress, she turned to face him. He hadn’t moved and lay stretched out on the bed, studying her. His face was expressionless, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  She shouldn’t have told him her life history. Normally you couldn’t pry it open with a crowbar, but she’d seen the sympathy and gentleness in his eyes and hadn’t been able to stop.

  He got off the bed, came over to her and placed his warm hands on her arms. “Don’t go. No more questions, I promise.” He rubbed her arms, and she tingled all over.

  Still she hesitated, biting her lip. He took her hand. “Did you know you can see the pyramids from this side of the hotel?” He led her over to the window and pulled back the curtain. She stared, entranced, at the view of the three pyramids in the distance, lit up
by spotlights. He slipped his arm around her. “Beautiful.”

  “Yes,” she said, “they are.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the pyramids.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. He brushed her cheek with his fingers and slid his hand into her hair. She turned to face him and he kissed her, long and lingering. She put her arms around him, enjoying the slow play of his lips across hers, the warm brush of his tongue, his arms tight around her.

  Eventually he pulled back. “Do you promise if I visit the bathroom you won’t take the opportunity to escape?”

  She licked her lips. Her blood was beginning to race around her body at the desire in his eyes. Her heart thumped, and she knew she’d passed the point of leaving. “I promise. Those eleven condoms are calling out to me.”

  He laughed and kissed her cheek, then went into the bathroom.

  She sighed, picking up the remote and flicking the TV on, and found the music channel, smiling as one of her favourite ballads came on. Happiness flooded her. Well, what was not to like? She was in the middle of Cairo, in a room with a stunning view of the pyramids, she’d made the deal on the Bastet figurine, and the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on was about to screw her senseless. Hopefully.

  She shouldn’t have told Heath about her background, but she was kind of glad she had. The heavy weight that sat permanently on her chest had lifted a little. She finished off another glass of wine and put down the glass, letting the music wash over her. Oh, yes. Tonight was a good night.

  Heath stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, washing his hands. He glanced at his reflection, smiling as he saw his hair sticking up where she’d run her fingers through it. He dried his hands and smoothed the silvery strands down, hearing music coming from the other room. She’d put on the music channel. He walked over to the door.

  He opened it slowly, as quietly as he could, and leaned against the doorjamb, watching her. She was dancing, her dress still unzipped, her long blonde hair rumpled around her shoulders, facing the window, presumably looking at the pyramids. She moved sensually and smoothly, her hands linked on top of her head, her hips swaying. He caught his breath as desire surged through him, but he made himself stay still. She was like a deer in a forest, and he was afraid a sudden movement might frighten her away.