by Miranda Lee
Scarlet’s blood pressure began to rise. ‘For pity’s sake, let’s not go down that road, either!’
‘And what road is that, might I ask?’ he snapped.
‘The back-to-the-future childish road, where we fight all the time and end up spoiling what I came up here for. Trust me when I say I no longer wish to know the ins and out of your life story. I know I originally said I did but I’ve changed my mind on that score. I don’t give a damn where you’ve been all these years, what you’ve done or who you’ve slept with, safely or otherwise. I also don’t give a damn how bloody rich you are. All I care about is whether this works and we can actually make a baby!‘
She was still glaring at him several seconds later when the beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of his tightly pressed lips. Before long he was smiling broadly at her.
‘You always were good at tongue lashings.’
Scarlet refused to smile back at him. She was still way too angry. Instead, she took another gulp of wine. When it went straight to her head, she realised she really needed to eat something. And soon.
As if on cue, the buzzer to the apartment’s security system went off, indicating that someone required entry to the building. Hopefully, it was someone delivering the Thai food.
‘Saved by the bell,’ John quipped and stood up. ‘That should be dinner,’ he said as he walked to the front door where he flipped a switch on the wall console and asked who it was.
‘Dinner delivery for John Mitchell.’
‘I’ll come down and get it.’
Scarlet sat and worried a little about the future while he was downstairs, then decided she had to stop thinking. She drained her glass, then went out to the kitchen where she refilled from the opened wine bottle she found in the fridge door and returned to sit, sipping in silence, as she waited for John’s return.
He arrived with some delicious-smelling containers.
‘Let’s go eat this in the kitchen. Unless of course you want me to set the dining table?’ he added.
‘I don’t think we have time for that,’ Scarlet said when she stood up and the room spun round. ‘If I don’t eat something in the next five minutes, I’m going to become seriously tipsy.’
‘On one glass of wine?’
‘I refilled whilst you were downstairs.’
‘You drunkard, you!’
‘Stop mocking me and go serve up that food!’
‘Can you make it to the kitchen on your own or do you want me to carry you?’
She rolled her eyes at him. ‘I think I can make it that far alone.’
‘What a shame. I’ve always wanted to sweep you up into my arms.’
‘You liar, you!’
He sighed melodramatically. ‘Oh, Scarlet, whatever am I going to do with you?’
‘Hopefully, you’re going to feed me.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
JOHN was still sitting up in his bed, watching television, at eleven-fifteen. It was a deep-sea fishing documentary which would normally have interested him. But his mind kept wandering. The only reason he had the TV on was that he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about Scarlet.
He now regretted his decision to leave making love to Scarlet till tomorrow. His desire had deepened with each minute he spent with her. Even when she was being sassy or actively rude, he wanted her. Actually, the sassier she was, the more he wanted her. It was all rather perverse. He could not wait till the morning. Yet he would have to, he supposed. He could hardly barge into her bedroom at this late hour and demand she honour their deal, particularly when she was fast asleep. That would hardly endear him to her. Which would be a shame, considering they were getting along surprisingly well, despite the sarcastic repartee which they both seemed compelled to indulge in. But what the hell? He’d enjoyed it.
Unfortunately, the evening had ended shortly after the meal was over, with Scarlet claiming total exhaustion.
He’d listened to her in the shower as he’d cleaned up the kitchen, his mind bombarded with the image of her standing there naked whilst jets of hot water streamed over her shoulders and back. Before long the image had become a fully fledged sexual fantasy. In his head she’d turned around so that the water splashed over her face and threw her head back, arching her spine so that her breasts were thrust up towards the water, gasping when it beat against her erect nipples, her belly quivering with anticipation.
Because of course in this fantasy she hadn’t been alone. He’d been there in the shower, close behind her, watching and waiting. But not for long. Soon, she’d handed him a cake of soap and asked him to wash her. Which he had, oh so slowly, all over. It was deliciously decadent, the way she’d moaned. And the way she’d moved, parting her legs and inviting him in.
Unfortunately, she’d switched the shower off at that point, leaving him so damned frustrated that he could have screamed. He’d quickly headed for a shower himself, a cold one, where shards of icy water had lashed his overheated body till it was devoid of desire. But it was only a temporary solution. By the time he’d dried himself and climbed into bed shortly after eight-thirty, John had briefly contemplated doing something about the situation himself but abandoned that idea when he remembered that too much ejaculation lowered a man’s sperm count. After all, Scarlet was depending on him.
No, not him especially, John reminded himself when he found himself feeling smug over this idea. Just about anyone would do. No point in pretending you’re anything special to Scarlet.
It was perverse that this fact irked him. Male egos had a lot to answer for, John decided.
The sudden knock on his bedroom door had his heart almost jumping out of his chest. Which was ridiculous, for it could only be Scarlet.
‘Come in,’ he called out. ‘I’m still awake,’ he added somewhat unnecessarily. She could obviously see light under his door and hear the television on, otherwise she wouldn’t have knocked. For a split second, John indulged in a new fantasy, one where she hadn’t been able to sleep and had come to seduce him dressed in a provocative negligee.
It was a fantasy soon dashed when she opened the door and stood there in the most unprovocative nightwear he’d ever seen. Not that the pink polka-dotted shortie pyjamas she was wearing were unattractive. They were quite cute, but in the night light, with her face scrubbed clean of make-up and her hair up in a pony-tail, Scarlet looked as she’d looked when she’d been sixteen.
He’d found her indescribably sexy when she’d been sixteen. His own sixteen-year-old hormones had been raging. He’d been secretly dying to go to her sixteenth birthday party; had even planned to be nice to her. But an invitation had never arrived for him. She hadn’t wanted him then and she didn’t really want him now. He was just a means to an end.
‘Sorry to bother you, John,’ she said as she stood there, looking somewhat embarrassed. ‘But I’ve woken up with this most awful headache. I looked in all the cupboards in the bathroom and kitchen for some pain killers but couldn’t find any.’
‘Really? I thought I put some headache pills in the cupboard above the fridge.’
‘Oh, I didn’t look in that one. It was too high up.’
‘Never mind, I have some in my bathroom cupboard. I’ll just go get them for you.’
Scarlet stiffened when he threw back his bed covers, suddenly afraid that he was naked. He’d looked naked, sitting there, propped up against a mountain of pillows, his chest totally bare right down to his waistline. But he was actually wearing a pair of black satin boxer shorts, slung low on his hips.
‘What do you want?’ he threw over his shoulder as he padded across the rug towards the bathroom. ‘Paracetemol, or something stronger?’
‘Nothing with codeine in it,’ she replied. ‘That makes me feel sick.’
‘Paracetemol it is, then.’ He returned a minute later with two tablets in one hand and a glass of water in the other. ‘Drink all the water,’ he advised as he handed both over to her. ‘The flight and the alcohol have probably left you deh
ydrated.’
Scarlet did as she was told, gazing up at the television on the wall whilst she gulped down the water. It was better than ogling John, though he was well worth ogling. He really did have a great body-broad at the shoulder and slim at the hips, with a washboard stomach and just enough muscle in his arms and legs to look strongly masculine without being muscle bound. He wasn’t overly hairy either, but there was a nice sprinkling of dark curls in the middle of his tanned chest-a chest which Scarlet wouldn’t mind running her hands over. That was a startling thought for a girl who’d never taken the initiative in love-making in her entire life.
‘Thank you,’ she said when she handed the empty glass back to him. ‘Sorry to have bothered you.’
‘No bother. No, don’t go,’ he said abruptly when she turned to leave. ‘Stay and watch TV with me till your headache goes.’
Scarlet had to admit that she was tempted. The thought of going back to the guest bedroom, alone, was not appealing. She suspected she might find it hard to go back to sleep, not because of the headache but because of the agitating thoughts which kept running through her head. Thoughts of John and sex. She turned back to face him, then glanced at the TV. ‘Could we watch something else rather than fishing?’
‘Absolutely. You can have control of the remote. There are loads of channels to choose from.’
‘But where will I sit?’ There was a two-seater lounger against one wall but it was under the television.
‘In bed next to me, of course,’ he said.
She stared at him, knowing full well what would eventually happen if she climbed into that bed.
‘I promise I won’t touch you, Scarlet,’ he said, his eyes locking with hers. ‘Not unless you want me to.’
Scarlet shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘I don’t know what I want any more.’
‘That’s because you over-think everything. Time to just let nature takes its course. You find me attractive, don’t you?’
Her eyes swept over his near-naked body once more. ‘Yes,’ she choked out.
‘And you enjoyed my kissing you earlier?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed again.
‘How’s the headache now?’
‘What? Oh, er, not as bad, actually.’
‘Ten more minutes and you’ll feel much better, especially if you lie down in my very comfy bed and let me stroke your hair.’
‘Stroke my hair,’ she repeated numbly, an erotic quiver running down her spine.
‘You’ll have to take it down out of that pony-tail of course,’ he said. ‘Here, I’ll do it for you.’
He moved behind her, his hands swift and sure as they removed the rubber band, letting her hair tumble free over her shoulders.
‘This way,’ he said, and led her over to the bed where he threw back the covers before suddenly whirling and scooping her up into his arms.
Scarlet gasped in shock, both at the speed of his actions and the way it felt, being held hard against his naked chest. Her arms automatically lifted to wind themselves around his neck, her eyes blinking wide as they met his.
‘Like I said earlier,’ he said wryly. ‘I’ve always wanted to sweep you off your feet. Now, don’t say anything sarcastic, Scarlet. I know you’re itching to. I can see it in your face. But this is not the time for one-upmanship. It’s time for you to just trust me.’
As surprising as it was, she did trust him, almost as much as she desired him. It was a strange situation, one which brought a puzzled frown to her face, until she winced as a new wave of pain hit her.
‘That headache is still bothering you, isn’t it?’ he said sympathetically as he lowered her onto the bed, her head and shoulders sinking into the layers of black pillows propped against the bedhead.
‘I think, under the circumstances,’ he added as he strode round the other side of the bed and climbed in next to her, ‘that watching television is not a good idea.’ So saying, he picked up the remote and turned the TV off. ‘What you need to do is close your eyes and relax.’
He scowled when he leant over and saw her eyes were still wide open.
‘Scarlet King, do you know you have a problem with obedience? Close your eyes!’
In days gone by-in fact in just hours gone by-Scarlet might have shot back some smart remark. But she was way too preoccupied to indulge in witty repartee at that moment. Way too turned on as well. She could not wait for him to touch her, even if it was just stroking her head. Because she knew that it wouldn’t end there.
So she closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting in an agony of anticipation for her seduction to begin.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WHEN his fingers first contacted her forehead, Scarlet stiffened inside. When they slid upwards into her hair, her teeth clenched down hard in her jaw. It was a struggle not to cry out. But she managed. Just.
Her mother used to stroke her head when she’d been sick as a child, her touch soft and soothing. John’s equally gentle touch might have had the same relaxing effect if she hadn’t been so agitated. No, not agitated-excited. Impossible to relax when your nipples were tight and tingling. Soon, it wasn’t her head she wanted him to stroke but other more intimate parts of her body. Her breasts. Her belly. Her quivering thighs. Her headache had receded, replaced by waves of dizzying desire which were as demanding and decadent as the bed she was lying in. Scarlet could not believe how much she wanted John to undress her. No longer did she care if he thought her breasts too small. She wanted his hands on them. And his mouth.
If she’d been bold, she might have told him of her cravings. But that was one thing she’d never been in the bedroom-bold.
At the same time, she was driven to say something, anything, which would indicate she wanted him to move on.
‘My headache’s gone,’ she murmured.
John’s hand stilled in her hair, but it didn’t move on.
Scarlet’s eyes opened so that she could work out what he was thinking.
No luck with that, however. She should have known she wouldn’t be able to read his thoughts. John had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, or his innermost thoughts on his face.
‘Maybe I should go back to my room?’ she said, battling to hide dismay from showing in her face.
John let out an exasperated-sounding sigh. ‘I thought I told you to stop over-thinking everything. You’re staying right where you are, Scarlet.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes. You want this as much as I do. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have stayed in the first place. You’d have told me to get lost, then walked off back to your room. If there’s one thing I know very well about you, it’s your stubborn nature. You never do anything you don’t want to do. You want me to make love to you, Scarlet, so why don’t you just admit it?’
Scarlet glowered up at him, his outburst firing up the urge to tear his egotistical words down in flames with some verbal lightning bolts of her own. But what would be the point? He was right. So very irritatingly right!
But that didn’t mean she had to admit to too much. He would become insufferable if she confessed to what was really going on in her head, and in her body.
‘I suppose there’s no point in making you wait any longer,’ she said dismissively. ‘Not if you’re that desperate. It’s almost tomorrow, anyway. But don’t go imagining I’m panting for it.’
He smiled a very knowing smile. ‘We’ll see, Scarlet. We’ll see…’
Scarlet tried to think of something clever to retort but her brain had shut down the moment his hand withdrew from her hair and dropped down to the top button of her pyjamas. She held her breath whilst he flicked it open with one hand, grateful that his eyes were following his hand and not still looking into her frozen face. Slowly but deliberately he moved on to the next button, then the next, till all five were open, by which time she wasn’t panting for it. But she was in danger of dying from lack of air in her lungs.
Her sucking in breath sharply brought his eyes back up to her own.
A frown bunched his dark brow together. ‘You want me to stop?’
She shook her head.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because I don’t think I could have.’
His admission of the intensity of his own need soothed Scarlet’s worry over the almost uncontrollable nature of her own. It wasn’t like her to want a man this much. It was a surprise, but not an entirely unpleasant one. There was something right about enjoying the process of conceiving a baby, rather than what she’d been doing at the clinic. Not that she was likely to fall pregnant tonight. In her experience of charting her cycle each month, it was impossible. Sperm did not live for a week.
‘You’re thinking again,’ John warned her softly. ‘Have to stop that, Scarlet. Focus on what I’m doing to you and nothing else.’
He didn’t have to tell her twice, especially when he parted her top, exposing her breasts to his eyes.
‘So beautiful,’ he murmured, cupping her left breast with his free hand and lifting it slightly before bending his head to the nipple.
John didn’t suck it the way other men had sucked her nipples, like they were drinking their favourite beer through a straw which was too small. He didn’t suck it at all at first. He licked it, slowly, almost lasciviously, wetting it over and over till she moaned in frustration. Even then he didn’t suck it. He nibbled at it, then nipped it, then took it carefully between his teeth and tugged it, sending a dagger of dark pleasure stabbing through her entire breast. When he did it again, she twisted to one side, wrenching the burning nipple out of his mouth. She might have voiced some protest had he not pushed her roughly back against the pillow then silenced her with a kiss, which was nothing like the kiss he’d given her earlier. It was hard and hungry, obliterating all thought with a speed which Scarlet would later find astonishing. His mouth didn’t abandon hers till she was way beyond anything but lying there, dazed, whilst he undressed her totally and started doing all those things she’d imagined him doing under the covers.
