by Maya Banks
‘What the hell are you going on about?’
‘You think all you have to do is turn on the charm and I’ll relent. You’re so sure that everything is somehow engineered towards snaring the great Vaughan Mason! A woman doesn’t wear a bra and you assume that it’s for your benefit! My God, you really think the world revolves around you, don’t you? Did it never enter your head that had you not needed help getting dressed then I might have had more time to get ready?’
‘You’ve been flirting with me all night,’ Vaughan insisted, but Amelia shook her head.
‘You kissed me, Vaughan.’ Her finger moved to the spot, the very spot, where his lips had scorched her flesh. ‘You were the one who came uninvited into my room and stood and watched me getting ready. You were the one who kissed me. So don’t you dare try and turn this onto me. Don’t turn this around and make it so that it’s me wanting you.’
She made to go, ready to run the last few steps back to her bedroom, painfully aware that another woman had had him today, had tasted him, adored him, determined not to relent. But his hand closed around her wrist like a vice, capturing her, swinging her around to face him in one fluid motion, confronting her with a fact they both knew to be true.
‘But you do.’
His voice was thick with emotion, his hand looser now, and she could have left, could have walked away this very second. But instead she stood. ‘You do,’ he said for a second time, and she wished she had a solicitor present—someone to step in and call a halt to his line of questioning, to pull her out before she gave in, before she voiced a truth that could surely only sentence her. ‘You’ve wanted me from the day you walked into my office. You’ve wanted me as much as I’ve wanted you. I know I’ve got a past, but...’
‘Your past is a bit too recent for me to swallow!’ Amelia retorted, and registered the tiny frown between his eyes. ‘Who was she, Vaughan?’ She choked the words out, hating herself for asking, but needing to know. ‘Who was the woman who left your room this afternoon?’
She felt his hand tighten on her wrist, watched as he swallowed hard, a nervous dart in his eyes before finally they met hers.
‘You have to trust me there...’
‘Trust you!’ An incredulous shrill laugh escaped her lips. ‘Trust you?’
‘Yes, me.’ His voice was even, his eyes holding hers, imploring her. ‘Trust me when I say that I cannot tell you now, Amelia, and believe me when I say that it’s not what you’re thinking.’
‘I need to know who she is, Vaughan,’ Amelia begged. ‘You can’t just ask me to trust you, to believe...’
‘Because of what Taylor did?’
‘Because I can’t do this again, Vaughan.’ She was sobbing now, consumed by her own arousal, terrified by her own weakness, knowing how close she was to relenting, to giving in, to backing him in the face of such appalling odds. ‘I’ve been hurt before—believed someone when they said they’d mended their ways, that I was the only one...’
‘But I have changed, Amelia,’ he rasped. ‘These past few months I’ve realised that I want more.’
‘And what about this sudden change? What brought about this great epiphany?’ Amelia asked furiously, but her anger was directed at herself, that she could even allow this discussion to continue, terrified of being dragged in a touch deeper, that she might believe his lies.
‘A seven-year-old boy made me realise it was time to grow up!’
And something in his voice moved her. Something in the pain behind the hesitant words told her this was real.
‘That’s all I can tell you now, Amelia. All I can tell you without betraying a confidence I’ve sworn to keep.’
‘It doesn’t make sense...’
‘It can’t make sense while you’re still a journalist contracted to do a piece on me,’ Vaughan implored. ‘I can’t tell you any more than that.’
‘And I can’t just...’
He was kissing her cheeks, tiny butterfly kisses. His full lips soaked up her tears as they fell, and her words shuddered out of chattering lips.
‘I can’t...’ Amelia gasped, her back against the wall, furious in denial. But she knew it was the flailing of a drowning woman. Skin on skin, his hands slid to her upper arms, and his lips mingled with tears as his words breezed past her cheeks, seared the tiny hairs in her ears, ripping apart her defences as he rasped his prosecution.
‘You can.’ One hand cupped her breast, the nub of his thumb grazing across her tender nipple. Her throat constricted, lust searing through her. ‘You can.’
Yes!
She didn’t say it, but her body was his affirmation, yielding towards him. As she dared to admit the truth mentally her mouth opened to speak—to say what, she didn’t know. Beg a retraction, perhaps? Plead for mercy? But the tiny window of opportunity was open and he stormed right in, possessing her mouth with his, forcing her so hard against the hotel door she could feel the breath being squeezed out of her, mingling with his.
That first initial taste she’d craved like an addiction for days now was finally on her lips. Freeing her arms, she coiled them into his hair in a reflex action, fingers and nails burying into his thick jet-black hair. Pushing his full weight onto her, he confirmed her desire, catching her tongue with his, and if her own boldness surprised her, then Vaughan was already way ahead, his free hand slipping up the petticoat of her sequinned dress, moulding the soft flesh just above her stockings, capturing her groin for such a dizzy moment she could have come right there.
Shockingly unaware of their location, she let a tiny whimper of frustration escape as Vaughan’s mouth paused. Somehow he opened the door. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he lifted her up and carried her inside to the bedroom. The soft mattress barely registered in her thoughts as he lowered her down onto the bed.
Allowing her not even a tiny second to acclimatize, he ripped the earth from beneath her, pushing up the sequinned hem of her dress, tearing at her panties, burying his face in her most intimate place. He danced her like a puppeteer, toying with the knot of tension deep inside her with each vivid stroke of his tongue. She could feel him everywhere, in her constricted throat, in her thighs, which convulsed as he stroked ever deeper, in her stomach, which contracted with the first twitches of her orgasm. A moan of pure lust and need ripped away from her as he leant back on his heels, leaving her moaning and twitching with unfulfilled desire—until she saw him.
Saw the sheer naked sex of him slowly undressing. She hated him for her exposure as she lay breathless on the bed, watching his teasing disrobing. Cufflinks that took for ever to remove, an impatient rip at the button she’d so nervously sewn, a pull at the tie that, if scissors had been handy, she’d have cut. She glimpsed the silver of his zipper, the beauty of his package as his boxers were lowered. His jutting arousal did it to her all over again. But need took over then, knees inside knees, his thighs deftly parting her thighs, the scratch of his legs against her skin, the delicious thrill of anticipation.
‘This is what you want?’
Beyond the point of no return, still he gave her the option, still he offered her an out. But she didn’t want it—couldn’t even begin to fathom the consequences of saying no to such a basic need. Amelia just knew that she had to, wanted to, needed to see this through to its delicious end, board this rollercoaster ride of passion. Yes, it was terrifying, exhilarating and dangerous, and yet it was something she simply had to do.
Her thighs dragged him in as his impatient hands pushed her dress up around her waist. Cupping her buttocks with his hands, eyes closing, he stabbed an entrance, thrusting deep inside her warmth. And she revelled in the delicious friction of him gliding inside her, came alive in his arms, dancing to his tune with a beat of her own now. Ecstasy was a mere breath away, a rush of heat galloping along her spine, flooding her neck, and her whole body aligned as he spilled inside her, the
needy gasp escaping hushed by the salty warmth of his shoulder in her mouth. She sucked the flesh beneath her lips, capturing his manhood deep within, holding him tight, capturing the final throes of his orgasm with the intensity of her own. As her grip on his shoulder softened, the sheer force of emotion that had catapulted her imploded within, tears that had always been there but never been shed springing forth as still he held her.
* * *
‘No regrets?’
Minutes, perhaps hours, later, the room came into focus, and she touched her bruised heart, waited for the appalling sting of reality, for the fingers of regret to start creeping in. But Vaughan’s navy eyes were still adoring her, his body next to hers. The most exhilarating, breathtaking ride of her life had come slowly to a halt, and all Amelia knew was that she didn’t ever want to get off, wanted to keep going, over and over again.
‘None.’ Amelia smiled back at Vaughan. ‘Except for the fact I didn’t take my make-up off.’ Shifting herself onto her back she smiled into the darkness. ‘That’s a mortal sin, by the way.’
‘So is falling asleep fully clothed.’ His hand was toying with her zip, parting the flimsy fabric that ran along the curve of her side and dragging it down in a move that could only be translated as provocative. Kissing the hollow of her waist, he took his time at the curve of her buttocks, wriggling the sheer fabric down around her ankles before focusing on her shoes. ‘And falling asleep in your shoes, young lady, is positively indecent.’
She knew he was waiting for her to laugh, knew as he looked up that he was expecting a smile. She could see the tiny frown on his brow as he sensed her distraction. ‘What’s wrong, Amelia?’
‘Nothing.’ Rolling into a pillow, she stared at the curtain. ‘Nothing,’ she said again, hoping for more conviction this time. But Vaughan wasn’t to be fooled, and the concern in his voice matched hers as he spoke into the darkness.
‘You’re not on the Pill, are you?’
‘No.’
A hundred questions shrilled in her brain. How could they have been so stupid? for one. It was the twenty-first century, for heaven’s sake. There were condoms by the bed, courtesy of the hotel. It was beyond stupid not to be careful, but nothing, nothing prepared her for the tension that filled the body beside her, the slow hiss of air as he breathed slowly out.
‘We have to do something. You have to take something. You cannot get pregnant.’
‘Vaughan?’ Questioning eyes turned to his. She was angry enough with herself at her own stupidity, but Vaughan’s reaction wasn’t exactly helping matters.
‘There’s a pill—the seventy-two-hour pill,’ Vaughan said urgently. ‘I can ring down for a doctor. Now.’
‘We’ve still got seventy-one hours left!’ It wasn’t a joke exactly, merely an attempt to defuse the situation. She was scarcely able to believe what she was witnessing now—Vaughan Mason, completely perturbed, hands raking through his hair, wrestling with demons of his own that Amelia couldn’t cope with right now. ‘Vaughan, we made a mistake—a stupid mistake...’
‘You’re telling me...’
And suddenly she was angry. Angry and humiliated. He was acting as if she had a shotgun wedged under the pillow, as if she’d forced the night’s events upon them, had somehow planned all this. But, seeing his anguished face, sensing something deeper was happening here, Amelia realised now probably wasn’t the time to point out that it took two to tango, that the mistake had been as much his as hers.
‘You’re overreacting—’ she started, but that only inflamed him more.
‘Amelia, you don’t understand. Trust me on this—you just cannot be pregnant...’
‘Oh, but I think I do understand.’ The air-conditioning must be up too high, because suddenly she was shivering, the intimacy they had shared slipping away like sand through her fingers. ‘Trust you?’ She shook her head angrily. ‘I’m getting a little bit tired of being asked to trust you, Vaughan. In fact I’m starting to think you’re treating me as some sort of—’
‘Amelia,’ Vaughan broke in icily. ‘You’re not the only one being asked to trust here. Might I remind you that you’re a journalist? That’s the entire bloody reason we’re together, after all. You could be sleeping with me just to get a better slant on your story for all I know...’
And it was just too close to the mark, just too appallingly reminiscent of the innuendoes that had tarnished her reputation six months ago. Levering herself off the bed, Amelia searched for her dress, pulled it over her trembling body with her back firmly to him, attempted dignity in the face of utter humiliation. ‘I’m not pregnant, Vaughan, so you don’t have to worry. My period is due tomorrow, which means the chances of me getting pregnant are slim. Does that make you happy? What just took place wasn’t about making babies but about making love—at least it was for me.’
‘Don’t go.’
Her hand was on the door; her instinct was to leave. The vileness of his accusation, the horror in his voice at the possible consequences of their actions had sounded a church’s worth of alarm bells for Amelia, but almost instantly he quelled them, reverting in a second back to the man she was starting to know. He followed her to the door and pulled her tense body beside him, working her taut shoulders as he buried his face in her hair and whispered a heartfelt apology in her ear, leading her back to the bed.
‘I’m sorry, Amelia.’ His voice was pure anguish. ‘I’m overreacting. It’s just...’ His voice petered out, but Amelia wanted more, still reeling from the abrupt change in him.
‘Just what, Vaughan?’ Amelia asked. ‘You’re talking as if I set out to trap you, as if—’
‘No.’ Instantly he refuted her accusation and pulled her back down to lie beside him. ‘I’m angry with myself, not you. Angry with myself that I didn’t stop and think.’
‘It’s called emotion, Vaughan. People don’t always stop and think before they act. As you’ve said, this is the bedroom, not the boardroom. You don’t always go in prepared.’ He nodded at her explanation, pulled her in just a little bit tighter, yet she sensed his distraction, could almost feel his mind whirring as they lay staring into the darkness.
‘Have you sent your article?’
Frowning into his chest, she waited for him to elaborate, pulling away when he didn’t and propping herself up on her elbow, staring down at him. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I just want to know, that’s all.’
‘No, it hasn’t gone.’ Her words whistled through tight lips. ‘Vaughan, what am I missing here? Are you worried I’m going to say something? That what took place tonight might change what I write?’
‘Of course not.’ And like the wind he changed again—the pensive mood gone, the dynamic man back in her arms again. ‘But if you do, remember to write just how damn good I am.’
She did all the right things—laughed at his joke, even got fully undressed again and climbed right in beside him, curving herself as he spooned in behind her, relishing the delicious feel of his hand cupping her stomach, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. Yet still Amelia frowned into the darkness, still she didn’t feel entirely comforted.
Something had happened a moment ago that she didn’t understand. She had witnessed a side to him she truly couldn’t fathom.
There was something big that Vaughan was holding back.
Chapter 7
‘You can break the news of the motor deal.’
Blinking as she opened her eyes, Amelia attempted to focus. Sun streamed in through open curtains, accentuating the chaos of the rumpled bed, her shoes on the floor, her dress as crumpled as a dishrag. But it didn’t matter a jot, because sitting on the bed beside her, immaculate in a sharp suit and smiling down at her, was the one thing that made waking up a sheer, indisputable pleasure.
‘What happened to good morning?’ Stretching l
ike a cat, she caught the first delicious aroma of morning coffee, the absolute perfect touch to the perfect awakening. Scarcely able to fathom that not only had she made love to him, but also she didn’t for a second regret it, she said, ‘Is that for me?’ Reaching over, she took a grateful sip, aware all the while of his eyes smiling down at her, not remotely self-conscious, feeling as beautiful as the eyes that adored her. ‘How long have you been up?’
‘An hour. I’ve been in the lounge suite, chatting to Mr Cheng.’
‘Do you always put on a suit to talk on the phone?’ Amelia teased, but of course Vaughan always had an answer.
‘It was a video conference. I didn’t think he’d appreciate the sight of me in my bathrobe.’
‘More fool him, then.’ Amelia smiled, her forehead puckering as she recalled the news she had woken to. ‘I can break it?’
‘Yep.’ Vaughan smiled as the penny dropped. ‘Write that you have it on reliable authority that the deal is going to be formally announced on Monday.’
‘But—’
‘No buts,’ Vaughan interrupted. ‘I’ve spoken to Mr Cheng and he’s more than happy to let some details out before the announcement. We both agree we’d rather it came from someone we know.’
‘Trust, even?’
‘Yeah.’ Vaughan smiled as if he’d just discovered the word. ‘That too.’
‘You don’t need to do this,’ Amelia said, her voice suddenly serious. ‘I’ve already told Paul that I’m going with the original article. I’m more than happy to stand by my decision and weather the consequences.’
‘Well, you don’t have to.’ Vaughan squeezed her thigh through the sheet. ‘This way you both win. You get to write what you want, and Paul gets the first sniff at the story—which will buy you some time to properly make up your mind.’
‘I really can have it all.’ Her hand reached up to his face, capturing that delicious sculptured cheek in her palm, feeling the soft scratch of his chin. Gently she guided his face in towards hers, enjoying the feel of a more leisurely kiss this time. The urgency had gone but the passion was deeper now, the giddy, insatiable lust that had spun them into the bedroom replaced with something just as exhilarating—a cavernous journey of emotion patiently awaiting their exploration, the thrill of peeling back the layers together, the silent promise of all tomorrow might hold.
