Dressed to Thrill

by Bella Frances

  ‘Fine. Of course I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? I really, really need to get some ideas down for Angelica. Can I scan these? On the copier in the office? I think I’ve got all I need here now.’

  She tried to stand. He looked up at her. His interest was getting more piqued. She was stepping on the photos. Low kitten heels pierced an album cover. He looked at them. Back up at her.

  ‘Calm down, Tara, I’m only asking. It’s no big deal if you don’t want to talk about them.’

  ‘What’s there to talk about? No big deal is right.’

  She bent to catch up the loose photos that had fallen out of albums. Stood and dropped another load on the floor. He was on his feet in a heartbeat.

  ‘I’ve got them. It’s OK.’

  She hated that he was fussing over her. Hated that she was making such a fool of herself. He’d only asked her a simple question and she was behaving like a complete lunatic.

  ‘I’m fine! I’m absolutely fine… Look. Really. This is going to be better if I get these pictures copied and work on them back in London. I think I’ll change my flight and leave in the next few hours. No, you don’t need to drive, get a driver…I’m cool with it.’

  ‘You’re cool with what, exactly?’

  He was lifting the photos out of her arms. He laid them down on the table next to the leather couch. Slowly. Carefully. Put his hands on her shoulders and stepped her back, steered her round. Gently pushed her down onto the couch. Eyes on hers the whole time.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing? You know I hate that macho act you shove at me.’

  Instead of lifting his hands away he massaged her shoulders. Tiny little circles but pretty near perfect touch.

  ‘This isn’t macho.’ He kept kneading. ‘This is what you need right now.’

  She opened her mouth and he actually put a finger on it, shushing her. And then he laughed at her shock.

  ‘Tara, querida, you need to learn to relax. Stop being so defensive. I only want to help you. Live in the moment and go with the flow.’

  ‘What? Are you a Buddhist now?’

  He smiled softly. Moved his hands from her shoulders to cup her jaw. Thumbs traced cheekbones. Slowly. And she felt as if she could feel every line of his finger, every pore, as he swept his soothing path. She sat where she’d been placed and drank in his comfort. And for a moment it felt like heaven. Warm and welcoming. Easy and soothing. For that moment she felt she didn’t need to keep fighting. That she didn’t need to hold up her shield and her sword and run at everything.

  She felt her shoulders sag and her heart slow. Felt her breathing deepen and steady.

  The thumbs trailed down her cheeks. He dragged one firm pad to her mouth. Round the edge of her top lip and down over the swell of her bottom lip. Velvet brown eyes bored into hers. Her lips opened. Her tongue eased out and tasted his thumb, welcomed it inside her hot, wet mouth. She suckled it as she stared at him—not even knowing herself. Not knowing that she was the kind of girl who would do that. But it felt so special and so simple. Felt so right.

  ‘Tara.’

  He said nothing more. Lifted his hands back and placed his mouth to hers. The softest, gentlest kiss she could ever imagine. Barely a kiss. Her eyes flew open and he opened his slowly too. Long moments passed. He cradled her face again, ran thumbs in gentle circles over her cheeks. Looked long and steadily into her eyes.

  ‘Give yourself over to this. Just for now.’

  And he dipped his head again and kissed her with such kindness and care. She felt something building inside her and it frightened her. She tried for a moment to pull back but he steadied her.

  ‘No, no, no. Just a kiss. Nothing more. Just a kiss.’

  She felt his lips on hers once more, this time firmer, reassuringly firm, and then his tongue opened a path inside her mouth and she knew this was the best kiss she had ever had. His mouth was the perfect foil for hers; his tongue already knew her mouth and stroked the hot, wet corners. His warm breath mingled with her own.

  Wave upon wave of pleasure began to wash over her. Her body loved what he did and swelled up, opened like a flower for him. A sound built in her throat. A moan of abandonment and joy. She placed her hands over his and then moved them to his face. Felt the harsh trail of stubble and loved it.

  She tried to deepen the kiss, tried to get him to move to a higher gear, but he resisted. He pulled his face back, out of reach, and she saw how greedy she was for him. Her tongue followed in the wake of his mouth and he smiled.

  ‘You feeling better? Calmer?’ His hands held her back at arm’s length.

  She swallowed back her hunger. Gulped down her craving. Eyes drank in his stepping back—and she felt the distance choking. Why had he stopped? Why pull away like that? Was he regretting what he’d just done? Again?

  ‘Calmer?’ Did she feel calmer? No. She felt open and vulnerable, and those were two emotions that she hated feeling. ‘Thanks, but I think I’d feel more calm if you left me alone.’

  He chuckled at her. Shook his head.

  ‘Tara, don’t start going all defensive again. You and I are hot together. And you should use that to your advantage—take pleasure from it. That’s all.’

  ‘Hot but inappropriate? Just like the girls you never took to your own mother’s wedding?’

  He took her verbal missile, held it and crushed it right in front of her. He reached out and trailed a finger down her cheek. She flinched. Not because he’d caused her to, but because she wanted to. She would show him rejection right back.

  ‘Tara—you’re harder on yourself than anyone I’ve ever met. Why is that?’

  She forced her eyes shut rather than look at him. Couldn’t bear the fierce rush of tears that threatened. Could feel the cauldron of emotions bubbling up again and had no energy to quell them this time.

  ‘We’ve been over this a million times. I’m not up for a bit of fun with you or any other player. I’m here to do a job. I’ve done what I can and I’m going to copy these right now. And then I’ll pack. And then I’ll go.’

  She didn’t even recognise her own voice. A husky crackle. She kept her face turned away from him and began to pick up the photos she wanted.

  But he grabbed her wrist and turned her round. ‘You know, you’ve got a lot of stuff in your head that’s really holding you back. You throw out an image of a girl who doesn’t give a damn, but the minute you think something threatens you, even if you’re way off, you fire back. I just don’t get it. You must waste so much energy just battling people. Tara! Look at me. Please.’

  He held her wrist up between them like some kind of staff. But still she kept her head twisted away. Just give her a couple of minutes and she would be back under control. Just a little distance and a little quiet. She could still remember the breathing techniques from her self-help books. Just a moment and things would settle.

  ‘Tara.’

  He was quieter. His voice was calmer. It was as if he was soothing the angry tiger in her soul. But that made it even more difficult. She couldn’t look at him at all. Tried to budge her wrist free.

  ‘Would you please let go of me?’ Her voice was still a whisper.

  But he didn’t. He pulled her close to his chest. He held her head steady. He smoothed her hair and almost rocked her in gentle motions. He murmured. She couldn’t make out what he said—but it was soft and sweet. She wanted to give in. She really did. She wanted to recline in the warm waters he was drawing her into. But it was too, too hard. She wasn’t used to comfort. Had never been used to comfort. Even before the dark days after her grandmother had died they’d been a family of rockets who shot about, never sat still. Noise, energy and action. Or hiding and fearful.

  She breathed out a long, slow breath. Felt moisture on her cheeks and at the corner of her mouth.

  Heard m
ovement in the house—heels, doors, a change of air.

  She stiffened. He gripped her now. As if he was squeezing strength into her. She could open up, absorb it, or do what she knew and fight it off.

  The heels came closer and he would not yield.

  ‘Michael! Tara! There you both are! Darlings.’

  She pushed him back and he let her. Lifted her chin. Wiped quick fingers under her eyes and squeezed out her best smile. Touched a hand to her hair and tilted her jaw. Big eyes. Ready.

  SEVEN

  Angelica looked as if she was always walking in on scenes like this. Remarkable. Especially because he’d never offered one up before. She floated through the room, smiling like it was Christmas Day, picking up photos and swooning over this cousin or that aunt. Like she’d popped out to mix a cocktail and come back to the room as if it was littered with confetti instead of emotional carnage.

  Yep, she was doing well to gloss over the scene. A natural. He’d never so much as given her cause to worry about him or his private life before. Everything was strictly off-limits. Sure, she’d met some of his past lovers. But he had always maintained a careful distance between his sisters and his personal life. Better that way. He didn’t really want them getting to know women who were only passing through anyway—it sent out the wrong signal. Like permanency.

  Tara was not coping. She hadn’t been coping since the cocktail bar. She was all over the place. Maybe it was spending intense time with just one other person. Maybe it was a come down from the party scene she was so hooked on. Maybe she was struggling with her attraction to him. Hey, he wasn’t all ego—it was obvious. Like the permanent erection he was trying to tame.

  Still, she wasn’t the only one who was reeling after what had just happened. Since when did he talk about his mother…to anyone? He had to force himself not to close down conversations when Fernanda wanted to talk about her—to find out what she’d been like. It was so sore. Still.

  He watched Tara with Angelica. Her cheeks were scarlet and she couldn’t keep her hands off her hair—twirling strands round her fingers and patting it as if it had a life of its own. She never even glanced in his direction, but less than ten minutes earlier she had been running her hands over him like she was trying to catch his cologne.

  She gathered up that ridiculous pile of photos and settled onto a couch with Angelica. He had to hand it to his sister: she had a knack of smoothing out some very rough edges. And he knew Tara’s edges were rough and sore.

  She had so much going on in her head. So many issues. She wasn’t needy, just prickly. Very, very deep and troubled. And she’d put up such high barriers to climb over. For some guy it would be worth it. She was quality—on so many fronts. Her look—not just the obvious, but her whole look—the lips, the full, thick, lustrous hair that she never had her damn fingers away from, her pure blue eyes and her energy. But most of all, now that he knew her a bit better, she had passion and drive and a very, very soft side that she was totally bent on hiding.

  It brought out all sorts of feelings in him that he hadn’t even known he had. Yep, no doubt about it: she had pulled a number on the public—even on him, now that he thought about it. She was no more a one-dimensional party girl than he was.

  He paced over to another couch and sat with his phone, catching up on emails. Well, sort of catching up on emails. There was a bunch of shows being streamed to him for final edits and he’d need to spend a good few hours absorbed in them. Which worked out well. He could hear Angelica work her magic and Tara begin to respond—as if she hadn’t been teetering on the edge of an emotional abyss just moments before.

  The women homed in on a few pictures and Tara’s wrist flew across the pages of her sketchbook. He wondered what the images were like—wanted to see for himself. Then the chat seemed to move to fabrics. Not that he was listening. He was watching the shows from his laptop and making notes.

  He’d never really taken in the image of fabulous contrast between them—Angelica all poise and control, Tara all energy and movement. Dark serenity versus blonde vitality. He couldn’t take his eyes off her—how natural she was with Angelica. How she lit up the daylight-flooded room. Like a string of fairy lights.

  Angelica caught his eye. Got up and left the room. Bestowed one of her serene smiles as she passed him.

  He was bent double again over the screen, wondering why the hell one of his best guys had decided that fly on the wall documentaries were a good idea. Still it was clear the public were fascinated with some characters. He looked back over at Tara.

  ‘What about your flight? You still heading home tonight?’

  The look that arced across the room to him was telling. Watchful. Wary. But it was a connection, nonetheless. She almost shrugged her shoulders as her vivacity seemed to slip away again

  ‘You should stay—at least one more day. Tara, you look tired.’

  The feeling that flew through him as he thought of her getting on a plane he didn’t really want to name. It just wouldn’t be a good idea for her to travel tonight. She needed to get her full energy back, for sure. And he knew that they needed to revisit the energy between them. They needed to see how far it went. He suspected it would be pretty far. She was the most sensual woman he had ever met, and she still had so much to let loose. He’d love to be the one to help her explore the other side. The connection they could build during sex would be off the charts. He knew it. Didn’t need to think about it—just knew it.

  ‘I’m going to stay until the morning. But I have a meeting with the bank in the afternoon. I need to get their approval for another loan extension.’

  She looked down at her sketchbook, lifted up a few photos and shuffled them into some sort of order. ‘Thank goodness Angelica came back when she did, though. I could have taken the wrong turning entirely on what she liked. She’s much less classic than I thought.’

  ‘Really? That surprises me. Maybe you’re encouraging her to branch out a bit—walk a bit wilder? To be honest, she’s never even been adventurous with her breakfast cereal before. No bad thing as far as I was concerned—you know, as her guardian. Viewing any risk-taking behaviour in my sister was never going to be my favourite hobby.’

  ‘That I can understand.’

  ‘You can?’ He found that interesting. She’d accused him of being a control freak where his other sister was concerned. ‘What’s brought on that change in attitude?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe seeing things a bit more from your perspective. I suppose you’ve got your responsibilities. The only responsibility I have is to myself.’

  ‘That’s all most people your age have. You’re not unique. It was all I had until the accident. If that hadn’t happened I still might be in that mind space.’

  Which was entirely true. Funny how life could completely switch course within a heartbeat. And, strangely, he was getting that feeling again. He clicked ‘pause’ on his laptop and walked over to her. Idly lifted and laid some of the photos that now seemed to be in the ‘chosen’ pile. Glanced at her sketchbook.

  ‘May I?’

  She looked a bit tense. In fact she looked crazy tense.

  She covered up the sketches with her arms. ‘Ah, I’d rather not. I’m a bit…possessive of my work until I’m satisfied with it. It’s just a… They’re just…’

  ‘They’re just parts of you that you’d rather not show the world until you’re fully satisfied that you’ve hidden yourself behind all your walls of hair, make-up, clothes and attitude? You edit your own productions even more than I do, querida. Hey, I’m not criticising,’ he said, realising that she wasn’t exactly looking delighted with his analysis.

  He so, so wanted to keep her spirits high today. Having seen last night the range of her emotions, he knew that she was so easy to tip into anger and passion. And it was the passion he wanted to see in her again. Those kisses they�
�d shared before Angelica came home—sweet and sexy. And she’d been so alive in his arms. Until she’d taken fright again. She was like a little feral cat—defensive, beautiful, hard to catch. But the challenge to tame her was building in him.

  He reached out and stroked her hair—the gentlest touch…she could have barely felt it.

  ‘I’m not criticising at all. It’s who you are, it’s what you are, and only you know the story of you. Which is fine. No one, least of all me, is going to press you for details you don’t want to share. But, Tara…’ He quietened his voice, watched her soften before his eyes. ‘There’s something between us. Something—I don’t know what. But I don’t want to waste any more time battling with you. I want to spend the rest of the time we have here in a whole different place than the war zone we’ve been in. What do you say? Hmm?’

  He tipped up her chin and drank in the blue depths of her eyes. What a face. So honest and open for the briefest of moments. Then she dipped her eyes and hid herself away again.

  ‘I think we’ve had our chance at that kind of zone, Michael. And I think you know how I feel. You can’t lift me and lay me, with lay being the operative word.’

  She still wasn’t looking at him. He let his fingers trail slowly off her jaw. Absorbed the softness, the ridge of her jawbone from the point of her rounded chin to the perfect pink lobe of her ear. She stifled another shudder. He saw it. And it fired him. He was going to be inside her tonight if it was the last thing he did.

  ‘Darlings, are we ready to have some food?’

  Sometimes his sister could be a total pain in the butt.

  ‘I’ve organised some light dishes on the terrace. But I’m afraid I can’t join you.’

  Or maybe not.

  ‘What’s up, Angel? The United Nations been on the phone again? Is there another crisis at a make-up counter?’ He deliberately left his hand on Tara’s shoulder as he stood behind her. Close. He felt her shift to move away from him—especially, he’d bet, because Angelica was right on it—but he wanted to set her mind at rest.