His Until Midnight

by Nikki Logan

  Yep. He absolutely had her number there.

  Well... Whatever. ‘You being attracted to me is a comment on your general randyness not on my abilities—’ or otherwise, a little, inner voice whispered ‘—in the sack.’

  He laughed but it no longer sounded amused. ‘Careful, Audrey. That sounds an awful lot like a challenge.’ He stepped closer.

  She tossed her head. ‘How like you to read it that way.’

  ‘Why are you so angry at me?’

  ‘Because you’re here,’ she yelled. ‘And because you kept this from me for so long. And because you’re—’

  Part of the bloody problem.

  If not for the extraordinary chemistry she’d always felt around Oliver she might never have noticed it missing from her marriage. But she forced those words back into her throat before they spilled out, and let the tension out on a frustrated grunt instead.

  ‘Because I’m what?’

  ‘You’re pushing me.’

  ‘I’m trying to support you. I’m listening. And letting you vent. How is that pushing?’

  ‘You’re riling me up intentionally.’

  ‘Maybe that’s because I know what to do with you when you’re angry. I felt powerless when you were so upset. I’ve never seen you like that before.’

  And she’d be damned sure he never would again. Her chest heaved beneath the sensual silk. And some of her confusion billowed out.

  ‘But that fire in your eyes and the sharpness of your words...? That I know.’ He slid one arm around behind her and pulled her hard up against his chest. ‘That and this feeling that I get when you’re on fire.’

  He took her hand and pressed it over his left pectoral muscle. His heart hammered wildly beneath it. ‘Feel that? That’s what you do to me. So please don’t tell me I’m not attracted to you.’

  She bent back as far as she could in his hold. Eyed him warily. Even as her own pulse began to gallop. ‘You’re just mad,’ she muttered.

  ‘Woman, you have no idea.’

  He released her then and turned and crossed to the window. ‘Audrey. You kill me. You have so much yet you don’t value it. You don’t see it.’ He plunged both hands into his pockets as if to keep himself from reaching for her again. ‘And I sit here every damned Christmas, wanting you, and wondering if you’d recognise the signs, if you had even the slightest clue that you were affecting me that way.’

  Silence fell heavy and accusatory. But his outburst was enough to finally get the message through.

  He was serious. He was actually drawn to her.

  What the hell did she do with that?

  ‘I’m sorry, Oliver.’

  He turned back, all the anger gone now. ‘I wasn’t angling for an apology. I’m angry for you, not at you. That everything in life has led you to have such little faith in yourself despite all the amazing things you are. And I’m mad at myself that—despite everything my head tells me, despite the total lack of signals from you—my body just doesn’t get the message.’

  Her chest tightened like a fist.

  No, he wasn’t angry. He was hurting.

  A lot.

  ‘You never let on.’

  ‘If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s command over my baser instincts.’

  She wet her lips and chewed them a little bit. This was Oliver: a man she cared for and respected. A man she’d been harbouring any number of inappropriate thoughts about for years. And he was telling her that the attraction was mutual.

  ‘How could there be signals...?’ she started.

  He raised a hand to stop her. ‘I understand, Audrey—’

  ‘No, you don’t. I meant how could I give you signals, when I was married and I knew how strongly you felt about fidelity? Above all else, I didn’t want you to think badly of me.’

  Not you.

  He stared. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘You would have. If you could have seen into my head and read my thoughts sometimes when I was with you.’

  Or lots of times when she wasn’t.

  He hadn’t been moving before but somehow his body grew more still. Still and dangerously alert. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that the absence of signals is a reflection of my great need for your good opinion.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Not my actual feelings.’

  The shame in his gaze dissipated, heated and evaporated by the desire that took its place. But still he didn’t move.

  ‘You’re not married now,’ he murmured. ‘And I’m hardly in a position to judge you given some of the fantasies I had when you were my friend’s bride.’

  Her breath tightened and ran out.

  He was right. There was nothing stopping them. Blake was gone, and any loyalty she’d ever felt for him had dissolved the moment she discovered his serial infidelity. Oliver wasn’t seeing anyone. She wasn’t seeing anyone. They were both here in this amazing, private place. And she wouldn’t see him again for twelve months.

  And no one but them would know.

  There was no reason in the world that she shouldn’t cross the empty space between them and put her hands on Oliver Harmer as she’d been dreaming of for years.

  And that freedom was completely and utterly terrifying.

  She crossed to the window, instead, stared out at the view. All those millions of people just going about their business, oblivious to the torment happening at the top of one of the hundreds of buildings lining their harbour.

  ‘Did you just weird yourself out?’ he murmured from behind her.

  Right behind her.

  He read her like a book. There wasn’t a person alive who knew her as well as this man she only saw once a year. She smiled. ‘Sure did.’

  She could feel him there, his heat reaching out for her, but not touching. Just...teasing. Tormenting. Tantalising.

  But she couldn’t turn around to save her life. She clung to the ant-sized community far below them and used them as her anchor. Before she floated up and away on this bliss.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be weird,’ he whispered. ‘We’re still the same people.’

  That was exactly what made it weird. But also so very exciting. As her pounding pulse could attest.

  ‘But you have to want it,’ he breathed. ‘And you have to think about it. I need you to make the conscious decision.’

  ‘You want me to make the first move?’ Please, no...surely?

  ‘I want you to be certain.’ His words brushed her ear.

  She steadied herself with hands on the window, either side of her body, her hot palms instantly making a thermal handprint on the cool glass.

  ‘What if I’m no good?’ She hated how tiny her voice sounded.

  The chuckle that rumbled in his chest so close behind her was almost close enough to feel. ‘Audrey, I’m not even touching you and it’s already good.’

  He leaned more of his weight into her, pressing her to the window and the hard tension in his body gave his words veracity. The contrast of the cool glass to her front and his big, hot body at her back made her breath shudder in her throat.

  ‘Let me show you.’ His knuckle came up to stroke her hair back from her face, back over her shoulder. And it was that—more than anything he could have said or done—that convinced her.

  Because those big, tan, confident fingers...?

  They were trembling like an autumn leaf.

  Her eyes fluttered shut and she forced all the doubts and fears and questions out of her mind and just let herself feel. The moment she tipped her head, exposing more of her throat above the delicate collar hem of the dress, Oliver dropped his lips straight onto her skin, hot and self-assured.

  Her legs practically gave way. If not for the press of his body sandwiching her to the glass window she would have slid in a heap onto the expensive bamboo parquetry. Air shuddered in and out of her on inelegant gasps as his mouth and chin nuzzled below the blue and silver collar, then around to the front of her throat, lathing her collarbone. His hands covered h
ers on the glass and twisted them down to trace, with him, the silken length of her body.

  His knuckles brushed the sides of her breasts, her waist, the swell of her hips, leaving her trembling and alive. Then he released her hands and one of his slipped around to press against her belly while the other traced down the outer curve of one buttock. Beneath its underside.

  Her eyes flew open.

  ‘Just feel it,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘Just be brave.’

  The strange choice of words was lost again in the excruciating sensations of his lips back on her throat. They climbed up behind her ear, lingered there a moment and then drifted forward, across her jaw, along her cheek. Searching. Seeking. And when they reached what they were seeking Audrey was more than ready for them.

  His mouth pressed against hers on a masculine, throaty sigh, and she twisted slightly in his hold to improve her purchase and meet his exploration with her own.

  Wave after wave of vertigo washed over her as she stood, pressed against nothing but open sky and man, all the air in her body escaping out to mingle with Oliver’s. She clung to his lips as though they were the only thing stopping her from plunging sixty storeys.

  He tasted exactly as she’d dreamed—decadent and masculine and delicious.

  He felt just as she’d always imagined—hard and hot and in control.

  But so, so much better. Like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life.

  Be brave, he’d said. This was what he meant. Take a chance.

  Embrace the risk.

  She twisted fully in his grasp, pressing her back to the glass, and slid her arms up around his bent neck.

  And she kissed him back for all she was worth.

  Things really took off then. Oliver slid his foot between her feet and nudged them apart, making room for the expensive fabric of his thigh. That pressed against her everywhere she’d started to ache but it also took over the important job of holding her up, which freed his hands to roam the front of her body where they’d been unable to go moments before.

  One plunged up into her hair and the other trailed its way up to a breast. And he relieved her of another ache, there, with a gentle squeeze.

  He ripped his mouth from hers as fast as his hand snatched away from her breast. ‘You’re not wearing a bra?’

  Confusion dazzled her, but she answered, ‘It was in the pile you sent for cleaning.’ Some of the salsa had soaked through onto it. Which was a ridiculous thought to be having just now.

  ‘That’s going to make it a bit harder,’ he gritted, blazing the words along the neglected side of her throat.

  It was all she could do to harness enough air to keep speaking. ‘Make what harder?’

  ‘Stopping.’

  ‘Why would you stop?’

  Why in this world...?

  ‘Because we’re about to have company.’

  She ripped her ear away from where his hot lips were torturing them. Company wasn’t just the two of them. Company wasn’t no one will know. Company was public. And she was standing with her skirt half hiked up sandwiched between Oliver and the window in the direct eyeline of the door.

  He stepped back, but not without reluctance.

  ‘What company?’

  ‘I asked for the next dish to be served up here.’

  ‘Why the hell would you do that?’

  Well...wasn’t she quite the lady when in the throes of carnal disappointment?

  Moisture from her swollen lips glinted on his as he smiled. ‘I didn’t know this was going to happen. I thought you might have appreciated the privacy.’

  She tugged her skirt down. He stepped back.

  Looks like stopping is all taken care of. ‘I would love privacy right now.’

  ‘You don’t have to eat it. We can resume the moment they’re gone.’ His gaze grew keen. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  Was that what she wanted? Yes, right now it really was. Right now, she was numb all over except for some very dissatisfied, very grumpy, very pointed points of focus that couldn’t really think of anything other than resuming. But in five minutes...who knew? By then her brain might have kicked back in and reminded her of all the reasons this was a bad, bad idea.

  In five minutes this could all be over.

  You have to be certain. That was what he’d said, and maybe this was what he’d meant. That she needed to be certain in the cold, hard light of reality, not the hot, fevered place he’d just taken her.

  On cue, the door sounded slightly. She spun to face back out of the window, tugging her dress unnecessarily into position and pretending she’d just been admiring the view, not the sensation of Oliver’s hand on the screaming flesh of her breast. Behind her, Oliver accepted the meal with thanks and closed the door quietly.

  Then there was silence. So much silence that Audrey eventually turned around.

  He stood, staring at her silhouette, the loaded tray balanced in his arms, a question on his face.

  Giving her the choice.

  Another bonus of being rich, he could ignore the just-delivered food, spend the evening trying out every soft surface in the place—and a few of the harder ones—and nothing would ever be said. At least not aloud.

  If only the rest of the world worked that way.

  Her pulse hadn’t even had time to settle, yet. How could she make a good decision with it still screaming around her body with a swag of natural chemicals in tow?

  She made her choice, curling one arm across her torso. ‘What’s under the lid?’

  ‘Fingers of chilled ginger specially prepared.’ If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show particularly. He quirked one eyebrow, deliciously, and wet the lips that had just done such gorgeous damage to hers. ‘Want a taste, Audrey?’

  Okay, so he wasn’t going to let her go easily.

  She smoothed her dress once again and then crossed to the oversized dining table and slid into the seat at one corner. With no chair at the end he would either have to sit next to her or across from her. One was too close but she wouldn’t have to look into those all-seeing eyes. The other...

  Of course he chose that one, sinking into the seat immediately opposite.

  ‘Stop thinking,’ he murmured as he lifted the lid off the delivered tray and spread the contents between them on the table.

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘You are. And you’re partitioning. I can see it happening.’ He served up the fanned palate cleanser. ‘You’re separating the parts of what just happened into acceptable and unacceptable and you’re locking them in different boxes.’

  She kept her eyes averted.

  ‘But I’m curious to know what you put where.’

  She lifted her gaze for an answer.

  ‘Where did you file being here, with me, alone in this suite?’

  She took a deep, slow breath. ‘Being here is necessary. And sensible.’ And therefore completely defensible.

  ‘What about being in that dress?’

  ‘The dress is beautiful. It makes me feel beautiful.’ The door was wide open for him to say ‘you are beautiful’. But he didn’t. Part of her was pleased that he didn’t resort to trite niceties. A smaller part cried just a little bit.

  He leaned back in the expensive chair and considered her. ‘What would you change? If you could? If money was no object.’

  She considered. The shape of her eyes wasn’t anything to write home about unaided, but they came up pretty well under skilfully applied make-up. And their colour was harmless enough. Her lips were even and inoffensive, not too small, and they sat neatly under a long straight nose. Even that couldn’t be called a problem, particularly.

  It was just all so...lacklustre.

  ‘My jaw’s a bit square.’

  He shook his head once. ‘It’s strong. Defined.’

  ‘You asked me what I’d change. That’s something.’

  ‘It gives you character.’

  She laughed. ‘Yep. Because all women hunger to have a face “with cha
racter”.’

  ‘You can have character and still be beautiful. But okay, what else?’

  She sighed. ‘It’s not a case of individual flaws. It’s not like I could get a brow-lift or have my ears pinned and I’d feel reborn. It’s just that I don’t have...’ She considered her wording options. ‘There’s no standout feature in my appearance.’

  ‘I could name three.’

  ‘Ha ha.’

  ‘I’m serious. Want to hear them?’

  She took a deep breath. Part of her wanted to watch him flounder, to make him own his lies. But a deeper part again wondered if he might see her differently from what she saw in the mirror. Curiosity won.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Your cheekbones,’ he started, immediately, as though he’d been waiting years to say it. ‘You don’t highlight them, but you don’t need to. And when you smile and your muscles contract their angle seems to intensify.’

  She lifted one brow. ‘Good to know.’

  ‘And that’s number two, despite the sarcasm. Your face is rich with...intelligence. You always look so switched on, so intent. That stands out for me, big time.’

  ‘I have a smart face?’

  ‘Anyone can have a garden-variety pretty face...’

  She processed that. His body language said he was serious, but she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself by getting all hot and bothered by his praise. ‘Wow, I’m very curious to know what could possibly top a “smart” face...’

  He didn’t hesitate. ‘Your body.’

  Not what she was expecting. And the intent fixation of his gaze was just a little bit disconcerting. ‘Please don’t call me athletic.’

  ‘No?’ Which meant he’d been about to.

  ‘That’s code for “shapeless and flat-chested”.’

  ‘Only if you’re looking for offence.’ He considered her and his eyes darkened before he spoke. ‘Here’s what athletic means to me.’

  He leaned slightly forward.

  ‘Malleable. Flexible.’ Every word was more of a breath. ‘Resilient. Strong. It’s a body that won’t break easily under duress.’

  The air flowing in and out of her lungs seemed to divest itself of oxygen and she had to increase her respiration to compensate. Her undisciplined imagination filled with images of the kind of duress he might be referring to. And ways of applying it.