by Nicola Marsh
‘Brock?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah?’
A flush stained her cheeks and moved down her neck, disappearing into that ridiculously high collar of her dress, shielding what he longed to see: the fullness of her breasts spilling over the top of her bra, the deep cleavage created by her sizeable breasts.
As if she sensed the direction of his licentious thoughts, her hand hovered over her breastbone, drawing attention to her rigid nipples. Fuck, he wanted her.
‘I’m guessing you have some great jazz playlists at your place?’ Her voice turned husky, possibly from nerves or desire, as she squared her shoulders, bold and daring and delectable. ‘As good as anything these guys can produce?’
Yeah, she wanted this as badly as he did. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was using him as an emotional crutch again, a guy to help her lose herself in a few hours of sex to obliterate whatever was really bothering her.
Why do you care?
The kicker was, he did care. Even after all this time, because of how he’d felt about her all through uni, he cared. She didn’t know it, but he’d never take advantage of her.
No matter how brazen her actions, no matter how seductive her words, he had to wonder: did she want this for the right reasons? Did she really want a night of raunchy sex then to face him tomorrow without a qualm when they had to work together?
The fact he couldn’t get a proper read on her annoyed the shit out of him. Back then she’d been vulnerable and she’d needed him and he’d been there for her.
Tonight, her newfound confidence confused him. He’d made the first move, she’d responded with that kiss, and despite her daring he couldn’t help but think it had more to do with obliterating the earlier sadness he’d glimpsed than any burning desire to fuck him.
When he didn’t respond she leaned across and slanted a slow, all too brief kiss across his lips. Then she took his face between her hands, stared him dead in the eyes, and said, ‘I want you. I’ve never forgotten that incredible night and I want a repeat.’
She said all the right things, and with his cock aching to be inside her he needed to ditch the chivalry and take what she was offering.
She added, ‘Please,’ and Brock was a goner.
Because behind the boldness in her gaze as she eyeballed him with daring, behind the confident posture as she tilted her chin up in defiance, he heard something.
The slightest tremor in her voice, a hint of vulnerability that got to him, as if she expected him to turn away from her despite their sizzling attraction.
It kicked him in the fucking heart.
He couldn’t say no.
CHAPTER FOUR
GROWING UP, JAYDA had had a secret passion for interior design. She’d loved visiting Melbourne’s swankiest homes with her parents where she’d be goggle-eyed at plush carpets, exotic velvet settees, ancient artefacts and artwork that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the world’s top galleries.
She’d developed a hankering for real estate over the years and had invested wisely thanks to her trust fund, owning two properties on the outskirts of the city currently rented to tenants, and her own luxurious town house in trendy Fitzroy. She’d bought the three-bedroom place off the plan so had carte blanche to decorate it, a project she’d loved. She’d chosen every inch, from the black marble bench tops to the glossy grey cupboards, from the polished oak floorboards to the eggshell paint scheme throughout.
She’d spent an inordinate amount of time poring over online furnishing catalogues and social media accounts of the world’s top interior designers, and had gone for simplistic sophistication over look-but-don’t-touch glitz. Her place screamed understated elegance.
It had nothing on Brock’s apartment.
‘Wow,’ she said, as she stepped into the foyer of his penthouse on the fiftieth floor of a towering complex in upscale Collins Street. This place was beyond wow. Way beyond. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows curved in a sweeping one hundred and eighty degrees, offering a stunning view of Melbourne by night. A balcony ran the same curvature, with sun loungers placed at strategic intervals. Fawn marble tiles covered the floor, with space-age metallic lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling. Sleek chocolate-brown suede sofas were angled to face a modernistic painting with slashes of primary colours, which would turn into a TV at the flick of a button. She had a much smaller version at her place.
Overall, the penthouse exuded a subtle wealth and while her own town house had gobbled up mega bucks to channel the style and glamour she’d wanted, she knew she’d done well in enlisting his services to help get her business off the ground. To afford a place like this he must be extremely good at his job, beyond the stellar reviews she’d read online.
‘This place is gorgeous,’ she said, spinning a slow three-sixty to take it all in.
‘I like it.’ He shrugged, as if the massive apartment that covered an entire floor meant little, and gave her a gentle nudge forward. ‘Come in. Make yourself comfortable.’
Jayda slipped off her heels at the door, afraid she’d make indentation marks in his pristine marble tiled floor. Stupid, that after all these years she harboured the teensiest resentment against her body and its losing battle with carbs. Her weight fluctuated but not by much. She’d suffered the indignity of various labels from her early teens: ‘curvy’ had been one of the nice ones, ‘fatty’ at the other extreme.
Brock adored her curves apparently, as he’d repeatedly told her when he’d undressed her on that one night six years ago. She hadn’t really believed him but hadn’t cared; she’d been shattered and desperately seeking comfort at the time. Then he’d proceeded to show her in exquisite, sensual detail exactly how much he liked her curves. She’d revealed her innermost doubts regarding her body image that night—and the way Deon had battered her self-esteem along with taking her virginity—and Brock had given her exactly what she’d wanted.
The mind-blowing sex had been unforgettable and the moment she’d laid eyes on him tonight, she’d wanted him. She’d changed a lot since that night, had learned to live in the moment. Be spontaneous. Lighten up. A sizzling one-night stand replicating the sensational sex from years ago would be exactly what she needed.
All nice in theory until she shot him a sideways glance and caught him studying her with an intensity that made her skin pebble. What was he thinking? Did he remember that night in as much detail as she did? Did he regret it? Did he want to back out now?
She hadn’t exactly given him much choice in the matter tonight. She’d poured all her nervous energy into putting on a brave face and when it had looked as if he’d continue asking the hard questions about her folks, she’d come on to him.
He hadn’t called her out on the distraction technique and she’d been grateful. But once he’d articulated that he wanted her, and pressed her hand to his cock, she’d forgotten about distractions and working together and every goddamn thing.
In that moment, she’d known that all she wanted from tonight was him. But now that she’d set foot in his domain, a far cry from his old shabby flat, deep-seated doubts bubbled up from within.
Would he still find her attractive?
Would he find her lacking somehow?
Would she be enough?
Stupid, irrational fears considering how far she’d come since the last time they’d had sex, but there was something different about him now, an inherent aloofness that made him untouchable, that had her questioning the wisdom of sleeping with him again.
When she arched a brow to query his unwavering stare, he gave a slight shake of the head.
‘Back in a minute,’ he said, striding towards what she assumed was the kitchen by the glimpse of gleaming stainless-steel counter. Lights hidden along the skirting boards flicked on with his movement, illuminating a path like a runway.
But the contemporary lighting wasn’t her mai
n focus as her gaze glued to his butt and the way it filled out his black chinos. Damn, he looked good. Better than she remembered. Felt good too, from her blatant stroking of his boner in the jazz club. It had driven her wild, knowing he had the hots for her, had emboldened and empowered her to do what she’d yearned to do from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him again: kiss him. And what a kiss: deep, sensual, erotic, Brock to a T. She’d been on the point of straddling him if the band hadn’t started up.
Now, she wanted to start up in an entirely different way.
No sound came from the kitchen and she hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts. She’d subdued her doubts about having sex with him, especially when they’d be working together to organise her business, and she’d assumed that the fact he’d invited her here to get down and dirty meant he wanted the same thing.
Sneaking a peek over her shoulder in the direction of the now brightly lit kitchen, she scuttled towards a high-backed chair furthest from the floor-to-ceiling windows. She rucked up her skirt and wriggled out of her control panties, experiencing a moment of panic when her usual muffin top rolled out. Mentally cursing her inherent insecurities, she stuffed the panties into her handbag and smoothed her skirt down.
She’d lost about five kilos since her uni days, enough to give her a semblance of a waist. The weight loss served to accentuate her bust and take some of the attention away from her hips and ass. ‘The perfect hourglass,’ Brock had said with reverence when he’d skimmed his hands over her body on grad night. But she’d never disrobed fully then, keeping on a T-shirt the entire time. Brock hadn’t pushed her to take it off and she’d loved him for it. He’d never made her feel anything but cherished during the whole experience and she wanted more of the same.
What would he think if she revealed her embarrassing secret? That she hadn’t had sex since that night.
Six years of celibacy by choice.
It sounded crazy in her head; no way could she articulate it. He’d think she was some kind of loser, getting so hung up over that one cataclysmic night that she hadn’t screwed any guy since.
Not that she hadn’t tried. She’d fooled around with a few dates, giving and receiving head. But when it had come to revealing skin she’d baulked, each and every time. She’d been labelled a prick tease several times but hadn’t cared. None of those guys she’d casually dated had been a patch on Brock.
It had been serendipitous when she’d seen an article on him in a computer journal last week. She needed the best in the IT business to ensure she could honour Sasha’s memory in the right way, so it had been a no-brainer to contact him despite her qualms. Because a picture had accompanied the glowing recommendation from some journo and seeing him again—albeit on a screen—after six years had stirred up quashed memories in a big way.
How he’d lavished every inch of her body with attention, exploring dips and curves with his tongue. How he’d maintained eye contact the moment he’d slid into her for the first time. How he’d caressed and kissed her skin, from her ankles to her ears, taking the time to linger where she’d needed him most.
The memories had been potent and kept her up nights when she’d lain in bed, horny and alone, pleasuring herself with the memory of him inside her.
She squeezed her thighs together; as if that would stop the insistent throb. If he didn’t come back soon she’d go after him but it had been six years since their last phenomenal bout, what were a few more minutes?
Padding to the glass door that opened out onto a wrap-around balcony, she took in the view of Melbourne by night. She loved this vibrant city, every cosmopolitan inch. Travelling widely with her folks had ensured she’d fallen in love with cities on a regular basis: Paris, Vienna, Hamburg, London. Lake Como had been her favourite, with Vancouver a close second, but no city had a vibe like Melbourne.
From her vantage point she could see the Arts Centre spire, an electric blue against the night sky, the bustling Flinders Street Station and the MCG lights on. She didn’t follow Aussie Rules football but you couldn’t live in Melbourne without knowing teams played there every winter weekend.
‘Sorry that took so long.’
She spun around to see Brock laying out a cheese platter, a fruit platter and a bottle of Shiraz on the coffee table. Sheesh, this guy was too good to be true.
He gestured at the feast he’d laid out. ‘I didn’t have dinner and I’m hungry, thought you might be too?’
His bashful smile made her want to hug him, but she settled for sinking into the soft suede sofa in front of the food.
‘Thanks for this, you’re very thoughtful.’
‘I aim to please.’
Their gazes locked and she knew in that instant he wasn’t talking about the food. Heat and electricity sizzled in the air between them, a reminder of how good they were together, anticipation of doing it again.
To her mortification, her stomach gurgled at that moment, loud enough to be heard, and heat flooded her cheeks.
His mouth eased into a sexy grin. ‘Let’s eat.’
He took a seat next to her, close enough that their knees touched, sending a jolt of longing arrowing straight between her legs.
When she sat forward to serve herself, he laid a hand over hers. ‘Let me.’
Emotion clogged her throat so she nodded and eased away slightly so they weren’t touching. She’d expected them to tumble into bed the moment they entered his apartment. Instead, he’d done this. She didn’t know whether he’d tried to put her at ease or to show he wasn’t a sex maniac, but she appreciated the gesture. He’d made her feel more special in the last few minutes than any of her dates had over the last few years.
‘Here you go.’ He handed her a plate covered with crackers, tiny wedges of Brie, a slice of Camembert, a dob of quince paste and a small bunch of grapes.
‘Thanks.’ Her voice wobbled and she masked her insecurity by flashing a dazzling smile. ‘I’ll need sustenance for later.’
One corner of his delectable mouth quirked at her innuendo. ‘Are you planning on ravishing me all night?’
‘Only if you’re lucky.’ Jayda winked, hoping he couldn’t read the uncertainty ricocheting through her. Now that she was at his place with the sole intention of having sex, some of her earlier chutzpah at the club had deserted her.
She could blame it on her weakness for creamy cheese but knew better. He’d disarmed her with his thoughtfulness and she couldn’t let emotions enter into this. She could handle great sex with a hot guy. But having him make her feel anything...no, she couldn’t allow it.
She piled Brie on a cracker, swiped it through the quince paste and stuffed the lot into her mouth before she said something she’d regret. Like goodbye. No point getting into a funk now. She wanted this. It had been too long. She needed to get laid, sooner rather than later.
Sensing her reticence to talk, he nibbled on a cracker, then another, giving her time to...what? Compose herself? Stuff her face? Second-guess the wisdom of this? The fraught silence stretched between them and despite consuming most of the Brie and crackers on her plate, the hollow feeling in her stomach hadn’t abated.
She needed more than food.
She needed him.
‘Brock?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I want you...’ she murmured, unprepared for the sheer hunger with which he launched himself at her. Her plate tumbled to the floor, scattering cheese and crackers and grapes across the pristine marble. Neither of them cared.
‘I’m going nuts over here, trying to do the right thing and not fuck you senseless like I want to,’ he said, his mouth grazing her ear as his weight pressed her into the sofa, the feel of his cock pressed against her sweet spot making her whimper with need.
‘There’s no doing the right thing.’ She clasped his face in her hands so he had to look at her. ‘This is you and me. No expectations, just a night of great
sex.’
She grazed his bottom lip with her thumb and he inhaled sharply. ‘We’ve been here before and our ability to not complicate this is exactly why I made a pass at you back at the club.’
His eyes darkened to ebony. ‘As I remember, I grabbed your hand and pressed it to this.’ He ground his cock against her and she couldn’t help but moan. ‘So I made the pass.’
‘Exactly how long are we going to discuss technicalities?’ She arched her pelvis, vindicated when passion hazed his eyes. ‘Because we could be having a lot more fun right now rather than talking.’
He pinned her with a stare that bored all the way down to her soul and she blinked to dispel the inexplicable burn of tears. This guy made her happy. Correction, what he could do to her body made her happy and no way in hell would she spoil this encounter with emotion because he’d been the last guy to make her feel good about herself.
‘I want to make sure you really want this.’ He reached up to gently dislodge her hands from his face. ‘This is nothing like six years ago—’
‘No, it’s not. Because I’m stronger now, in control and capable of choosing who I want to have phenomenal sex with, and tonight I choose you.’
When he continued to eyeball her with solemnity, she surged upwards, forcing him to sit up. Time to show him with actions how much she wanted him.
Resting her hands on his shoulders, she held him in place while she swung a leg over him. His breath hissed out when she lowered herself onto his lap and gave a little wriggle for good measure. Straddling him left him under no illusions she was in charge and so hot for him she could barely breathe. ‘I want this to happen, Brock, but if you don’t—’
He kissed her, commanding and demanding, using actions to convey exactly how much he wanted this to happen too. His hands gripped her waist and she hated the momentary flare of unease that he’d feel her squishy bits. She wriggled self-consciously and his hands slid from her waist to her ass. Much better. Her booty may be larger than most but thanks to countless hours on the treadmill it had tone.
