by Mina Carter
His eyes glittered dangerously. “One look, just one word from that pretty little mouth and you’d have any man on his knees, a slave to your every whim. A saint would struggle to resist you, and honey, I’m nowhere near sainthood.”
No, no saint. He was a devil. His words wrapped a spell around her as she imagined just that, him on his knees in front of her. She held the shiver in as bone-melting heat rolled through her. She could imagine him on his knees and all the delicious things that could happen with him in that position, but submissive? No, that she couldn’t imagine. Biding his time, yes, but submissive, no.
Tension drew the air tight between them, awareness crawling over every inch of her skin as their gazes locked. His lips parted, the tiny intake of breath inflating his broad chest. He was as aware of her as she was of him.
“A slave, huh?” She tipped her chin up in challenge. “So how about you let me go then, since I’m the one in charge here?”
Darkness flooded his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he closed in. “Why? Do you want me to let you go?”
Oh dear God. No, not at all. “Yeah…”
He smiled, just the tiniest quirk of his lips.
“On one condition.”
She frowned as he lowered his head again. “That’s not how this works if you’re the slave.”
“I didn’t say anything about being a slave, beautiful.” His lips hovered a few millimeters above hers. So close she could almost feel them moving as he spoke. An ache hit her hard and fast, her eyes beginning to flutter closed. He had to kiss her again. She needed him to kiss her again. “I said enslaved to your every whim, there’s a difference.”
Like hell there was, but she couldn’t get it together enough to argue. Not with him wrapping her up in his embrace, and her whole being crying out for his lips on hers again.
“And right now, your reactions are telling me you want me to kiss you again.”
No shit, Sherlock. She managed not to blurt out the sharp retort, instead leaning into him.
What had gotten into her, she had no clue. She didn’t normally react like this around men. She was “play it safe” Daisy. No action until she’d been seeing a guy a couple of months. More than one had quit before they’d reached that mark, telling her that she was frigid and unnatural for not putting out within a couple of weeks.
Right now though, she didn’t feel like playing it safe.
Chapter 2
The temptation of her upturned lips was just too much for Will. With a groan, he swooped in and claimed them again. She was tiny, curvy, and fit in his arms like a dream. Her lips were soft and clung to his. There was no coyness or pretense in her response. She kissed him with a fire and passion which fed his own.
The groan of need rumbled up from the center of his chest. It had been months since he’d taken a woman to bed. Shit, had to be over a year now. Not since he’d split up with his ex. Before the memory of another woman could surface and ruin the moment, he clamped down on the thought and concentrated on the spitfire in his arms.
She wriggled against him as he deepened the kiss, her lithe movements driving him almost to the edge of his control. Who cared that she’d broken into his house to rob it? She’d certainly bitten off more than she could chew with him. If she’d come here to steal, then he could take something in return. Or get her to give it up.
Conscience assuaged, he moved in for the kill. One hand was already in her hair, so he slid the other around the curve of her waist and spread his fingers over the small of her back. A quick yank brought her up flush against his body, and he eagerly swallowed her little cry of surprise.
His cock throbbed where it was trapped between them, barely constrained by the thin cotton of his boxers. She had pants on, but it would take less than a second to lean her over the counter and pull them over her lush hips so he could bury himself balls deep.
The shiver of heat at the thought almost stole what little remained of his control, but he kept control through force of will. He wasn’t some animal concerned only about his own pleasure and needs. Yeah, so she’d planned to steal from him, but she was still a human being.
Slowing his pace, he drank from her lips, using his hands to stroke along her curves. She was a delicious little armful, with the sort of full curves he preferred. Not stick thin, so he didn’t have to worry about breaking her if he so much as looked at her the wrong way. No, his spitfire was built for loving. If he was lucky, she’d even like it a little rough. Lava flowed through his veins at the thought. God, he hoped so.
A slide of his hand had her spine arching, breasts pressing harder into his chest. He cursed the layers of her clothes between them. Some kind of suit. Odd outfit for a burglar. He broke away from her lips, and trailed a line of kisses along her jaw as he worked the jacket off her shoulders. A groan escaped him as he found and traced the dainty line of her collarbone. She was exquisite, both in her build and her reactions. Each stroke of his fingers, each brush of his lips, drew a reaction and her soft, sexy little gasps near drove him to distraction.
The jacket hit the floor by his feet, and he went to work on her shirt. White and silky it clung in all the right places, outlining her assets like a jealous lover. He popped the buttons, his efforts aided when she sucked a ragged breath in, the fabric straining over her ample breasts. Breasts he ached to touch, to explore and test in his hands to see if they were the perfect fit he suspected.
The fabric parted like butter under a hot knife, and then he had his hands underneath to ease it off her shoulders. She shivered, tilting her head to the side in invitation, one he wasn’t slow in taking up. His lips grazed along the line of her neck, nibbling and kissing, as he reached up to cup her. The plain bra was…
White.
Fuck.
The details didn’t so much filter through the sensual haze in his mind as much as slam into him with the force of a freight-train. Burglars wore black, didn’t they? At least they did in all the TV shows he’d watched, which could be total bollocks as far as he knew. But, why, if she was robbing the place, was she dressed for the office?
He dropped her like she was a hotcake and stepped away. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
She blinked, the dazed look in her eyes rapidly sharpening. “Are we on some kind of replay? We did that bit already.”
Crap. He ran his hand through his hair. What the hell was he doing? He had a hot as hell woman in his kitchen, a hot as hell, half-naked woman in his kitchen, and he was doing what? Not kissing her, that’s what. He was a fucking idiot.
“I’m sorry. I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.” He looked around, noting the letters scattered over the floor. Mail. She’d had them in her hand when he’d tackled her. Shitshitshitshit. “You’re not here to rob the place, are you?”
She grabbed the front of her shirt, covering herself, and the look she shot his way clearly said she thought he’d lost his mind. “What? Rob… Why would I rob my own neighbor? In fact, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here? You can’t squat here. I’ll call the police and get you evicted.”
“I am not a squatter. Wait, what? You’re my neighbor?" Oh God. This was worse than he’d thought. Why had he thought she’d be part of the silver-set? She was young, and hot. Very hot. Fuckably hot.
“So what are you doing collecting mail at—” He checked the clock on the oven. “Two-thirty in the morning?”
Her face echoed the horror that had rolled through him a moment ago. “You bought the house? When? Where is all your furniture?”
She slid off the counter, her hands shaking as she tried to button her shirt. The primal male part of him snarled as the delectable sight of her breasts was covered. He concentrated on her face instead, and totally ignored the hard-on tenting his boxers. You’d have thought the shock of the situation would have had it deflating like a popped birthday balloon but no, the damn thing had a mind of its own.
“Okay, this went all wrong from the get-go. Let’s start again, shall we?” He held o
ut his hand and introduced himself with a smile. “I’m Will Peters. I just moved in. Mind if I borrow a cup of sugar?”
The joke broke the tension in the room. He widened his smile, rounding his shoulders to reduce his height and “loomy-ness” as he went for charming and lovable rather than big and dangerously turned-on.
His reward was a small flicker at the corner of her lips as she looked down to fasten her buttons. Crap, she had fantastic breasts. As she pulled the fabric taut, his mouth watered at the memory of them filling his hands. Instantly, he snapped his head up so she didn’t catch him staring. He was a pervert. A dirty, bloody pervert. All he could think about was getting her onto the counter again, getting between her thighs, and taking them both to heaven and back.
“Daisy Hardy. Pleased to meet you, Will.” Her eyes narrowed, and she shot him a direct look. “Will Peters? The rugby player, Will Peters?”
“Yeah… One and the same. You follow the game?” he asked in surprise. He could not be this lucky surely…that his neighbor was not only hot as hell, but that she actually liked the rather brutal game he loved and played for a living.
The flicker of a smile became a smile. “I should say so, been a fan for years. Hadn’t a clue what it was all about when I started to watch, just watched it for the nice scenery.” She winked, pulling her self-composure around herself as he watched. Amazing. “After a few years though, some of the rules started to sink in. Nice game against the Charnwood Chiefs last week. You played well.”
Pride filled him. She’d watched him. Noticed him on the pitch. Saw him doing what he did best. Male triumph washed through his veins. Then he grimaced, remembering the tackle he’d completely and utterly fucked up.
She caught his expression and chuckled as she bent to collect the mail scattered over the floor. He tried and failed not to look at her ass. Pert and heart-shaped, he ached to palm it, run his hands over her delectable curves. His cock pulsed, the part of his brain that was locked onto sex—with her—feeding him images of that ass bare as he pounded into her from behind.
Fuck. No, not fuck. He wasn’t thinking of fucking. Not at all.
She straightened up, lips pursed as she sorted the mail into a pile. Images of those full lips wrapped around his cock made him smother a groan. Taking refuge behind the return of the island in the middle of the kitchen, he willed his cock to deflate. He needed to calm down. Now. Yesterday, if not before.
“I was going to drop those off at the estate agents on Monday,” he offered. “But if you’ve been collecting them for the family…”
Ask her to dinner, you fucking idiot.
“Hmm…since we got off on the wrong foot—like really the wrong foot—can I take you to dinner? Tomorrow? The pub in the village does a nice meal apparently.”
He held his breath until she nodded, just once, and favored him with a smile. “Okay.”
Triumph surged through him and he had to resist the urge to pump his fist. Instead he offered a smile. “Great. About seven? I’ll book a table.”
Daisy had a date. With Will Peters of all people. Will Peters, who had pinned her down, and then kissed her until she was senseless last night. No, early this morning. After months of watching him on the pitch, admiring his skill—and she had to face it, his body—she’d come face to face with him—or lip to lip—and hadn’t bloody recognized him. Total brain freeze.
She groaned. At least she hadn’t thrown herself at him when he’d backed off, putting a counter between them. That would have been too embarrassing for words. She pressed cool hands to her cheeks. Will Peters was her new next-door neighbor, and he was taking her out tonight. He’d be here in—she checked her watch—three quarters of an hour. Shit. She needed to get a move on.
A bundle of nerves, she glared at the contents of her closet spread across her bed, trying to figure out what to wear. He’d kissed her last night. If he hadn’t pulled away when he had, they’d have gone right at it there in the kitchen.
God, her body hummed just at the thought of it, heat slithering through her to settle between her legs. But then he’d apologized and hadn’t touched her again, not even when he’d escorted her to her front door.
Perhaps the meal was just that, an apology for nearly assaulting her and not anything else. Perhaps when he’d put the light on and had time to think about it, he hadn’t been interested despite his initial reaction. But then, he’d also sent the hugest bunch of flowers this morning, as well as the note tucked in them simply saying “Sorry, W xx” in a bold scrawl. Heavens…a girl could go mad thinking about it over and over.
She chewed her lip. Did she wear a little black dress or was that too forward? She looked at her jeans, and then grimaced. Too causal. Shit, it would really help if she knew what he was wearing.
As if on cue, a car door banged shut outside. Hurrying to the window, Daisy peeked through the drapes to see Will heading for his front door. Wearing black pants and a deep grey shirt that highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, he was threading something through the cuff of his shirt. A cufflink.
The door shut behind him, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Cufflink going in meant he was putting the shirt on, not taking it off. Perfect. Spinning on her heel, she headed for the bed and picked a dress from under the others. A smile curved her lips as she slid it off the hanger and wriggled into it.
Zipping it up, she turned to the mirror and struck a pose.
The smile morphed into a grin. This wasn’t just any dress, it was the dress. The “get him into bed” dress that made her feel like a million dollars. Deep red satin, it clung in all the right places. The wide neckline emphasized her collarbones without making her ample bust look vulgar, and the nipped in waist made her feel like a fifties sex-bomb.
Apology dinner indeed. She’d have him begging for it before they reached dessert. Pouting one last time at the mirror, she moved to sit in front of the dresser to apply her makeup. In fact, if she had anything to say about it, Will would end up as dessert.
Just over half an hour later she was primped and preened to within an inch of her life. Her hair was pinned up in a simple, messy up-do, a few strands teased forward to frame her face. The whole thing was held in place with a few pins at her crown, so if someone should remove them, it would all tumble alluringly over her shoulders. That was the plan anyway.
Checking her purse, she squeaked when there was a knock at the front door. Hell, he was early. A quick glance in the hall mirror assured her that her appearance hadn’t changed since she’d looked in the mirror upstairs five minutes ago. Smoky eyes, but not too heavy, check. Red sheen over her lips, check. Little bit of cleavage, all good to go.
Taking a deep breath to quell her nerves, she hurried to open the door. And promptly forgot how to breathe.
“Wow.” Will blinked, and then grinned as he looked her over, appreciation in his eyes. “You should have warned me you were pulling the big guns. You look great.”
The color hit her cheeks before she could stop it.
“Thank you. You don’t look bad yourself.” Lord, wasn’t that the truth. The grey shirt clung to him lovingly, highlighting his solid musculature in a way any red-blooded woman would appreciate. “Just as long as you don’t plan on tackling me again. These heels won’t take it.”
His smile turned wicked, the sudden darkening of his stormy eyes almost doing her in right there on the doorstep. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to take them off you first.”
Holy hell, not even make her take them off, but take them off her. And she had no doubt he would, the look in his eyes hitting her down low. The man should come with warning labels. She swallowed her whimper, muttered something about her coat and waved him in.
Less than a minute later she was back, color in her cheeks controlled and a smile on her face as she took his offered arm, and they stepped into the crisp evening air.
Daisy was a delight and a temptress, all wrapped up in one sexy little package. Dinner passed quickly for Will. Wonderful food and
great conversation stole the hours, until, before he knew it, the bill was paid, and he held her coat for her to slip into before they stepped out into the cold night air.
He stood to the side as she thanked the waiter with a smile. Jealousy curled in his gut that she was smiling at—hell, that she’d even noticed—another guy. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and haul her back to his lair. Lock her up so no other man could steal her away from him.
O…kay, a little caveman there. He nodded to the guy as he slid his wallet away into his pocket, knowing better than to let it show. Hell, if she had an inkling of what was going through his mind, she’d run for cover.
“Are you sure you don’t want dessert?” He asked, knowing how much women craved chocolate at times. “You’re not watching your weight, are you?”
As soon as the words left his lips, he froze. Oh, fucking great move, Peters. Now she’ll think you’re having a crack about her figure.
“I mean,” he added hastily, dread settling in at her suddenly careful expression as he turned her for the door. Shit, best get her out of here before she went postal on his ass. “You don’t need to… I think you’ve got a fantastic figure.”
“Thank you.” She relaxed, the movement tiny but as clued in to her body language as he was, she might as well have hired a billboard. “That’s a nice thing to say.”
The cute blush was back, and when she looked up at him through her lashes, the expression all innocent-sexy, his cock jerked in his pants.
“No, I’m okay for dessert, thanks. I—” She paused for a moment, frowned, and then carried on quickly. “I figured you guys must have to be careful about your diet, so I didn’t want to eat something sweet when you couldn’t.”
Oh, bless her. Stunned, Will looked at her as she let him herd her through the door, a hand on the small of her back. He shut out the temptation to let it wander. The cool night air hit them, crisp in his lungs as he took a breath and turned her toward him.
