“Feel this.” He grabbed her soapy hand and drew it to his balls, showing her how to massage and tug at his sac the way he liked it. “You think you’ll need something else if I’m slapping these against you?”
Her breath hitched as a strangled sound emanated from the back of her throat, but no words formed. The slide of her fist up and down his cock fuelled him.
He shoved a hand between her legs and found her slick with excitement. “Just as I thought.”
Knowing how strongly she reacted to him was like a drug—it coursed through him, making him feel invincible. She quaked under his hands as he pushed a finger inside her, using the palm of his hand to press against her clit. Steam billowed around them as they stood there, unmoving except for the slow grind of her hips against his hand.
“Yes.” Her head rolled back against the tiles.
“Take what you want, Stella.” He slipped another finger inside her, relishing the clench of her muscles around him as she gasped. “Let me feel you come.”
The spasms started slow but built quickly and soon she was shaking against his hand, her cries muffled by the rush of water and the thick, steamy air. She pulsed around his fingers, rocking her hips until she’d wrung out every last drop of her orgasm.
Without waiting, he slipped his hand out and grabbed her hips, hoisting her up so he could press between her legs. She instinctively wrapped around him, locking her ankles at his lower back. He rubbed against the slick, wet folds of her sex, enjoying the little shudders her body gave when he brushed over her still-sensitive clit.
“Evan,” she protested, wriggling to get him into position. “Please. I need you inside me.”
He reached between them and grabbed his cock, positioning at her entrance, and then drove into her in one swift movement. Tightness enveloped him and didn’t stop until he was seated as far into her as possible. “This won’t be slow and sweet.”
“I don’t want slow and sweet,” she gritted out.
His hands were full of her tight, curved backside. His fingers biting into her. “Make sure you hang on, then.”
The groan that escaped her sent fire-hot lust spiking through him. Her eyes were heavy lidded, her lips parted. Pink tinted her cheeks and neck and chest, the flush enhanced by the warm water and his rough kisses. Holding on wouldn’t be an option much longer. The second he moved inside her, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Please,” she whispered. “Take me.”
The muscles in his legs and butt clenched as he drew back, hovering with just the tip of him inside her. God, she felt so good. So tight and hot and wet. He held her firmly as he bounced her up and down on his cock, using the wall to keep her from falling. This was exactly what he’d thought about the night they’d been tangled in his sheets before she’d dropped her bombshell on him. The image hadn’t ever faded.
“Christ, Stella.” He pressed his face to the curve of her neck as he drove into her. “You’re like heaven.”
Her nails raked along his scalp and he shuddered, his orgasm crashing into him with the force of a tidal wave. His fingers dug deep into her flesh as he chased release, his pelvic bone rubbing up against her until she started to shake again.
Chapter Eleven
Wrapped in a fluffy towel, Stella sat on the edge of Evan’s bed. Her body hummed in delicious satisfaction but her limbs were weighed-down as if cement bricks hung from her hands and feet.
Evan had dried off, before disappearing to make them a drink. It was still early, the city started its mid-week bustle, and outside the bedroom window the horizon above the Thames was streaked with pink and lavender. It was a sight to behold.
She tugged on a pair of straight-leg jeans and a lightweight cream top. The fabric was soft against her skin but her reflection in the mirror could have been anyone; the neutral shade did nothing for her skin and she looked…anonymous. All her clothes from home were like that. Bland, simple. Functional. The blue dress caught her eye from where it lay on the floor. It had given her a taste of excitement—of what she could be if she stepped out of her comfort zone—and now her old things no longer suited her. Shaking her head, she wandered out to the kitchen.
“Feeling good?” He gave her a wicked grin. He’d dressed in jeans and a sweater, the casual look making him lose a little of his usual sharp edges though the soft fabric didn’t hide the delectable muscles in his chest.
“How could I not?” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the kitchen counter.
What else was she supposed to say? Her “morning after” experience was limited and her ex-fiancé had always guided the conversation. No doubt because he’d been fishing for information, though she hadn’t known it at the time.
The kettle whistled, breaking the awkward silence. Evan poured the piping hot water into both cups and let them sit while the tea brewed.
“There’s no coffee here, I’m afraid,” he said.
“That’s okay. I think I’m developing a taste for tea.” The aroma filled the kitchen, soothing Stella’s mind before she’d even taken a sip.
“I’ve got a meeting this morning,” he said, blowing on the curling tendrils of steam. “But I thought we could have a look around afterward. Maybe you could buy another dress like the one you had on last night.”
Something in her chest flared. A tiny spark, a flicker of hope. Perhaps she hadn’t learned the lesson she needed to. Perhaps there was more to life than shielding oneself from harm.
“One dress like that is enough for me.” Warmth spread through her face, down her neck, and into the rest of her body. The act of sipping tea should have held some decorum to it, but his eyes were still hungry.
Knowing that he was so attracted to her filled her with an indescribable power. For so long she’d thought she meant nothing to him. She’d thought all the feelings were on her side.
Don’t go deluding yourself, Jackson. This is sex, pure and simple like he said.
“Then why don’t I show you the sights? Remind you what London has to offer.”
Of course. The bet. She tried to ignore the stab of disappointment that struck her chest.
“I promise you’ll have a great time,” he added.
“How can you promise that?”
His hand slid down her arm to grasp her wrist, bringing back flashes of last night. Of the feel of his lips on her neck, the smell of him. The hardness of him. “Surely after what we’ve done you should trust me to show you a good time.”
That was the problem. She found herself having too much of a good time.
She nodded. “I’ve promised a potential buyer that I’d make time to meet today. So we can go after that.”
He looked away at that, hiding whatever he was thinking.
Within half an hour they were walking outside, winter air whipping around them. The plans were brunch—together—followed by meetings in the city—separate—and then reconnecting for an hour or two of sightseeing. Stella rubbed her gloved hands together and buried her chin into her scarf.
The snow that’d fallen last night was nowhere to be found, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t cold enough to piss her off.
“Cold enough for you yet?” Evan looked at her and grinned.
She shivered. “Wouldn’t you prefer a nice, mild winter without any real chill to speak of?”
“You wait until it snows at the estate. It’s really something.”
“I don’t think so,” she muttered, the wind stinging her cheeks. She could no longer feel her nose. “It must get freezing in the cottage.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, pulling her tight against him. Her hip bumped his as they walked in step. “My mother used to hate it. She always said that she’d take me off to a tropical island when she had the money.”
“Did she ever get to see one?”
“No.” His voice darkened. “She got sick and never left England.”
Stella swallowed, her heart aching for him. She knew what it meant to lose your whole family all at once
—the bitterness, the grief, the anger. The endless gaping hole it left in your chest. “How old were you?”
“Twenty-six,” he replied.
His cheekbones were so sharp they could have been carved out of ice, and his smooth forehead remained still. He looked regal in the way he carried his grief, as though he bore it all in secret and were it not for the bob of his Adam’s apple, she might not have known it affected him at all.
“That’s so young.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Too young. For both of us. She was only forty-three but she looked old…like every one of those years had been as difficult as a decade. She had a lot of bad relationships, a lot of suffering.”
“Sounds like she did well raising you.” The words popped out without her having time to think them over, and she found that the animosity she’d carried over the last four years was totally absent.
“Some might say that,” he said, turning to give her a sly look. “Would you say I was well-raised after what we’ve done?”
“Hmmm…” Her mind flashed back to the shower. “I take it back.”
He stopped in front of a large wooden door decorated with a Christmas wreath and a welcome sign adorned with a piece of holly. “Here we are.”
“Looks cute,” she said, entering and slipping her gloves off. The space was dotted with small wooden tables, each adorned with sugar and other condiments in mismatched china. Various Christmas ornaments lined the serving counter, and the takeaway cups were matched with a red and white snowflake design. “I like it.”
“I was concerned that their mismatched Christmas ornaments might be too much for you,” Evan said, digging his elbow into her side. “Look, that window has green, blue, and gold baubles. Are you getting hives yet?”
“We’ll have to leave immediately,” she responded drily. “But I need a coffee first.”
Evan disappeared to order their food and Stella took a seat at an empty table. The café looked like someone’s kitchen…if that kitchen could seat twenty or so people. She picked up the saltshaker in the shape of a porcelain dog. It perfectly matched the peppershaker, except for the tiny chip taken out of its left ear. She turned the two dogs to face one another so that it looked like they were pressing their snouts together in a kiss.
What the hell are you doing?
She had no idea. For a woman who’d come to England determined to turn tail as quickly as possible, she’d found herself tumbling down some strange rabbit hole to an alternate dimension. One where she was desirable and sexy. One where she didn’t feel like an outsider.
Tracing the chip in the porcelain dog’s ear, she sighed. That was the problem with Evan, he made her feel like there was a spot for her in his life. Like it was possible that maybe she could find the happiness and love that had eluded her until now. But it was a lie.
Evan only wanted two things—her estate and her body. She’d been willing to give him the latter, and now he was chasing the former. He didn’t want her heart or her love, and she needed to remember that.
…
Evan waited in the short line at the café’s register, wondering what the hell kind of aliens had taken him over. He never went back for a second round—the whole point of using sex solely to scratch an itch was that he didn’t have to think about it afterward. There were no morning afters, no discussions about relationship status and certainly no bloody brunch.
Yet here he was.
You’re asking for trouble with her. One wrong move and she’ll rip your dreams apart.
He hated not having the power position in negotiations. Correction; he hated not having the power position in any situation, but especially not where his career goals were concerned. The Jackson Estate needed to be his if he was to make the leap into becoming a hotelier.
But the problem was now he’d landed himself in a sticky situation. If he went too aggressively, she’d assume the sex was all part of his plan to win the bet. But if he tried to get some distance, she’d think he was using her.
That’s why you’re not supposed to mix business and pleasure.
Evan ordered their coffees and carried the cups, along with a plate of two fresh croissants, to where Stella sat by the window. There wasn’t an easy answer for how he needed to handle this situation, but doing nothing wasn’t an option, either.
“This place is freaking adorable.”
“It’s not exactly my speed.” His assistant usually picked up his coffee for him and he had no idea which café it came from. “But this was a haunt of your grandfather’s. He said the coffee was more like what you get at home.”
“Oh.” She looked around the café again, a soft smile playing on her lips. “He always liked places that were quirky.”
“Quirky is right.” And it sounded a little better than what he would have gone with, which was “wacky.” Still, his gut had told him that Stella would enjoy the kitsch decorations and vibrant atmosphere. And that’s what their time in London was supposed to be all about.
He might not want there to be any messy emotional entanglements between them, but he needed her to fall head over heels for London.
“You two were really close,” she said suddenly, the serious tone cutting right through his thoughts. “He cared about you a lot. It made me jealous, if I’m being honest. Sometimes I wondered if he would have preferred a grandson instead of me.”
“No way.” Evan shook his head. “You were his whole world.”
“You had a piece of his world, trust me.”
“If it weren’t for your grandfather I wouldn’t have anything I have now. God, if it weren’t for him I’d probably be sweeping streets. Hell, I might have ended up in jail.”
She frowned. “Why do you say that?”
What exactly was it about Stella that made him want to pour his heart out? She was the first woman he’d ever told about his mother and she was the first woman outside the staff at the estate who knew about his less than perfect upbringing.
“Let’s just say I was troubled growing up. I tried to drop out of school a bunch of times, but Nicholas promised if I stayed then he would get me a job when I graduated.” Evan hadn’t understood at the time what connections from someone like Nicholas Jackson meant, but he knew now. He owed that man everything.
“That sounds like him.” Stella smiled as she sipped her coffee. “He always wanted to help people.”
“I wasn’t used to having someone check in on me. I’d never known anything but deadbeats who lived off welfare and treated women like punching bags.”
For years he’d been consumed by frustration over how he’d been too young and too weak to stand up for his mother. The men she’d dated abused her—emotionally, mentally, and sometimes physically. He’d only been a child, but he remembered those times with a vividness that haunted him. Some days he wished he could forget, wished he could no longer hear the sound of his mother screaming at him to pack his bags before they were on the road again. Living out of her rusted car. Freezing in winter because the heater only worked intermittently.
He’d be damned if he ever got put in a position like that again. Romantic relationships would never come before his career or his family.
“I’m sure he’d be very proud of you.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “It’s one of the reasons I’m interested in buying the estate.”
He hoped that his judgment hadn’t been too adversely affected by a night—and morning—of incredible sex. Orgasms didn’t kill brain cells, did they? The time felt right to bring up his plans again, in the hopes Stella might be relaxed enough to hear him out.
“You’re telling me it’s about wanting to commemorate him?” she asked. “And it’s not just about furthering your own career?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Can’t it be both? I won’t lie and tell you I’m not interested in furthering my position. Of course I am. But it’s more than that.”
“Tell me.”
She wanted him to open up, to be vulnerable. Hadn’t
he done that enough, already? He’d crossed over the edge of his comfort zone the second he pulled her into his lap earlier that morning.
“I can turn the estate into a thriving business that will keep his name alive for another generation. For multiple generations.” He could also make enough money to finally break into the upper echelon of London’s property players, but he figured that wouldn’t appeal to Stella quite so much. “I’ve drawn up some plans that show how we can turn the estate into a luxury retreat while preserving the historical elements of the building. I’ll take it from being a quaint bed and breakfast style establishment to something far more high end. We’ll cater to the uber wealthy—”
“Okay.” She held up a hand. “I’ll hear your full proposal out when we get back to the estate.”
“And what about the meetings you have lined up?”
“I’m still going to have them.” She drained the rest of her drink and popped the last bite of her croissant into her mouth. “At the end of the day this is a business decision.”
“I’m comfortable with competition.”
“But I want to hear what you’d do. You know, in case you win the bet.”
He couldn’t tell whether or not she was teasing. “I’ll set up an official meeting.”
“Good.” She shrugged into her coat. “Thanks for the breakfast.”
He watched as she left the café, her long ponytail swishing with each step. Before he had time to ponder what she’d said, his phone rang. His office number flashed across the screen.
“Hey,” he said, cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could tuck into his croissant.
“I’m just giving you a courtesy call to confirm your appointment with the Parker Group at twelve.” His assistant’s voice floated down the line, the sharp clickety-clack of fingernails against a keyboard sounded in the background.
“Got it.”
“How is everything with Miss Jackson? Have you taken her through the upgrade plans?”
“Not yet.” He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. As much as he’d told her that he didn’t mind competition, he hated not being able to close quickly. It didn’t happen often and even when it did, he wasn’t usually so invested in a deal as he was with this particular one.
Millionaire Under the Mistletoe Page 12
