Indecent Exposure

by Faye Avalon

  His smile turned positively lethal. “And I really like the feel of you underneath me.”

  She cocked her head. “It comes as no surprise to me that you favor the missionary position. Mr. Establishment and all that.”

  “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, my know-it-all little witch. And you’ll have cause to eat your words.”

  “Mmm. What did you have in mind?”

  Slowly, he raised his hips and pulled out of her, wincing as she deliberately gripped him with her intimate muscles. “You think you’re clever.” He narrowed his eyes at her mischievous grin. “Like I said, eat your words.”

  He rolled off her and stood. Watching him stroll into the bathroom, Gina stretched like a well-pleasured cat and slung her arms over her head. Seconds later, he was back, and she took the opportunity to get herself a very pleasurable eyeful.

  “If you want dinner, you’d better stop lying there like a lascivious mouthful and get your very delectable backside in the shower.”

  The sight of him in all his male glory, stirred her juices again and she held out her arms. “Couldn’t we order in?”

  He dropped one knee onto the bed, placed his hands either side of her shoulders and leaned down. “I’ve booked a table at a restaurant right near the Eiffel Tower.”

  “You know my weakness. How am I supposed to resist that?”

  “You don’t have to resist. Especially when I plan to have you back here and naked before the clock strikes midnight.”

  “What happens at midnight?”

  He dropped a kiss to her mouth, then to each breast before returning to her mouth again. “All manner of debauched acts destined to make you remember your first trip to Paris.”

  Gina already knew that she’d remember her first trip to Paris. It would be forever etched with the memory of being in Mitch’s arms.

  After their shower, which inevitably resulted in wet and slippery sex against the shower wall, Gina dressed in the bedroom while Mitch went into the sitting room to call for a cab.

  She slipped on her best red silk shift dress, and thought of Costas and what he wanted her to do. There was no immediate cause for concern that she hadn’t taken the photo yet—she had all weekend. It would be best to take it at night, when Mitch was fast asleep. With any luck, she could do it without him even being aware. At least not until Costas confronted him with the evidence of her treacherous act.

  With a heavy heart, she sat on the bed and slipped on strappy sandals. She didn’t dare let herself dwell on the way Mitch would react when he found out what she’d done. Would he come to the studio and confront her? Or would he simply discard her from his life and consider her not worthy of further contact?

  She dropped her chin to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut, as if doing so would stop the sickening thoughts from spinning around in her brain.

  Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath, then stood and smoothed down the front of her dress. It wouldn’t do to think on it any more right then. There was nothing to be done. The wheels had been set in motion. She had no choice but to carry on and hope to goodness her actions wouldn’t hurt Mitch too much.

  How bad could it be? She couldn’t imagine that a naked photo of a man who looked like Mitch would be anything but celebrated. Okay, he worked in a traditional environment, but would it have anywhere near the repercussions for him that it would for her and her mother if the video ever saw the light of day? Surely a man like Mitch would shrug it off.

  But she didn’t trust Costas. She had no idea what he intended to do with the photo. Until the day he’d confronted her with his treachery, she hadn’t thought him capable of half the things she did now. So who knew what he had in store for Mitch?

  She dreaded to think how much Mitch would hate her when he discovered her part in whatever Costas had planned. She hated herself for being part of it.

  Was it so bad to want this time with Mitch? To want the feel of his arms around her, share his company, enjoy his kisses and his lovemaking?

  That brought her up with a jolt. When had she started to think of sex with Mitch as lovemaking?

  Perhaps it was just as well that their time together was limited. If she was starting to think of having sex with Mitch in more emotional terms, she was in even deeper trouble.

  She had to distance herself. Had to remember she was with him for a purpose, and that purpose would destroy whatever they had together the moment he discovered her duplicity.

  It was vital that she erect some kind of barrier between them. Crucial that she protect herself from feeling too much.

  Decision made, she grabbed her bag and went into the sitting room to meet him.

  Her resolve lasted all of two minutes and by the end of their second evening in Paris, she’d all but pushed Costas and his demands from her head. Instead, she’d chosen to enjoy her time in Paris with Mitch and face the consequences later. In what she’d come to think of as her Scarlet O’Hara moment, she would take the photo tomorrow. On their last night here. When they returned to London, she would hand over the photo to Costas and Mitch would never want to see her again. It would all be over. But that was tomorrow. She’d think about it tomorrow.

  “So, what’s the verdict?” In their suite, Mitch shrugged out of his linen jacket. “Remember, you’re only allowed to choose one.”

  As usual, Gina went to the window for her evening soak up of the view. “It’s hard to say. I would definitely have said the Louvre, but then you took me on the cruise along the Seine and dinner was absolutely wonderful. So, the river cruise.”

  He came up behind her and she sank back against him, snuggling close when he wrapped his arms around her waist. “The sea air must have given you an appetite,” he quipped. “Two helpings of lemon mousse. That was even more than I could manage.”

  “That’s because you had mussels.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “I thought that was a cliché about Paris, like eating snails.”

  “There are no clichés about Paris.”

  “I’m starting to get that.”

  If there were, one of the best clichés was how romantic it was. The City for Lovers. Snuggling against Mitch, she could believe it. She felt intoxicated. The combination of Mitch’s masculine scent, the potent feel of his arms, and the city’s twinkling lights served to make her lightheaded. But she knew it was so much more than the lights. It was Mitch. Somewhere along the Seine, between Notre Dame and the Champs Elysees, she’d given up the fight and let herself admit that she’d fallen for him.

  Of all the stupid things she’d ever done, that was probably the most foolhardy. But she couldn’t help it.

  Mitch pushed aside her hair and kissed the side of her throat. Slow, soft open-mouthed kisses that never failed to set her alight.

  She moaned softly. “I love when you do that.”

  His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs sliding over her nipples, already hardening beneath the silk bodice. When his erection pressed against her back, she shimmied against him. He bit softly into her neck and she gave a little “oooh” sound.

  He reached around and unzipped her dress, then slipped the straps from her shoulders. Since she wore no bra, the dress fell to her feet and he cupped her naked breasts. He stroked her nipples in time to the kisses he placed against her neck, and she arched into him, making tiny appreciative sounds. Since her pussy ached for his touch, she continued to gyrate against him.

  Keeping one hand on her breast, he slid the other hand lower until his fingers toyed with the top of her thong. He reached down and cupped her mound through the silk. “You’re so damn wet.”

  She dropped her head back on his shoulder. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.” He kneaded her pussy and she opened her legs a fraction, coaxing him to press deeper into her. “Touch me, Mitch. Properly.”

  He flicked aside the strip of silk and pushed one finger sideways in
to her pussy. She moaned and pressed back against him, loving the feel of his prick, so big and hard, against her back. She wanted it inside her. Hell. She always wanted him inside her.

  Desire built, her legs went weak, and still he continued to work her. Seconds later, she came, watching the lights twinkle beyond the window as Mitch’s fingers brought her to orgasm.

  No sooner had the last wave of reaction pulsed through her than he turned her around to face him. He hoisted her up, and she clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. He carried her to the bed where they fell onto it together. Mitch pulled back long enough to wrench off her thong. His chest expanded with each deep breath, his jaw tight with tension, eyes dark with need. He spread her legs and pressed his mouth to her heat.

  Gina clutched at the sheet, desperate to gain purchase before he pushed her up to the heights again. His mouth was rough and determined and she moaned his name over and over as sensation swamped her. Her second climax stormed through her, but when her tense muscles relaxed, Mitch kept subjecting her to the same ruthless torture.

  She scrambled up as best she could and reached for him. She grabbed for his shirt, her hands trembling against the buttons. “Mitch. Let me touch you.”

  Abruptly, he stood and pulled off his shirt, his eyes gleaming. Gina sat up on her knees, unhooked the waistband of his trousers and unzipped him. His erection sprang free, thick and gloriously ready for her.

  He toed off his shoes, yanked off his pants, then turned and went to the wardrobe. Moments later, he returned with two neckties and she felt the first flicker of unease. He dropped the ties on the bed and straddled her. When he kissed her, running his hand down the side of her ribs, her hip, her thigh, she tried to relax, but a tightness moved into her chest. He nudged her legs wider with his knee and settled between her legs.

  Then he picked up one of the ties.

  She made herself breathe as—with a wicked gleam in his eye—he stretched her arm up over her head. Powerless against the panic that rose in her chest, she jerked her arm back.

  Although his hold loosened, he kept his hand on her wrist and smiled down at her. “Trust me.”

  She did, and she was not going to let what happened with Costas ruin anything with Mitch. She was not going to let memories of being bound and then having her privacy so ruthlessly invaded spoil the beauty of what she and Mitch did together.

  He wasn’t Costas. He would never hurt her.

  But her body went rigid when he wrapped the tie around her wrist. Her breath came fast, her head spun. She tried to slow down her breathing.

  Mitch would never hurt her. Use her. Destroy her trust.

  She knew that, as much as she knew anything.

  This was Mitch. Not Costas.

  When her hand knocked against the bed post and she felt the tie tighten around her flesh, she jerked up, pushing at his chest with everything she had. Her heart thumped out of her ribcage and she all but hyperventilated “No.” She wrenched at her bound hand. “No!”

  Chapter Eleven

  Mitch froze. His intention had been to introduce a little bondage play into their sexual repertoire in the hope it would forever extinguish her view of him as stuffy and unadventurous. He sure as hell hadn’t meant for her to totally freak.

  He thought her thrashing might be an act, that she maybe wanted him to ignore her protests, force himself on her and tie her up regardless. He knew some women got off on that. But one look at her told him he was way off. Her stricken brown eyes stood out against the pallor of her skin, and the way she yanked at the tie made his own heart pound with concern.

  “Okay,” he soothed, and started unfastening her wrist. “It’s okay.”

  “Mitch.” She all but sobbed his name, her body trembling. Desperately, she struggled to get the tie off herself.

  Gently, Mitch nudged her hand away, and seconds later he threw the tie to the floor. “It’s off.”

  Her breath came in short gasps, so rapidly Mitch feared she might hyperventilate. Freed, she scooted back against the headboard, rubbing her wrist. She dropped her head to her knees.

  “Breathe, sweetheart.” He wanted to wrap her in his arms, draw her close and apologize, but instinct told him not to touch her right then. “Just breathe.”

  Although she continued to shake, he could see she was trying to do what he’d instructed. Her back expanded with each shuddering breath, her shoulders trembling with effort.

  He felt like a complete asshole. An inconsiderate jerk. Why the hell hadn’t he seen the signs before he’d started tying her up? She must have given some indication she wasn’t up for it, but damned if he’d noticed. All he could do was thank God he’d been called away from London at the last minute to attend the meeting here in Paris, and hadn’t had time to finalize his plans for their night at Jake Malone’s BDSM club.

  “Gina.” Unable to resist, he touched her arm, but wasn’t surprised when she jerked away. Although he understood, it felt like she’d kicked him in the gut. Still, he wondered if he’d missed the signs and berated himself for his lack of sensitivity. If he’d been tuned into her reactions, he would have stopped way before things got out of hand.

  “I’m…sorry.”

  At her muffled sob, he couldn’t resist moving closer, although he was careful not to touch her again. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Although she kept her forehead on her knees, she shook her head, sending blonde hair shimmering across her shoulders. Unable to resist any longer, he reached out and swept some of the long strands back so he could see her more clearly. This time, she didn’t pull away.

  “I don’t know why I did that.” She raised her head and inhaled a jerky breath. “I just totally freaked out.”

  His chest squeezed and Mitch had to suck in a breath himself. Holy shit. She looked so damn wretched. Gently, he tucked her hair back from her shoulders, the pressure in his chest turning red hot. It didn’t take a genius to work out where the roots of her reaction lay. “Who scared you, sweetheart?” he asked softly. “Tell me what happened.”

  She looked at him for long moments, then shook her head and closed her eyes before dropping her forehead to her knees again. “I can’t.”

  He clenched his teeth, his hands tightening into fists. Some bastard had hurt her. Had laid his hands on her, terrified her. Shit. If he came within spitting distance of the prick, he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

  He didn’t recognize the rage filling his chest, or the fury thundering through his bloodstream. But right then, his rage wasn’t worth a damn. He needed to focus on Gina. She needed to know she was safe with him, that he would never hurt her, and that whatever she needed, he’d move heaven and earth to provide.

  Taking a chance, he leaned back against the headboard and reached his arm around her. When she didn’t react, he drew her slowly into his embrace. He closed his eyes and gave an inner sigh of relief when she dropped her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “Hold me.”

  At her whispered request, he enclosed her in his arms and dropped his chin on the top of her head. They stayed that way for several minutes, her erratic breathing combining with his own hammering heart. Only the odd car horn from the street below penetrated the otherwise silent atmosphere.

  When Mitch felt her relax against him, and could trust the steadiness of his own voice, he took a breath. “Let me get you something to drink.”

  When he started to draw away, she held firm. “No. Just hold me for a while longer.”

  Since he hadn’t wanted to let her go anyway, he reached for the top sheet and pulled it back over her, then tightened his hold once more. Soothingly, he rubbed her arm, trying to get some warmth back into her chilled flesh.

  Though he was pleased her breathing seemed normal again, Mitch wasn’t entirely surp
rised that his own system still pulsed with anger. He had no tolerance for men who hurt women. He planned to coax Gina to tell him what had happened, and if it was in his power, he’d make damn sure the thug came to regret the day he’d ever laid hands on her.

  Drained, mortified, Gina clung to Mitch and wished to heaven she hadn’t reacted like that. As Mitch had started tying her up, memories had flooded back and swallowed every rational thought in her head. But there was no reason to lose it with Mitch. All she’d needed to do was simply tell him she wasn’t into that sort of foreplay and he would have stopped. She knew that. Instead, she’d overreacted and now she owed him some sort of explanation.

  There was no way she could simply play it down, laugh it off. That wouldn’t wash with Mitch. No, she’d have to explain. She’d have to make up something, because she couldn’t tell him the truth. That she’d allowed herself to be tied up naked by Costas, and had been the naïve victim of the man’s blackmail scheme.

  If she did tell him the truth, would he believe her? Would he even care that she’d been blackmailed? Her track record didn’t exactly foster a belief in her innocence, especially considering her propensity for getting involved with the wrong type of man.

  Until Mitch had come along, it had been safer to get involved with men like Costas. Men to have a good time with, while never risking her heart. Now that Mitch was back in her life, her own warped plan to save her heart had been turned on its heel and bitten her on the ass.

  With that realization, she clung to him harder, wanting to savor these last few moments protected in his arms, surrounded by his strength while his heart thumped reassuringly against her. Everything would change now. They would make love one last time before reality finally crushed her self-imposed fantasy. Tonight she would have to take the photograph. After that, it would all be over.

  When he kissed the top of her head, she snuggled some more. Drawing in a breath, she inhaled his scent deep into the very core of her being. She wanted to trap it there so she could always have that of him when it was over. While she lived her life regretting how she’d betrayed him, knowing that he hated her, despised her, and wished that he’d never laid eyes on her.