by Anne Oliver
But when Ryan and Stella took to the floor for the bridal waltz to the seductive beat of ‘Dance Me to the End of Love’, she knew her own moment of up close was imminent and her legs started to tremble.
Jake rose and held out his hand, his eyes as beguiling as the song. ‘I think it’s our turn.’ Emma caught the undertone in his voice and her whole body thrummed with its underlying message that went way beyond the dance floor and upstairs to that big soft bed.
When he grasped her fingers to lead her into the dance space there was something … different about the contact. And in the centre of the room, when he slid his hand to her back, firm and warm and possessive, she felt as if the floor tilted beneath her feet.
They’d never danced together, and his proximity released a stream of endorphins, stimulating her senses. The throb of the music echoed through her body. His cool green aftershave filled her nostrils. The sensuous brush of his thighs against hers beneath the heavy swish of her full skirt had her breath catching in her throat.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered, missing a step and trying to create some space between them—she needed it to breathe, and to say, ‘I’m not a very good dancer.’
‘Lucky for you I am.’
She flicked him a look. ‘Lucky for you I’m feeling congenial enough to let you get away with that.’
Was there anything in the seductive sciences he wasn’t accomplished at? She sincerely doubted it as his palm rubbed a lazy circle over her back, creating a deliciously warm friction and at the same time drawing her closer and causing her to misstep—again.
‘Is it the dance, or is something else distracting you, Em?’
How typically arrogant male. But she smiled into his laughing eyes. ‘Do men always have sex on their minds?’
His answering grin was unrepentant. ‘Pretty much.’ He dipped close and lowered his voice. ‘It’s on your mind too.’
She dragged in a breath that smelled of fine fresh cotton and hot man and tried not to notice. ‘I’m finding it hard to concentrate on the steps, that’s all.’
As Ryan swept his bride past them Emma saw Stella’s eyes twinkling at her and looked away quickly. Apart from the bride and groom and Ryan’s parents they were the only couple on the floor. ‘People are watching us.’
‘And why wouldn’t they? You look amazing.’ The hand holding hers tightened, and his thumb whisked over hers as he leaned in so that his cheek touched her hair. So that his chest shifted against her breasts. ‘You feel amazing,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Forget the audience. Listen to the music.’
Forget the music. Listen to the Voice. Her head drifted towards his shoulder, the better to hear it. When other couples joined them on the dance floor he swept her towards the window with its panoramic views. Not that she was interested in any view right now except the one in front of her.
He crooned the song’s lyrics about wanting to see her beauty when everyone had gone close against her ear. She nearly melted on the spot. ‘You think I’ve changed my mind?’
‘Honey, I don’t even need to ask.’ His hand tightened around hers and then she realised that couples were swirling around them and they were standing still. And close. That the fingers of her free hand had somehow ended up clinging to the back of his neck. That the song had changed to something more upbeat.
How long had they been standing there? How long had she been showing him exactly how she felt? That those options she’d thought she had were down to one? Somehow she managed to yank herself into the present and remember her bridesmaid duties.
She let her hand slide down the smooth fabric of his jacket, slipped the other one from his grasp. ‘I need to go.’
‘Are you sure?’ He lifted the heavy mass of hair from her shoulder with the back of his fingers and stroked the side of her neck, then linked his arms loosely around her waist, trapping her against him. ‘Because I’m kind of enjoying where we are right now.’
She felt a series of little taps track up her spine.
‘How many buttons would you say this dress has?’ He slipped the top one from its tiny loop. Then another.
Her breath caught and her blood fizzed through her veins like hot champagne. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
He swirled a finger beneath the fabric. ‘Your skin feels like warm satin. How many buttons?’ he asked again.
‘Twenty two.’
He muttered a soft short word under his breath.
‘Is that a problem?’
His eyes burned into hers. ‘I’ve never encountered a problem with female clothing I couldn’t solve one way or another.’ And with a slow sexy grin he released her. ‘Okay, you’re free. For now.’
For now? But she couldn’t deny the thrill of knowing he wanted her. That he was already figuring a way to get her out of her dress. That the women casting admiring glances his way were not even on his radar tonight—Emma Byrne was.
His proprietorial hand at her back manoeuvred her through the dancers as she made her way towards the bridal table. A middle aged Fred and Wilma Flintstone twirled by, a gay couple dressed as King Arthur and Merlin, a Beauty and a Beast.
‘Who’s the Roman warrior chatting up Bernice?’
Emma followed Jake’s gaze to a nearby table and snorted a half laugh. ‘He won’t get far with Mum.’ But to her surprise her mother smiled at something the middle-aged guy said. Then laughed. ‘Amazing.’ Emma smiled too. ‘Maybe I should invite him around some time as a distraction when I’m fed up with her.’
‘Hang on—that’s Ryan’s Uncle Stan from Melbourne. Divorced last year and looking good. Go, Stan.’
Emma took that moment to break away. ‘I have something I need to take care of.’
Leaving the sounds of laughter and music behind, she made her way to the honeymoon suite in another wing of the hotel with a basket of rose petals. A glance at her watch told her she had half an hour before the happy couple were due to leave the party and celebrate the end of their special day.
More than enough time to catch her breath and take a moment. Letting herself in with the keycard she’d been given at Reception, Emma flicked on the light. A soft glow filled the room, glinting on the massive brass bed and lending a rich luxury to the sumptuous gold and burgundy furnishings. She leaned a shoulder against the door, drawing in air. She really needed to increase her daily workout.
Rubbish. Emma knew her lack of fitness wasn’t the reason her lungs felt as if they’d shrunk two sizes. She could try telling herself her underwear was laced too tightly. The ballroom had been badly ventilated. She’d had too much of the fizzy stuff.
But there was only one reason, and thank God he was downstairs—
‘Need a hand?’
That familiar seductive drawl coated the back of her neck like hot honey, causing her to jolt and drop her little basket. She drew in a ragged breath. His question, which wasn’t a question at all, could only mean one thing, and it wasn’t an offer to help sprinkle her rose petals over the quilt.
‘Jake …’ The word turned into a moan as a warm mouth bit lightly into the sensitive spot where shoulder met neck. She simply didn’t have the strength or the will to pull away. ‘What are you doing here?’
He soothed the tender spot with his tongue and her toes curled up. ‘What do you think I’m doing here?’ In one fluid move he spun her around. The door swung shut behind them and he rolled her against the wall, his hands hard and hot and heavy on her shoulders.
He didn’t give her time to answer or to think. One instant she was staring into a pair of heavy-lidded dark eyes, the next her mouth was being plundered by the wickedest pair of lips this side of the Yellow Brick Road.
He lifted his mouth a fraction and his breath whispered against her lips. ‘Is that clear enough?’
Perfectly. And just clear enough to have her remember where they were and what she’d come here to do. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ She pushed at his chest. Uselessly. ‘Housekeeping could show up here any minute.’
&
nbsp; ‘Then we’ve got a minute.’ He grinned, dark eyes glinting. ‘Better make the most of it.’
Excitement whipped through her as his hands rushed down, his thumbs whisking over taut nipples, the heat of his palms searing her skin through the satin as he moulded them around her waist and over her belly with murmurs of appreciation.
There was nothing of the suave, sophisticated gentleman from this afternoon except perhaps the scent of his aftershave. This man was the wickedly handsome rogue bent on seduction that she’d always known him to be. Nothing for her to do but to look into those eyes and oh-so-willingly acquiesce.
He gathered handfuls of her voluminous skirt in his fists at either side of her, creating a cool draught around her knees as he ruched the fabric higher. ‘Do you want to tell me to stop?’ he murmured, leaning down to sip at her collarbone.
Only to stop wasting time. A moan escaped as the tips of his fingers grazed the tops of her stockings, then came into smooth contact with naked flesh. He slid one sensuous finger beneath a suspender and up, to track along the edge of her panties.
He grinned again as he tossed her skirt up over her breasts. ‘How many layers have you got on under here?’
‘I don’t remember …’ Moisture pooled between her legs, dampening her silk knickers, and she didn’t know how much longer she could remain upright.
He watched her eyes while his finger cruised closer, curling inward, between her thighs, along the lacy edge of her knickers, almost but never quite touching where she wanted him to touch her most. And the spark she saw in his gaze ignited a burn that wasn’t about to be extinguished any time soon.
‘Jake … Housekeeping—’
‘Tell me what you like. What you want.’
The husky demand turned her mind to mush, and she arched wantonly against his hand. Forget Housekeeping. ‘Anything. Everything.’ Clutching her skirt, she let her spinning head fall back against the door. ‘And quickly.’
He stepped between her legs, the sides of his shoes pushing her feet wider. One sharp tug. Two. The sound of fabric ripping. And she felt her knickers being whisked away from her body by impatient hands.
She trembled. She sighed. She hissed out a breath between her teeth. ‘Hurry.’
‘No.’ His thumb found her throbbing centre. ‘A job worth doing …’
‘Ah, yesss …’ A slow, sensuous glide over her swollen flesh—one touch—and the burn became a raging inferno. So worth doing …
How could one finger cause such utter devastation? Her eyes slid closed. Golden orbs pulsed across her vision. She felt as if she was standing on the rim of a volcano, yet she was the one about to erupt.
He touched her a second time, and she flew over the edge and into the hot and airless vortex, her inner muscles clamping around him.
She flattened her palms against the wall for balance, her breathing fast and harsh. She felt him step away on a draught of air, and opened her eyes in time to see him grin with promises yet to be fulfilled as he slipped out through the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Oh … My. God. Emma sucked in a much needed calming breath. If she’d had the luxury of time she’d have slid down the wall and possibly passed out for the rest of the night.
He’d touched her twice. Twice. That was all it had taken to bring her to the most intense orgasm of her life. And then he’d nicked off like some pirate in the night, stealing her breath and her composure and leaving her with the possibility of facing Housekeeping alone.
Out. She realised she was still clutching her skirt up to her chest and pushed it down quickly, her cheeks flaming, at the same time thanking her lucky stars that no one had turned up yet.
A hank of hair fell over one side of her face. She pushed it behind her ear. Panicked all over again, she scanned the floor for her knickers. No sign of them. Picking up her forgotten basket, she stumbled to the bed and dumped the petals in the centre, arranging them in a hasty circle. She placed the two heart-shaped soaps she’d made with Ryan’s and Stella’s names in gold leaf in the centre, then made her way quickly downstairs, where the couple were preparing to farewell the guests.
She didn’t see Jake amongst the crowd until he appeared in the doorway ten minutes later. Their gazes clashed hotly across the room. He was the only one who knew she was naked beneath her gown and her cheeks flamed anew. She prayed he’d stay away from her for the next little while, because they both had their respective duties before the social part of the evening was over.
Neatly sidestepping as Stella threw her bouquet in Emma’s direction—she wasn’t falling for that old trick—she saw Jake follow the bridal couple out.
She moved among the guests, catching up with friends and relatives. She was on tenterhooks, expecting Jake to tap her on the shoulder at any moment, and she didn’t know how she was going to hide the guilty pleasure from her expression.
The band was still playing and guests lingered, enjoying the music. Some danced; others gravitated towards the bar next to the lobby. A while later, when Jake still hadn’t shown his face, the glow cooled, to be replaced by an anxious fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Was he coming back? Was he expecting her to look for him after his impromptu seduction?
She didn’t know what game they were playing—had no idea of the rules. Damn him. Collecting her hat and parasol from behind the concierge’s desk, she made her way towards the bar.
Jake waved Ry and Stella off and headed straight for Reception. Business taken care of there, he stopped to collect a couple of sightseeing brochures on his way to the lobby bar.
He found a comfortable armchair in the corner, from where he could see the ballroom, and signalled the waiter. He knew Emma was still in there. He’d give her some space but if she didn’t materialise in ten minutes he was damn well going in there and hauling her out.
Folding the brochures, he slid them into his jacket pocket. His fingers collided with silk. Emma’s panties. He remembered her surprise, the passion in those deep blue eyes, when he’d stripped them off. The way her lips had parted on a moan of pleasure when he’d first touched that intimate flesh.
His body tightened all over again. The next time Emma writhed and moaned against him … He smiled to himself in anticipation. He had definite plans for the way their evening was going to go.
Han Solo and Princess Leia exited, with a lone cowboy in tow. No sign of Emma. He exhaled sharply through his nostrils and rechecked his watch. Was she saying a personal goodnight to everyone in the bloody ballroom?
His order arrived with a paper napkin and a bowl of peanuts. He set the unopened bottle of champagne and two glasses on the floor beside his chair and reached for his beer.
‘Good evening, Rhett.’
Jake took a second or two to catch on that the sultry come-hither voice was directed at him. He glanced up to see a well-endowed woman in her mid-thirties or thereabouts, in an embroidered medieval get-up, holding a cocktail glass brimming with blue liquid and a cherry on a stick.
He lifted his glass and drained half of it down then set it back on the table. ‘Hi.’
She took his half-smile as an invitation and spread herself out on the chair opposite him, placing her glass up close to his. She lifted the little stick to her mouth.
‘So.’ He kept his eyes off the cleavage obviously on offer and leaned back, crossed his legs. ‘Who are you tonight?’
Slipping the cherry between her glossed lips, she tossed her mane of auburn hair over her shoulder and aimed a killer smile at him. ‘The Lady of Shalott.’
He took his time to say, ‘No Mr Shalott?’
She giggled. The sound grated the way feet scrabbling down a rubbled cliff face to certain death grated. Clearly she thought he was interested in her as the night’s entertainment. And at some other time he might have been interested. Or not.
‘There was no Mr Shalott. It’s a poem,’ she informed him, in case he didn’t know.
‘Yes, Tennyson. Tragic circumstances. The girl loved Lancelot bu
t he really wasn’t that into her, was he?’
She leaned forward on the edge of her chair. ‘But he didn’t know her. If he’d taken the time, things might’ve turned out different.’
‘But not necessarily for the better. Lancelot had his eye on someone else. The lady would’ve been disappointed.’ A thought occurred to him and he tried to recall if he knew her. ‘You and Ry weren’t …?’ He jiggled a hand in front of them.
She grinned. ‘No. I had no idea the groom was going to be Lancelot. I’m Ryan’s cousin. Kylie. From Adelaide.’
‘Ah … yes. Cousin Kylie from Adelaide.’
He’d heard about Wily Kylie—two husbands down, on the prowl for her third. He suddenly needed a drink, and lifted his beer.
Following suit, Kylie raised her glass and tapped it to his. Her eyes drifted to his mouth. ‘To a good night.’
Not if I hang around here it won’t be. Like an addict, he suddenly craved the woman he’d partnered all day, not this silicone bimbo looking for rich husband number three. Emma. A woman with a real body and a smile that could quite possibly melt his heart if he wasn’t careful.
‘And a good night to you too.’ He drained the glass and set it down on the napkin, then picked up his bottle and glasses, rose and executed a bow. ‘Welcome to Sydney, Lady Kylie, enjoy your stay.’
He didn’t wait for a reply, simply turned on his heel and headed towards the ballroom to find Emma.
Emma’s hands shook so much she could barely swipe the keycard through its slot. On the third try she managed to let herself in and lean back against the door. She felt physically ill—as if the five-tiered wedding cake had lodged in her stomach.
One hand clenched on her parasol, she rubbed her free hand over her heart and up her throat. Jake hadn’t come near her since their upstairs ‘encounter’. For want of a better word. Never mind that she’d stupidly tried to avoid him; that was totally beside the point.
Flinging her hat into the air, she watched it sail across the room. She’d been hanging around in the ballroom, expecting him to come and find her. But he hadn’t. When it came to guys like him she really was so naïve.
