by Anne Oliver
Then she’d found him. In the lobby bar … with a woman who looked like a woman, not some under-developed teenager.
The soft knock at the door behind her had her whirling around. Heart pounding in her throat, she yanked the door open.
Jake leaned on the doorjamb, his jacket slung over one shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled back. His hair was a little mussed, his cravat was gone, and the top button of his shirt was undone, leaving his throat tantalisingly exposed. He dangled a bottle of champagne and two glasses in his free hand.
His eyes met hers. They burned with such hot, unsatisfied hunger her throat closed over and she couldn’t raise so much as a whisper. All she could think was he’d come for her. Her.
He lifted the bottle. ‘You going to let me in? Or do you want the entire floor to know the best man’s planning a hot night with the bridesmaid?’ He grinned as he slid sideways and passed her, brushing his liquor-tinged lips over hers on his way. ‘I hope you hadn’t planned on starting without me.’
She took a moment to catch his meaning, then a wild fire swept up her neck and into her cheeks. All she managed was a gurgling sound at the back of her throat.
She closed the door and leaned back against it, heart pounding as she watched him toss his jacket over the couch, watched the way his muscles bunched beneath his shirt. His hair held the gleam of burnished gold threads amongst the brown.
He glanced back at her as he walked to a little round table topped with a crystal vase of fresh blooms. ‘You weren’t running out on me, were you?’
‘You … you were otherwise occupied.’ She found her voice.
He frowned. ‘I was waiting for you.’
‘I didn’t know.’ The door felt hard, the row of buttons digging into her spine.
He set the bottle and glasses down, brows raised, eyes dark as midnight. ‘You didn’t know? Jeez, woman.’
‘I thought maybe you’d …’ found someone more desirable, more attractive ‘… changed your mind.’
‘What? This weekend’s about you and me, remember?’
Her chin lifted. ‘I never agreed.’ Exactly.
‘You …’ He shook his head, eyes changing, finally comprehending. ‘Come on, Emma, do you really think I’d go for that type downstairs?’
‘I … hoped not.’ She swallowed, relief softening her limbs, and allowed herself a smile. ‘Because then I’d have to hit you with my parasol.’
He grinned back at her, eyes wicked. ‘Maybe I’ll let you. Later.’
‘Um …’ Was she really up for an experienced man like Jake?
He popped the cork off the champagne bottle. ‘Tonight’s been a foregone conclusion all along, and we both know it.’
Yes. And for this moment, for what was left of the weekend, or for however long this spark burned, she knew without a doubt she wanted to make love with Jake more than her next breath.
He set the bottle down. ‘Come here and kiss me.’
She needed no second bidding. Crossing the few steps between them, she flattened herself against his chest, her arms circling his neck, fingers diving into his hair as she fused her mouth to his.
Heat met heat. Not sweet and tender—not even close. Not with Jake. Nor did she want it so. This melding of selves and mashing of lips was a dark, dangerous mix of pent-up passion and long-held desires. Exactly what she wanted.
Hard hands dragged her closer, then zigged down her spine to press her bottom against him so that she could feel the steel ridge of his erection. Persuasive pressure. Promised delights.
He lifted his lips to murmur, ‘Emma, Emma, you’ve been driving me crazy all evening. All week.’
His admission thrilled her to her toes. ‘Same goes …’ Dazed and dizzy, she arched her hips against his hardness and clung to him, welcoming the scrape of evening beard as he worked his lips and teeth up her throat, down the side of her neck, over her décolletage.
Impatient hands skimmed over her breasts, kneading and squeezing, deft fingers finding her aching nipples through the satin and rolling them into hardened peaks.
The delicate fragrance of the valley’s sweet-scented wattle and eucalypt from the arrangement on the table mingled with the hot scent of aroused man as he laved the swell of her breasts above the neckline of her dress, then bent his head lower to nip and suck at her nipples through the fabric.
He made a sound of frustration, lifted his head and leaned back slightly to look at her. Light from the chandelier wall bracket glinted in his eyes, but the heat, the purpose she saw there, burned with its own fire.
‘How many buttons did you say?’
Oh. ‘Buttons …’ She raised her arms to help but he didn’t give her time. In a frenzy of movement, he fisted his hands in the fabric at her shoulders and yanked. She felt the satin give way down her back as buttons popped and pinged. ‘Uh …’
‘I know a dressmaker …’
Of course he did.
Dropping to his knees, he pushed the ruined garment and accompanying petticoats to her feet. She stepped out of the mound of puddled satin, kicked it away, leaving her wearing nothing but her laced bustier and stockings.
‘You’re gorgeous,’ he murmured, voice husky. A corner of his mouth kicked up in a wry smile. ‘And armour-plated yet again.’
Goosebumps of heat followed his gaze as it swept up her corset-trapped body to meet her eyes. ‘Not quite. You do have my panties … don’t you?’ she finished on a slightly panicked note.
‘They’re mine now.’ He looked down at the feminine secrets exposed below the suspenders, then back, his eyes burning. ‘I want to see all of you.’
He knelt in front of her, took off her shoes then unhitched her stockings, warm hands gliding them down her legs, breath hot on her naked skin. She lifted each foot so he could slide them off and toss them away.
Hands shaking, she started to fumble for the laces. Her breasts weren’t … ‘I’m not—’
Laying a finger on her lips, he shook his head.
Taking her hands in his, he spread them wide so that their bodies bumped in all the right places, then, fingers entwined, brought them in close and began to waltz. Tiny steps, his thighs pressing against hers. He swayed her towards the massive four-poster bed. She could almost hear the dusky beat of Stella’s chosen song that they’d danced to earlier.
She felt the corner of the bed against her thighs as he backed her up against the bedpost. Watching her, he turned her hands palm up, kissed the inside of each wrist, where her pulse beat a rock concert’s applause, then curled each finger around the smooth wooden bedpost above her head.
‘And don’t let go,’ he ordered, squeezing them for good measure, fingers trailing down her raised arms, leaving little shivers sparkling in their wake.
The erotic pose triggered within her an avalanche of wild needs and urgent demands. Her breasts thrust upwards, straining at the bustier’s confines, nipples tight to the point of pain and on fire for his touch.
‘Jake …’ She sighed. Wanting it all. Wanting it now.
His eyes swept over her and his smooth seduction vanished in the blink of an eye.
His fingers scrambled for the laces. When she loosened her hold on the post in a frantic effort to hasten the process he grabbed her wrists, pinning her in place, a firestorm in his dark gaze. ‘Stay.’
A thrill spiralled through her body, clenching low in her belly as he renewed his task. His hands weren’t steady, she noticed, and his breathing was ragged. He swore, then a hand dived into his trouser pocket and reappeared with a miniature Swiss Army knife. A handful of condoms spilled onto the floor.
She glanced down at them, then met his eyes. ‘Boy Scout?’
‘Just prepared,’ he muttered thickly.
His eyes darkened. She knew his intent, and her pulse kicked into a wild erratic rhythm. No trace of the suave urban sophisticate—just prime, primitive male. She loved that he’d lost control with her—plain and ordinary Emma Byrne.
He flicked the tiny blade open a
nd nicked the first ribbon. The second. Her breath sucked in. So did her stomach. His knuckles grazed a nipple as he worked his way down. The erotic response echoed in her womb, drawing it tight at the same time softening and moistening the internal muscles, slackening her inner thighs.
‘Jake …’
Snick, snick, snick. ‘I’ll buy you another one.’
‘Doesn’t … matter … it’s … only ribbon.’
The undergarment fell apart and slid to the floor and her breasts spilled free. And suddenly it didn’t matter that she didn’t have the breasts she’d like to have, because he was looking at them with awe and appreciation.
‘Gorgeous,’ he whispered. ‘Absolutely perfect.’
Dropping the knife, he filled his hands with her, thumbs whisking over the tight buds, rolling and pinching them between his fingers until she thought she’d pass out with the pleasure. Wayne had never, never worshipped her body the way Jake was doing.
She writhed against the post, tilting her hips and arching her back. Closer … she had to get closer … She needed more. Him inside her. Now.
A groan rumbled up his throat and she heard the sharp rasp of his zipper. Without taking his eyes off hers, he somehow produced a condom that hadn’t fallen from his pocket and ripped the foil packet open with his teeth.
Her breath stalled in her throat as he quickly sheathed himself. ‘Hurry.’ Anticipation and that aching, devastating need had reached flashpoint.
Hard wide palms clamped onto her hips, a sensuous vice, holding her in place. With unerring precision he plunged deep and hard and true. A torpedo finding its target. Invading her, stretching her, filling her.
Where he belonged.
Somewhere in a dark corner of her pleasure-fogged mind she fought that concept even as she embraced it. Then all thought melted into oblivion as she gave herself wholly over to layer after layer of sensation.
His hard thighs abraded hers through the rough weave of his trousers while he hammered into her. The sound of his laboured breaths, shockingly harsh in the room’s stillness, and her own rapid sighs of response.
The golden light pulsing behind her eyes as she felt her climax building, building … Her legs threatening to give way, she clung tighter to the satin-smooth pole behind her, then Jake’s hands were covering hers, holding her upright. From heads to toes their bodies collided, naked skin to fully clothed.
She was slick, hot and unbearably erotic, and Jake couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so turned on. She bucked against him, all wild, wanton woman, meeting his thrusts with an eagerness and energy that rivalled his own.
He hadn’t expected Emma to be so utterly responsive, and the pleasure of it, of her, slapped through him, sharp and viciously arousing. Clenching her hands between his own he drove into her, the urge to plunder and possess riding roughshod over anything sane and rational.
He’d not known it could be like this. That need for a woman—for one woman—could be so desperate, so powerful, so consuming. Some kind of madness had seized him.
She came in a rush, all but sobbing his name, her internal muscles clamping around him, silky walls of heat that triggered his own climax.
Their joined hands slid down the sweat-slicked post and he released her, and they flopped onto the bottom of the bed together in a tangle of sated limbs, their ragged breaths filling the air.
‘Come here,’ he murmured when he felt able enough to move again, shifting up the bed and dragging her with him. He hauled her on top and she lay spread-eagled over his body like one of those ragdoll cats. Against his thundering heart, he felt hers pounding in unison.
‘Do you realise this is the first time we’ve actually been horizontal together?’ she said drowsily.
‘Mmm,’ he answered, almost as lazily. Her body fitted seamlessly against his, curves to angles, womanly soft where he was hard, as if she’d been made exclusively for him. She made him feel like the king of the universe. Already he was becoming aroused again, his body stirring as she arched a bare foot over his calf.
‘Hey, you gonna get naked with me or what?’ Her voice was slurred with fatigue.
He tilted her face so he could look at her, skin peach-perfect and sheened with a translucent film of moisture, eyes still glazed with residual passion.
Emma.
An unfamiliar feeling stole through him. One he wasn’t sure how to deal with. He eased her off to one side. Her hair was in disarray; he smoothed it away from her face and kissed her damp brow. ‘Give me a minute.’
In the bathroom he dealt with the condom, then splashed cold water on his face. He’d just had wild sex with Emma. Emma. Looking away from the frown he glimpsed in his reflection, he swiped a towel and dried his face.
When he came back she’d burrowed beneath the quilt and was fast asleep, dead centre in the middle of the bed, one arm flung across a pillow, long dark lashes resting on cheeks the colour of dawn.
She looked tiny, all alone in that master bed. As if the snowy mountain of quilt might swallow her up.
Vulnerable.
That odd feeling intensified. He watched the slow rise and fall of the quilt as she breathed. He’d not anticipated this … this surge of emotion. What had he done?
He should go back to his own room, he thought, even as he stripped off his shirt, tossed it over the chair. Collect a few essentials. She might need some space. Hell, he needed some space.
But he toed his shoes off, shoved down his trousers and jocks and stepped out of them. Retrieved the condoms from the floor, dropped them on the nightstand, then slipped into bed beside her.
She snuggled against him with a sleep murmur. Her warmth seeped into his bones, her exotic fragrance … fresh and floral and exclusively hers, surrounded him. He’d never forget that exotic fragrance. And when this attraction had run its course …
He closed his eyes.
Tomorrow. He’d think about that tomorrow.
CHAPTER NINE
THE sound of a man’s steady breathing woke Emma. A hard-muscled, hairy thigh was draped over one leg, its weight effectively pinning the lower half of her body in place. A warm hand curved around her left breast.
Jake.
Her heart leapt and her body burned as images of last night with the man of her dreams flooded back. She knew it was morning because a dull apricot light shimmered behind her eyelids, but she didn’t open her eyes. She lay still, not wanting him to wake yet, because she wanted to replay every glorious, mind-blowing minute. Her skin felt as if it had been rubbed all over with a stiff towel.
He’d made love to her again while the soft darkness cocooned them in its blanket of intimacy. Horizontally this time. And slowly, skilfully. Sinfully. The way only a man with Jake’s experience could.
And again and again. Always different, always amazing.
Her eyes blinked open and she turned her head on the pillow to study him. As innocent as a baby but she knew better. Those perfectly sculpted lips, so relaxed in sleep, could wreak absolute havoc. Everywhere. A quicksilver shiver ran through her.
His hair was sticking up and it was an odd feeling knowing she’d had something to do with it. She smiled to herself. She itched to run her fingers through its silky softness again. Couldn’t wait to feel the weight of his body on hers, to feel him come inside her again. Now. Tonight. Next week.
But reality intruded like a thief, stealing away the lovely feeling and her smile faded. This weekend was all he’d offered. All they’d agreed on. Just for fun.
And that was all she wanted too, right?
So make the most of it, she told herself, determined to ignore the feeling tugging at her and pleading for more. Live in the moment. They still had a late checkout and the rest of the day to spend together however they chose. A lot of fun could be packed into those few hours.
Easing her leg from beneath his, she slid a hand down between smooth sheets and hard-muscled belly … She found him semi-erect and wrapped her fingers around him. His eyes snapped open a
nd that innocence disappeared in an instant, replaced with hot, not-quite-sleepy desire as he hardened beneath her palm.
‘Good morning,’ she murmured, and slid her hand down his satin-steel length and up again. ‘Sorry to wake you … Actually, I’m not sorry.’ She squeezed gently. ‘I’ve got big plans for the day.’
He stuck one hand behind his head and watched her. A smile teased the corners of his mouth. ‘Have you, now?’
‘Mmm.’ Positioning her top half over his chest, she rubbed against him once, twice, enjoying the rasp of masculine hair against her nipples, before reaching down to cup the heavy masculinity between his thighs. Very big plans. Resting her chin on his breastbone, she looked into his eyes. ‘What about you? Any ideas?’
‘I’m up for anything.’ His smile was wicked and wide awake, like the rest of him.
She pushed the quilt down and took her time to admire the magnificent view of tanned skin over hard-packed muscle … and the proud, arrogant jut of his masculinity. ‘I noticed.’ Before he could flip her on her back and have her at his mercy again, she took charge and straddled him, reaching for a condom. ‘Let’s start the day on a high.’
A short while later, snuggled against him, she stretched lazily. Sunday mornings didn’t get any better than this.
‘Speaking of high,’ Jake said, running his fingertips up and down her arm. ‘What else are you up for today, Emma?’
A sneaky premonition snaked down her spine. ‘Depends.’
‘I’m thinking there’s a playground of world-famous tourist attractions within walking distance that we should make the most of.’
She knew, and her stomach was already doing somersaults. Did she want to be suspended two hundred and seventy metres above the forest floor on a wire cable? Or be slung down the side of a cliff on the steepest funicular railway in the world?
Her whole body recoiled. She wasn’t a fan of heights and she didn’t care who knew it. ‘Or we could explore the local galleries, or take a drive to Leura and have lunch in one of the cafés before we head home,’ she suggested hopefully.
