The Right Side of Mr Wrong

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘Did you enjoy your dinner?’ He decided to try meaningless conversation. Given that she’d come in uninvited, he doubted if she’d leave, even if he asked her. It crossed his mind that this was another instance of him playing into her hands, doing exactly what she wanted him to.

  ‘You might be here to discuss dinner Brando, but I’m not.’

  Short, snippy. Told him straight, pulled him up.

  ‘So, what would you like to talk about?’ A dangerous, open-ended question. He realised too late he should have put some conditions on that. Forty-eight hours out of London, and he was already losing his edge.

  ‘I came to ask why Playboy-of-the-Year ran out on me back there.’ She was leaning in towards him now, dangerously close. Smelling like heaven.

  His eyebrows shot skywards. He hadn’t expected her to be so direct. So brave. So sexy. He thought for a minute, carefully considered her accusing defiance before he answered.

  ‘I play around, you don’t. Let’s say I thought better of it.’ How else to tell her she wasn’t the hard case he’d thought she was?

  ‘We’re both adults Brando. We can do as we please. I’m not asking for a lot of your time … ’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Give me one good reason why you’d want to?’

  ‘Maybe because I need one-off, no-strings sex to move on from something else, and as I read it, you’re ready, willing and able. But best of all you’re detached enough to do the job, with no repercussions.’

  Detached enough to do the job? He wasn’t sure if that was flattering or not. So some guy had messed her around, and she needed a revenge lay. That made sense. His brow furrowed, as an unexpected surge of anger swept through him. Why the hell was he feeling furious because some guy had hurt her? It wasn’t as if she needed his protection. And it wasn’t only anger. A pang of raw jealousy spiked deep in his chest at the thought of her sleeping with someone else.

  He smacked himself on the head, hard. Told himself not to be ridiculous. He hardly knew the woman. He never got involved enough to feel protective or jealous, that was the whole point. All those years ago, he’d vowed he’d never trust again, or be hurt again. Zero involvement was his strategy for survival. This was beyond crazy.

  His cheek twitched as he scraped his fingers through his hair. He pulled himself back to the most immediate problems.

  Problem one; how to get rid of this barely-dressed siren, who had now perched her delectable ass on his desk. Whose endless, curvy, sexy leg grazed his elbow as she crossed it.

  Problem two; not entirely unrelated to problem one, how to deal with his screaming libido.

  It crossed his mind that there was one, glaringly obvious solution, which would solve both problems at a stroke, but he couldn’t help feeling that was a solution which, however pleasurable, would bring a lot more problems in its wake.

  Well, she’d given him the reason he’d asked for, but he definitely wouldn’t be obliging.

  ‘Nah! Can’t do it, won’t do it. Sorry. It’s wrong.’

  ‘I had you down as a risk taker Brando. But if you daren’t?’

  ‘It’s not that I daren’t.’

  ‘Or if you don’t want to?’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to.’

  ‘You don’t even have to join in.’

  What the hell did she mean by that?

  As she slipped off the desk and stepped out across the room on her high heels he wondered what had happened to the faltering girl who fell into an orgasm this afternoon. Mesmerised, he span his chair round to watch her. Leaning back a lot more lazily than he felt and ignoring the forging bulge beneath his zip, he tilted his head to one side, raising an eyebrow.

  As she turned and moved towards him with a slow determination, her high breasts pushed tight against the thin fabric of her next-to-nothing camisole, and he shuddered as the uninterrupted view of her hard nipples whacked his erection up a notch. Her parted lips trembled slightly, her eyes blurred as they fixed on his groin. Then in one swift silky movement she had straddled him, banging her thigh on the tip of his bursting erection as she landed. He groaned in hot excruciating pleasure. Her hair brushed his neck as she bent, pressing her lips to his ear.

  ‘Stay completely still Brando. I take full responsibility for using you – that way it can’t be wrong.’ The huskiness of her whisper sent a volley of anticipatory darts shooting down his spine.

  The responsible side of his brain told him to stand up, take control, toss her aside, insist that she leave. But the wicked side told him to lie back and let Shea-rhymes-with-do-as-I-say do her worst. Then she shifted. Another exquisite bullseye nudge of her pelvic bone, another intense corkscrew of pleasure, and the full-blown scent of an aroused woman smacked him in the face.

  ‘And what if … ’ He opened his mouth, attempting a token protest, but her finger was already on his lips, silencing him.

  ‘No more talking! This isn’t going to take long, I promise.’

  She moved her pelvis backwards, and he reached out a hand to caress one delicious nipple, but she snatched it away in mid air.

  ‘No touching, not yet!’

  As she stretched out towards the zip of his jeans, rubbing the heel of her hand across the bursting denim, he heard himself groan again. An expression of deep concentration spread across her face as she parted the denim with her fingers, making jagged tugs at his zip until it was down. He heard her gasp gently as her hand landed on him, explored the length of his shaft through the cotton of his boxers, then she stretched to stand. In one easy movement, she had dragged back his pants, and released him to stand to glorious attention.

  ‘Oh boy … ’

  He could smell the scent of his own musk rising as he heard her murmured exclamation, saw her bite the corner of her lip, push a cascade of hair off her face.

  ‘Do you have … a condom?’ Her whispered query was barely audible. ‘Please?’

  ‘In the pocket.’ He mumbled, motioned to the jean jacket hanging on the next chair, swallowing hard, his eyes locked onto her breasts as she stretched to retrieve the packet. He saw her fingers tremble as she fumbled to open it, then she flicked him a foil pack without meeting his eyes. Within two seconds, he’d ripped it with his teeth, ready to go.

  And how …

  ‘Stay still, shut up, and leave this to me.’ One last breathy command.

  Unusual approach. That thought, desperately taking his mind off the fact he was already way beyond ready to explode.

  Zero foreplay, and he was more wired than he’d ever felt.

  Jeez, he didn’t give a flying fish how it happened so long as he had her.

  Holding on …

  She was over him now, the cotton of her shorts catching him as she pulled them aside and eased herself onto him. Gently, slowly. Hot and sweet, slick and tight, but oh, so ready. He forced himself to think of anything other than the exquisite tornado of heat which burned deep into his core. Fixed his eyes on her face as she took every last inch of him. Watched her features blur. She grasped his shoulders now, pushing herself away, burying her nails in his muscles, as she moved. Grinding, pumping, gyrating, pleasuring herself on his length. She was throwing her breasts high, arching as she rode him mercilessly, panting, crying out.

  He was waiting, waiting, waiting, dying …

  Then she flung back her head, and he knew he could give in. Let go. One thrust, and the first convulsion of her body propelled him to the most wringing, wrenching, ecstatic orgasm of his life.

  He heard her let out a long moan, moving with the rise and fall of her sea. He felt her disintegrate around him, fall onto his chest and lie, motionless.

  Then there was only the sound of their rough breathing and his own banging heart.

  * * *

  That was it then.

  The best climax ever, they still had their clothes on, and he hadn’t touched her, let alone kissed her. Some kind of victory for Miss Uptight here.

  She was disentangling herself, climbing off him now. Wide eye
s, and a smile that was only for herself.

  ‘Thanks for that. I told you it wouldn’t take long. Hope it wasn’t too wrong.’

  And I remember telling you you’d be begging for it. I just didn’t think it would be so soon.

  Standing up, smoothing her crumpled camisole, checking her watch. Then she shot him one wicked, sideways grin. ‘Five minutes. Congratulations Brando! You have a new relationship record.’

  Brando studied her through narrowed eyes, as he struggled to zip himself back in.

  ‘This isn’t a relationship Shea.’

  Best to keep her straight on that. One hell of a climax, maybe, and his body was telling him in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t the end of it. He was fighting to do his jeans up even now, dammit. But a relationship, it was not.

  ‘Too right it’s not, Brando!’

  Both on the same page there then. That was good. But that couldn’t be the end of it.

  Not yet.

  ‘I seem to remember mentioning five hours.’ He leaned back on the desk, rubbed the side of his thumb pensively across the stubble on his chin. ‘So you’ve used me, and now it’s my turn to use you – for whatever remains of those five hours that is!’

  Halfway to the door already, that thought jolted her to a halt.

  He watched her hesitate. Scanned her opaque expression for some clue as to what she was thinking. Found himself holding his breath.

  This was crazy.

  When did he ever hold his breath?

  Quite simple. He didn’t. Ever. Not for anything or anyone.

  But then when had he ever wanted something, needed something, this much?

  Chapter Six

  ‘HI, I’m Shea, and I’m here to help.’

  She made her cheery greeting as brusque, yet impersonal, as she could as she strode into Brando’s office next morning. She wasn’t sure if it was due to embarrassment, excitement or shame, but she felt like she was going to die of something, and boy, was she desperate to hide it. Mrs McCaul had relayed Brando’s order for her to be here at nine sharp when she’d delivered the breakfast Shea had been too distracted to touch. Standing in that office now, less than twelve hours after that event, taking refuge in professional patter seemed the only way to survive.

  ‘Here to help? I’m pleased to hear it!’ Brando turned briefly from the desk where he was working, shot her an impassive glance, then carried on flicking through documents on his laptop screen.

  Sitting in that chair.

  Shea swallowed hard, pulled herself up to stand ram-rod straight. Her sharp office outfit was offering none of its usual armour. At least he was acting like it was business as usual, though to judge from the dark shadows under his eyes, it looked as if he’d had as bad a night as she’d had. She’d noticed as she’d passed through his bedroom that his bed hadn’t been slept in.

  ‘What would you..?’ She began then broke off, not wanting any offer to be misconstrued.

  If he noticed her hesitation, he didn’t react.

  ‘Help yourself to the cupboards over there – re-organise, streamline, whatever it is you do. Buy any fixtures, fittings, filing systems, furniture you need, unlimited budget. Do your worst!’ His instruction was brusque, and he waved his hand towards the tall doors in the alcove by the fireplace, without bothering to look up.

  So much for her worries about him flirting. He barely seemed aware she was even there. A pang of disappointment made her stomach drop.

  So that was it then?

  She moved across to the cupboard knowing she should feel relieved, but somehow she didn’t. The cupboard doors creaked open to reveal shelves of mayhem that would usually have made her heart race with anticipation, but this morning they left her strangely unmoved. She grabbed a pad, ready to make an assessment of the contents,, and mentally kicked herself for wanting anything to be different.

  Last night, she’d been certain Brando was going to follow her back to her room, and she’d been so ready to give him a hard time. But he hadn’t come, and sitting alone in the firelight her body had ached for him, ached for more of the incredible pleasure he’d given her twice already.

  She picked up a pen to start her list, hardly believing this was happening to her.

  One-off sex to set her free? She shouldn’t want any more. That was how it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? One great idea that had turned right round and bitten her on the bum, because all the one-off, no-repeats sex seemed to have done was to awaken some mighty dragon of lust and desire in her, and right now the dragon was roaring for more.

  But she was determined she wouldn’t give in it.

  She put down her pad and pen, and instead grabbed a box and transferred it to the table. Then she collected another.

  ‘Having fun?’

  Her heart triple-flipped at Brando’s lazy enquiry, and she stamped it back into place before she replied. ‘You bet!’

  ‘I hope sorting Edgerton’s cupboards is living up to expectations. I can’t think why you’d want to, but I promised you could, so here you are.’ The hard stare he fired across the room at her was at odds with his mocking tone. ‘I always do what I say I’m going to, you need to remember that!’

  Whatever that meant. Not that she was about to waste time working out his indecipherable asides.

  ‘I need to stay busy.’ Damn. She said that with the light smile as planned, but it sounded way more desperate than she’d intended.

  She saw him roll his eyes.

  ‘I know you like to be in control and for everything to be in order, but even so it’s an unusual choice of profession.’

  She shrugged, started to gabble nervously. ‘I enjoy the job, every day is different. After uni I was hoping to work with textiles, but my aunt decided I had the skills to be an exclusive personal organiser, gave me a job with her company, and I run the Manchester branch now.’ At least she’d managed to stop the flow before letting slip that she’d been tidying obsessively to cope with a life that had collapsed when her aunt had seen her potential, swept in and set her to work. She nodded towards the growing pile on the table. ‘So what am I doing with this lot? Clients usually want to sort through things. Do you?’

  ‘Hell, no! Bring order to the chaos, that’ll do me.’

  ‘Nice and simple. I’ll get some co-ordinating boxes and files. Make it look good.’ She sniffed, not knowing why she was saying anything more. Rambling was such a bad idea. ‘Downsizing jobs are the hardest ones I do, trying to help people get rid of things they think hold the key to their memories.’

  She caught his grimace, as she said that, sensing she’d inadvertently strayed onto a sensitive area. When she’d first arrived she’d revelled in uncovering his weaknesses, but today if she’d hit a nerve she was beyond ready to back off.

  ‘Don’t worry, I tell my clients it isn’t the house that’s important, it’s the people in it. I’m sure you could be very happy here if you had things around that were a bit less historic, and a bit more like you. Perhaps all the TV presenter was trying to do was to make this lovely house a happier place?’

  She watched a shadow cross his face. Then he got up, sauntered across the room, leant a shoulder against the wall nearby, and folded his arms. Before she could stop herself, her gaze had honed right in on his groin. Sugar. Ogling or what? Her knees sagged as she focused on the length of him pushing against the taut denim. Swallowing hard, she dragged her eyes up to his face.

  ‘Well, Do-as-I-say-Shea, if you’ve finished analysing my needs, perhaps it’s time we talked about you.’ His sideways smile, at once languid yet unnervingly hard, sent a trickle of dread down her spine that turned into a waterfall. ‘After all, you’re the one who seems to have something to get over, ghosts to lay and all that.’

  She flinched at the word ‘ghosts’. She knew she’d needled him, and now it was his turn to needle her back. With any luck, if he’d noticed, he’d assume she was flinching at the word ‘lay.’

  ‘Whatever … ’ she replied only because she k
new he would expect it, but didn’t look at him.

  ‘You do know the way you did it last night didn’t count? The sex, I mean.’ His casual, yet measured remark hurtled out of the blue. Hit her broadside.

  Business as usual, then he wallops her with something like that?

  ‘What?’ This time she stared straight at him, eyes uncontrollably wide.

  ‘If you’re trying to put the past behind you, last night isn’t going to do anything for you.’ He raked his fingers through his hair, then rubbed his thumb slowly on his cheekbone.

  The same thumb he’d teased across her breast yesterday. The same one that took the colour out of her skin when it pushed into her thigh last night. Two stomach-squelching thoughts there.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She had to protest. Except she did know. She knew very well. Taking him was a whole world away from letting him take her.

  He was looking at her now, in that same, direct, horribly unnerving way he had when he asked if she was wearing underwear, as if his granite eyes could bore straight through her clothes. Except now they drilled straight through to her soul.

  Stripped her way beyond bare.

  She fought to get a grip of her somersaulting stomach, and the sudden fizzing desire that was pulsing through her, and prayed that he couldn’t see the half of it.

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about. The revenge sex. It’s only going to count when someone does it to you.’ He leaned towards her, his eyes suddenly smoky, his gravelly voice soft. ‘I’m not going to push it, but you only have to ask … ’

  As if.

  Then he ran that thumb down her cheek in a rough caress that sent anticipation galloping through her body.

  He pulled away.

  ‘I’ll leave you to your work then!’

  Her legs were melting, she was fighting to keep her balance, but before she’d collected herself enough to tell him she’d never be asking him for anything of the kind, he’d already turned and left the room.