by Lisa Childs
She’d had a bikini wax a couple of days ago, leaving her bare but for a small area of dark golden curls over her clit. He touched the hair and her skin.
And she arched into his hand.
“Your pulse is beating here,” he murmured. He stroked his finger over her—again and again—before dipping one inside her.
A small cry of pleasure slipped out of her lips.
“You’re so hot,” he said, his voice gruff with passion. “So wet...”
Then he proceeded to make her wetter, stroking his finger in and out of her. And as he did, he lowered his head and flicked his tongue over her clit, teasing the sensitive skin.
An orgasm gripped her, making her body shudder as it rippled through her. He moved his tongue inside her, lapping at her come. And she came harder.
“Oh, my God,” she said, panting for breath.
“Teo,” he said. “You can call me just Teo.”
She giggled at his arrogance. But he had every right to it—he was that amazing a lover. She wanted to show him how good she was.
So she used her strength and toppled him over onto his back. Then she undid his belt and unzipped his pants, and she released the long, engorged cock that had been straining his fly.
He groaned as she slid her mouth up and down the length of him, sucking him deep into her throat. He thrashed on the bed. “No...wait...” But then his body shuddered, and he came in her mouth—salty and sweet at the same time.
He wasn’t done, though. He flopped her onto her back again. First he kissed her—her pleasure mixing with his on their lips, in their mouths. Salty and sweet.
Then he moved his mouth down her neck again, tracing her collarbone and the curve of her breasts. He teased her nipples with his fingers and his thumbs, making them tighten with desire again. He kept kissing her and touching her, winding the tension inside her again. He gave her another orgasm with his fingers, with his lips.
But it wasn’t enough. She needed him inside her. She reached out and found that he was ready again. Hard and hot, his dick throbbed in her hand as she stroked up and down the length of him.
“Condom,” he said through gritted teeth. A muscle twitched along his jaw while another stood out all sinewy in his neck. He reached down to where he’d dropped his jacket next to the bed when he’d carried her into the bedroom. He rummaged through a pocket before pulling out a packet.
She tried to take it from him, but he held tightly to it. He tore it open and sheathed himself. Then he parted her legs and eased inside her.
He was so big, so hot.
But he fit her—perfectly. He filled her.
She arched and adjusted, taking him deeper.
He groaned and stilled. But then he moved, thrusting deeper and deeper.
Blair arched her hips, meeting his thrusts with thrusts of her own. She wrapped her legs around his lean waist and held tightly to him. Her inner muscles clenched him, too, holding him inside her.
The delicious friction grew, sending pleasure rippling through her as she came again. And she screamed his name this time. “Teo!”
He stilled, his entire body tense, before thrusting deep once more. Then his big body shuddered as he found his release. And a name escaped his lips. For a moment she didn’t recognize it.
“Savannah...”
Then she remembered that was what she’d told him to call her. A pang of regret struck her that she hadn’t given him her real name. She would have rather he called out Blair. But the way he said her given name...
Savannah had never sounded as beautiful as it did when he uttered it in exultation—in the throes of passion. And she’d never felt as beautiful or as satiated as she did with him.
Another pang struck her. This time it was fear—fear that she might want more than this one night with him.
* * *
Teo awoke with the taste of her in his mouth. She was so damn sweet and hot and as passionate as she’d made him. He reached out, but his arm encountered only tangled silk sheets, not the silk of her skin.
And he realized her heat was gone, too, his bare skin chilled. He pried open his eyes, but the room was dark. “Savannah?” he called out.
Maybe she’d just gone into the bathroom. But he heard no movement within the suite. So he flipped on the light next to the bed. Her dress and underwear were no longer on the floor. She’d dressed and sneaked out.
His clothes still lay in a pile next to the bed. He reached into the discarded jacket and pulled out his wallet. Nothing was missing. He doubted she’d even touched it. A twinge of guilt struck him that he’d wondered if she had. But why had she sneaked out?
Hadn’t she enjoyed their date as much as he had?
She’d certainly seemed to—when she’d come over and over again. He’d never known anyone as passionate as she was. Hard at the thought of her and of all they’d done, he jumped up from the bed and stalked around the suite. He knew she was gone, but he was looking for a note.
Surely she’d left him one—with her full name and number, her email...some way for him to contact her again. Because she hadn’t touched his wallet, she hadn’t taken any of his business cards, either.
She’d walked out of the room and his life without a way for him to contact her...unless she’d told the service to give him her information. She must have done that, because surely she would want to see him again.
Because he sure as hell wanted to see her.
CHAPTER SIX
HER HEART POUNDING like she was on the run, Blair stuffed her crumpled dress into her overnight bag and, with shaking fingers, zipped it closed. She slid the strap over her shoulder and headed for the door. Just as she reached for the knob, the door shuddered as someone knocked—loudly—on it.
A curse slipped out of her lips. Had he found her? Had he followed her back to her hotel?
She’d been so certain that he was deeply sleeping when she’d disentangled their limbs and slipped out of the bed. But maybe he’d awakened when he heard her moving around.
She’d heard him murmur something in his sleep, something in Italian, which she usually understood, but the words probably would have been unintelligible in any language. He’d been so tired. So was she.
She hadn’t slept at all.
What the hell had she done?
All she wanted to do now was get the hell out of Milan and back to London, where the main office of Private Flights was located.
The door rattled again, and a voice called out, “Savannah, I know you’re in there.”
“Shit.” She knew this person too well to try to pretend she’d already gone. This person would convince a maid to open the door to check to see if she was alive if she didn’t open it herself. So, with a heavy sigh of exhaustion and resignation, she pulled it open.
Miranda pushed past her and slammed the door shut. “Savannah?” she repeated the name again, this time as a question, her voice high with disbelief. “You told him your name is Savannah?”
“It is,” she reminded her friend.
“Yeah, but you hate that name so much that you never use it,” Miranda said.
She had hated it—until Matteo Rinaldi said it like he had, in that melted-chocolate rich and warm voice of his. With such passion...
“Why didn’t you tell him your real name?”
“Why didn’t you tell him my name?” Blair asked. “You made me feel like a paid escort the way you sent me to his hotel room. I never should have agreed to join your damn service.”
“I didn’t think you were going to agree to it,” Miranda admitted. “That’s why I didn’t mention your name to him, but even when you had agreed to it, I couldn’t tell him anything unless you authorized me to release that information. As for having you meet him at his hotel, he didn’t have anything nefarious in mind. I vetted him completely, just as I have every other member of
the service. You were safe with him, so why did you lie to him, especially when I promised him that all of our members are honest?”
Blair knew that honesty was important to him; he’d made that painfully clear to her. But she insisted, “I didn’t lie. Savannah is my name.”
“You hate your first name,” Miranda said. “You’ve made me swear to take it off your tombstone if your mom or brother tries to sneak it on there.”
“I would haunt them,” Blair said. “So they won’t.”
“You’re haunting Matteo Rinaldi right now,” Miranda said, “or at the least ghosting him. You didn’t give him your real name or any contact information for him to be able to reach you. Why not? Was the date that terrible?”
A little ripple of something passed through Blair—excitement? Relief? Her pulse had quickened, too, at the mention of him.
“He called you already?” she asked.
It was still early. The minute he’d awakened and found her gone he must have called, but she hadn’t been gone that long, just long enough to get a cab back to her hotel, shower and pack.
“How else would I know what you told him your name was?” Miranda asked. “I didn’t even realize who he was talking about right away. It’s been so long since anyone used your first name.”
Maybe it was because she’d had no sleep but Blair found herself murmuring again, “He called.”
“Yes,” Miranda confirmed, “he called for your number.”
The little ripple passed through her again, but this time she easily recognized it for what it was: fear. “You didn’t give it to him?”
“Of course not,” Miranda said. “I’ve told you already that one of the main rules of the service is that we won’t give out any information unless we’re authorized.”
So Miranda was running her business differently than she had her life. She was making and keeping the rules with Liaisons International.
“It’s up to the members to share that information with each other,” she continued, “if they want. Why didn’t you want to give him your phone number?”
Despite the fear and tension gripping her, Blair shrugged. “Why would I?”
“Didn’t you have a good time?” Miranda asked.
Her body was limp and felt nearly boneless from the all the pleasure he’d given her. But Blair was not about to admit that to her matchmaking friend. She just shrugged again. “It was fine.”
“If something went wrong, if he did something to turn you off, I need to know so that I can either terminate his membership or—”
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Blair interrupted.
And he certainly hadn’t turned her off; just thinking about him had her pulse quickening with excitement. That was the problem, though. He’d affected her too much and much too quickly, which had unsettled her.
“I was the one who did something wrong.”
“I’ll say you did,” Miranda wholeheartedly agreed. “You lied to him about your name.”
“I didn’t lie,” she insisted—weakly.
“And he was very specific that he didn’t want to waste his time with someone who plays games,” Miranda warned her.
“I know.” And because she hadn’t been entirely honest with him, she doubted he would want a relationship with her. But hell, she didn’t want one with him, either. Or with anyone.
That was why she hadn’t given him her contact information. Because all she’d wanted was that one night, that one date.
She couldn’t risk any more than that.
“The mistake I made was letting you talk me into joining your service,” Blair explained. “I don’t have time to date anyone.”
And especially not someone like Matteo Rinaldi, someone who could prove a bigger distraction than she could handle right now.
Or ever...
Miranda uttered her disappointment in a heavy sigh. “I really thought the two of you would make a great match. That he might be your soul mate.”
“You sound like your mother right now,” Blair said.
Miranda’s head snapped back like she’d been struck. “Take that back,” she said.
“Listen to yourself,” Blair advised. “You’re talking about soul mates and great matches.”
Miranda shrugged. “Just because I think two people belong together doesn’t mean that I believe in marriage or any of that garbage.”
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but Blair was struggling to follow her friend’s reasoning. “But why would you think Matteo and I would be a good match? He and I have nothing in common. He’s an Italian billionaire and I’m an American pilot. Our paths would have never crossed if not for your service.”
“Exactly,” Miranda said. “That’s why the service is so necessary. So many people just settle with someone they meet in their own circle of acquaintances and they miss out on meeting the person with whom they truly belong.”
“Hear that? You really do sound just like your mother now,” Blair warned her.
“Shut your mouth!” Miranda exclaimed. “I’m not saying that your only purpose in life is to find a mate and spend your life trying to make him happy.”
Both of their mothers had done that. At least Miranda’s mother had known when to give up and meet someone else to try to find happiness again, though. Blair’s mom had wasted most of her adult life trying to make a man happy who had probably been incapable of the feeling. When he’d died of a heart attack a few years ago, she and her brother had been surprised that he’d even had one.
“What are you saying?” Blair asked her friend—because she seriously wasn’t following her. Neither of them had ever had to have a boyfriend or significant other. They’d been happy to be single. Or so Blair had thought.
“All I’m saying is that you deserve to have someone who wants to make you happy,” Miranda murmured, almost wistfully.
“You do, too,” Blair assured her friend.
Miranda shook her head. “I don’t need anyone else to make me happy.”
“Same,” Blair said. “I have my business, and I need to focus all my attention on that.”
Miranda sighed again but nodded. “So I’ll tell Matteo Rinaldi that you don’t want to see him again.”
A twinge of pain struck Blair’s heart, stealing her breath away for a moment. She wanted—very badly—to see him again, which was why she couldn’t risk it, just as she hadn’t been able to risk staying with him. She was not going to get attached and all needy and weak like her mother had with her dad.
Miranda should have understood that; she’d learned to not get attached to any of her stepfathers because they never stuck around. Just as none of Blair’s boyfriends had ever stuck around—because their fragile egos hadn’t been able to deal with who and what she was.
Matteo Rinaldi hadn’t appeared to have a fragile ego, though. But maybe that made him more dangerous—because it would have made it easier for her to fall for him.
Blair forced herself to nod in agreement. “Yes, yes, tell him that I don’t want to see him again.”
Her friend stepped closer, narrowed her pale blue eyes and peered up in her face. Skepticism in her voice, she prodded, “And he really did nothing wrong?”
Blair shook her head. On the contrary, he’d done everything right—too damn right. She’d never had orgasms as intense or as easily as he’d given them to her. He’d given her so much pleasure.
Miranda sighed. “That’s good. I should have no problem finding someone else for him then.”
Another twinge struck Blair, this time of jealousy. The thought of Matteo with someone else the way he’d been with her had anger coursing through her.
Miranda was still staring at her and must have caught her reaction because she chuckled and mused, “You’re not okay with that.”
“It’s fine,” Blair insisted. “I just met him l
ast night. We don’t even know each other. So it’s not like I’m attached to him or anything.” But she could get used to the pleasure he’d given her, too used to it; that was why she couldn’t risk seeing him again.
But as Miranda had pointed out, their paths were unlikely to have ever crossed without Liaisons International. So there was next to no chance of them ever running into each other again.
* * *
Teo had spent too long in Milan, waiting on Savannah to call him back. The ball was in her court now, was what the service had told him.
He wasn’t playing tennis, though. He didn’t want to play any damn games with Savannah. He just wanted her. But it had been a few days now, so he had to accept that she was not going to call him back.
Still, when his phone began to vibrate across the desk in the hotel suite, he grabbed for it and clicked the accept button. “Rinaldi,” he spoke into the cell.
“Matteo Rinaldi?” a deep—very male—voice asked.
He sighed. “Yes.”
“This is Grant Snyder returning your call,” the man said, and he sounded annoyed. “Although if you just want to book a flight, our answering service could have already handled that for you.”
“I am not about to book a flight with anyone until I speak directly to the pilot or one of the owners of the company,” Teo informed the man. Flying unnerved him enough without putting his life into the hands of a stranger. But even after an in-depth interview with the pilot he’d hired to fly his private jet, he’d been unpleasantly surprised—when the man had shown up drunk at the airport. Anger coursed through him. That hadn’t been his only recent unpleasant surprise, though.
Savannah.
While the night with her had given him a lot of pleasure, not hearing from her frustrated the hell out of him.
“I’m one of the owners,” Grant said. “But my sister is really the pilot.”
“The only pilot?” Teo asked. If so, she was unlikely to leave her brother’s company to fly his plane for him, and that was ultimately his goal, to find someone to fly his plane. Or he would have wasted money on it.
