Clare Connelly Pairs: Warming the Sheikh’s Bed & Love in the Fast Lane

by Connelly , Clare

  Clare Connelly Pairs

  Warming the Sheikh’s Bed & Love in the Fast Lane

  Clare Connelly

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  Epilogue

  The End

  The Velasco Love Child

  Prologue

  1

  Books By Clare Connelly

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.

  All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.

  The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.

  First published 2016

  (c) Clare Connelly

  Photo Credit: Adobe Stock/aarrttuurr

  Contact Clare:

  http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk

  Blog: http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/

  Email: Clareconnelly@outlook.com

  Follow Clare Connelly on facebook for all the latest.

  Join Clare’s Newsletter to stay up to date on all the latest CC news. http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk/subscribe.html

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Some men were sexy because they were handsome.

  Lovely, well-put together faces atop buff, sculpted bodies.

  Other men, like the one she was pretending not to look at, were sexy because they were just the kind of man a smart girl would keep away from. Trouble with a capital T.

  From the dark scowl he wore on his swarthy face, to the powerful hands that were dragging a pen determinedly against a crisp white piece of paper, he emanated an uncontainable power.

  There was nothing neat or groomed about him. He was wild. Uncaged. Half man, half beast, entirely too big, too strong, too much for this painfully trendy Mayfair bar. She lifted her straw to her lips, shaping them around it and sipping her mojito, lost in thought.

  Cassie had promised her best friend Melinda that she’d avoid any more disastrous escapades. The last man she’d decided was far too sinfully gorgeous to resist had turned out to be absolutely mad. At best, obsessive, at worst: a verified stalker.

  A shiver ran down her spine as she pushed the memories aside and took another sip of her drink.

  The man was angry. His hand was moving fast as he scarred the pristine paper with insistent strokes.

  He had dark hair, so black it was like a raven, and it was cropped close to his head. His brows were thick and his eyes, from what she could see, were a very dark, deep brown. His lips were wide, and his jaw was square. His nose had a bump halfway down, probably from a break at some point in his life.

  His physique was astoundingly impressive, and Cassie had always gone for the burly type. But even compared to her roll call of exes he was particularly remarkable. Broad shoulders that looked like they could weather any storm topped a muscled chest. Through the suit he wore she could appreciate the tight definition. Some women may not have been able to, but Cassie had made an art form out of identifying the right kind of man.

  His suit was another giveaway. It was custom made. Most men his size had to buy custom made. He was hardly an off-the-rack man, so why buy an off-the-rack suit? But even if he’d been a normal size, a man like this would buy bespoke.

  He was someone used to having the best of everything. Despite the wild, almost feral energy that seemed to radiate from him, he was clearly spectacularly wealthy and successful.

  Cassie moved her straw around her drink, batting her long lashes down at the cocktail while she considered her next move.

  She should, absolutely, walk away.

  After Antonio, she should have learned her lesson.

  And yet, what good was it to pretend? Her heart was speeding up, her pulse was firing, and her lungs were working overtime to keep her breath moving. She felt a twist in her gut and she knew what it was.

  Desire.

  No, that was far too weak a term for what she was feeling.

  She felt the kind of heat moving through her core that would make her crazy if she didn’t indulge it. She pulled her full lower lip between her teeth, careful not to smudge her perfectly applied lipstick, and lifted her gaze to his face.

  His eyes, larger than she’d realised, locked to hers at that exact moment. A frisson of awareness bolted along her spine.

  She was good at seduction. She’d had practice. But he was unnerving her.

  An invisible force arced from him to her. The distance and occasional customer in between offered no resistance.

  Cassie shaped her mouth around the straw, her pale blue eyes challenging him as she took a sip. One side of his mouth lifted in what she took to be wry speculation. He pushed the lid onto his pen and slipped it back into his pocket. The way he kept his hands on the paper interested her. What was it? What had taxed him so greatly to write that he now protected?

  He arched one of his brows, the gesture imbuing his face with a devilish nonchalance that sent her heart skittering.

  She swallowed.

  When she didn’t move, he lifted a hand from the pages and crooked a finger slowly.

  The gesture was not subtle.

  Nor could it be misconstrued.

  He was beckoning her.

  She had promised Melinda she would stop meeting men in bars. At twenty six, Melinda argued, Cassie was too old for this kind of thing.

  But Cassie didn’t feel too old for it.

  She’d had her run in with the serious relationships; that wasn’t for her. There’d be a time to be sedate and sensible.

  This was not it.

  Not when faced with a man like him.

  She felt her lips lift in a seductive smile. Purposefully, her eyes not leaving his face, she drained her mojito. It wasn’t wise, yet it gave her the necessary courage.

  Her heels were sky high, but Cassandra Walton had no issues with that. She could walk on stilts if she had to. At a measly five feet three inches, she’d adopted the advantage of stilettos from her early teens. She moved across the pub, weaving easily through the small clusters of after-work customers.

  She’d come straight from a meeting and she was dressed accordingly. Selling top-level art to her corporate clients required her to look a certain way. Some might have thought her dress sense was revealing, but Cassie had garnered an enormous base of clients. The way she did business worked for her.

  She ran a manicured hand down the side of her dress, smoothing away an imaginary wrinkle. It fit like a second skin, clinging to the knees, where it gave a small kick. At the neck, it plunged just low enough to give a decent glimpse of her cleavage. At her collar, she wore a chunky gold necklace. Melinda’s? She couldn’t remember. They swapped accessories so often that they might as well have co-purchased everything they owned.

  She schooled her expression into a mask of bored curiosity as she sauntered over. “Yes?” She breathed, sidl
ing in close to him.

  His eyes flared; he put a hand on her hip.

  No preamble, no hesitation. Just an immediate gesture of ownership.

  Her blood boiled.

  He looked over her head and nodded. Two drinks appeared immediately.

  “I don’t like scotch,” she commented, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

  “Everyone likes scotch.”

  His voice was thick and deep; gravelly too. It was almost as sexy as he was. She gulped and reached for the glass, simply for something to do.

  “Drink it,” he murmured.

  Her eyes flared at the command. Definitely powerful. He was probably some top-tier CEO or business owner.

  Defying men like him was always guaranteed to create fireworks.

  She shook her head slowly from side to side, her lips tingling with a smile.

  His dark eyes clung to hers as he lifted his glass to his lips. He put it down almost immediately.

  It shocked her, the way his mouth sought hers. His lips pressed against hers, and she gasped, opening her mouth wide to receive his invasion. Cold alcohol mingled with the warmth of his tongue.

  She moaned low in her throat as the hand on her hip moved lower, to curve around her buttocks. “Do you like it now?” He enquired silkily, lifting his head to stare at her ironically.

  All she could do was nod.

  “Good,” he padded a thumb over her full lower lip. “Do you want anything else to drink first?”

  Her blood was rushing through her system so fast she could hear it in her ears. “First?” She heard herself ask, as if from a very long way away.

  “Before we go to my hotel.”

  Her laugh was nervous. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

  His lip lifted in sardonic amusement. Again, his eyes flickered past her. The bar wasn’t busy, but there were enough people around to mean they weren’t guaranteed of privacy. He moved his body to block her from the others, and then he lifted the hemline of her dress. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Cassie was wondering if she’d bitten off way more than she could chew this time. But then his fingers were grazing the soft silk of her underwear. He pushed them aside easily, his eyes boring into hers as he slipped a finger into her moist, warm core.

  She immediately bucked from the instant release she felt brewing.

  Her eyes sought his helplessly.

  It was the first time she’d felt like she might spontaneously combust in a man’s arms.

  His laugh was gently teasing. “You are ready for me.” He leaned forward, so that his voice tickled the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck. “I could take you here, and you would be glad.”

  Her fingers lifted to grip his shirt. She needed help to stand.

  “I think the other patrons might object.”

  He shook his head, and used his bulky frame to push her backwards. All she could do was step as he urged, until her back connected with the wall at the back of the bar. “My car is through this door.” He kissed her again, his tongue lashing her mouth in time with his fingers.

  And all Cassie could think was that she probably shouldn’t come back to this particular establishment for a while.

  He hadn’t asked a question but she found herself nodding anyway. “Let’s go. Quickly.”

  He straightened, removing himself from her in a way that made her body throb with emptiness.

  He shouldered the door open and stalked ahead of her to the waiting limousine.

  Definitely powerful. Definitely wealthy. It was no ordinary limousine. Sleek, black, and long, with a suited chauffeur holding the door open. The Man didn’t acknowledge the driver. He stood impatiently, waiting for Cassie to step into the plush interior, before following her.

  The moment the door was shut, his lips sought hers. Desperate, hungry and fierce, he took as much as he gave. His hands ran over the dress, and he could only imagine what she would be like beneath.

  Cassie struggled for breath as wave after wave of ecstasy began to build in her system. She felt the car pull out into the built up Mayfair streets, but she didn’t bother trying to see where they were going.

  It didn’t matter where.

  It just mattered that they did what they were promising one another.

  She ground her hips against him, and he laughed, lifting his head only to reach forward and snap closed the window between the driver and them.

  His dark eyes were flecked with a complex web of thoughts. Thoughts she didn’t care to analyse. It was when she started to wonder what these men were thinking that she came unstuck.

  As if to underscore her philosophy, she lifted a finger to his lips. “This is just sex, okay?”

  He nodded gravely. “You are worried I might fall madly in love with you?”

  One of her fashionably shaped brows shot upwards. “You wouldn’t be the first man.” She had intended to sound nonchalant but it came off as angry. She grimaced. “I don’t want any complications.”

  “Believe me, neither do I.”

  Relief was sharp in her chest. “Good,” she smiled seductively at him. “In that case, I see no reason we can’t have incredible sex and then part ways.”

  His laugh was spectacular. He went from being untouchable billionaire bachelor to sexy, dishevelled lover in the space of seconds. “Are you always this frank?”

  “Frankly,” she teased, “Yes.”

  “I admire that,” he said seriously, bringing his mouth to the soft flesh at the base of her neck.

  Cassie lifted her hips, silently begging him to return his intimate contact. He pressed his body weight on top of her, and she could feel his powerful arousal through their clothing. But he did nothing to release the well of tension that was flaring in her.

  She almost swore with relief when the car pulled off the road and into a back street. She blinked, focussing on the view beyond the tinted window. Knightsbridge, she guessed, taking in the spiked fences and elegant sidewalks.

  His hotel was one of the most prestigious in London. It was five stories tall and each level was an entire apartment with views of Hyde Park in one direction and St James Park in the other.

  He straightened her dress and distanced himself from her, looking instantly different. As though they hadn’t just been kissing as a prelude to the sex that was imminent.

  Cassie found it harder to compose herself, but she managed a semblance of it. The chauffeur opened the door, his eyes averted. She followed the man from the vehicle and fell into step beside him. He was tall and his stride long. She was short but used to walking fast. She liked to do everything efficiently, even walking.

  A small brigade of suited men walked behind them.

  Security?

  Curiosity washed over her. There were seven of them in the lift. Her, him, and five men dressed in black with pistols at their belts.

  The henchmen disembarked on level four, leaving just the two of them, hurtling higher and higher in the elevator to a fate Cassie couldn’t yet contemplate.

  The doors pinged open, and The Man immediately wrapped his arms around her; he was crushing her to his chest. He half-carried her into the suite, his urgency apparent in every passionate, rushed step.

  She didn’t stop to survey her surrounds. She was trying to wrap her legs around his waist but the pencil fit of her skirt was making it impossible. She groaned in frustration, and he nodded, placing her onto the carpeted floor so that he could slide his fingers into the straps of her dress. He pushed it away with all the urgency that was overtaking him.

  Beneath it, she was every bit as sexy as he’d imagined when she’d sauntered into the bar. She was wearing bright scarlet underwear – a bra that matched lace knickers. “Good,” he approved.

  She felt an unusual blush spread across her cheeks. He unclipped the bra and felt the weight of her breasts in his hands. “They are real,” he remarked, evidently surprised.

  “Yes,” she intoned, unsure if she was flattered or offended by his brazen appraisal of her
physical assets. Cassie suspected it should have been the latter, but she couldn’t raise any sense of indignation.

  He skimmed his hands down her sides, returning his fingers to her underwear. He pushed a finger back inside her most feminine heart. This time, he didn’t attempt to hide what he was doing. Nor did he shield her. He watched her face react to the sensual invasion, as he plunged himself in, and out.

  “You are very, very wet,” he commented.

  “You are very, very sexy,” she responded, earning a smile of approval from him.

  “I like a woman who is not ashamed of her needs.”

  “I’m not.” Breathing was almost impossible now.

  “Then I should tell you, I intend to explore you sexually. I intend to take my time enjoying your sexuality.”

  A thrill of anticipation made her moan softly.

  “Are you on the pill?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you safe?”

  Her cheeks flushed. She nodded. “I … I had to get tested for something else. Just a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Good. As am I.”

  He pulled his finger away and then wrapped his palm around the elastic of her underpants. He brought the other hand to the same spot and pulled.

  They tore beneath his touch, ripping away from her body. She gasped, both at the wanton destruction of the gorgeous French lingerie and at the utter power of this man.

  She was naked except for her red patent leather spike heels. She went to step out of them, but he shook his head.

  “They stay on.” He walked across the suite, and something in his manner demanded that she follow. He didn’t take her to a bedroom. Instead, he showed her to a plush dressing room, with floor to ceiling mirrors on one wall.