by Heidi Rice
I’ll just bet you do.
Her fingers caressed the bunched muscles of his shoulder blades and fisted in the short hair at his nape.
‘Talk is cheap, Westmore,’ she teased, pulling him down. The comforting weight of him anchored her to the mattress. ‘Where’s the proof?’
He didn’t need to be asked twice.
She panted, sobbed, adjusting to the aching fullness as he lodged deep inside her in one long, solid thrust.
Establishing a rhythm, he forced her to take the full measure of him. She wrapped her legs round his waist, held on to sweat-slicked shoulders as she moved with him. His answering grunts rasped in her ears as the brutal heat eddied up from her toes, shimmering through her body and washing over her in ever growing waves of pleasure so intense she fought to hold them back—clinging to the wild need to make him shatter first.
He shifted suddenly, pressed one hot palm to her midriff, then found her clitoris with seeking fingers.
‘No, don’t,’ she cried. But it was too late. His knowing fingers triggered the wild cry of release as another mind-blowing orgasm slammed into her with the force of a fist.
She could barely hear his harsh shout as he crashed over the same brutal edge a few seconds later.
Cal braced himself on unsteady arms and drew out, groaning as her body released him. He rolled onto his back, grateful that he’d managed to avoid collapsing on top of her.
That had been incredible. He cursed under his breath. Not incredible, more like mind-altering.
He twisted round to stare at the woman beside him. She was staring back at him, her chocolate-brown eyes glazed and unfocused, as if she’d survived a war.
He knew how she felt. His skin felt tight, his mind fuzzy and his groin still hurt from the intensity of his orgasm.
He was a big fan of spectacular sex. But that had been a little too spectacular. He’d never experienced anything like it before. And he wasn’t altogether keen on surprises. They tended to be a lot harder to control.
She puffed out a gentle breath, an uncertain smile lifting the corner of her mouth.
‘I guess you proved it,’ she said.
‘Proved what?’
‘You do know what you’re doing.’
He huffed out a laugh, the reluctant compliment breaking the tension. ‘Thanks. I aim to please.’
He pushed the uneasiness to one side. What was the big problem? Yeah, the orgasm had been intense, but it was only to be expected, given how worked up he’d been, and how beautifully she responded to him. Plus when she’d revealed what she had downstairs—that before now she’d had to instruct guys on the fine art of the female orgasm—his competitive instinct had kicked in.
Reaching across, he brushed one errant curl behind her ear. The flash of reaction as she shifted away from his touch captivated him. She really was a bunch of contradictions, both bold and cautious, experienced and yet strangely untouched.
‘I should probably go home,’ she said.
He smiled to himself. Did she really think he was going to let her leave that easily?
‘Now why would you want to do that?’ He curled his hand round her neck and felt the hammer thuds of her pulse as he stroked his thumb under her chin. ‘We’ve only just got started.’
‘Oh, come on,’ she scoffed. ‘You can’t seriously be capable of doing it again so soon?’
‘That sounds like a challenge.’ He swept his hand down to her bottom. ‘And I should give you fair warning, I always rise to a challenge.’
She laughed incredulously.
But as he caressed the soft, scented flesh and heard her indrawn breath even he was a little astonished by his reaction. He hadn’t had powers of recovery this phenomenal since he’d been a teenager.
Go for it, Westmore, this is going to be a night to remember.
Her eyebrows shot up as she glanced down at his hardening flesh.
‘We’ll end up killing each other,’ she remarked, the hushed tone of voice contradicted somewhat by the impish smile as she touched his erection with the tip of her finger.
‘Quite possibly,’ he groaned.
She gave a husky laugh as she drew her finger down the length of him.
‘But I can’t think of a better way to go,’ he added, his rigid flesh pulsing against her palm as she began to torment him in earnest.
CHAPTER SIX
RUBY’S eyelids fluttered open, then snapped shut, the blaze of sunlight searing her retinas.
She tried again, prising open one lid, then the other, and discovered a strange bedroom—which was about three times the size of the two rooms she rented in Tufnell Park.
Floor-to-ceiling French doors stood partially open, giving a panoramic view of Hampstead Heath, the dried summer grass and ancient woodland stretching up Parliament Hill into the distance. A gush of wind made her skin pebble. Then she spotted her dress draped over a leather chair, one heel lying on its side on the polished wood flooring and her lace bra hanging from the fronds of a potted Yucca plant. She groaned, her endless night of debauchery flooding back in lurid detail like an X-rated movie playing in vivid technicolor.
She hadn’t just fallen off the wagon last night, she’d flung herself head first off a cliff.
She winced, abruptly aware of the many intimate parts of her body that ached where she’d hit the ground, hard. The low murmur of deep breathing had her risking a peek over her shoulder. Lifting up on one elbow, she studied the face of the man beside her hogging most of the bed.
In the dappled sunlight, his tanned skin and the shadow of stubble on his chin gave his impossibly handsome features a dark, pagan beauty. Thick lashes touched high, hollow cheekbones, and those sensual lips—which had driven her to ecstasy too many times to count—were now partially open, the rumble of his breathing stopping just short of a snore.
She bit back another groan at the pulse of reaction in her sex.
Callum Westmore. AKA Super-stud.
No wonder the man was in a coma. They’d been at it all night. And not just during the night—the last time he’d forced her over that final edge before they both collapsed into an exhausted sleep, dawn had been breaking, the golden haze of sunrise gilding his skin to a burnished bronze.
Edging into a sitting position, Ruby shifted over to ease out from under the warm, heavily muscled thigh that had her legs pinned to the bed. The blue Egyptian cotton duvet slipped off his backside, and the sight of tight, beautifully sculpted buttocks sent another jolt of heat through her abused system.
She gritted her teeth. Good grief, wasn’t she sore enough already?
Scooting off the bed, she gathered up her scattered clothing and tiptoed across the room in search of a bathroom, her need to pee almost as urgent as her need to get away from the object of her downfall before she did something really reckless. Like wake him up and ask for a repeat performance. Although it was difficult to imagine how much more reckless she could be after all the things she’d let him do to her last night.
The en suite bathroom was glaringly modern and expertly designed, the gleaming steel units, granite tiles, glass-brick shower cubicle and stone tub as defiantly masculine as their owner. After taking care of the toilet emergency, she searched until she found a pile of white towelling robes, all neatly folded. The fresh scent of laundry soap and fabric conditioner masked the musty scent of sex and man that clung to her skin.
Ruby hummed with pleasure as she thrust her arms into the robe. In spite of having the marauding tendencies of a Scottish Warlord, Callum Westmore clearly appreciated the creature comforts. She hissed as she belted the robe, the soft towelling like sandpaper as it touched her chest.
Opening the lapels, she gaped at the reddened skin.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she recalled the focused attention Cal had paid to her breasts and nipples all through the night.
Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink—and slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the shriek.
She
looked like the creature from the black lagoon.
Not only did she have whisker burn on her cheeks too, she had the worst bed hair in the history of the world ever and the smidgen of make-up she still had on was smeared under her eyes like a bruise.
Make that the creature from tart central.
Grabbing a selection of toiletries neatly arranged in a wicker basket on the sink unit, she shot over to the shower.
Damage limitation was the order of the day. She’d have to repair what she could, then get the heck out of here before her Scottish Warlord woke up and made her humiliation complete.
Mornings had never been her strong suit, and she wasn’t about to risk the ignominy of the morning after with Callum. Not only did she look a fright, she hardly knew the man. And what she did know was making her very uneasy now the haze of lust had cleared.
She still didn’t quite know what had got into her last night. Apart from Cal’s impressive erection.
No man had ever seduced her before with such ease or efficiency. And no man had ever made her see stars. Forget stars, she’d seen a whole constellation. And then been sent soaring through the Milky Way.
While she’d been in his bed, she hadn’t been able to put the whole sequence of events into any kind of perspective. But now, in the cold light of day, she could see that despite all her best-laid plans she’d barely put up a token protest last night.
But far worse than her complete lack of restraint was the way the balance of power had played out.
Right from the moment Cal had demanded that she go to dinner with him he’d been in charge. And while the end result had been mind-blowingly erotic, his ability to control her with such apparent ease bothered her. A lot.
She had a passionate, provocative nature, which was something she’d inherited from her mother. She knew that. But she’d always prided herself on never allowing it to get the better of her. The way she had bent so easily to Callum’s will yesterday evening—and all through the night—felt like a betrayal of that principle, however small.
She flinched as she switched on the shower control and cool water hit her raw skin.
Now she knew she was uniquely susceptible to Callum Westmore. To the point where she could become addicted to him. It would probably be wise to steer clear of him. Once had definitely been enough.
She frowned. Fine, make that five times had definitely been enough. Or was it six?
She grabbed the shampoo and poured a large dose onto her hair as the steamy water began to soothe tired muscles. She massaged the expensive lotion into her scalp and ignored the liquid pull in her abdomen from the woodsy scent she recognised as his.
The number of times they’d done it was completely irrelevant. What mattered was that she had now alerted herself to the danger. Callum Westmore had discovered her weak spot. And if she was going to stop him from exploiting it, it would probably be wise to stop him from getting near the rest of her as well.
Ten minutes later, drenched and still a little shaky, but fortified by the plan she’d formulated, Ruby stepped out of the shower cubicle and fumbled for her robe.
‘You should have woken me. I would have scrubbed your back.’
This time she didn’t manage to muffle the shriek, the sound echoing against the stone tiles as she clasped the robe to her chest.
‘What are you doing in here?’ She shoved her arms into the garment and belted it to cover her nakedness, disturbingly aroused by the sight of him leaning nonchalantly against the units watching her.
With his long legs clad in a pair of sweat pants that hung low on narrow hips, his chest gloriously bare, his short hair sticking up in careless spikes, and a smile on his lips, he looked rumpled and buff and impossibly sexy. Resentment flared at the inevitable tug between her legs.
Without a spot of make-up on, her cheeks as shiny as beacons, the shapeless robe and her hair falling in a wet tangle down her back, she, on the other hand, probably looked about as enticing as a damp squid. Not that she wanted to entice him, mind you. It would only be counterproductive given her decision not to sleep with him again. But it was the principle of the thing. He had her at a disadvantage, and she didn’t appreciate it.
‘Why are you blushing?’ he asked, amused. His eyes roamed over her. ‘You didn’t strike me as the shy type last night.’
‘I’m not,’ she said, although for the first time in her life she did feel a little shy. Which only annoyed her more. ‘But I prefer a little privacy when I have a shower.’
‘That’s a shame.’ He closed the distance between them in two long strides, then settled his hand on her neck. The heat sizzled straight down to her toes and made her tense. ‘Because my back-scrubbing skills are legendary.’
You don’t say.
She sidestepped him, grateful when the caressing palm fell away from her neck. ‘I’ll have to sample them another time.’
He gripped her wrist, stopping her in mid-flight. ‘Stay awhile.’
She quelled the hammer of her heartbeat at the unexpected invitation, the pressure of his thumb against her pulse making it hard to stay focused.
She pulled her arm away. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not? Last night was great.’
The blunt question wasn’t one she wanted to answer. Telling him she found him too overwhelming would be like waving a red rag in front of a bull. A very persistent and extremely attractive bull who already had her thighs trembling and he’d barely touched her. So she decided to go with a more straightforward excuse.
‘Actually, it was too great,’ she said, stifling the ridiculous blush. ‘For me, anyway.’
He tilted his head to one side, the quizzical smile making him look even more assured. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘You know.’ She paused. ‘It was too much … physically.’
His lips quirked and she frowned. That hadn’t come out quite the way she’d planned.
He took her wrist again. ‘I see.’ Tugging her towards him, he wrapped an arm around her hips. She felt the prominent arousal and tried to wriggle away, shocked to feel desire welling once again.
‘I don’t think you do.’ She braced her palms against his chest. ‘I have whisker burn!’
He chuckled. ‘I’m sorry, Ruby,’ he murmured, not sounding all that apologetic. ‘Your skin’s so soft.’ He touched a thumb to her cheek, the flicker of tenderness stunning her into silence. ‘I have some cream that’ll help. Would you like me to apply it to the affected areas?’
She shoved him back, annoyingly tempted by the offer. ‘That’s not a good idea. Considering.’
He laughed. ‘No, probably not.’
God, she looked adorable. And so damn desirable. The flush of embarrassment and the fresh scent of his shampoo on the mass of damp curls tumbling over her shoulder tied his gut into knots. Her skin looked radiant without the carefully applied shield of make-up. Radiant and surprisingly young.
It occurred to Cal that he was even more captivated by her this morning than he had been last night. And not just by her beauty.
He’d spent ten minutes lying in bed, listening to the shower and imagining all the things he wanted to do to her today. Most of them involving soap suds. He’d have to put those on hold.
The fact that he’d been so demanding unsettled him a little. He wasn’t normally that insatiable. She’d been as enthusiastic as he had, but he still should have been a lot more careful with her. But that didn’t mean they had to part company right away.
‘Wait there.’ Cal crossed to the cabinets and hunted up the tube of cream he’d slung in there months ago and forgotten about.
Finding it, he handed it to Ruby. ‘It’s supposed to be good for bruises and scraps. It should help with the whisker burn.’
Taking the tube, she read the label. ‘Arnica? I wouldn’t have pegged you as the new-age-remedy type.’
His lips tilted up. Why did he find her bluntness as captivating as the rest of her?
‘I’m not. My sister sent me tha
t in one of her many care packages.’ Leaning back against the unit, he crossed his arms over his chest, enjoying the colour that rose in Ruby’s cheeks as he studied her. Was it his imagination, or was she as captivated as he was? ‘Maddy worries about me,’ he added, trying to look plaintive and failing miserably, he suspected. ‘And my lonely bachelor lifestyle.’
‘Lonely!’ She laughed. ‘I’m guessing your sister doesn’t know you very well.’
He smiled. ‘I try to make sure of that,’ he said easily.
Athough the truth was, he didn’t have to try very hard. His sister was too sweet, too generous and too naive to ever understand that he preferred sex without commitment and had never once yearned for anything more.
‘Well, give your sister my thanks,’ Ruby said, tucking the tube into the pocket of the robe. ‘On second thought, perhaps you better not.’ Her eyes brightened with mischief. ‘Explaining how I came to need it might be a bit awkward.’ She gathered her clothes up from the counter, and nodded towards the door. ‘I should be going. Thanks for last night. It was fun, despite the whisker burns.’
Forcing down the urge to chase after her, he stood motionless and relaxed as she headed towards the door. He should probably let her leave. But as she twisted the handle on the bathroom door he knew he wasn’t going to.
She seemed oddly vulnerable this morning—which was something he hadn’t expected. He was by nature a cynical man, the perfect storm of his childhood had seen to that. When you factored in the intellect that had allowed him to pass the bar two years early and take silk at the age of thirty-four—the youngest person at the time to be awarded the lofty position of Queen’s Counsel in the history of British law—he was very rarely surprised by anything. Or anyone. Especially women.
So the unexpected always intrigued him.
And he had a rare weekend off. So why not take the opportunity to indulge his curiosity about Ruby? At least until she got her stamina back?
‘Why are you in such a rush?’ he remarked. ‘Scared you won’t be able to resist me?’
She stilled and shot round, the pink flags in her cheeks telling him he’d hit exactly the right mark.
