She shifted against him, frantic to soothe the sting of heat in her pelvis, and then she gasped as he tugged her dress down over her shoulders, down to her waist, and a sudden rush of cool air hit her overheated skin. Gripping the hard muscles of his arms, she shuddered as his fingers slid over her breasts, stroking and caressing her nipples, and then she moaned softly as she felt his lip curl around the rigid tip, grazing the soft dimpled flesh with his teeth.
She could feel the beat of his blood, pulsing over her skin, beating in time to her snatched breaths; her skin was prickling...pinpricks of fire threading out in every direction. Suddenly she wanted more and, body arching, she squirmed against him, frantically yanking at his belt—
Grunting, he reached down and tugged his trousers over his hips, then tore her panties down. His hand slid between her legs and she pressed against it. Heat was building inside her, dissolving and sparking into silver and white and a thousand kinds of gold.
‘Touch me...’
She slid her fingers over the soft skin of his belly and then lower, over the cluster of dark curls, then lower still, until he groaned softly and grasped her head in his hands as a knife-sharp spasm of pleasure shuddered through his body.
As she locked her arms around his neck he shifted her weight and fumbled in his pocket. Reaching down, she took the condom and with hands that shook slightly, stroked it over the hard length of him. Hands reaching under to cup her buttocks, he lifted her in one strong movement, up and onto the table, and then he thrust into her so that she grabbed his shoulders, her nails digging into the smooth flesh.
With each thrust of his hips he drove into her deeper and harder, and she moved against him, rocking her hips faster and faster, until her body shuddered and, closing her eyes, she gripped him tightly as he groaned again and tensed inside her.
For a moment they stayed there, spent and sated, arms around one another, their bodies juddering with the aftershocks of their passion. She felt his lips brush against her hair. His arms tightened around her and as he gently withdrew she buried her face against his shirt.
She didn’t want to look at him—didn’t want to see her mistake in the curl of his lip. Not for a little while anyway. Not while his hands were still caressing her and while she could still feel the warmth of his body and the soft beating of his heart.
He would move soon enough.
But he didn’t. And finally she forced herself to look up at him again. He was watching her, his face calm and serious. For a moment he said nothing, and she tensed, fearing his hesitation. And then, tilting her face upwards, he lowered his mouth and kissed her.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said slowly. ‘Together.’
And, reaching down, he scooped her into his arms and strode out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
Later, still shaken by the intensity of what they’d shared, she lay in his arms, watching him sleep. She felt stunned and sated and happy. Not that anything had changed really, she told herself carefully. They had simply had sex. And no matter how warm and safe, how tender she might feel right now, he was still as ruthless and single-minded as ever—just as a tiger in a zoo was as dangerous as a tiger in the jungle.
His arm was resting across her stomach and carefully, so as not to wake him, she rolled towards him to watch the play of dappled light across his lean chest. It didn’t feel real, him being there. It was like a dream.
But what would happen when he woke up?
She tensed, fear scraping over her skin. And then, beside her, Massimo shifted in his sleep, his hand tightening possessively over her hip, and her fear dropped away.
Feeling calmer, she curled her arm over his chest. And as her eyes drifted shut she wondered drowsily what exactly he’d been doing in the dark in the kitchen. But it was too late to answer that question, for the next moment, lulled by the heat of his body and the comforting sounds of morning birdsong, she had fallen swiftly and deeply asleep.
CHAPTER SIX
MASSIMO BREATHED OUT SLOWLY.
Finally, she was asleep.
Staring up at the ceiling, he gritted his teeth and tried to work out exactly what was happening. It certainly wasn’t what usually happened. Usually at this point he would have forgotten the woman’s name—if he’d even known it at all—and, satiated by a night of passion, he would have been waiting for the earliest possible opportunity to leave.
And it should have been the same with Flora—in theory at least. Last night he’d taken her into his arms with the sole aim of working her out of his system—the same way he’d done time and time before with every other women he’d desired.
But from the start nothing had been straightforward with Flora. And now, at some point between last night and this morning, everything had changed again.
With her arm curled loosely around his body, it felt different between them. For a start he doubted he would ever forget her name...not after what had happened last night—he smiled tightly—and twice this morning.
His heartbeat shivered. His sex life was hardly vanilla. But Flora was the most erotic woman he’d ever known. Her feverish response to his touch had taken his breath away. She had been like fire and light in his hands, her body molten with heat. It had been incredible.
At the memory of just how incredible she’d been, he felt his body grow painfully hard and, shifting beneath the sheets, he frowned. What the hell was the matter with him?
So she was sexy... So what?
It wasn’t as if there was a shortage of beautiful, eager women clamouring to share his bed. Flora was nothing special.
He gritted his teeth.
So why was he fighting an impulse to lean over and pull her closer? To press his lips softly against hers and wake her with a kiss? He’d never felt like that before. No matter how good the sex had been, he’d never once wanted to indulge in any sort of post-coital affection. He’d always wanted to break free, some deep-rooted need driving him on to the next one-night stand.
His heart banged painfully against his ribs. It didn’t make any sense except— She wasn’t just sexy, he admitted a moment later. She was beautiful.
And smart and determined.
And, unlike every other woman of his acquaintance, he lived with her.
Which was clearly the real reason he was still holding her in his arms. He felt a sudden swift stab of relief. Of course. It was obvious. Why would he drag himself out of one bed to get into another in the room next door?
Feeling calmer now that he’d rationalised his uncharacteristic behaviour, he turned his attention to more predictable matters: work! Swiftly, he clicked through his day’s schedule. He had a conference call planned for just after ten, and then a lunch with an overseas investment bank.
He needed to prepare for both. But he was finding it impossible to concentrate on anything but Flora’s warm body curving against his, her skin so smooth and soft and just begging to be touched.
He felt a rush of raw desire and, glancing down at her, his breath snagged in his throat. What was happening to him? It didn’t make any sense.
Working...his job...the business he had built up from scratch had never taken second place to a woman before. Somewhere inside, something shifted and stirred, a shadow rising. He grimaced.
He knew what had happened. And when. It had been yesterday, in that café. For one tiny moment, he’d let Flora get under his skin. He never talked about personal matters but for some inexplicable reason, he’d let his guard down. Hell! He’d even hinted at his miserable childhood, he thought angrily. He let out a long, slow breath. Thankfully, though, he’d come to his senses before losing control completely and telling her the whole sordid story of his life.
His stomach tightened. He’d been close to blowing it all; dredging up feelings he’d buried in the furthest corners of his soul. He’d let lust and frustration impa
ir his judgement.
But it wouldn’t happen again. Flora might be sexy and beautiful, but she was dangerous too. Whenever he was with her—like yesterday—he didn’t recognise himself. But whatever might have happened in that café, it didn’t mean that he trusted her. His mouth twisted. Since his father’s betrayal he hadn’t been able to trust anyone, and he couldn’t see that changing any time soon. Probably never. And he was glad. That way the pain of the past would stay in the past.
Beside him, Flora shifted in her sleep, moaning softly. Glancing down at her, he smiled grimly, his confusion forgotten. He’d been careless, that was all. Soon, she would join the long list of women with whom he’d shared a one-night stand. But before that happened, he wasn’t about to turn down what she was offering. After all, he was a normal red-blooded male with natural urges. So why argue with nature?
And, gently lifting her arm, he shifted down the bed and woke her with a kiss.
* * *
Much later, Flora woke again to the sound of running water. The bed was empty and, stretching slowly, she wriggled free of the sheet and sat up. She could just see Massimo in the shower. His gorgeous male body was blurry through the glass, but she felt a shiver of pleasure as she remembered his golden skin and the hard muscles of his chest and back.
For a moment she lay and watched him, her body twitching at the memory of his dark touch, his strong, firm hands drawing out her desire, smoothing her skin, roaming over her body, so intimate, so possessive.
It had felt so right—the weight of his body on hers and the way she’d moved and cried out and begged—
A blush swept over her skin and, closing her eyes, she pressed her face against the cool cotton of the pillowcase.
Not that she was ashamed. It was just that she hadn’t known sex could feel like that. So wild and intense and beautiful. It certainly hadn’t ever been like that for her before. Her cheeks grew warmer. The truth was, she had barely recognised herself.
She’d been like a wild creature, driven by a fierce hunger such as she had never known—a hunger that had swamped her and pulled her under so that she had lost herself in the darkness.
Rolling onto her back, she breathed out deeply. But she had survived. Better than survived. She was fine. She felt calm and happy. For the thing she had dreaded hadn’t happened.
She had feared that at some point her feelings would get tangled up in their feverish coupling. And that no matter what she did she would find herself ensnared: feeling, caring, loving.
She shivered.
But it hadn’t happened. She might have surrendered to his touch, but she knew now that she would give nothing more. And why should she? Who needed feelings when they could have that fire of passion?
Her eyes were still closed when she realised that the shower had stopped—and then, almost before she had a chance to process the implications of that thought, she knew that Massimo was in the room. Her skin began to tingle and her stomach flipped over. Nerves humming, she opened her eyes.
He was watching her, leaning against the doorjamb with an easy animal grace that made her heart quiver. He was wearing nothing but a towel knotted round his waist, his bare chest still damp, the smooth lines of his muscles knife-sharp, like sculpted marble.
But it wasn’t just his muscles that looked like stone. His face was lean and hard and unsmiling, and she suddenly realised two things: one, she was holding her breath, and two, in her haste to examine her own response to what had happened she had pretty much forgotten all about Massimo.
Her sense of calm started to drain away. It was easy telling herself that passion was enough. That she could choose when and what she should feel. But now, with his gaze pressing down on her skin, she realised that not only was that untrue, it was dangerously premature and presumptuous.
She waited, her nerves humming, but he seemed in no hurry to speak; he just studied her face with eyes that were the same cool blue as an Alpine sky.
Finally, when she was on the verge of screaming out loud, he said calmly, ‘Did you sleep okay?’
His voice was cool too. It felt like shards of ice skittering over her skin. It was the voice of a stranger or an adversary. She stared at him, confused; after what they’d shared last night she’d been expecting some small degree of warmth. But then, given that up until last night they’d spent most of their time sparring with one another, perhaps this moment was never going to be anything but awkward.
She nodded warily. ‘Yes. How about you?’
He nodded and there was a tiny, sharp silence, and then abruptly he held out his hand, and she felt a curl of happiness rise up like smoke inside her. He was offering her an olive branch. That meant everything was okay between them. That maybe last night had given him as much pleasure as it had given her.
Lifting her hand, she smiled up at him—and then her stomach seemed to go into freefall as, frowning, he pointed past her to the bedside table. ‘Could you pass me my watch? I need to know what time it is.’
Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. She felt stupid and small. But what had she really imagined would happen today? Last night might have left her breathless and dazzled. But to a man like Massimo—a man whose sexual escapades were splashed over the newspapers—it was clearly commonplace, and there was no point in getting upset about that quite obvious fact.
She lifted her chin, feeling her temper rise. Getting upset was at the bottom of her agenda. Her pride demanded that she stayed cool and unemotional—or that she appeared to do so at least. In fact, if she was going to survive this fling with any shred of her dignity intact she needed to remember this moment. Remember how it had made her feel.
She picked up the watch, glancing at it swiftly before she handed it to him. ‘Is that the time? I should get up,’ she said briskly.
Rolling over, she slid out of the bed and pulled on her dress.
He watched her with that clear blue gaze that left scorch marks on her skin, and despite her anger and disappointment she felt a fluttering sensation low in her pelvis. She gritted her teeth. It was not fair that he should still have this effect on her. Far worse though was the thought that he should know it and instantly she met his gaze, determined to match him look for look.
He smiled then—a cool, curling smile of such arrogance and ownership that her hands curled into fists—and her breath felt suddenly hot and tight in her throat. Why was he looking at her like that when moments earlier he’d been acting as though he couldn’t wait for her to be gone? No doubt it was some technique he’d picked up in business—some trick to intimidate a rival. Shape-shifting so that it was impossible to know what he would say or do next.
Looking up, she read the challenge in his gaze and felt her skin start to prickle.
Was it any wonder the sex had been so hot and fierce and wild? she thought shakily. It was just an extension of how they interacted outside of the bedroom: pushing boundaries, playing games; taunting one another. Every word, every touch, was just another move in their desperate power struggle.
She clenched her teeth. It was bad enough that this man had such a strong effect on her. Indecent, almost. But if she didn’t make a stand then she would more or less be giving him carte blanche to walk all over her.
She took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I should probably be going. I’ve got a load of notes to write up.’
She saw his eyes harden and felt a rush of satisfaction. Now he knew how it felt when somebody blew hot and cold. The fact that she really did have loads of notes to write up was actually beside the point; she would happily have told him she needed to fly to Jupiter to collect rare orchid seeds if it meant she could leave his disturbing presence with her pride intact. Or at least with his a little dented.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Really!’ he said softly. She took a small step backwards, suddenly desperate to get some distance between them.
‘Yes. And I’m sure you’ve got meetings and stuff,’ she insisted, pressing her knees together in an effort to stop the teasing ache between her thighs.
He moved away from the door with a languid grace that made her insides melt and she inched backwards.
‘Stuff?’ he repeated. ‘What kind of stuff?’
She looked at him blankly. Every atom of her body was straining with the effort of not turning and running away and her head seemed empty of thought. ‘You know... Shouting and jack-booting around.’ Her voice was tightening up, and nervously she watched his eyes flicker over her face.
‘Shouting and jack-booting isn’t until tomorrow,’ he said quietly, taking a step towards her. ‘Today I thought I’d work from home. Maybe brush up on disciplinary procedures.’
Her cheeks flooded with colour, her lips parting. She stared at him wordlessly, trying to think of something smart and flip to say, but she could hardly breathe much less think straight. Then suddenly she didn’t care about being smart or cool. All she wanted was to get out of the room before he demolished all her self-control and reason.
She took a deep breath. ‘Look, I know there’s probably some slick way of asking this, but I don’t know how to do it. So I’m just going to ask you straight. What are we doing here? I mean, was this it? Or do you want to sleep with me again?’
Massimo studied her face in silence. Her words seemed to hover and hum in the air between them, and he almost reached up to brush them away. He hadn’t expected her to act like this. Although, truthfully, he’d hardly given any thought at all to how she would react to what had happened between them.
Probably he would have imagined her just as she had been a moment ago, lips parted, cheeks flushed. No fear: just fire. But this was different. She was different. Her eyes were wide and clear. Not challenging, just grave and real.
A Deal Sealed by Passion Page 9
