by Penny Jordan
It was Damien. Tall, dark, slick, and tidy in a dark grey pinstriped suit with a white shirt and deep blue, soft patterned tie the exact same colour as his eyes. A bakery bag was clenched between his teeth, and he held a cardboard tray of coffee she could smell from all the way across the room. She tidied her hair as she said, ‘You scared the life out of me. How on earth did you get in here?’
Damien threw her keys back onto the hall table and pulled the bag from between his teeth. ‘I stole your keys. I thought you might be up for some breakfast.’
She wrapped her arms around her stomach, less from any kind of modesty and more to quell the tumbling sensation rocketing through her at the very sight of him. At the knowledge that he had been there the night before. Had come expecting a date he’d had no doubt would this time end up horizontal, had instead found her a sick mess, fed her, undressed her, and stayed.
‘Hungry?’ he asked.
Her empty stomach rumbled. She took one small step his way. ‘What have you got?’
‘Just about one of everything from the bakery downstairs.’ He dumped the paper bag and coffee tray on the table in the kitchen nook, then headed into her kitchen where he found her dinner plates, first try.
She plopped into a chair and tucked her knees against her chest, wrapping her arms tight around her calves as she watched him pull out cutlery and napkins.
She’d never had a man in her kitchen before. Well, apart from Kensey’s Greg, who usually stood there looking lost until one or the other of them sent him scooting into the lounge while they looked after his every need.
But Damien looked so at home. He looked…right. So right something shifted behind her ribs with all the force and might and destructive power of a newly unstable tectonic plate until deeply affectionate warmth bled through her body like lava.
‘So what happened to you last night?’ Damien asked as he joined her at the table.
She pretended to pick at a small stain on the Chantilly lace tablecloth. ‘I’m not sure. It could have been a bug from a dog I washed up after a couple of days ago. Or maybe it was the leftover chicken teriyaki I had for breakfast yesterday.’
She glanced up and caught him watching her from over the top of his cup of coffee. All beautiful eyes, and expensive clothes and perfect hair. And attraction. Unguarded attraction so palpable it lay upon her shoulders like a warm blanket. She broke eye contact lest he saw a heightened version of the same emotion stampeding through her.
‘I…I don’t know how to thank you for last night,’ she said. ‘For the toast. And the tidying. And the company. That was most certainly above and beyond second-date duties.’
He smiled, and the disturbing shift inside her only deepened, making her feel as if her chest were now nothing more than a gaping hole waiting for him to fill it up. ‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘Now eat up.’
She reached forward and grabbed a croissant, eating a layer at a time. ‘No early-morning meeting today then?’
He grabbed a roll and lathered it with butter. Then glanced up, stunning her silly with the cocky smile in his brilliant blue eyes. ‘There is,’ he said with a smile. ‘Only this time I’m not going to be there.’
‘Oh. And that’s okay? You can do that?’
‘As it turns out when you’re the boss, you can do whatever you damn well please. And you? Are you going to do the sensible thing and call in sick?’
She hadn’t even thought that far. She still felt weak after her night-long purge, but she’d worked through worse. ‘I have no idea what kind of day I have today. But Phyllis would have blue-toothed me the appointment list before I left work last night.’
Damien looked at her as if she were speaking Swahili.
‘My phone,’ she explained. ‘Have you seen it?’
‘On the coffee-table, I do believe,’ he said.
They both stood at the same time and made a move in that direction. Then stopped, staring at one another. He was close enough she could smell the scent of fresh bread on his clothes. She could see the soft haze of dark stubble on his cheeks.
His gaze flickered over her hair, her cheeks, her lips, which felt moist with croissant grease. And he leaned towards her. To kiss her. She could see it in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders.
She leaned back and pressed a hand to his chest and said out of the corner of her mouth, ‘I have the worst morning breath I have ever known.’
His eyes narrowed, as though he was thinking through whether he gave a damn, before he leaned away from her. Her hand dropped. And as soon as it did he was there, gathering her close, pressing his lips against hers.
She closed her eyes and let him, her limbs relaxing with every second he encouraged her to open her mouth to his.
When he pulled back he was smiling down at her with such desire she could have whimpered. ‘I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you last night.’
‘Worth the wait?’ she asked.
‘You tell me.’
Instead she bit her lips, hiding her fuzzy teeth and just as fuzzy breath as she extricated herself from his divine embrace.
He made his way back to the kitchen table and she stumbled into the lounge, where she grabbed her phone and her thumbs ran purposefully over the keys until she found her appointments list. The day was as full as it ever was.
But with Damien lounging on the other side of her kitchen table, his gaze still lingering on her lips, not looking as if he had any intention of going anywhere this time, she pressed a number on her speed dial and waited for Phyllis to answer.
‘You’re not in until ten,’ Phyllis chastised.
‘Actually I’m calling to let you know I won’t be in at all.’ As she said the words out loud her legs began to shake, as though they could finally give into how weak she truly felt. She sat on the couch.
‘You okay?’
‘Sick as a dog, actually. But a day ought to do me.’
‘Right. Good. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll handle everything. Just you wait and see. I can manage this place, no worries. Or a place just like it if there’s one on offer. So, you signed the papers for the loan yet?’
‘Ah, no. Not yet.
‘But you will.’
‘I yet may.’
‘Hmm. Well, rest up. Take care. Lie down. Eat well. Don’t do anything to wear yourself out, okay?’
She glanced at Damien, who had his right leg crossed over his left as he read the morning paper. His pinstriped trousers strained against the muscle of his thighs. His pale shirt stretched across his broad torso. His tongue darted out to catch a crumb on the edge of his lip. And all Chelsea wanted to do was crawl up onto his lap and wear herself out thoroughly.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said, then rang off.
Damien closed the paper before glancing up at her, pinning her to the lounge-chair with his dark gaze. ‘Day off?’
She nodded, and turned her phone over and over in her palm.
He glanced at the coffee and bakery feast on the table, then back at her. ‘This is a first for me.’
‘Me too,’ she admitted.
He picked up a piece of hot flaky bread and took a bite. And only after he’d swallowed it down did he break the silence again. Saying, ‘Whatever will we do to fill in the time?’
CHAPTER NINE
CHELSEA again woke with light filtering through the backs of her eyelids. Only this time she was curled up on the pink floral couch in the front room wearing velour track pants and a long sleeved T-shirt. She blinked to clear her fuzzy vision and the display on the mobile phone on the coffee-table read 4:15. She could only assume it was in the afternoon.
The TV was on with the sound turned down low, which wasn’t all that unusual. She liked having the TV on when home so that she didn’t feel as if she was alone.
What was unusual was that her head was resting on a pair of strong male thighs.
She peeked up into Damien’s face. He was completely immersed in the action on the TV.
She glanced back, and over the half-empty bowl of popcorn realised he was watching Doris Day sling it out with Howard Keel in Calamity Jane. She bit back the laughter that bubbled into her throat.
She moved slightly then, trying to extricate herself before he realised she was awake. But when she went to move the arm beneath her head she realised she was trapped. Her hand was tucked neatly between his warm thighs. She sent a quick prayer to the heavens in the hopes that was as far as it had ventured while she slept.
She managed to slide her hand less than an inch before his thighs clamped down. Her gaze shot northward to meet with a pair of smiling blue eyes.
‘Good afternoon,’ Damien said, his deep sexy voice washing over her like a shower of warm milk.
‘Hi,’ she said, her voice soft and croaky with sleep.
‘Sweet dreams?’
The last hazy remains of what had been a pretty hot and detailed dream still lingered on the edge of her mind. She looked away before he realised he had been the star. ‘How long was I out?’
‘A couple of hours.’
‘Wow. I haven’t had a nap during the day since…I can’t remember when.’
‘You needed it.’
She tried to sit up again, and his thighs only clamped down tighter. ‘May I have my hand back?’
‘Don’t know how I feel about that.’
‘Well, I have no feeling left from my wrist down, so it won’t do you any good to keep it there.’
Damien held eye contact for a few heated seconds longer before slowly releasing his grip. She slid her hand from the space and brought it out into the cold of the open air.
She sat up, rubbing at her fingers, but there was no way she could regather the kind of warmth they’d felt being so near his skin.
He grabbed the remote from the coffee-table to turn off the TV.
‘Oh, no,’ she said, ‘don’t stop on my account. You a big Doris Day fan?’
Damien’s eyes narrowed, piercing her until her lethargic heartbeat kicked up to a jogging rate. ‘I had been watching Ocean’s Eleven, the Rat Pack version. This simply came on afterwards and I knew if I moved to get the remote I’d wake you.’
‘How benevolent.’
‘Just call me Nurse Halliburton. I seem to have a flare for it. Odd considering the only time anyone in my family has been in need of a hospital has been the rehab kind.’ A smile pulled at his cheeks.
She tucked her feet up onto the couch and wrapped her arms around her knees for protection. But nothing could have protected her from the rush of feelings when he reached out and ran a finger down her cheek.
‘My trousers have left a crease mark,’ he said.
Her hand flew to her face. She could only imagine how she must have looked. Even after her long hot bath, and the three times she’d cleaned her teeth, her hair must by now have again looked a mess. Her eyes puffy. Pink-cheeked with the image of wool trousers branded into her face like some kind of over-familiar tattoo. She let her hair fall forward to act as a curtain.
Damien’s hand reached out again, pushing her hair behind her ear.
‘Chelsea,’ he said, his voice insistent. He looked so deep into her eyes she could scarcely breathe. His hand continued sweeping her hair over her ear, and along her neck. Over and over again. ‘There’s something I want to say to you, to make clear, before you fall asleep on me again.’
Her hand dropped to her lap. ‘Okay.’
‘I wanted to tell you, now, while we’re here alone, with no distractions, bar Doris Day’s finest hour on film, that sitting here, watching you sleep like an angel in my lap, I have come to the conclusion…’
He stopped and took a deep breath. Chelsea held hers until her lungs felt as if they were about to burst.
‘I can’t go another day without making love to you, Miss London.’
Chelsea’s heart thundered in her chest as hard as she’d ever remembered feeling it thunder. The reciprocal words caught in her throat as pride and fear and hope and history egged her to hold her cards close to her chest. She’d never felt like this before in her whole life. Never experienced this kind of euphoria just by looking into another person’s eyes. Each moment with him was a gamble with the chances of losing her guarded heart to him becoming greater with every passing moment. Nevertheless she gave into temptation and threw the dice.
‘I want nothing more either, Mr Halliburton.’
He cupped her cheek, held her gaze and said, ‘Then I also need you to know that I recently came out of my last relationship just shy of bloodshed. I don’t plan to bore you with the gory details, but suffice it to say I’m not on the hunt for someone new to fill that place in my life.’
Chelsea swallowed hard, but Damien kept eye contact so she couldn’t move.
‘But,’ he continued, ‘I can’t get you out of my mind. Your face, your lips, your skin haunts me and I can’t deny that I want you.’
Chelsea’s instincts screamed at her to listen and listen hard. He was openly admitting he wasn’t in the market for permanence or responsibility. It wasn’t just all in her head. Now was her chance to pull out, before she became the next in line to bleed for him.
But as she looked into his beautiful eyes she knew it was already too late. The temptation of him was simply too great. She reached out and ran a trembling finger over his lips. Every second seemed to stretch out before her, longer and longer until he leaned slowly in, and placed his lips upon hers.
It was the sweetest kiss of her life. His mouth gently moved against hers, coaxing more and more from her with every touch. And every conscious thought, every warring emotion, slipped away bar the feel of the man at her side.
He tasted of fresh roasted coffee and hazelnuts. Any hint of cologne from the night before had been replaced by the smell of pure warm male skin. The slight stubble on his chin rasped lightly against her chin, so that the goose-bumps trailing every inch of exposed skin did not for one second let up.
As the emotions inside her swelled to breaking-point, she pulled away the tiniest possible amount, and whispered, ‘What if I’m contagious?’
His breath whispered against her lips. ‘I’m willing to take the chance if you are.’
She looked into his eyes, and knew he was asking more of her than the possibility of sharing germs. He was asking her to take a chance on him, to let this kiss play out to its inevitable conclusion. He was asking her to dream big, damn the consequences.
She took a long slow breath, and nodded.
He blinked, just once and the deal was sealed.
This time when his lips met hers it was with more pressure, more urgency, and she couldn’t have pulled away if she’d tried. Not that she wanted to try. All she wanted was to sink into him. To lose herself and find herself all at once.
Her hand moved beneath the hair at the back of his neck, sliding into the soft thick texture the way she’d wanted to ever since she’d first laid eyes on him. And she moved until she was lying on his lap, his strong grip holding her upright.
Then she opened her mouth to him and with it her powerless heart.
The kiss went on for ever, as they got to know one another’s taste, and feel, and the particular things that made each other shiver and sigh.
Finally, his hand moved down her back, sliding along her spine until she curved into him. He reached the top of her track pants and didn’t stop there. His hand dived beneath the waistline and managed to find skin on its first try.
His large warm palm cupped her left cheek and lifted her gently towards him. Deeper into his arms. If he was looking for a new way to make her shiver and sigh he’d found it.
She let her own hands drop to blindly find the buttons of his shirt. The kiss didn’t let up as she undid each one and pushed the starched cotton off his shoulders, her hands stroking over hot, rolling muscles of his arms, which were far more beautiful than she’d even imagined.
As her hands moved around to the front, to course over his perfect chest, scraping against a smatter
ing of dark, curling hair until her fingernails reached the fly of his trousers, Damien’s hands slid up to grip hers, pulling everything to a halt.
The kiss broke apart so suddenly the two of them came up gulping for air.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, turning her fingernails into her palms. If he rejected her for a third time she’d never forgive herself for being so consciously imprudent. For trusting a man who’d all but told her she shouldn’t.
He shook his head, his eyes so dark she couldn’t have guessed they were blue if she didn’t know better.
‘No?’ she asked, wondering what she could possibly have done wrong.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘God yes. Just. Well. Hell.’ With that he scooped her up in his arms.
She let out a whoop as her legs were flung into the air and her arms instinctively wrapped tight about his neck. And when he began to jog, no, run, into the bedroom she laughed so hard she was sure Mrs Luchek next door would have heard her had she not been away.
Chelsea took about half a second to worry if the bed was made before she landed upon it with a bounce. ‘Whoa. I think I felt the earth move.’
Damien said nothing. He just stood at the end of the bed with his white business shirt open and hanging off his shoulders like a pirate on the front of an old romance novel. His breaths rose and fell in great slow moves and her mouth went completely dry. He was, quite simply, the sexiest man to ever walk the face of the earth.
He slid the shirt from his back and let it drop where it fell. If his body had felt beautiful it looked, if at all possible, even more daunting. Tanned, sculpted, mature. This was no teenager with whom she was exploring, no leftover New Uniform high-school fantasy come to life.
Damien Halliburton was all man.
And as he walked towards the bed, popping the button of his trousers, unzipping his fly, she felt a sudden need to scurry to the head of the bed, but instead grabbed a hold of a hunk of her angora throw and hung on tight lest she pass out from pure anticipation.
