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Her hands moved to his chest then one dropped lower, squeezing his thigh, roving over his cock, enclosing it. "I want you, Zac."
"And I want you. Shall we go?" He couldn't think of anything he'd rather do than get her home to his bed. "My place?"
She nodded, murmuring a husky acknowledgement in response.
* * * *
Outside the evening was still warm, balmy, the sky darkening into a drape of dense, blue-black velvet. Zac led her to a taxi rank a few minutes walk away, but she barely noticed the time or the distance. She was aware most of all of his presence, his arm around her shoulders and the promise of passion in his eyes.
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He gave the driver an address then turned to her, quickly leaning into her for a deep, lingering kiss. Her body trembled beneath his hands, desire an urgent need that unsettled her every fiber. Drawing back, he stared at her, his face in shadow, his mood inscrutable.
"Is it far?"
"No. Not in this traffic."
She chuckled, low. It was so true of London, a city that lived and breathed with the movement of people as sure as the turn of the tides. Behind him the city lights blurred into one another. A streak of orange, green, blue light, it was too bright, too peopled. She wanted more darkness, the gloom of intimacy—a private arena in which to discover him. Stroking the soft, black leather of his jeans, she felt the firm outline of his thigh beneath. She wanted to see him naked. Through his shirt, his chest was leanly muscled, strong. She inhaled his scent, a musky fragrance that hinted at passion and virility.
He slid his hand against the curve of her abdomen, otherwise as still as a bird of prey watching its target. The lights flickered on his face, revealing the intensity in his expression. With one arm around her back and his hand stroking her stomach, she was captured, but not unwillingly. She barely broke from the spell when they reached their destination.
His apartment was one of several in a beautiful converted mansion-house on the river near Kew. The opposite side of London to where she lived, it was closer to the river and overlooked it. When he led her inside and flicked lights on, she was startled to find it decorated in rich dense colors, starkly juxtaposed to one another, emphasizing the sparse furnishings of the place.
"It's a bit bare," he explained. "I've just started, it's an ongoing project...as and when I have time."
The fact that his home wasn't properly furnished yet made her smile. So like a man. The reception room held only two sets of bookshelves and a striking dining table and chairs. Stacks of newspapers and books teetered up against the bookshelves, which were empty. It was a true bachelor pad.
"Such lovely rooms," she murmured. Space was such a premium in London, this felt luxurious. She was surprised. She hadn't thought about what to expect, but for an arts entrepreneur it kind of fitted the bill. He'd add to it as the business established itself, she supposed.
"It's a Mackintosh design, isn't it?" She nodded at the tall, thrusting line of the chairs, the dramatic oval of the head rests.
"Yes, Mackintosh," he replied. "Do you like it?" His voice was so deep and resonant, every word touched her inside.
"Oh yes, I love his work. The Arts and Crafts movement is fascinating." Her gaze was constantly drawn back up to him. He was still the most attractive thing in the room. As she looked across at his face each bone carved itself into her memory.
He nodded and smiled at her.
"Are you a collector?"
"No." He smiled. "But I know what I like when I see it...and I do my best to have it." His gaze confirmed the inference of his words as he moved closer.
"Oh?" The tension between them hummed in her ears and sped along her veins. She felt as if they were moving in a slow dance, inexorably closer and closer.
His fingers stroked her cheek then slid higher, into her hair. He was brooding, passionate. "You're an object d'arte, and I intend to have you."
Her heart thudded violently. She hooked one finger over his belt. "I'm glad to hear it."
He lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers, slowly, subtly, making her lips tremble.
She was wired. Anticipation had built beyond anything she'd experienced before. He was throwing coal on a fire already pumping out way too much heat.
"This time," he murmured, moving his mouth to her ear, "I want to savor you. I want to take my time with you, enjoy you." His lips smiled the gentle smile of a classical statue, the secret held in their line.
She had to fight for her breath. The atmosphere between them was so charged. A tremor ran through her body, a tremor of expectation and arousal. The flame of desire was reflected in his eyes.
Turning her around in his arms, one arm locked across her torso, the other hand on her opposite hip. He held her tight against him, making her remember how it had been the night before, how he'd bent her over and made her watch.
She moved her hips inside his, her eyes closing as she absorbed his total contact. His grip tightened. Lowering his head, he kissed her neck, her shoulder.
