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He stood his ground and waited for her hand to fall, but it paused before it touched him and slowed its pace to stroke across his face instead. Then it slid down to his jaw and her thumb rested on his lips.
She still wanted to have him. Life was worth living.
"Zac," she whispered, calling him to her.
He smiled and covered her hand with his.
"Here, I'm right here, my love," he murmured. Then he closed on her and kissed her deeply.
She stood against him and slid her hands inside his jacket, running them over his chest and up his back.
He flexed under her touch, responding to her readily.
"What about working my notice?" Her eyes twinkled suggestively. She was thinking what he was thinking, he could tell.
"We could try to get you fired. I'm sure there's something in your contract about not having sex with the clients."
"True." Her hands moved down and closed over the taut line of his buttocks as he drew the material of her dress up with his hands.
"But maybe we should do it right here, now, just to be sure." The skirt swished up over her legs and he slid his hand under it to stroke the back of her thigh and caress its inner softness.
She smiled, pressed her hips into him and dropped her head back, looking into his eyes. "If I do accept the contract you're offering, I would want lots of extras with the job."
Her hand embraced his erection.
"I could have it written in to the contract."
Her beautiful cat's eyes were burning from the inside, her breath hot on his face. She caressed his cock through his pants and it swelled readily against her hand.
"That's okay," she said, laying back on the desk and pulling him over her. "I think I can trust you with that."
Epilogue
Six months later
Abby wiped the steam off the mirror and peered at herself. Her skin was glowing, her eyes bright. The pure Irish air had done her good, even if it was brisk and fresh to the point of icy, at this time of year. The seasonal beauty was even more mesmerizing than she had dreamed with roaring skies overhead, the smell of smoke from peat fires wisping across the rolling landscape from the distant cottages, and the joy of drinking hot toddies in the local pub after a windswept walk on the shore.
She shrugged on her robe and glanced around the bathroom as she tied it. The fitments were superb, beyond her wildest hopes for the restoration. She noticed that the bathroom was somewhat reminiscent of the hotel they stayed at in Paris, but maybe that was her subconscious intention. She had put a personal stamp on features like this, when she'd got together with the interior designer they hired for the project.
The suite was another fine salon in style, breathtakingly decorated in luxurious fabrics, but it was the bathroom in particular that reflected the surrounding landscape, so that it was personal to the build
ing and its location. Large moss-colored marble titles covered the walls and floor, where an ornate bathtub was sunk beneath soft hazy spotlights. The inset tiles around the tub were the colors of the sea where it merged into the rich mottled greens of the land. Under the hazy light from the sunken spotlights it was a treasure trove, a cave of sensuality. It functioned as a wet room and coming in from a day walking on the shore and stepping into the shower and all this gorgeous color was perfect, a union between the land the sea and the house.
"They've done so well with the fitments," she called out.
"I think we should keep this suite for ourselves," Zac replied from the bedroom.
She couldn't help chuckling. It was the only part of the restoration that was fully complete. He'd insisted on it so they could be here at this time of year, when snow was expected. "This is the show suite. You'll never make any money if you want to keep everything for us."
"Let's have less of the investment manager advice and more about taking time for the important things in life, please."
She heard the phone ringing, then his voice as he answered it.
She shook out her hair, pulling it as straight before it dried. By the time she rejoined him in the bedroom he was nearing the end of his conversation and laughing into the phone.
He looked like the Lord of the Manor, so darkly handsome, dressed in a black robe and laid out on the many pillows and cushions on the big white bed, and so he should. Her dark prince. She walked over to the window and once again admired the fabulous view, while he completed his call.
After he put the phone down he sauntered over and joined her. Standing behind her, he nestled her in against his warm body. Together they looked out across the grounds at the beautiful shoreline. On the other side of the castle the view was of rolling fields, miles and miles of lush countryside. It was so different to their vibrant city life—now divided between Paris and London, until Pharamonds was ticking over—and it was such a perfect extreme. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, they tuned into each and every difference, enjoying it together.
