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‘You do?’
She giggled.
‘The depth of your talent never ceases to amaze me,’ he drawled, then watched her majestic nose wrinkle.
‘Yeah right.’
She stood in front of the mirror, clad only in bra and panties, and he was having a hard time concentrating on stringing more than two words together.
‘Where is the unicorn going today?’
‘Where do you think it should go?’ She grinned.
He knew exactly where it should go. On the slope of one of those creamy breasts, where it would peek out from the ruffles of the silver-and-blue dress, drawing the eye to the treasure beneath—not that his eyes needed any more pointers.
She glanced at the clock and gave a little squeal of horror. ‘Stop distracting me. Lie there and be quiet. I can’t be late.’
He didn’t stay lying down but he did stay quiet. He stood, wrapped a towel round his hips to try to be a little decent, and then came right up behind her to watch more closely while she finished her make-up. Silently he studied her as she fixed the tattoo with a damp flannel, as she smoothed glitter gel across her shoulders and chest.
Her eyes met his in the mirror for a moment, then they skittered away, then back once more. He felt his tension—his everything—rising. He needed to know it was the same for her, this crazy, unfettered lust. He drew a breath and blew lightly over her shoulder, down onto the spot below her collarbone where the unicorn tattoo was drying. She shivered. He watched her nipples poke harder against the lace of her bra and he was about to pounce. But speedily she turned, left his space, went into the wardrobe where her dress was hanging. All too soon it was on and zipped and she was walking away.
‘Right.’ Her voice was high-pitched. ‘See you later, then.’
He said nothing, just walked beside her all the way to the door, barely curbing his frustration.
As she reached to open it he reached for her—slid his hand round the nape of her neck, fingers wide so they caught in the curls of her hair. He pulled her to him for a hard, brief, melting kiss that didn’t relieve him one iota.
‘Later.’ He basically growled.
He prowled around the apartment like a caged animal. Wished like hell he’d had her before she went to the damn party. But she’d been insistent on getting there on time. Now, three hours later, he was at bursting point. He’d never known a passion as intense as this. Never known a woman who could take up so much of his brain space either. He thought of her all the damn time. Thought up things he could do for her. Crazy stuff, silly stuff, irresistible stuff. He didn’t much like it. Wanted to burn it out—blow it out with one big, hard puff.
Finally he heard the slam of the door downstairs. He went to the top of the stairs and waited. She was trotting up them, the silver fairy dress floating up towards him. His body tightened harder with her every step closer. He was filled with the urge to reach out and grab, to hold onto her in complete caveman style. He wanted to possess. He wanted to brand.
She got to the top and raised her brows as she saw him standing there. He watched the smokiness enter her eyes as she got his unspoken message. He watched as her breathing didn’t ease at all—accelerated, in fact.
He took her arm and pulled her inside. The door shut behind them but he hardly heard it because by t
hen he’d got his mouth on hers and he was asking for everything. She opened for him immediately and the rush of need overwhelmed him. He had to have her right now; he couldn’t reclaim anything until he did.
He got them as far as the big table, pushed her against it, kissing her deeply while yanking up her dress. He pulled her panties out of the way while with his other hand he undid his jeans.
Her hands were in his hair and she leaned back, kissing him, taking him with her. He broke the seal of their lips briefly, to breathe and to thrust and then he was there and she was wet and hot and moving beneath him, full of life and heat and making him so welcome with a sigh and a murmur of delight. And then there was nothing because he kissed her again—hard and long and fierce while he possessed her with his body, pressing her against the hard wood. Trapping her, claiming her as the passion he had for her trapped and claimed him. He wanted to fight it, but pushed harder against her, into her. Harder and harder until suddenly there was everything bursting through him—colour and light and heat and the taste of her pleasure.
And then there was nothing.
He lifted his head, looked down at her and felt the tinge of embarrassment and guilt as he saw her bruised lips and the dazed look in her eyes. He’d just taken her rough and ready on his table, she still had her dress on, they were still joined and already he was tightening with anticipation about their next encounter.
He still wanted her. How he wanted her. He couldn’t get enough.
Irritation, self-disgust, flared. Just sex. That was all this could be.
But just now had been more intense than anything. And here he was doing things, wanting things, thinking things … and it was madness because he knew, ultimately, he couldn’t see this through. He didn’t want complicated. He didn’t want to be committed.
Her gaze ducked from his. She pushed gently at his shoulders. He left the warm embrace and instantly felt cold.
‘The party was good, thanks.’ She’d pulled up her knickers and was walking to the kitchen.
He grunted then, unable to stop the spurt of laughter bubbling through his annoyance.
