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‘Can’t I?’ His breath felt warm against her cheek, his heart pounding so ferociously that he thought it might explode. ‘Don’t you like that?’
‘You know I do,’ she gasped.
‘Well, so do I.’ His breathing was laboured; he felt more excited than he’d felt in a long time—perhaps ever. He wanted to devour her. To taste and touch every delicious inch of her. Luxuriously, he strummed his finger against her aroused flesh, wanting her compliant and gasping in his arms before he carried her upstairs to bed.
‘T-Titus.’
‘Shh.’ He silenced her with another kiss, hearing the urgent little moans she made in time with her rising breath. He was luxuriating in the sticky, sensual feel of her until he became vaguely aware of a distant sound and he wrenched his lips away from hers, though his finger kept moving. ‘What’s that noise?’
‘My … my housemate,’ she managed to gasp.
‘Your housemate?’ he echoed furiously.
‘Y-yes. She’s … she’s in the bath!’
Furiously, he snatched his hand free and took a step away from her intoxicating proximity. ‘This is fast becoming a farce,’ he hissed.
Despite her own deep sense of frustration, Roxy couldn’t resist the hint of a smile. Because suddenly, with that dark, truculent expression on his face and his sensual lips forming a decided pout, she could see exactly what he must have looked like as a little boy.
‘Titus not getting what he wants?’ she teased as she struggled to get her breath back.
His eyes met hers. ‘I’d say it was more a case of Roxanne not getting what she wants, wouldn’t you?’ he murmured as his gaze flicked deliberately over her heaving breasts. ‘Does she go out? Your housemate?’
Roxy nodded, that brazenly sexual scrutiny of his making it difficult for her to get any words out. ‘Y-yes. In fact, she’s getting ready to go out now. She works in the village pub some evenings.’
‘What time?’
‘She leaves here at seven. Titus, you must go. Please. Unless you want her to come downstairs and find you.’
For a moment, Titus reflected on the irony of being shown out of one of his own properties by this most junior member of his staff. And the sight of her ruffled hair and flushed cheeks was enough to tempt his best resolve. Couldn’t he just take her upstairs and lock the door—and to hell with the housemate? Surely she didn’t have to share a bedroom? But sanity prevailed as with an almighty effort he walked over to the door.
‘I’ll be back,’ he promised on a silken whisper as he pulled the door open and went out into the blizzard.
Roxy was trembling when she shut the door behind him and she ran upstairs to her tiny bedroom, unwilling to face Amy when she was still in such a state. She leaned on the dressing table to support herself and closed her eyes, overcome by a combination of guilt and pleasure.
Had that really just happened? Had Titus Alexander just come to her house and almost brought her to orgasm, while she had clung to him like a wild woman and almost let him?
She glanced at her watch as she heard Amy leave the bathroom and then begin to move around in her bedroom next door. It was now gone six and Titus had said he was coming back at seven. The question was whether she geared herself up to telling him that it was a big mistake and that she’d changed her mind. Because wouldn’t that be the most sensible thing to do? For both of them.
She felt the rapid beat of her heart, knowing that she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She didn’t want her e
nduring memory of Titus to be some furtive little encounter on the doorstep of one of his properties. Didn’t it feel like for ever since she’d felt passion like this? She wanted to make love with him properly and with no holds barred. She wanted to hold him in her arms afterwards and to cradle his tawny head until he fell asleep. She wanted to kiss his skin and to breathe in his own, very particular scent.
Walking into the still steam-filled bathroom, she turned on the bath. She would pull out all the stops before he got here, and then, then—
‘Roxy!’
Above the spluttering gurgle of the hot tap, Roxy lifted her head to hear Amy’s shout. ‘What?’
‘Can you come here for a second?’
For a moment Roxy felt a pang of genuine panic, as if she’d left some incriminating piece of evidence to show what had just taken place.
With reluctant steps she went downstairs to see Amy wrapping a chiffon scarf around her neck, prior to leaving for her part-time job at the local pub. She often complained that the Torchester estate didn’t pay her nearly enough, though Roxy suspected that the pub work had more to do with the male eye-candy regularly seen propping up the bar.
She and Amy had hit it off immediately—though Amy’s friendly attitude had been tinged with disbelief when she’d recognised Roxy as having been a member of The Lollipops.
This happened less and less—in fact, it hardly happened at all, these days. Roxy wondered if it was because she was getting too old to be associated with a girl-band, or maybe her undyed hair and minimal make-up was super efficient as a disguise. Roxy didn’t mind. At least not being recognised meant you didn’t have to endure all those questions which always began with, ‘Didn’t you used to be …?’ and ended up by making her feel a failure.
