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‘I have nothing to say to you, Zander.’ She sounded breathless, as if she’d been running for her life, and if she had any sense then that was exactly what she should be doing, she reflected helplessly. She had to get away from him if she was going to preserve her sanity. Her job. Her life. ‘I did as you asked and after tonight I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want to see you again. And I’ll be instructing my lawyer.’
As she finished speaking she felt the first drops of rain on her head and her shoulders and then suddenly the rain started to fall heavily, hammering the pavement and drenching unprepared commuters.
Squinting through damp lashes, Lauranne frantically scanned the traffic-clogged streets for a taxi but as usual there was no sign of one and in seconds they were soaked.
Swearing in Greek, Zander lifted a hand in an imperious gesture and moments later the sleek dark car pulled up alongside the kerb and he was driving her forwards, the warmth of his hand branding the small of her back.
For a moment Lauranne dug her heels in, resisting both that pressure and his arrogant assumption that she’d go where he led. She preferred to take her chances with the weather than climb into the intimate confines of a car with a man as lethally attractive as Zander.
He stared at her with naked exasperation, raindrops clinging to seductively thick lashes as he ran fingers through his dripping hair with the incredulity of someone accustomed to living in a hot climate. ‘Theos mou, this is not the time to argue. If you must argue then at least do it somewhere dry. Get in before we both drown.’
Driven by the sheer force of his personality, Lauranne slid reluctantly into the vehicle and was immediately swallowed up by the warmth and comfort of his car.
Zander delivered several instructions in rapid Greek and then stretched out a lean brown hand and hit a button somewhere to his right, activating a screen between him and his driver.
And only then was she aware that her thin silk blouse was now transparent, the delicate lace of her bra clearly visible through the soaked fabric.
Her face hot with embarrassment, Lauranne huddled in the far corner of the seat, trying to put as much distance between her and Zander as possible. Being alone with him in the confines of a car made her struggle for breath.
There was a long, burning silence and when he finally spoke his voice was deep and very, very male.
‘Only English rain can drown you in seconds,’ he drawled, reaching under one of the seats and pulling out a drawer that contained several towels. ‘Come here.’
She put up a feeble resistance but he ignored her, removing the clip that held her hair in place at the back of her head and rubbing her soaked hair with firm, determined strokes. Exactly when his movements changed she wasn’t s
ure but she gradually became aware that the rhythm and pressure had altered subtly from practical to seductive.
She sat still, hypnotised by the steady pounding of rain on the roof of the car and the touch of his hands. Gradually the sound of the rain faded into the background, eclipsed by the pounding of her heart and the snatch of her breath. They were totally alone, the plush interior of the car creating an atmosphere of intimacy that suffocated her resolve. Drawn in by the sizzling awareness that burned between them, Lauranne was suddenly controlled by her senses. She felt the slide of smooth leather under her bare thigh, heard the harshness of his breathing and saw the dampness of his shirt clinging to his powerful body.
So it wasn’t just her clothes that were now see-through, she reflected dizzily, her mouth drying as she found herself eye-level with his broad chest.
Through his rain-soaked shirt she could see the shadow of dark body hair, a tantalising reminder of the masculine perfection of his body, which had once been so achingly familiar—
He dropped the towel on the floor and smoothed her tangled hair away from her face, the pad of his thumb caressing her flushed cheeks. She lifted her gaze to his and dark eyes locked onto hers with a simmering intensity that made her breath catch. And still his thumb caressed her cheek in a movement so seductive that her lips parted in mute invitation.
They stared at each other for endless seconds and then his gaze shifted, raking the soft swell of her breasts, clearly visible through the damp material.
Like someone in shock, Lauranne sat immobile, unable to persuade her body to do any of the things her brain was suggesting.
Run.
Slap him.
Kiss him.
They both knew it was coming, of course. It had been coming since the day he strode back into her life two weeks earlier and her entire body ached for the satisfaction that only he could give her. So much so that when he muttered a raw imprecation and brought his mouth down hard on hers, she sobbed with relief and leaned into him, desperate for him to kiss her as only he knew how.
She curled her fingers into the damp fabric of his shirt, shivering as she felt the hard, masculine flesh beneath. He framed her face with his hands, holding her captive as he kissed her with a forceful hunger that sent shock waves of liquid excitement coursing through her body. Her head slammed back against the seat under the pressure of his and she felt his hand slide up and touch the bare skin of her inner thigh.
‘I’ve been longing to do this for two weeks,’ he groaned, shifting her body so that she was virtually lying underneath him. ‘Every time I turned round you were standing there in your perfect suit with your hair up—’
His breathing decidedly unsteady, he kissed her neck, finding that sensitive spot just behind her ear, and then worked his way back to her mouth, the erotic invasion so explicitly sexual that Lauranne sank her hands into his glossy dark hair, frantic to maintain the contact.
‘I wanted you too—’ She gasped the words against his seeking mouth and he kissed her as though it was to be their last kiss, their last contact as man and woman, and she matched his desperation, tongue for tongue, bite for bite, in an undisciplined mating that was totally out of control.
‘Anni—’ The intimate version of her name transported her back in time to the heat of a Caribbean beach in the moonlight.
Her fingers wrenched at his shirt, losing buttons in her frantic haste to be closer to him. And then finally his shirt was open and she slid her hands over his sleek, bronze flesh, shivering in a purely feminine response to his masculine strength.
