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‘I think we should probably drop the formality, don’t you?’
As the door closed behind the last security man she turned her head and something flickered in her eyes.
‘Fine. Let’s drop the formality.’ There was a moment’s hesitation and she drew in a long, slow breath, as if she were plucking up courage. Then, without shifting her gaze from his face, she lifted her chin and slowly, provocatively, undid the buttons of her coat and allowed it to slide to the floor. The jacket of her suit followed and his eyes slid to the thin black straps her camisole. All evening he’d had tantalising glimpses of sexy lace and now he saw that the whole thing was lace, the elaborate pattern exposing a suggestion of creamy skin.
His mouth dried. ‘Theé mou, what are you doing?’
‘I’m dropping the formality. And my clothes, now that you mention it.’ A slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she walked towards him. ‘What’s the matter, Damon? Worried about that self-control of yours? Worried you won’t be able to walk away from chemistry?’ Her hand locked into the front of his shirt and she pulled him towards her, her thick lashes a tempting veil over eyes that glittered like jewels. Her lips parted and Damon felt his brain shut down.
He ought to push her away right now.
He ought to—
Her fingers locked behind his head and drew his head down and his mouth melded with warm, honeyed temptation. She tasted exquisite, the subtle stroke of her tongue against his bottom lip a hot, erotic fantasy, and he felt lust slam into him with shocking force. Resisting, he lifted his hands to push her away but instead found himself cupping her face, his fingers exploring the softness of her skin and the delicate lines of her jaw. If the kiss they’d shared earlier had been a full-on demonstration of the power of sexual attraction this was softer, more subtle. But it was no less devastating in its effect. Her sweet mouth seduced his with a slow, sure gentleness that ripped away his defences and sent fire tearing through every part of him.
Balancing on the dangerous knife-edge of a new addiction, he felt his power to control his emotions and actions drain at a frightening rate. The part of his brain warning him to stop this madness right now was eclipsed by the part that reached out greedily for the fulfilment of pleasure. A whisper of silk brushed his hand and he removed the clip in her hair and dropped it on the floor, allowing the river of softness to slide over her shoulders. With a husky groan he slid his fingers into that soft sheet of hair and deepened the kiss. The intense flame of sexual chemistry scorched both of them and this time when he gently stroked her face he discovered that his hand was shaking. Devoured by emotions he’d never felt before, he smoothed his palms over her shoulders, feeling nothing but a desperate urge to explore the rest of her. The thin spaghetti straps of her camisole surrendered to the pressure of his fingers and slid away, leaving no barrier between her flesh and his mouth. As he pressed his lips to her throat he heard her gasp, felt the rapid thrum of her pulse under his mouth.
And then she stepped away.
Disorientated, unbalanced by her unexpected withdrawal, it took Damon a moment to absorb the fact that she’d retreated. He stretched out a hand to haul her back but she was already out of reach, those beautiful eyes unreadable as she slowly and deliberately slid the straps of her top back up to her shoulders.
His mind in lockdown, he struggled to speak. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m resisting chemistry. It’s called self-discipline.’ In a husky voice, she threw his words right back at him. ‘You just have to say no. Isn’t that right, Damon? Just because you’re insanely good at kissing, that doesn’t give you the right to make a fool of me. Don’t ever do that again.’ In a single graceful movement she retrieved her clothes and turned to walk towards the second bedroom. ‘Sleep well.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
POLLY leaned over her private section of balcony, sucking in air and trying to lower her blood pressure. Her entire body screamed with frustration, and she didn’t know whether to plunge under a cold shower or pull on her running shoes and pound the streets of Paris.
She dug her hands into her hair but that just reminded her of the moment he’d done the same thing so she folded her arms instead and paced backwards and forwards, breathing deeply.
Of all the stupid things to do.
What on earth had possessed her? She’d been running on adrenaline, on such a high after the success of her meeting with Gérard that she’d virtually danced along the streets of Paris. And, yes, it had felt good to witness the moment Damon had finally realised just what an enormous contribution she made to the company. But that didn’t explain why she’d suddenly performed the equivalent of a pole dance in the middle of his hotel suite.
Wondering how on earth she was going to face him again, she covered her face with her hands. Perhaps it had been seeing all those lovers holding hands and kissing. Paris was a city for lovers. Romance. Or maybe it was just about pride.
All evening she’d been simmering, really angry that he’d made such a fool of her.
Her hands dropped and she swallowed hard.
In walking away from her earlier, he’d proved that he was firmly in control. She’d wanted to hit back—to snap that control.
And she had.
But now she was the one paying the price.
Yes, she’d proved her point and walked away, but her body was on fire and the way she was feeling was driving her crazy. If this was how chemistry felt then no wonder people behaved stupidly.
‘Polly—’
Hearing his rough voi
ce, she whirled round and saw him standing there. His shirt gaped where she’d ripped at his buttons and his eyes were an intense, unfathomable black in a face taut with tension.
‘Get out of here.’ The words stuck to her dry mouth and she licked her lips, trying not to think about the way it felt to kiss him. Her own self-control was non-existent and she hated him for that. ‘We’re even.’
‘Kissing me was your idea of punishment?’
