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Bare skin over strong, hard, muscles.
A heady feeling rushed up inside of me. This was actually happening! This wasn’t just a bit of hanky-panky in the office, or a kiss in the heat of the jungle. We were together, in a bed, on the verge of…
I couldn’t quite think the word. Not yet. But I could feel it. Feel the need burning inside me. Feel his skin burn into mine with a heat I would never have thought this iceberg capable of.
‘Lillian.’
A thrill raced down my spine. Would I ever get tired of the sound of my name on his lips?
A moment later, his mouth claimed mine and gave me the answer: yes! There were so much more interesting things for his lips to do than talking. Hot things. Needy things. Things that left me panting and pleading for more.
‘Please…!’
‘Soon.’
Breaking the kiss, he reached out with one hand and cupped my face in the gentlest gesture I had ever seen him make, except perhaps the time he’d handled that Ming vase worth over two hundred thousand pounds.
Bloody hell! Was I feeling jealous of a piece of pottery?
I was!
Ha, just you wait, you stupid little vase! I’ll show you! I bet you couldn’t do this, could you?
My hands flew up into the shadows. Grabbing him by the lapels, I jerked him down towards me. His supporting arm slipped and he toppled onto the bed. We rolled over until I came to rest on top, where I belonged.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.
‘What do you think?’ Pressing a heated kiss to the corner of his mouth, I took a tighter hold on his lapels, and tugged. There was a ripping sound and buttons scattered in all directions.
‘Miss Linton!’
My cheek pressed softly against his, I whispered, ‘You called me Lillian just now.’
There was a moment of silence. Then, in a voice that was slightly hoarser than usual, he said:
‘That will take money to repair!’
‘Deduct it from my salary. I don’t care!’ Moisture pricked the corner of my eye, but right now, that didn’t matter to me. Right now, I didn’t need or want to keep my defences up. I let the single tear trickle down my cheek, unashamed. My hands curled into the last layer of cloth that lay between us, and tugged it off. ‘It was worth it. You’re worth it.’
Silence.
And not the cold kind.
The dumbstruck kind.
As it extended and spread through the darkness like a blanket of snow, enveloping us, I suddenly realised something: that just now had probably been the first time in a very long time that anyone had told Mr Rikkard Ambrose he was worth it - worth anything.
Oh, I was sure he got more compliments than there were stars in the sky, from sycophants and lickspittles who wanted to ingratiate themselves with the richest man of the British Empire. But a truly heartfelt compliment from someone who knew him and cared?
When was the last time he had heard one?
Better question, Lilly: when was the last time that someone who really knows him was crazy enough to care?
‘You are!’ The words spilled out of my mouth before I could think twice about them. Grasping his face, I moved closer until even in the darkness, I could see into his eyes. ‘You are worth it! You may be a stubborn, chauvinistic, cold-hearted, ruthless, self-righteous son of a bachelor-’
‘Don’t flatter me too much, Miss Linton.’
‘-but you’re a good man. Well, to me, anyway. Sometimes. Mostly.’
