AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her eyebrows shot up as she glanced down at his hardening flesh.
‘We’ll end up killing each other,’ she remarked, the hushed tone of voice contradicted somewhat by the impish smile as she touched his erection with the tip of her finger.
‘Quite possibly,’ he groaned.
She gave a husky laugh as she drew her finger down the length of him.
‘But I can’t think of a better way to go,’ he added, his rigid flesh pulsing against her palm as she began to torment him in earnest.
CHAPTER SIX
RUBY’S eyelids fluttered open, then snapped shut, the blaze of sunlight searing her retinas.
She tried again, prising open one lid, then the other, and discovered a strange bedroom—which was about three times the size of the two rooms she rented in Tufnell Park.
Floor-to-ceiling French doors stood partially open, giving a panoramic view of Hampstead Heath, the dried summer grass and ancient woodland stretching up Parliament Hill into the distance. A gush of wind made her skin pebble. Then she spotted her dress draped over a leather chair, one heel lying on its side on the polished wood flooring and her lace bra hanging from the fronds of a potted Yucca plant. She groaned, her endless night of debauchery flooding back in lurid detail like an X-rated movie playing in vivid technicolor.
She hadn’t just fallen off the wagon last night, she’d flung herself head first off a cliff.
She winced, abruptly aware of the many intimate parts of her body that ached where she’d hit the ground, hard. The low murmur of deep breathing had her risking a peek over her shoulder. Lifting up on one elbow, she studied the face of the man beside her hogging most of the bed.
In the dappled sunlight, his tanned skin and the shadow of stubble on his chin gave his impossibly handsome features a dark, pagan beauty. Thick lashes touched high, hollow cheekbones, and those sensual lips—which had driven her to ecstasy too many times to count—were now partially open, the rumble of his breathing stopping just short of a snore.
She bit back another groan at the pulse of reaction in her sex.
Callum Westmore. AKA Super-stud.
No wonder the man was in a coma. They’d been at it all night. And not just during the night—the last time he’d forced her over that final edge before they both collapsed into an exhausted sleep, dawn had been breaking, the golden haze of sunrise gilding his skin to a burnished bronze.
Edging into a sitting position, Ruby shifted over to ease out from under the warm, heavily muscled thigh that had her legs pinned to the bed. The blue Egyptian cotton duvet slipped off his backside, and the sight of tight, beautifully sculpted buttocks sent another jolt of heat through her abused system.
She gritted her teeth. Good grief, wasn’t she sore enough already?
Scooting off the bed, she gathered up her scattered clothing and tiptoed across the room in search of a bathroom, her need to pee almost as urgent as her need to get away from the object of her downfall before she did something really reckless. Like wake him up and ask for a repeat performance. Although it was difficult to imagine how much more reckless she could be after all the things she’d let him do to her last night.
The en suite bathroom was glaringly modern and expertly designed, the gleaming steel units, granite tiles, glass-brick shower cubicle and stone tub as defiantly masculine as their owner. After taking care of the toilet emergency, she searched until she found a pile of white towelling robes, all neatly folded. The fresh scent of laundry soap and fabric conditioner masked the musty scent of sex and man that clung to her skin.
Ruby hummed with pleasure as she thrust her arms into the robe. In spite of having the marauding tendencies of a Scottish Warlord, Callum Westmore clearly appreciated the creature comforts. She hissed as she belted the robe, the soft towelling like sandpaper as it touched her chest.
Opening the lapels, she gaped at the reddened skin.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she recalled the focused attention Cal had paid to her breasts and nipples all through the night.
Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink—and slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the shriek.
She
looked like the creature from the black lagoon.
Not only did she have whisker burn on her cheeks too, she had the worst bed hair in the history of the world ever and the smidgen of make-up she still had on was smeared under her eyes like a bruise.
Make that the creature from tart central.
Grabbing a selection of toiletries neatly arranged in a wicker basket on the sink unit, she shot over to the shower.
Damage limitation was the order of the day. She’d have to repair what she could, then get the heck out of here before her Scottish Warlord woke up and made her humiliation complete.
Mornings had never been her strong suit, and she wasn’t about to risk the ignominy of the morning after with Callum. Not only did she look a fright, she hardly knew the man. And what she did know was making her very uneasy now the haze of lust had cleared.
