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I can hear my blood throbbing in my ears like a fucking tsunami. There’s a high-pitched noise too, like air from a balloon being pinched to release.
There was one summer I spent with a family who used to surf. They took me out with them, taught me how to ride a board. There is an art to keeping your balance; it’s a constant seduction. Every tiny movement shifts your power and one wrong breath may mean you tumble into the ocean.
If I allow Holly to have this power over me, she will roll me into the sea.
I won’t let that happen.
I stand, my eyes pinning her to the spot so I see the effect I have on her. She tries to cover it, but you can’t hide desire. Not really. There are markers that I have seen often enough to recognise easily now. Her cheeks flush along the ridge of bone, her pupils swell to cover almost her whole eye and her breathing is rasped, her chest moving up and down, so that her round breasts push forward. Jesus, that shirt sweater thing looks soft. My fingertips itch to reach out and touch it. To scrunch it against her skin, to feel her through the fabric.
I stand just a couple of inches away from her and she keeps staring up at me, her big red lips parted, her eyes whispering seduction even when I know she’s doing her best to hold the professional line.
I wonder how long she’ll keep that up.
‘On one condition.’
Her frown is infinitesimal. Her eyes drop to my lips and my gut jerks, wanting to pull me forward, begging me to kiss her.
Nah, not to kiss her, that’s far too sweet a word for what I want to do. I want to pull her lower lip between my teeth, I want to push her back against that window, I want to fucking own her.
‘What’s that, Mr Moore?’
It’s an attempt to put us back on a professional footing. Her own surfboard is tipping.
I lift a finger, touching her cheek lightly. She flinches with surprise and her eyes lift to mine slowly. She’s in the water; it’s threatening to consume her whole. ‘For every one of your questions, you answer one of mine. Same rules.’
Her breath is soft, warm. I feel it on my inner wrist. Imagining it elsewhere on my body, I throb with heat and need.
‘I told you last week.’ The words are uneven. ‘I’m not on the agenda.’
It’s an intentional reproof. My smile shows amusement at her attempt to put up barriers. ‘Oh, I think you are, Holly.’ But I drop my hand and step backwards. ‘Do we have a deal?’
She swallows, her throat bobbing. She’s torn. Drowning and trying not to—drowning and asking me to save her all at once.
‘I suppose it’s fair,’ she says after a beat.
Fuck, yeah, it’s fair. If she expects me to pour out my heart, then she’d better believe I want my pound of flesh along with it.
She nods, as if to reaffirm to herself that she’s going to go through with this. ‘Shall I start?’
I ignore the twisting in my gut. I’ve agreed to this and I’m not afraid of much, least of all having a fucking conversation.
She is, though. She weighs her words carefully, studying me as she thinks. Her eyes are crazy beautiful. Huge and bright blue with a dark black rim around the iris and flecks of black close to the pupil. She has a tiny scar above one brow—like a line about half a centimetre long. I want to run my tongue along it—the certainty that one day I will fills me like cement.
‘Did you have a favourite toy as a child?’
Of all the questions I expect, it’s not this. I laugh—a dry sound that cracks from my throat.
‘No. My turn. Did you think about me after I left last week?’
Her eyes widen and her throat jerks as she swallows. Her gaze darts to a space on the wall behind me. ‘Of course I did,’ she says, the words thready and soft. She darts her tongue out, licking her lower lip. ‘You’re my client.’
‘No, I’m not. So far, I’m just some man you know.’ My smile is wry and I lean closer, my words mocking. ‘And you know that’s not what I meant.’
‘That’s the question you asked,’ she volleys back, fire and spirit firing in her eyes. ‘My turn. What’s your favourite thing to do?’
I stare at her for a second, a sense of discontent rifling through me. A hobby? She wants to know what my hobby is? I drop my head close to hers, and when I whisper it’s right in her ear, low and soft. ‘Fuck beautiful women.’
I pull away so I can see her reaction. She’s looking at me with something close to pity, though, and that fires me up. ‘My turn.’ I skim her face thoughtfully, then purposely drop my eyes to her rack. Jesus Christ, they’re great breasts. ‘When did you last get laid?’
