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‘Sit down, Holly, before you throw up.’
I glare at him, like this is all his fault. ‘I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘Where are my clothes?’
He places his drink down on the table and prowls towards me, heat burning me with his proximity.
‘I like you naked,’ he says, his eyes dropping to the opening revealed by the blanket.
I can’t meet his eyes. Instead, I stare at the floor, keeping my hands clasped around the blanket. ‘Did we...? I can’t remember.’
‘Did we what?’ He’s enjoying my discomfort. Bastard.
‘Did we sleep together?’
‘I don’t sleep, remember?’
And I realise that it’s the middle of the night and he’s wide awake, still wearing his suit, though he’s shed the jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms that are works of art.
‘Did we...have sex?’
‘No, Holly.’
That jerks my eyes up to his, and I think it’s relief that’s swirling through me. But only because I have no memory of the night, not because I’m glad we didn’t. I still want him in a way that robs me of air.
‘We didn’t?’
He shakes his head.
‘Oh. Good.’ I nod brusquely. ‘Then why am I hardly wearing anything?’
He walks towards me, closing the gap completely, his fingers curling around the fabric of my blanket cape. He pulls at it and drops it to the ground easily, his eyes challenging me to say something. I don’t. I don’t know why, but being undressed in front of Noah doesn’t feel as weird as I’d thought.
When his eyes drop hungrily to my body, as though he is starving and I am his feast, it feels pretty damned good.
‘Because you...’ He presses a finger to the space between my breasts and I inhale a tortured breath. ‘Wanted...’ His eyes hold mine as he draws a line outwards to my left nipple, running a circle around it that makes me moan softly. ‘Me...’ His hand runs lower, to the soft flesh on the underside of my breast. He cups me and then drops his head forward, taking my nipple in his mouth and torturing me with his beautiful tongue until my knees are so weak I feel like I might fall. I barely hear the ‘to’ as he says it right against me, against my desperate, tortured nerve endings, against my body that is quivering for him.
He lifts his mouth to mine then and kisses me far harder than I would have thought I could manage, given my pounding head and scratchy brain. He kisses me like we are lovers who have been parted a decade, a kiss that sears my flesh.
‘Fuuuuck...’
He pushes the word into my mouth, rolling it around with his tongue before lifting his head an inch and staring into my eyes. His hand that held my breast has roamed to my butt and is pushing me against him so I feel the thickness of his arousal on my stomach. ‘You.’ The last word is a hoarse, whispered admission.
I am lost, floating in an ocean of indeterminate swell and destination, simply being pulled whichever way it wants me to go.
If I wanted him to fuck me, why didn’t he? I know he wants this as much as I do... ‘But...you didn’t?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘When I fuck you, Doc, you’re going to be screaming my name, not slurring it.’
‘I was not slurring,’ I say defensively, though of course I can’t actually remember that for sure.
‘You were drunk.’ He lifts a hand to my brow. ‘How do you feel now?’
‘Fine,’ I say, not intending to tell him my head’s about to blow apart. And you know why? Because I want him—and I don’t want him to have an excuse for not sleeping with me. All this build-up, all the flirtation, all the seduction—I can’t bear it if it doesn’t go anywhere. In fact, I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to reach out and grab him with both hands.
Having opened the floodgates to desire when I have sought to ignore its existence for five years, I am unwilling to ignore it a moment longer.
