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He sat beside her, and sent her a long, hard stare before thrumming the engine to life. He tore it out of the drive at speed, sliding it effortlessly into a slim gap in traffic. “Where do you live?”
She kept her lips pressed together.
“You tell me where you live, Carrie, or so help me, I will pull this car over and kiss you until you beg me to make love to you again.”
His words painted a stunning image in her mind, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could play with fire twice. She looked at him sidelong and shrugged with assumed nonchalance. She gave her address, uncaring that he had it. What did it matter? Gael had got what he wanted – sex with a woman he found desirable. And she’d got what she wanted – proof that he desired her. That her transformation had worked.
So why did her victory feel so hollow?
She sat back moodily in the leather chair, staring out at the passing lights of London. They glowed orange outside the windows. Beside her, as Gael moved the gear stick and steered the powerful car, she felt a growing sense of shock at her actions.
Instinct had led her firmly astray, she thought with a small tug of remorse. But it was too late to do anything about that now.
He brought the car to a stop in the little mews street in South Kensington.
“This is you?” He asked, nodding towards a pale blue townhouse.
“Yes,” she responded, angry with herself, and Gael, and the whole situation.
He reached across and unsnapped her seatbelt, then stepped out of the car. When Carrie’s feet touched the cobbled street, she realised she was woozy. Two quickly consumed vodkas had obviously played havoc with her senses, but it wasn’t the alcohol alone. It was him.
She swayed a little, causing Gael’s frown to deepen. He put an arm around her waist, but she shrugged away from him.
“You’re most definitely not welcome to come in,” she muttered caustically, as she slipped the key into the wooden door and pushed it inwards.
His laugh was the only reply she received, as he barrelled past her and reached for a light switch. He moved through the two-story townhouse with an apparent air of ownership.
“Didn’t you hear me?” She called after his retreating back. He took the stairs two at a time; she could hear him moving about in the top floor. It had her bedroom, a guest room, and her home office. Downstairs was the rarely used kitchen, bar and lounge area. She sloshed some more vodka into a martini glass, added ice and carried it with her. “I want you to go, Gael.”
He came down the stairs two at a time, his black eyes glittering in his face like perfect gem stones.
“What in God’s name has happened to you?”
She glared at him, fury zipping through her. “You don’t like me now, Gael? You don’t want me now that you know who I really am?”
Oh, if only that were true. His body was aching with the need to pull her to him. A need he had no intention of obeying. But it was taking every shred of willpower to resist the tug of attraction. “I don’t understand you,” he corrected throatily.
“There’s nothing to understand. I’m this.” She gestured up and down her body, slopping vodka over the rim of the glass onto the tiled floor. “A woman you wanted to seduce an hour ago. A woman you wanted.”
He reached out and took the vodka from her, placing it on the bar. “You are upset.”
She took in a deep breath. He was right, and she was annoyed at herself for feeling that way. For letting her emotions control her. She’d spent six years learning to contort her feelings into an obedient maze of sense. Now, they were running away from her, as though she were a clueless seventeen year old again.
“I just need my own space,” she said finally. “Would you please go?”
“You should have thought of that before you started this.”
“Started what?” She shrugged, aiming for complacence. “What happened between us was just sex. Two people who wanted that moment of enjoyment. It’s done. Why put any more energy into analysing it? You didn’t know who I was, but you knew what I was, and what I wanted.”
“And what are you, amante dulce?”
“A woman,” she whispered. “I’m not a kid anymore. Some stupid, fat, needy child desperate for romance from
someone like you.”
“No,” he agreed, closing the distance between them. “You are no longer a child.” He kissed her before she could guess what he intended, his lips hard on hers. “You are an adult, and you’ve entered into a very adult game. Do you want to play, Carrie? Are you really willing to fight with me?”
Her body softened against his. Desire tore through her. “Yes,” she murmured against his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and lifted a leg, trying to bring him closer to her. He pulled her, lifting her, holding her, as he crossed the room to the sofa. He lay her down gently, and brought his lips back to hers.
