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“Are you okay?” he asks, catching me looking.
“Your poor hand. Oh, darling, I’m so sorry I made you do that. Do you need a plaster or something? I don’t want it to get infected.”
“I’m absolutely fine. It’s only a little graze.” He hesitates. “Apart from that, are you okay?”
“Uh-huh. Are you?”
“Yes.”
“I hated seeing you cry.”
“Same here. Let’s make a pact never to make each other cry again, okay?”
“Deal.”
We stall at a set of traffic lights. Nick turns on the stereo and randomly flips through radio stations to find something he likes. Briefly, an annoyingly hyperactive voice blasts from the speakers and my body tenses.
I know that voice. Oh, God.How could I ever forget?
“What’s wrong?” Nick frowns. “Don’t you like the radio?”
“Not really.”
He turns it off and switches the stereo to CD. Immediately, a beautifully soulful voice permeates the car with a sexy version ofFever. I’ve always been familiar with Peggy Lee’s version, but the male voice singing this adds a racier edge to it.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“Little Willie John,” Nick replies, and then, as if reading my thoughts, adds, “He recorded the original version ofFever. Do you like it?”
“Yes, it’s amazing.”
He smiles and a deep thrill courses through me. His eyes are filled with rapacious need, a needI want so badly to satisfy.
A short while later, we arrive in Pimlico and I start to get butterflies as I realise he’s taking me to his house. We swerve at a roundabout and then he guns the car into a wide square of three-storey houses plotted around a large, communal garden. Nick hits the brakes and pulls the Jaguar to the curb. Above looms a tall, Regency-style house with a white stucco facade and a black entrance door framed by two huge columns. The middle storey is dominated by an elegant, wrought-iron balcony with bow windows and pretty potted plants.
“Are you ready?” He kills the engine.
“Yes.” Waves of excitement crash through me as I contemplate what he means by “ready.” Unclipping my seatbelt, I clamber out the car and chase Nick through the sleeting rain to the steps of his house.
My breath catches.
He’s lost his keys.
No, he hasn’t.
I see his hands are shaking and realise he’s just as anxious as I am. For what seems like forever, he fumbles with the lock till finally he gets it open and I follow him inside.
We don’t make it past the entry hall.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Heat
As soon as he kicks the door shut, Nick has me up against the wall, grinding his body against mine, hands tangled in my hair, lips devouring me with rough, hungry kisses that rob me of sanity.
“You make me so crazy,” he growls against my mouth. “I haven’t slept in days. All I could think about was you, the smell of you, the taste of you … It’s been hell this last week. I wanted you all the time.”
I moan as he thrusts his tongue back in and explores my mouth with ravenous urgency. My whole body is on fire. I have no sense of time or space, only a soul-destroying void that needs to be filled.
