He inched closer, voice dropping. ‘I’m only interested in this kind of chemistry now and I haven’t encountered it in a long time.’
‘So, what, you’re telling me you’re celibate?’
‘Not entirely.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But I’m guessing you are.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘And you shouldn’t be.’
She turned back to the sink. ‘It all comes too easy for you.’
‘Why not have some fun, Cally?’
She wanted to bury her head in her hands. But it was strangely fascinating, liberating, to tackle it head-on.
‘When did you last have an orgasm?’ He sounded as if it were the most natural thing in the world to ask.
She winced. Head on was right. She couldn’t believe she was leaning against her kitchen sink in the early afternoon with an almost stranger analysing her sex life.
The last time she had an orgasm? How did she answer that?
Cally was used to being in the minority for lots of things: in the small fraction of female entrepreneurs; the twelve per cent of the world’s population that was left-handed; well shorter than average; one of the few unfortunate enough to have a faded supermodel for a mother … and part of the small percentage of women who’d never had an orgasm during penetrative sex.
Truth be told, Cally had never had an orgasm in any kind of sex. She’d faked it. Took her inspiration from the movies. It wasn’t that she was left cold. It was just that she’d never quite got there. She’d got close with Luc. She had. But he’d never taken the time. It had always been over just as she’d been getting warmed up.
Of course, once she’d found out, she’d known he’d just been getting it over with. They’d only slept together a dozen or so times. A few weeks when she’d thought she was madly in love, and he’d been doing her mother a favour. Not even a favour—doing a job. Paid for and everything.
She hadn’t tried much since. She’d kissed, and got to whatever base it was that was almost all the way there. But old insecurities were hard to let go of—that she wasn’t really attractive, that men were only interested in her because of her connections or her wealth. And once she found out the extent to which her endometriosis had hindered her chances of a family she knew she didn’t have much to offer a man.
So Cally had decided she didn’t need a guy, didn’t need sex. She could be single and celibate and have a fabulous life—especially with her career. Most of the time she didn’t even think about it. The ability to trust men had been beaten out of her. Since Luc she’d embraced the ‘why bother’ approach wholeheartedly. And most of the time she was happy. She focused on her business, and smoothed over the scar on her heart that said husband and kids weren’t for her. That was fate. She didn’t need the grief of worrying about it any more. You didn’t miss what you’d never had—right?
But then, occasionally, there were wants. And Blake McKay was all want for her.
‘I’m serious. When did you last have an all-body, all-screaming release?’
‘I’m not discussing that with you.’ In the split second after she’d answered the question every single doubt reared in her head and every single reason why she was single stood in her brain, itemised in a flashing neon bullet-pointed list. And, despite years of happily getting over it, getting on with it, it hurt.
‘You can’t even say it, can you?’
‘Orgasm!’ she shouted. ‘Orgasm, orgasm, orgasm, orgasm!’ She glared. ‘Satisfied?’
‘Not nearly.’ His grin was wide and wicked. ‘Five.’ He nodded. ‘Five times. Five times in one night.’
She looked at him blankly.
‘Is what I promise you.’
‘You’re kidding. Five in one night?’ Transfixed, she gazed at him. ‘You really think you could?’
‘Like I say. Chemistry. Inevitable explosion.’
So she was tempted—and he knew it. For one mad moment she considered it—a wild fling. Five big Os in one night—could he really? Was it even possible? Hell, if anyone could, he could. He might deny it but a playboy he was—experienced. And if nothing else mattered, if nothing was at stake—most definitely not her heart—could she be free long enough for it to happen? Hell, she didn’t need five, one would be enough.
‘No one ever has to know.’
She bit hard on her lip to hold back the groan that had its origins in her belly.
He leaned into her, and she stared into the stormy sea eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t you act on an attraction this strong?’
She sucked in air, and refused to let herself think he was as attracted to her as she was to him. This was some sort of game. He was so used to winning and he only wanted to have her because he thought he could—she didn’t want to be just another milestone on his way.
He reached out, ran his knuckles down her cheek. ‘This can’t be faked.’
Her face flamed under his touch, her lips desperately dry.
‘You can’t fake it with me, Cally.’
Her knees were at risk of failing and she was about to crumple to the floor. If she turned her head just a fraction those fingers would brush her lips. Blood buzzed to them; she wanted to feel him.
Injection of steel required immediately! Memories of Luc burst into her brain. She’d believed a pretty face and some pretty lines before and been so burned she’d never trust another. She walked away from Blake, put the island between them again, chewing away the tingling sensation in her lips as her back was turned to him.
But she had to admit she liked his blunt approach, his unashamed candour. At least he seemed to be up front—again it was liberating. And she’d return the favour.
She turned to face him, put her hands on the bench, sighed deeply. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re actually too good-looking.’
‘I’m sorry?’ He leaned against the opposite side of the bench, bending so their faces were level.
‘Yes, you know. Thick dark hair. Big green eyes. Long lashes. Square jaw. Stubble. That’s just your face. I’m not even starting on your body. I’m not going any lower than your chin.’
The smile broke his intense expression, lit him up from the inside. ‘I’m too good-looking for you to have fun with?’
‘Yes.’
He laughed. ‘So you only go out with ugly guys?’
She was silent.
‘I begin to see why it is you’ve been without for a while.’ He leaned closer, spoke to her slowly as if English were a foreign language to her. ‘You know there’s a big flaw in your argument. You have to be attracted to the person. If you think he’s ugly he isn’t going to turn you on, sweetheart. What are you going to do—lie back and think of England?’
‘History
