Her insides turned gooey. The way he asked, like an old-fashioned knight accepting her favour with polite courtesy.
‘Why?’ She fought a smile. But she fished her phone from her clutch and handed it over while her pulse fluttered, double time.
His eyes gleamed as he typed his details in with one hand and held her with the other. When he passed it back, he resumed their slow dance.
‘Next time you have the...urge, you can call me. A little phone sex might liven up the mundane. I’ll join you.’ His lips twitched, fire in his eyes. ‘We can talk each other over.’
Nothing about sex with Jack, the phone variety, she guessed, or any other, could be described as mundane. And she’d been wrong about his politeness. A black knight, perhaps.
Certainly, the memory of that session on her hall table still had the power to make her internal muscles clench. The thought of him stroking himself while she did the same, their vocalisations and filthy words of encouragement the only contact between them, left her light-headed. Would he revert to his native French at the height of passion?
He sighed, his warm breath sliding down her neck.
‘Although the image of you pleasuring yourself... I’d travel a long way for such a sight.’ The look he settled on her left her trembling with anticipation and torrid arousal.
How could he do that with only a few, albeit explicit words and an intense look?
Then his eyes turned devilish. ‘So, are you coming home with me? Or are you sufficiently satisfied for today?’
Her belly quivered. Would she ever get enough of his sexual prowess? And he’d ramped up the anticipation so successfully, if he didn’t touch her more intimately soon, she’d probably spontaneously orgasm, just by walking across the room.
She pressed her lips together, her face straight.
‘That depends. Will it be worth my while? Better and better, you said.’
He nodded. Self-assured. He dipped low, his lips caressing her ear once more, setting off a cascade of tingles.
‘I have something up my sleeve.’
She smiled, fingering the expensive cufflink at his wrist. ‘Well, let’s undo this, and see what you have planned, because I’m on a promise.’
* * *
The minute she entered his apartment, his needs solidified into a hot ball of determination. He’d strived for what he wanted every day of his adult life, and right now the only thing on his agenda was getting Harley completely bare to him so he could demonstrate that determination over and over again, until she was one hundred per cent convinced.
He’d deliberately kept his hands to himself in the car, building the anticipation until his own skin itched and every muscle raged at him to touch her. But the wait would be worth the denial for both of them.
Since he’d visited her store, witnessed her passion and dedication to her career first hand, he’d thought about her constantly. Not what she would wear tonight or how she would look naked on his bed, his floor or anywhere else they might end up.
But how she’d opened up to him, showing him her workroom, her sketches, even her vulnerability over her asshole father’s cruel taunts. But he shoved that from his mind before he broke something. Not that it was his business.
Tonight was about pleasure.
‘Is there anything you want, besides me between your perfect thighs?’ He stepped up close as she cast her eyes around his dimly lit living space and whispered the words on a husky drawl—part intentional because he enjoyed the fine tremors of her reaction, and part because his own needs choked him to the point of oxygen deprivation.
This was physical. A game. His reminders to himself grew more frequent and more resolute.
She shook her head, her scent wafting on a cloud of warmth tinged with a hint of the arousal she was powerless to conceal. His hands glided to her hips, his fingers finding the dip beneath the jut of her hipbones.
He’d arrived at the gala at least thirty minutes before she’d finally spotted him, circling her like a cat, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But he’d forced himself to observe her from afar, building the anticipation self inflicted torture. He’d ached to touch her, her creamy skin aglow under the dancing lights. And now he had her here. Had all night to indulge. But first he had to make good on his promised orgasm. Tonight, at least this first time, was all about her.
‘Come.’ He nudged her forward in the direction of the bedroom, his hand clasping hers to ensure she stayed with him. When he’d lit the bedside lamps, casting the masculine space into warmth, he dropped her hand and loosened his tie and the top buttons of his shirt.
‘Show me how you plan to torment me for my clumsy comments earlier—I know you’re hiding something under there.’ His gaze flicked down the swathe of rose-coloured silk to the toes of the sexy, peep-toe heels he’d glimpsed when she’d stepped from his car.
He hadn’t intended to question her dress sense earlier, merely fuel his own fantasies with visions of her draped in some figure-hugging garment or other.
What kind of a man would make her doubt, for one second, a single iota of her true worth as a human being, a woman?
And what kind of man seduced someone for some sort of twisted revenge?
Breathing hard, he focussed on Harley. The night he had planned. For her pleasure and his. Questioning himself only led to doubt—and he didn’t do doubt.
She lifted her chin, passion and sass warring for control of her expressive eyes.
‘Why would I bother to dress for you? You either want me or you don’t.’ Her pupils narrowed, the hint of vulnerability dimming the flecks of gold in her irises.
‘Well, that’s not in question.’ He clasped her hand, pressing it to the front of his pants, over the steely erection he’d sported most of the evening. ‘You’re a sexual woman. A woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to get it. Whatever is under that dress—your creamy skin, a hint of rose in all the right places, or the most provocative lingerie—will torture me until I can get my hands and mouth on you.’ He dropped said hands to his sides and curled them into loose fists, waiting. Biding his time.
With a small sigh and a look that made his balls tingle, she lowered the side zip on her dress and shimmied it down until it pooled at her feet.
He’d been right.
Pure torture.
Her toned body, curves generous enough to scream one hundred per cent woman, was scantily clad in the same rose pink, almost translucent underwear he’d fingered at her store this afternoon. Her rosy nipples, visible through the lace of her strapless bra, seemed to strain towards him. His mouth watered, reminding him of other tasty parts of her.
The narrow strip of blond hair was just visible through the sheer panties, and when she turned to place her dress on a nearby chair, her glorious ass came into view, the high-cut thong framing the creamy cheeks and disappearing into the crack between them.
‘Wait.’
