of one of the hotel’s standard rooms, biting back his frustration. He’d instructed the duty manager to give Olivia the best suite—an elegant penthouse with spectacular rural views of Oxfordshire’s rolling countryside—but clearly she’d undermined him.
He’d never met such a stubborn, independent woman. The women in his past had been happy to accept his wealth, take his gifts and his generosity, share his affluent lifestyle.
The door opened and his annoyance evaporated. The sight of her sucker-punched him in his gut. She’d pulled her hair into a high ponytail—he’d yet to see her long hair down, wild around her face—and she wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He’d had her belongings delivered to the hotel from London last night, after she’d begrudgingly accepted his offer of accommodation.
Hadn’t that been a kick in the balls? He’d wanted her in his bed. He’d fantasised about releasing her hair from its strict braid, waking to find the glossy mass splayed over his pillow or, better, his chest. He’d hoped to spend the night, or this morning, or both, between her shapely thighs, dragging reckless abandon from her with every orgasm. But she’d denied him again, drawing him back to the bargain they’d struck.
It was still dark outside. In the dim glow of her darkened room behind her, he saw her laptop open on the bed. Had she been working? Speaking to someone in America? Booking a flight home?
‘Ready to go?’
He clenched his jaw, teeth creaking. He knew nothing personal about her outside of the fact that she was a vegetarian and hated helicopters. Nothing he hadn’t gleaned from her company website and her business profile.
Time to change that.
She nodded, her hair swaying. His palms itched to wind that hair round his hand and draw her close for a good morning kiss. The one he’d have given her if she’d awoken in his bed this morning. The one she’d cheated him out of.
He forced his hands to relax.
She glanced down at his side. He held out the puffer jacket embroidered with the Able-Active logo.
‘A gift. It gets pretty cold up there.’ He pointed skywards.
She blinked, face stony and a little pale, eyeing the jacket as if it was stuffed with snakes, not duck down.
‘Thank you. But gifts aren’t necessary.’
So prim this morning. Unlike last night, when she’d twisted his hair so hard she’d almost scalped him.
‘No?’ Fuck, it wasn’t as if he’d handed her diamonds, or even flowers. ‘But here it is anyway.’
It was just a jacket. He doubted she’d packed any serious outdoor gear for a business trip.
‘Is there a problem outside of the gift?’
Perhaps she was as cranky at waking alone as he was. Perhaps, like him, she’d woken fully aroused and feeling around the empty bed, the rush of erotic memories making her groan into her pillow. Perhaps he should abandon the hot air balloon trip, suggest they relocate to the palatial suite he’d reserved for her upstairs and christen every surface until he’d made her come so many times she wouldn’t be able to help the smile on her face.
She shrugged her bag onto her shoulder and closed the door behind her, reaching for the jacket. ‘I’ll borrow the jacket—but only because I didn’t plan on any wild adventures when I packed.’
Fuck, that smoky voice of hers reverberated through him—another slug of lust. She marched ahead down the corridor, in an excellent move that gave him full access to the view of her denim-clad curves swaying as she walked.
When they were sitting in his Mercedes S-Class side by side, as he navigated the lanes of the Oxfordshire countryside, he glanced over at her striking profile.
‘Nervous?’
She stared out of the window, as if formulating her answer, then sighed. ‘Yes.’
Her hand rested in her lap. He gripped the wheel to stop himself reaching for it, uncertain of her mood.
‘I’ve been before. You’ll love it. And it’s perfectly safe.’
She turned on him, eyes blazing. ‘Is it? How do you know that?’
She really was nervous. Perhaps he should have fed her first. Or organised a punt on the river. But he’d wanted to wow her—give her a trip she’d never forget, one she’d embrace when she planned his charity’s marketing. But impressing her, it seemed, was no easy feat. And Able-Active wasn’t named Able-Relaxing.
‘I’d never let you get hurt, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
She looked away, her pouty lips pursed. ‘You can’t guarantee that. People get hurt all the time.’
His need to know more about her personally solidified.
‘Have you been hurt?’
He recalled the irregular silvery scars he’d spotted on her hip last night. Scars she’d tried to hide. He’d interpreted her reaction to the helicopter as first-time nerves. Assumed her caution was just a personality trait not in keeping with the driven and professional businesswoman. But perhaps there was more to her reticence.
‘I—I was in a motorbike accident. Three years ago.’
Her gaze returned to the hedgerows and the fields of gold and green beyond, which reflected the first rays of the sunrise lighting the horizon.
His throat thickened. ‘I’m sorry about that.’
He should have asked about the scars, but it had been obvious she didn’t want to talk about them, didn’t want to talk at all, and he’d been overcome with the sight of her naked and her husky command that he fuck her.
‘Were you badly hurt?’ His ribs pinched, stalling his breath.
She shook her head, shoulders sagging a little. ‘Just some superficial cuts and grazes. I was lucky.’
He breathed again, more determined than ever to get to know her while showing her a good time. But perhaps he shouldn’t push this. If she’d had a traumatic experience in the past, the last thing he wanted was to force her to relive it.
He pulled off the road, steering the car down a bumpy lane that opened up to a gravel courtyard and some converted stables. Killing the engine, he turned to face her.
‘We’re here. Look, we don’t have to do this. We can get a feel for things, watch a few balloons go up, meet the owner. He’s a friend of mine. If you’re worried, we don’t have to fly. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.’
But I’d love to put a grin of exhilaration on your beautiful face.
Her dark eyes held him hostage. ‘I want to do it.’ She looked down to her clasped hands in her lap. ‘I… I just…’
Vulnerability poured from her in waves. He ached to hold her. To kiss the frown lines from between her brows. To abandon his plans for the week and hole up with her in his Oxfordshire
