of warm honey and desire. She gave a determined shake of her head in an effort to dispel the fog of desire that seemed to have taken over her brain. ‘Will the press be there?’
‘What?’ Darius had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
If he was honest, at the moment he had no idea what day of the week it was. Kissing Miranda had been so much more than he had been expecting. So much more intense than anything he had ever felt with any other woman.
She frowned. ‘Will any of the press be there on Saturday evening?’
‘Oh.’ He nodded, his brows clearing. ‘Only those officially invited by my mother.’
‘Your mother?’
Darius slowly, reluctantly, released Miranda before stepping back.
Before he did something stupid, like kissing her again; just that once was enough to tell him that the desire he had been feeling for her this past week had been the tip of an iceberg. That he wanted so much more from Miranda than just a kiss. And that now, when she was still so determined to resist him, as well as tired and hot from a long day at work, wasn’t the right time for the long, slow seduction he had in mind.
Running his hand through the tousled thickness of his hair made him instantly recall the way Miranda’s slender fingers had been entangled in it just minutes ago. ‘It’s one of my mother’s pet charities,’ he dismissed huskily. ‘As president of that charity, she’s also the main organiser.’
As far as Andy was concerned, this whole situation had become slightly surreal.
All of it. Darius’s initial and unexpected appearance at her studio. His invitation to the charity dinner. His having resorted to using blackmail in order to force her into accepting that invitation. A charity dinner, Darius had now informed her, that was being organised by his own mother!
‘Isn’t introducing me to your mother a little too cosy and intimate for you?’ Andy taunted to hide how disturbed she was from the kiss they had just shared. Her legs were still feeling slightly shaky, her breasts an aching, unfulfilled throb.
A reaction, an arousal, that warned her against spending any more time in this man’s company than she had to. That warned she certainly shouldn’t agree to accompany him to this charity dinner on Saturday.
Except Andy already knew she was going to say yes.
Because Darius had blackmailed her into accepting?
Or was the real reason because she secretly wanted to go out with him on Saturday evening, and it was just easier and less complicated—and less of a challenge to her inner warnings to do the opposite—to let Darius continue thinking she was only agreeing to go out with him because he had forced her to do so?
Andy had the next forty-eight hours, until she saw Darius again, to decide which of those it was.
Although she had a feeling she already knew the answer to that question.
She had been mesmerised by this man from the moment she first looked at him across the restaurant a week ago, even more so later that evening when he came over and spoke to her in the club, before insisting she danced with him. Since then Andy knew she hadn’t been able to get Darius, and the sexual magnetism he exuded so confidently, out of her mind.
Despite all her efforts to the contrary.
She felt that magnetism all the deeper now that he had kissed her.
Darius now gave a scathing snort. ‘There is nothing in the least cosy or intimate about my mother!’
Andy looked up at him searchingly as she heard the harshness of his tone. A curiosity Darius met with a blank stare, his eyes giving away none of his inner thoughts or emotions, just as the blandness of his expression revealed none of his outer ones, either.
She gave a grimace. ‘You obviously don’t really want to go to the dinner either, so why bother going?’
Darius looked away, only to be bombarded with dozens of reflections of the two of them from the mirrored walls, he standing tall and dark before a much slighter and fairer Miranda.
His breath caught in his throat as he imagined making love to Miranda in this room, with those same dozens of reflections, the two of them naked, reflected back at him. How much of a turn-on was just the thought of that? Enough so that his body hardened painfully.
He could easily imagine the two of them together here, knew that those multiple reflections would push his desire for Miranda to overload as he watched and enjoyed the two of them making love together.
He visualised the two of them, completely naked, as he stood behind Miranda, her silky, luminescent flesh very pale against his more olive skin as they stood close enough to the mirrors for him to see every nuance of expression on her face, but far enough away to ensure those multiple reflections.
His arousal would be pressed between the delicious globes of her bottom as he cupped her breasts in his hands, listening to her groans of pleasure as he played with and caressed her nipples, until they stood proud and full, and aching for more. Then he would move his hands lower, fingers splayed possessively across the flatness of her stomach, before moving down to allow his fingers to part the pale curls between her thighs and reveal the bud beneath, a bud that would be so aroused it would peep visibly from beneath its hood.
And then he would watch, would feast his eyes on that swollen nubbin as his fingers stroked and caressed. Would watch Miranda’s silken thighs part as she allowed him greater access, pressing into his caressing fingers as she gasped her climax.
Then Darius would go on his knees in front of her, greedily licking and caressing her to another orgasm.
And then again, and again.
He wanted to be able to watch that reflection as he parted her thighs before thrusting his length into her. To see how wet and swollen she was for him, a silken glove as she took all of him inside her, before he began to thrust into her, time and time again. And he would watch the ecstasy on Miranda’s face as she climaxed for him again, before allowing himself to fall over that edge of pleasure with her.
He straightened abruptly. ‘This particular charity dinner is a family obligation thing.’
‘Really?’ Miranda still eyed him curiously. ‘You’ve never given me the impression you particularly care what anyone else thinks of you.’
‘I don’t,’ he confirmed tersely. ‘This is just— My mother throws one of these events once a year to celebrate her birthday, okay?’ he bit out impatiently. ‘Her private celebration was the reason the family was at the restaurant last Thursday.’
Did that mean that Catherine Latimer’s birthday was on the same day as Andy’s own?
Considering the tension she had picked up from Darius just now, when he spoke of his mother, the same tension she had sensed at the family dinner table last Thursday, not to mention the scowl Darius had given later on in the club when she had told him they were celebrating her own birthday, Andy had a feeling that it was...
Darius now gave an impatient glance at the gold watch fastened about his wrist. ‘I have another appointment now, but I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty on Saturday evening.’
