push the other woman aside. She’s engaged. They broke up months ago. This isn’t like Jeremy and Fiona.
‘I’d hate it,’ I say thoughtfully.
Moving carefully, I step over a large gap in the floorboards into the other side of the room and towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the garden. Our lunch is still down there. My poor fork stabbed into a slice of yam, indignantly waiting to be wielded.
‘Yeah?’
‘Oh, yeah. I’m such a homebody.’
‘I wouldn’t have guessed that.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
He comes to stand beside me and I’m aware of all the things I don’t want to be.
‘I can’t get involved with you,’ I say, without meeting his eyes.
‘Can’t? Or don’t want to?’
It’s a distinction I hadn’t even realised I’d made. I side-step it deliberately. ‘I think you’re trouble.’ Now I force myself to look his way. ‘And I’m not into that.’
He studies me without speaking. Then...
‘But you used to be?’
I’m startled, blinking away my surprise. How can he tell?
I twist my lips to the side and shrug, just a little. ‘Trouble used to be into me.’ It’s a subtle correction. ‘I’ve learned to spot it.’
He doesn’t say anything. We stare down at the garden—it really is very beautiful. My body is still tingling from the way we came together. We are dynamite and flame. On our own, innocuous enough. But together...?
We have no hope.
‘And yet the idea of sleeping with you holds definite appeal.’ I run my eyes across his handsome face, over his lips that drive me wild.
‘Sleeping isn’t part of the equation.’ He winks and, heaven help me, my body—all of it—groans.
‘Right.’ I smile. ‘And, you know, I wonder if we shouldn’t just...have fun together.’
He expels a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that.’
But I’m still not convinced this is a good idea. I’m still terrified of everything that could go wrong.
‘How would this work? I mean, I really...it really has to be just sex. No strings.’
‘Yeah...’ He grins, scanning my face. ‘We can do that.’
‘But what if we can’t? What if one of us wants more?’
He arches a brow. ‘We won’t.’
‘How do you know?’
He shrugs. ‘If it makes you feel any better, we’ll put some ground rules in place.’
‘Ground rules?’ I nod slowly. It’s a good idea, but I can’t resist teasing him. ‘You’re disappointingly conservative for a rock star, aren’t you, Mr Ash?’
‘I’m afraid I might be,’ he says, with a wink that makes my tummy roll and my body vibrate.
Nothing, I repeat, nothing about him is disappointing.
‘Would you find the conversation more acceptable if I do this?’
And he kisses my neck, sending shoots of awareness through me. I nod, but coherent thought is becoming difficult. It’s worse when he drops his hand beneath my skirt and finds my heated core, sliding his fingers deep inside me. I throb around him, groaning at the sweetness of the invasion.
‘You were saying...’ I whimper as pleasure builds, need intensifies.
‘Ground rules...’ The words are throaty.
‘Right.’
I tilt my head back until it connects with the glass of the window. I am lost to pleasure once more. How can he do this to me? I read a Cosmo article years ago about the number of calories a woman burns when she comes. Was it sixty? A hundred? I’m going to need to up my carb intake while I’m fucking Ethan, that’s for sure.
‘What do you want from me?’ he asks, his lips brushing the words into my mouth.
I shiver; it’s so sensual.
‘Fun,’ I grunt back as pleasure intensifies and thickens around me. ‘Just fun.’
‘No flowers? No sleepovers? No expectations beyond satisfaction?’ he teases. ‘Nothing serious?’
‘God, no. Fun.’ I dig my fingers into his hips. ‘Fuck, Ethan, I’m...’
He withdraws and my eyes fly open, finding his. Outrage trembles inside me, but only for a moment—because then he’s crouching on his haunches and his mouth is against me, his tongue demanding that my pleasure continues.
‘Oh, God...’ My fingers dig into his shoulders now and all my weight is against the window.
Please, don’t let it break.
But would I even care? What a blissful way to go.
‘What else?’ he asks my clit, so that I can’t help but laugh.
It’s quickly subdued by a keening cry of need. He’s so good at this. So good at everything.
‘It’s just temporary...’ I can hardly speak now. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. Feelings are carrying me away. ‘How long are you...’ I pause, trying to catch my breath ‘...in the States for?’
‘Two weeks.’
‘Okay.’ I nod, but I am losing my mind with pleasure. ‘That’s our end-date.’
And that’s it. That’s all she wrote.
I cannot form more words or thoughts or objections. I vibrate against the window and against him and he holds me tight, kisses me until the wave has calmed. He knows what I need; he expresses that knowledge with every movement of his body and his mouth.
I am afraid and yet I am fearless. I am a contradiction in his arms, against his wall, in his house.
And then he stands.
‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’
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