Cam around as an after-hours distraction, my mind would be clear, my focus sharp and my energy restored.
Bloody hell, Orla, he’s not a multivitamin!
‘Oh? Sounds intriguing,’ he says. ‘Why don’t we discuss it over breakfast? I’ll just jump in the shower and meet you in the restaurant.’
My body clamours to join him in the shower, my mouth parched for another taste of his talented, thick cock. I swallow, suddenly ravenous. ‘I don’t eat breakfast, and I’m flying out to Zurich in—’ I check my watch ‘—ninety minutes.’
He’s not remotely disappointed with this news. My stomach plummets. No woman wants to be so easily forgotten.
‘Okay—well, shoot, then.’ He leans one hip against a nearby weights machine, the fabric of his shorts stretching across his crotch leaving nothing to the imagination, and grips the ends of the towel around his neck. A perfect pin-up pose for a raunchy, get-you-wet calendar. And I don’t need my imagination—I have fresh and vivid memories to keep me warm.
Of course, I’d rather have the real thing…
‘You said last night you were on a pleasure spree of luxury travel. Does that mean you’re free of other commitments at the moment?’ We haven’t talked about what we do for a living. We haven’t talked about anything.
‘I’m free as a bird. What do you have in mind?’
‘I wondered if you’d like to join me on a tour of some of the other M Clubs. I’ll be travelling for work for the next five-to-six weeks… Perhaps we could have some fun along the way…?’ I trail off from my perfect sales pitch, concealing most of the desperation from my voice, and I silently thank every single business proposition I’ve ever made for getting me through this sexy proposition without so much as a voice wobble.
‘Well, that’s intriguing.’ His eyes glow. ‘So you enjoyed your walk on the wild side, huh?’
I arch my brows. ‘And you didn’t?’ He couldn’t keep his hands off me. I have the soreness between my legs as a trophy of his insatiable stamina.
‘Fair point.’ He grins. ‘But aside from the obvious pleasures,’ he looks me up and down, ‘what’s in it for me?’
I splutter. Gape. I didn’t expect him to play hardball. I’m used to telling people how high to jump.
‘You said it yourself—you spent half the night working. Have you even slept? You don’t have time for breakfast…’ He shrugs, his point illustrated.
I roll my shoulders back, defensive—his censure reminds me a little too closely of my ex-husband’s complaints. ‘I don’t need more than a couple of hours’ sleep.’ But he’s right; my work habits do make me rather a dull travelling companion.
‘As good as last night was,’ his eyebrows flick up in that roguish way, ‘I’m not interested in spending the next six weeks watching you working in between snatched naps only punctuated by the odd fuck. I prefer my dates—’
‘We wouldn’t be dating.’ My temperature soars. How dare he see me so…clearly?
He ignores my interruption. ‘I prefer my hook-ups to have a pulse, to have the energy to offer me a few scraps of attention and to be awake long enough for us to have a good time.’ His lip curls in that playful way he’s so good at. ‘I’m old-fashioned like that.’
I bristle, lifting my chin. ‘I know how to have a good time. You just said so yourself about last night.’ It wouldn’t sting quite so much if his assumption wasn’t true, but I’d never admit such a thing.
He steps closer, his beautiful eyes holding me captive. ‘You’re right,’ he looks me up and down in a way that makes me feel naked again, ‘you look too put together to be as hot as you are, but once you let your hair down the sex part was great.’
‘But…’ I say, because I know it’s coming, despite his compliments.
‘But, when I woke up and reached for you because I wanted more, you weren’t there.’
I fist my hand on my hip. ‘I work odd hours because of international time zones.’
He nods, but continues. ‘And when I found you working before dawn this morning, I assumed we were done, that the sexy woman I’d spent the night with was safely tucked away, normal service resumed.’
‘Normal service? What does that mean?’ Didn’t I prove I could have a good time with the right incentive?
‘It means this.’ Cam waves a finger at me. ‘You’re back to being immaculate and untouchable. Perhaps last night was a one-off. Don’t forget I saw your idea of fun yesterday—until we left the casino it was hardly thrilling. But perhaps I’m judging you harshly.’ He folds his arms behind his head and stretches out his back. ‘Why don’t you help my decision-making process by coming to a party?’
My stomach drops with disappointment. This should be in the bag by now. ‘I told you, I fly out soon, and what kind of party happens at ten in the morn—’ I break off mid-flow, realising my mistake with a full-out blush.
No. I grind my teeth in frustration. He’s wrong. I can have as much fun as the next person…
His twisted mouth tells me he finds me amusing, but then his face turns sincere, eyes alight with that flicker of challenge I recognise from when he was buried inside me, instructing me to fondle my nipples or touch my clit.
‘The kind on a superyacht—the Monaco Yacht Show is in town. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. And it’s party time twenty-four-seven on board those things. How else can prospective buyers fall in love with the benefits of owning a floating luxury hotel?’
The depth of my irritation catches my breath even as I long to project a go-with-the-flow attitude. I can’t go to some debauched gathering at ten in the morning—I have to work, vet a press release cementing my deal, catch a plane…
I grip my temples. Listen to me. He’s seriously considering my proposal and I never concede this easily. I remind myself of what happened when I cut loose last night, of my elation this morning when I opened my emails to find Jensen’s was on board. Relaxing the reins a little had paid off then; why not now? Plus, I can’t have sexy, carefree Cam thinking I’m a decrepit old dullard.
‘Tell you what,’ he says, gripping the ends of the towel once more and buffing his astounding pecs, ‘you come to the party so we can discuss this proposition of yours further, and I’ll ensure you get to Zurich today—I have a plane.’
I almost roll my eyes—of course he has a plane—but stop myself in time. ‘I have a perfectly adequate first-class ticket…’ But isn’t this what I hoped? That he’d consider my outlandish plan?
He shrugs. ‘That’s the offer on the table—take it or leave it. What’s it going to be, princess? Party or goodbye?’
The desire to have things go exactly my way shunts my pulse higher as I stare, while he simply grins. But I can have things my way. All I have to do is go to his stupid superyacht party, drink some champagne and take his private plane to Zurich, with or without him—I can get some work done on board, have a decent sleep in a proper bed.
