Kitabı oku: «The Chatsfield», sayfa 2

The man’s mouth flattened for a second. ‘I was hidden. In the shadows.’

Orla nodded slowly. Something touched her—as if what he was saying had a deeper resonance. ‘You were…. That’s why I didn’t see you. At first.’

Orla couldn’t stop talking. ‘And then when I did … I couldn’t look away.’

She blushed now and clasped her drink in two hands. ‘But I didn’t want you to think I was encouraging you.’

‘Don’t worry,’ came the dry response. ‘You gave a fairly frosty signal to stay away.’

She looked up, incensed. ‘I’m not frosty!’

He got all heavy-lidded. ‘I know …’

Orla went hot all over. Her nipples ached now they were so tight. Her belly clenched with need. She’d never been this turned on in her life.

The bar space was like a dark decadent cocoon. Orla glanced around and noticed that the table of men had left. So had the amorous couple at the bar. There was only one other remaining older couple, and she hadn’t even noticed. She felt a jolt of shock.

Marco lifted his glass and downed what was left of his drink in one go. For a second Orla had the wrenching sensation that he was going to leave and the feeling of rejection of that idea stunned her. She didn’t even know this man!

He put his glass down and Orla took a quick fortifying sip of hers. He looked at her for a long intense moment and she couldn’t even break the tension because it resonated within her. She wanted this man with an urgency that was completely alien. And thrilling.

His voice was deep. ‘I wanted you from the moment you walked in. I want you so much I ache with it. And I can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman this badly.’

Orla’s mouth went dry. The sum total of their physical contact so far had been his hand on her wrist to restrain her from leaving, but she knew that if he put his mouth anywhere near hers she would go up in flames.

Something about his brutal honesty connected with her. It was so much more seductive than if he’d insisted on some meaningless patter for another half an hour when they both knew that what was happening between them was crazy. Unreal. Unprecedented.

Feeling shaky at the thought of even contemplating what she was contemplating, Orla said, ‘I … I want you too.’

His eyes flashed and the throbbing heat between her legs intensified and she had to fight to stay still when she wanted to move around and ease the ache somehow.

She blurted out, ‘But … I didn’t come down here to meet someone, for a one-night stand.’

He looked deadly serious. ‘I know.’

His eyes on hers, hypnotising her, he said, ‘I’m going to get up and pay for these drinks at the bar. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But if you don’t …’

He didn’t have to finish. If she didn’t … she would spend the night with this man. In his bed. After a long charged moment, he stood up, reminding Orla of just how powerful and tall he was, calling to that deeply feminine part of her that exulted in the sheer biology of a potentially strong and virile mate. She’d never met someone so intensely masculine who made her feel so female.

Then he turned and went to the bar with a fluid grace that made Orla stare after him helplessly. Her mind went into turmoil. She had so much to think about—papers for the meeting tomorrow that she should go over. The reality of facing the demise of her family business. And yet, right here, right now, it all seemed very far away and not that important.

Somehow she got up and grabbed her bag. She was struggling to hang on to sanity, elusive as it was. She felt hot, feverish. Excited, scared. She couldn’t just let this man take her to his room. It was crazy, ridiculous. Dangerous.

Determined not to be led by her suddenly out of control hormones, Orla intended to leave the bar so that when he finished paying she’d be gone.

But just when she drew level with the tables nearest the bar she couldn’t help looking up and her gaze clashed immediately with a dark one reflected in the mirror behind the bar. Her heart stopped. Her breath got short and choppy.

His face was unreadable, those eyes so dark that she couldn’t make out the expression, but she couldn’t look away. Much like when she’d seen him first.

She realised that he’d already paid. He’d been watching her for the past couple of minutes, waiting to see what she’d do. Giving her the chance to go if she wanted to. And suddenly, something deep inside her rebelled. Broke free. She wanted this man so badly she ached all over. So she stood there. Didn’t move. It passed between them, unspoken but there. Yes.

Slowly he turned around and the full force of his physicality hit her between the eyes. Without a word he came towards her and took her free hand in his. Then he led her out of the bar.

In a daze, Orla let him lead her to the lift. Once inside they were alone. To her surprise, he let her go and leant back against the opposite wall. In the brighter lights of the lift he was even more intimidating. His skin was a dark olive, his eyes a very dark brown. For a second sanity threatened to return and then as the lift ascended he said in a low rough voice, ‘Show me your breast.’

His voice was commanding and any remaining sanity melted away and was replaced with heat. For a second Orla couldn’t take in his words and then she followed his gaze and looked down to see where her dress was gaping open slightly, showing skin.

Infused with a heady and hot sense of something very wicked, Orla lifted her hand and slowly pulled one side of the silk dress open, revealing one pale breast. Her fingers brushed against her tingling nipple and she had to bite her lip to stop a sound of reaction coming out of her mouth.

She stared at him, her cheeks burning with a mixture of shame and intoxification. His eyes were black, smouldering, cheekbones darkening with a rush of blood. Her nipple tightened, the aureole puckered.

The lift shuddered lightly to a halt. Marco’s eyes glittered as he dragged his gaze back up. Orla dropped her hand and the dress went back into place. The doors opened and he took her hand again, tightly, leading her out. She almost had to jog to keep up with his much longer stride.

He stopped at the end of the corridor and opened the door with a key card. They went in. Orla dimly registered that the room was palatial and had an astounding view. As soon as the door closed behind them, Marco let Orla’s hand go to rip off his jacket, throwing it in the direction of a chair.

Her back was against the door. He turned to face her and she looked up at him, in awe all over again at his sheer size. He made her feel tiny, delicate. Desire pounded through her in waves.

He stopped for a second and asked tautly, ‘Are you sure you want this?’

Orla had made her decision back in the bar when she’d met that black gaze in the mirror. She swallowed and tried to inject her voice with as much insouciance as she could muster considering this was the boldest thing she’d ever done in her life.

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

CHAPTER TWO

I’M HERE, AREN’T I? The sparky husky words washed over and through Antonio, ratcheting up the exquisite knife-edge of arousal in his body. He’d never been brought so close to the edge before, when he’d barely touched this woman!

For a split second something inside him contracted when he realised just how far out of his zone of control he already was, but he couldn’t focus on it. All he could see was this woman’s, Kate’s, mouth, plump and kissable.

He put his hands on the door over her head, caging her in slightly, angling his body forward. She was looking up at him, eyes huge. Lashes long and dark.

‘Take down your hair.’ He wanted to see it fall around her shoulders.

After a slight hesitation she lifted her hand and huffed slightly. ‘Has anyone told you you’re awfully bossy?’

Antonio’s mouth quirked when he thought of the platoons of elite soldiers he’d commanded. ‘Frequently.’

She pulled at something and then her hair was falling down in soft silken skeins around her shoulders, its colour vivid even in the dim light. Antonio dropped a hand and took some strands between his fingers. He’d never felt anything so fine, so soft. A dim and distant damaged reflex of his memory wanted to break this moment apart but he wouldn’t let it rise. He utilised the exercises that had brought him back from the brink of madness and focused on her, on her smell. Musk and roses. All at once ethereal and earthy.

Unable to resist the torture any longer, he let her hair slide through his hand and trailed his fingers across the delicate line of her jaw. He saw the pulse quicken at the base of her neck and felt his body throb in response.

Tipping her chin up with only the slightest of pressure from his fingers, he dropped his head and his mouth touched hers. Sensations exploded behind his eyes. Hers were still open too, dark blue. He’d noticed that in the lift. Like dark violets. Emitting a growl at his own restraint which was barely hanging on by a thread, he closed his eyes and deepened the kiss, feeling that lush mouth soften even more under his, opening to him, inviting a deeper intimacy.

When their tongues touched it was like an electric shock. He felt small hands reach out to grab his shirt; his chest shuddered at even that fleeting touch. Unable to hold back from what he’d wanted to do all evening, Antonio dropped his other hand and found the gap in the front of Kate’s dress. He slid his hand in and cupped her bare breast, feeling the hard nub scrape his palm, and he felt feral with need, cupping, squeezing that flesh, fingers pinching at the peak, making it harder. Her skin was like silk. Warm and soft.

Through the roaring of blood in his head, he could feel her body moving closer to his, hear her moans coming from deep within her. He caught her round the waist with his arm; she felt tiny and fragile and it called to something deeply masculine within him, a primal part that had gone long unused. The material of her dress was slippery and he pulled her into him, against where his flesh was so stiff and hard.

Orla dragged her mouth from Marco’s and gazed into glittering eyes. She was breathing hard. She was plastered against him, on tiptoe, and she could feel him, long and hard and thick, against her belly. Her mind blanked. She knew he was a big man. But he felt huge. An explosion of damp heat made her even wetter.

He was breathing harshly too, his chest moving rapidly. His hand was still on her breast.

Feeling completely wanton, Orla got out roughly, ‘I want to see you.’ She could give orders too.

Marco drew his hand out from under her dress and Orla had to bite her lip not to grab his hand and put it back on her hot flesh. Slowly he started to undo his buttons and Orla’s eyes followed their progress as his chest was slowly revealed bit by bit. Her eyes widened when he pulled his shirt off completely and it fell to the floor.

Magnificent was too banal a word for the perfection in front of her. He was a warrior. Surely descended from ancient warriors. His chest was massive. Rock-hard. Muscles clearly delineated and rippling. Dark hair dusted his pectorals and descended in a line under the belt of his trousers. Orla’s gaze dropped farther and she saw the bulge pushing against the material. She gulped.

‘Now you,’ came the throaty command.

Orla looked up again. Mouth dry, she reached behind her for the small button at the top of the back of her dress. She released it and held the dress in place for a moment before taking a deep breath and letting it fall forward and down, held in place now only by the belt.

Marco’s gaze felt hot on her skin. Her breast that he’d touched still throbbed.

‘You’re so beautiful.’ He reached out a hand and traced the aureole of her other breast with a finger. Orla bit back a groan, her eyes closing because it was sensory overload to take in both the sight of him and the feel of him. Her skin puckered tight.

And then her eyes flew open and she gasped with shock when she felt the hot sucking heat of his mouth. Orla’s hand went to his head, fingers stabbing deep into thick hair. His skull was hard and his mouth was pure wicked torture. She sagged back against the door, her legs increasingly shaky.

‘Marco …’ she panted. ‘I don’t think I can keep standing.’

Her legs were wobbling in earnest now. He lifted his mouth off her breast and she cursed her weakness. But then he straightened and scooped her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather. She put her hand to his chest, the muscles bunching and moving under her palm. For a woman who prided herself on being strong and authoritative, being held like this struck at that deep feminine chord within her.

He carried her in through the suite to the bedroom where one small lamp was on by the bed. Orla noticed stuff around the place—books, clothes—but she barely took it in; the strength and power in the body that held her was awesome. She faintly wondered if he might be an athlete.

Marco put her down on the bed and trailed his hands down her legs, slipping her shoes off so they fell on the floor with a soft thud. Then those hands came back up her legs and he pushed them apart, standing between them, at the edge of the bed.

Orla’s breath quickened. His hands were on her thighs now, huge. His thumbs climbing higher and higher to where her body would tell him just how badly she wanted him too.

She felt embarrassed by what her body was about to reveal. Impetuously she said, ‘Don’t!’

He stopped. ‘Don’t what?’

Orla turned her head away, desire thick in her body, but feeling exposed in a way she’d never felt before. No man had ever made her feel this out of control.

In a small voice she said, ‘I don’t want you to know….’

‘Know what?’

She looked back at him, the words trembling on her lips—how much I want you—but she held them back, saying instead, huskily, ‘I don’t even know you.’

Marco’s hands didn’t move. He just stared at her in the dim light and then presciently answered her unspoken words. ‘I know…. It’s the same for me.’

He took his hands off her thighs and immediately Orla wanted them back on her. Instead they were on his belt and he was opening it, sliding it through the buckle with a sibilant hiss of leather through fabric. Now he was opening his trousers, hands disappearing under the waist, pushing them down, taking his briefs with them.

All the breath in Orla’s body seemed to disappear as she took him in. Massive and aroused. Moisture beading at the tip of his erection.

‘See …’ he said with a funny tight quality to his voice, ‘how much I want you? It’s mutual.’

He came between her legs again and Orla could only lie back and let him replace his hands on her thighs. They moved upwards until they formed a V at the juncture of her thighs. She fought not to squirm against them, as if to guide him to touch her more intimately.

And then, his eyes smouldering, he pulled aside her panties and stroked his fingers along her very damp cleft. He said something in a language she didn’t understand. It sounded guttural, French. But not like any French she’d ever heard.

She closed her eyes, her entire body going as taut as a bowstring as he stroked her and then slipped a finger inside her. Her back arched off the bed; she gasped out loud, hands clenching at thin air.

He came down beside her, the bed dipping with the weight of his big frame. One finger became two inside her and his mouth found her breast and suckled roughly. Orla wanted to scream. She was spiralling faster and faster towards the peak, her hips jerking against his hand. And without warning it broke over her and inside her, the most powerful orgasm she’d ever experienced. It was so mind-altering that she wondered if what she’d experienced before had even been an orgasm.

Marco’s hand stilled against her as her pulsating body came back to earth. Orla felt disorientated; she opened her eyes and saw him like a Greek god beside her. His hands went to the belt on her dress and he undid it, far more dextrously than Orla would have managed it right now. To her mortification, she knew she was trembling with the force of what had just happened.

Then he was pulling back and tugging her dress down over her hips and off. Now she wore only her panties and he slipped them off too. Orla saw him reach for something and heard a ripping sound. A condom. He was about to smooth it onto his erection and Orla felt a burst of desire. ‘Wait.’

He stopped and looked at her and she could see what pleasuring her had cost him when she could see the sweat on his brow, the strain on his face.

A wicked inner sorceress she’d not known she even had inside her said, ‘Let me.’

Tonight she was Kate. Tonight reality didn’t exist, or it did but it was part of a fantasy she wasn’t even aware existed in her mind. Tonight she could be someone else.

She came up on her knees, thankful that they didn’t collapse because all her limbs felt like jelly. She took the condom out of his fingers and came closer to the edge of the bed. He was so tall that all she had to do was reach out and roll it over that thick length, the veins standing out in bold relief under delicate skin.

Orla bit her lip when she hit the base of his shaft, and then his hands were on her arms and he was gently pushing her back down onto the bed, her legs folding underneath her.

‘Sweetheart, if you keep touching me and looking at me like that, this will be over before we’ve even started. I can’t hold on.’

Marco scooted her back onto the bed, and pushed her legs apart and lowered his body into the cradle of hers. Holding her breath, Orla felt that thick head push into her body, stretching her, impossibly. Even though she couldn’t have been more ready. She sucked in a breath and felt him thrust a little deeper.

‘You’re so small. I don’t want to hurt you.’

He was. Almost. But not quite. Orla was hovering on the threshold between pain and pleasure. She drew up her legs beside his thighs and said, ‘You’re not.’

Something about his concern and the gentleness of someone so huge made Orla feel quivery inside. She wouldn’t have expected it of him from that first intimidating sight of him in the shadows of the bar.

He thrust a little deeper and the pain flared for a second before being replaced with something more tantalising. Slowly, Marco started to move in and out, his chest rubbing against Orla’s breasts, making their sensitised tips tingle.

Her breath got quick again. She moved her legs to wrap them around his hips and he slid deeper. He still wasn’t in all the way though, and he moved his hand between them, his thumb finding that sensitive clump of cells and rubbing rhythmically against her, making her moan.

And then he slanted his mouth over hers, and as if a dam broke within her, Orla felt something release, and Marco slid deep inside her, touching every single nerve point in her body. Or at least that was what it felt like.

Her legs tightened reflexively around Marco’s lean waist, her body spasmed with a rush of pleasure and as he thrust in and out their tongues sucked and licked and tasted. They were joined at every possible point and Orla truly didn’t know where she ended and he began because it felt for the first time in her life as if she was whole, as if a missing part of her had slid home.

The tempo increased and Orla could feel her body clasping at him with the onset of another orgasm, even more powerful than the last. Their bodies grew slick with perspiration. Orla dug her heels into Marco’s hard muscled backside and with a strangled roar he thrust one final time, the tendons in his neck standing out as they both hovered on the brink of something earth-shattering. And when it hit them simultaneously, it was like a force of nature, sweeping everything aside, obliterating any previous experience in the blinding white heat of pleasure.

Antonio blacked out for a moment. Literally lost consciousness. And then came back to himself within seconds, breathing harshly, his body embedded in Kate’s … held in her tight clasp. He could still feel the spasmodic pulsations of her inner body around his length and extricated himself with a wince of pain and pleasure.

He looked at the woman under him; she was staring up at him with the same stunned expression that he figured was on his face.

He rasped out, ‘OK?’

Silently, she nodded. Her cheeks were flushed, hair a tangle of glorious red around her head. Antonio found it within himself to move so that he could pull the covers over her. And then he said, ‘I’ll be back in a second.’

He stood up, and to his consternation, his legs felt distinctly weak as he walked to the bathroom where he dealt with the protection. He stood at the sink afterwards and looked at himself. His face was flushed too, eyes glittering brightly. But he felt altered in some indefinable way. Which was crazy. It had been sex. Just sex. The hottest sex he’d ever had, a small voice pointed out. Even so, it was just sex.

He’d hooked up with women like that many times before, preferring short encounters with mature, experienced, willing females with no strings attached. This was no different. They hadn’t even told each other their real names, for crying out loud! But it felt different. He rubbed absently at his chest where he felt an ache growing and frowned at himself. Splashing water on his face, he cursed this moment of introspection and went back into the room to see Kate on her side, curled up, facing away from the bathroom. And the ache in his chest intensified. Had he hurt her? She was so small.

He padded over and pulled back the cover, sliding into the bed. He saw her shoulders tense and something in him rejected that. He needed to see her. He put a hand on her shoulder, feeling the delicate bones, and tugged gently. After some resistance, she rolled over, holding the sheet over her chest.

She was pale now, biting her lip. Eyes huge. Antonio felt a punch to his gut. ‘Did I hurt you?’

She shook her head and said in a low voice, ‘No. It’s just … I’ve never … It’s never been like that. For me. So intense.’

Relief made the feeling in Antonio’s gut subside. He couldn’t help a small smile as he automatically reached out to push some hair back from her smooth cheek. ‘Me too.’

She narrowed her eyes then and said with a touch of acerbity, ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

Antonio looked at her. ‘And I bet you say that to all the guys.’

She shrugged a shoulder minutely. ‘Maybe.’

A lightness infused the atmosphere now, dispelling the intensity of a few moments ago, and Antonio growled softly, ‘You’ll pay for that.’

And then the implication of what she’d just said hit him and suddenly the thought of another man touching her made him see red. It made him gather her into his body and clamp his mouth to hers with a feral sound from deep within him. He didn’t want her to think of any other man after tonight. Only him. He wanted to brand himself on her.

With a soft sigh he felt her resistance melt away as their kisses got more and more heated, the fire in their bodies igniting again. The sheet was quickly dispensed with and Antonio drew Kate’s slim supple body over his, spreading her thighs either side of him.

Urgently before he donned protection he asked, ‘Are you too sore?’

Kate had her hands braced on his chest, her arms pushing her small pert breasts together and forward. Everything in Antonio was screaming for release. Already. Again. It made him nervous because he couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before, but he couldn’t think about that now.

She shook her head, tendrils of hair slipping over her shoulders like flames of fire. She moved back, teased him with her body. Antonio put on the protection, his hands uncustomarily clumsy, and then slowly, torturously, exquisitely, brought Kate down onto his aching shaft.

He saw stars as her tight damp sheath took him in. He saw the fierce concentration on her face, their eyes locked. And then she started to move against him and Antonio could do nothing but submit and surrender to the wild ride once again.

When Orla woke up, tendrils of the dawn light illuminated the room in a faint pink glow. Birds tweeted, and through the open curtains she realised there was a terrace outside the bedroom. A very opulent and luxurious bedroom. Not her bedroom. His bedroom.

A Chatsfield bedroom with its signature bespoke furnishings.

It all came rushing back. Along with the realisation that her body ached all over and she was tender between her legs. Very tender. She blushed to think of taking him into her body, how big he’d been. How good it had felt.

Orla held her breath and turned her head. Marco lay beside her; they weren’t touching. His huge body was in a louche sprawl, completely naked. Wide awake now, Orla came up gingerly on one arm, wincing as muscles protested.

They’d made love over and over again. And each time had felt like she was falling deeper and deeper into a vortex of need. Even now, as her gaze drifted over his face, she felt that need rising. In spite of the tenderness between her legs. She’d take that burn again.

A shadow of stubble darkened his hard jaw. He appeared no less intimidating in repose. Just as fierce. Orla’s eyes widened though as she looked down his body and saw a veritable patchwork of scars and marks. There was a bunch of very distinctive circular puckerings of flesh around his pectorals. She mustn’t have noticed them before because it had been dark—she blushed—and she’d been too intent on succumbing to the most intense desire she’d ever felt.

There was a tattoo high on the biceps of the arm nearest her. It looked like a coat of arms. He had the body of an elite athlete … or a warrior. Her impression of last night came back, even more forcibly in the light of dawn, gazing at his scarred body. Literally from neck to knee, there were all kinds of marks—healed cuts, stitch marks. Those mysterious circular shapes.

There was a particularly ugly gash around one muscular thigh that looked as if it had healed badly.

For the first time Orla had a very real sense of just how irresponsible she’d been. Maybe he was some kind of criminal? The thought sent shock waves through her body as she recalled how he’d been hidden in the shadows of the bar. How he’d come over and stopped her from leaving. How easily he’d enraptured her. She’d barely put up a modicum of resistance!

She gazed around the room. Something cold went through her as she took in details. It looked lived in. Books. An old edition of Aesop’s Fables stood out oddly amongst them. Clothes. Paraphernalia. More than an overnight visitor like herself. She’d noticed it last night but hadn’t really taken it in.

The assertion took root. He was living here.

Who was this man? A sense of urgency gripped her now. She had to get away. She’d almost forgotten entirely why she was even in the Chatsfield Hotel. How could she have forgotten? She’d never allowed herself to get so sidetracked from work before.

Ashamed and angry with herself for being so impetuous, so selfish, Orla slid off the bed as quietly as she could. To her intense relief, Marco didn’t move. She was terrified that he’d wake. That he’d open those dark compelling eyes and she’d be lost again. Orla picked up her dress and pulled it on with trembling hands.

She found her bag. No matter how hard she searched though, she couldn’t find her panties. Marco moved minutely on the bed and Orla’s gaze froze on that huge rangy body. With sick fascination she couldn’t help looking at the most potently masculine part of him. Even in sleep he was awe-inspiring. He moved again and panic took her breath. She had to leave now before he woke. Wrenching her gaze away from the sleeping man, she turned and went to the bedroom door.

Unable to help herself though, she stopped at the door and looked back. A fierce tug of something that felt awfully like regret made an emotion she didn’t like to name rise up within her. Before it could surface she clamped down on it and turned away again and left the suite. It was only as she was walking down the corridor that she realised she’d left her shoes and the belt of her dress behind, along with her missing panties.

Exactly four hours later Orla was tapping her pen impatiently on the thick blotting paper pad that sat in front of her on the table. Her legs were crossed under the thick varnished oak table in the conference room and her leg jigged back and forth nervously. Even though the room was modestly sized, there any comparison to a normal hotel conference room ended. It exuded plush luxury. Everything one might require for a meeting was there, but discreetly tucked away so nothing jarred. Orla’s nose wrinkled. She’d noticed a scent in the air when she’d checked in yesterday but then had forgotten about it when she’d been so effectively distracted.

But now she noticed it again and suspected waspishly that the Chatsfield Hotels must pump their signature scent throughout their premises, thereby increasing the whole Chatsfield experience. It was a smart strategy. Smell was well known to be one of the more powerfully evocative senses, and so by having a scent that linked people’s memories indelibly to you was prime subliminal advertising. She’d looked into it for their own hotels but it would have been too expensive.

The Kennedy Group solicitor checked at his watch again and his counterpart across the table said smoothly, ‘I’m assured that Mr Chatsfield is on his way, and as I’ve said, he regrets keeping you waiting.’

Orla huffed. She just bet he did. No doubt this was part of the strategy to let them know how weak they were and who was the power player here. It didn’t help, of course, that she felt woefully underprepared considering her very out of character sexual adventures last night with a complete stranger who could very well be some kind of underground criminal or a mercenary.