by Nicola Marsh
That was when he sucked the sensitive nub of nerve endings into his mouth and bit gently. She came apart on a raw, primitive yell that raised the hairs on his arms. So fucking hot.
When his tongue darted out to lave her clit again she trembled and scooted down his body.
‘You are a master at that,’ she said, her expression of bliss making him grin. ‘Condom?’
‘In my wallet. Left pocket of my jacket.’ He made to get up and she pushed him back down.
‘Let me.’
Thankfully, she made quick work of finding it while he unzipped and pushed his jeans and jocks down. It would’ve taken too long to get undressed completely and with the taste of her still on his tongue he needed to be inside her now.
Sensing his urgency, she rolled the condom on with skilful precision, her firm grip reminding him of the way she’d handled him in the hotel, the way her mouth had felt on him...
‘I need to fuck you,’ he said, reaching for her, but she slapped his hands away.
‘Put them back behind your head,’ she said, swinging a leg over him. ‘I’m calling the shots.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he drawled, doing as he was told and settling back into this real-life fantasy of having this sexy, uninhibited woman taking what she wanted.
‘That’s better,’ she said, positioning her pussy over his cock before slowly lowering herself.
She’d only taken him in an inch and he gritted his teeth against the urge to drive upward. With deliberate slowness she peeled her T-shirt up, revealing those beautiful breasts and rigid nipples that begged to be sucked.
‘I want to taste you, to touch you—’
He bit off the rest of what he was going to say when she impaled herself on him, taking him in to the hilt. Enclosed in velvet heat, he found he had nothing else to say as she started to move up and down, riding him with a resoluteness that soon had his hips bucking of their own accord.
‘If I can’t touch you, you do it,’ he growled, thrusting up as she drove down, the delicious friction sending him nuts.
‘I’m the one in charge but I’ll give you this one.’ She slid her hands up her torso until they cupped her tits, before proceeding to tweak her nipples, rolling them between her thumbs and forefingers.
‘Fuck yeah, just like that.’
His throat tightened with lust and he bordered on panting as she licked one thumb, then the other, before resuming plucking at her nipples.
‘Fuck me,’ he muttered, his balls tightening in pre-release.
‘Only because you asked so nicely,’ she purred, jamming down onto him with renewed vigour until he was blinded to everything but her.
When she reached down to touch herself she grazed his cock with a fingertip and he fell into the abyss, coming with a ferocity that tore a shout from deep within.
She followed him a second later, their cries mingling and echoing as the spasms subsided. She collapsed forward onto him, her hair tickling his nose, but he didn’t push it aside. He liked having his face covered so she couldn’t read his expression.
He didn’t want her seeing the longing.
Longing that he could prolong this mind-blowing physical connection they shared beyond a few weeks.
Ironic that he’d blasted away the maudlin thoughts about his dad with a rousing bout of scintillating sex, but in doing so he’d come to a startling realisation.
He could never have a long-term relationship with Hope, with any woman, but for the first time ever he would miss this when it ended.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HOPE STOOD IN the middle of her new recording studio and spun a slow three-sixty.
Magnificent.
It was everything she’d imagined and more, and she couldn’t wait to thank Logan in person. He’d worked a small miracle in getting his crew to finish the renovations in just over a week, giving her the opportunity to kick-start her dream sooner rather than later.
It went some way to earning her forgiveness, considering he’d snuck out of her apartment in the early hours of the morning three nights ago, leaving nothing but a barely legible scrawled note.
Crazy, considering she was the one who usually absconded from a guy’s bed to avoid any mushy stuff the morning after. But the sex with Logan had been incredible and she’d wanted more, so finding he had gone had left her oddly deflated. He’d loved it when she’d taken charge and it had got her off in a way she’d never imagined. As she’d tumbled into sleep she’d expected to wake next to the sexiest man alive and do it all over again. Instead, she’d found he was gone in the morning.
They’d spoken twice on the phone since: the first time when she’d rung him to ask why he’d snuck out early and he’d cited work as a lame excuse she had no option but to accept in order not to appear like a clingy girlfriend; the second when she’d called to invite him out to dinner tonight, when she intended to present him with her surprise.
It had been ingrained in her from childhood that doing something special as a thank you would ensure you were remembered.
With what she’d bought Logan, she hoped he’d never forget her. They might have put an expiration date on this fling from the start, and she might have gone into this with her eyes wide open, but now that his impending departure grew closer she couldn’t help but feel a tad lost.
Because another thought struck her as she checked out her new studio. Had he instructed his crew to finish this job sooner rather than later because he couldn’t wait to get away?
His motivation for finishing ahead of schedule shouldn’t bother her, but it did. It made her second-guess her decision-making. She’d wanted a hot fling, and she’d got one, but had lines blurred somewhere along the way? Had she invested more than her body?
She didn’t like the implications of that, not one bit. She’d never trust a guy with her heart again. But what if it was too late?
Her mood soured so she did what she always did when confronted with something unpleasant: drew her shoulders back, lifted her head and focussed on the positive.
Starting with dinner tonight.
Logan had said he’d meet her at the Melba Room, the Langham’s signature restaurant that boasted fabulous views of the city and equally fabulous food. She’d quelled her initial disappointment at not travelling to dinner together, ignoring the niggle at the back of her mind that insisted he had already started distancing himself. Though it was more than a niggle, considering the way he’d snuck out of her place the other morning. Maybe he’d already started laying the groundwork then and that was the real reason he’d absconded before dawn.
Or maybe he knew she was a phoney.
She hated herself for not owning up that she’d been awake when he’d called his dad. She’d felt him watching her so had pretended to sleep, waiting for him to come to her, willing him to kiss her awake, sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bedroom. But when she’d overheard his phone call, she’d realised he’d been checking up on her to ensure he wouldn’t be disturbed.
Considering what he’d told her it had been a momentous step to contact his dad, and she hadn’t wanted to get in the middle of all that, so she’d feigned sleep after he’d hung up, waiting a few moments before entering the bedroom. He’d appeared startled to see her and in that split second between her opening the bedroom door and seeing his stricken expression she’d known what he needed.
Someone to distract him, to take away the pain and focus on the good stuff, so she’d released her inner vamp and gone for it. The sex had been phenomenal as a result but when she’d woken to his terse note she’d cried a little.
The tears had been for him and the upcoming confrontation with his father and nothing at all to do with acknowledging she already cared too much for this man and wished she could be there for him while he went through the impending emotional upheaval. Yeah, right.
As she entered the r
estaurant, she spied him at the cosy corner table for two that she’d requested when she’d made the booking. She wanted privacy tonight for what had to be said.
The hostess led her to the table and it gave her a few brief moments to study him. His handsome profile: strong jaw; long eyelashes; slight bump on the bridge of his nose that prevented him from being too perfect. An accident with a hammer in his apprentice days, he’d explained when she’d asked about it. She’d traced that bump with her fingertip before kissing it. And she yearned to explore every inch of him with her mouth again.
The first song she’d written the other night had been about him. ‘Yearning’. Because that was what he made her feel. He’d never know it, but she’d never felt like this about any guy, and by pouring her soul into her music she had some chance of getting him out of her system when he left.
She might not be willing to trust him fully with her heart but she hoped that after tonight she would’ve taken the first monumental step to admitting that maybe, just maybe, she might be willing to try.
He chose that moment to glance up and their gazes locked, the instant sizzle of heat arcing between them tugging them together like an invisible string.
Right then, she knew she had no chance in hell of a song helping her forget him.
Resisting the urge to smooth down her chartreuse silk halter dress, she fixed an upbeat smile on her face and strode towards him. His gaze started at her coral-painted toenails and travelled upward in a slow, languorous sweep that made her skin prickle with heat.
He stood when she reached the table and kissed her cheek. ‘You look amazing.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, fighting a rising blush and losing as he pulled out her chair, waiting until she sat before sliding it in.
‘Do you always dine in fancy places like this?’ He gestured at the elaborate buffet featuring mouth-watering cuisines from around the world.
‘Frequently. I like feeling special.’
It sounded lame but she couldn’t tell him the real reason: that cooking for one lost its appeal fast and coming here reminded her of visiting the Langham in London with her parents every birthday. They might’ve ignored her for most of the year but they’d always made a big fuss on her birthday and being here helped her focus on good memories rather than bad.
‘A classy woman like you deserves that.’
The compliment sounded offhand but it wasn’t the first time he’d alluded to the supposed class divide between them. Considering the gift she intended to give him, it needed to be addressed.
‘Do you think there’s some kind of socio-economic gap between us?’
His eyebrows shot up and he held up his hands. ‘Whoa. That’s heavy talk on an empty stomach.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘That’s because it’s irrelevant.’ He shrugged, his nonchalance forced, considering the way his fingers gripped the water glass in his right hand. ‘We’re having fun. So what if you’re the English princess slumming it with the Aussie builder?’
She was right and it annoyed her that he thought he was her plaything when he was so much more. She hoped her gift would prove that. ‘Technically you’re a CEO and I’m certainly not “slumming it”.’
He laughed at her overt snootiness, which completely undermined her refuting the ‘princess’ tag. ‘Hey, it’s okay. We’ve got a good thing going on. Don’t let the motivation get in the way of a good...fuck.’
He’d been about to say something else and the fact he’d ended with deliberate crudeness while unable to meet her gaze told her so.
‘Pity there hasn’t been much of that going on this week.’ She met his gaze boldly, challenging him to tell her the truth about why he’d left in the wee small hours several days ago. ‘I didn’t like waking to find you gone.’
He grimaced and swiped a hand over his face. It didn’t eradicate the tension bracketing his mouth nor the creases around his eyes. ‘Sorry. I needed to be on the job site early to personally oversee a delivery.’
His guileless smile didn’t fool her for a second. ‘But you’re pleased with the results and the fact we finished ahead of schedule, yeah?’
‘I’m thrilled.’
He’d given her the perfect segue so she slid her hand into her bag to grab the box. ‘And, to show you how much I appreciate the amazing job you’ve done, here’s a little something to say thanks.’
She handed him the gift-wrapped box, hoping he liked it. She’d never bought a gift for a...lover before. Heck, it felt weird labelling him that, even in her head. But what was he? More than a friend, less than a boyfriend—lover seemed to fit even if they hadn’t done much of the physical loving this week, worse luck.
‘You didn’t have to do this,’ he said, taking the gift tentatively, as if handling a ticking bomb. ‘I provided a service for you, nothing more.’
Even though he was referring to renovating her studio, that stung. Was that how he viewed their relationship too?
Swallowing her disappointment, she pointed at the box. ‘Go ahead, open it.’
He took a painstakingly long time tugging on the crimson bow, sliding his thumb beneath the tape on either side before lifting the wrapping and finally undoing it completely. He slid the box out and smoothed the embossed ebony gift-wrap, as if he didn’t want to open the box.
Hope bit down on her bottom lip to stop from blurting, ‘hurry up.’ She held her breath when he finally lifted the hinged lid on the box.
When he caught a glimpse of the gift inside, his jaw dropped.
‘This is too much.’ He shook his head, a disapproving frown slashing his brows as he placed the box on the table and nudged it towards her with his forefinger. ‘I can’t accept this.’
The breath she’d been holding whooshed out in disappointment as he averted his gaze from her and the box, his mouth compressed into an unimpressed line, his eyes narrowed.
He didn’t like it.
‘I bought it for you. I can’t return it—’
‘Yes, you can.’ He snapped the box shut so loud she jumped. ‘You’ve spent twenty grand on a watch for me and you don’t think that’s over the top?’
‘I can afford it...’ She trailed off, realising her mistake when he pushed his chair back from the table and stood, his expression resigned.
‘I can’t do this, Hope.’ He held up his hands as he backed away. ‘The fancy restaurant, the expensive watch...this isn’t me.’
To her mortification tears sprung to her eyes and he muttered, ‘Fuck,’ when he saw them.
‘I have to go. I’m sorry,’ he said, spinning on his heel and striding towards the steps leading to the marble exit.
She wanted to go after him, to explain how they were more alike than he thought, two loners with major trust issues searching for a way to fulfil an emptiness in their lives for however long it lasted.
She wanted to tell him that the watch was nothing more than a thank-you gift and it was more than she’d given any guy since Willem.
She wanted to assure him that she had the end date in sight too, that no man could convince her to put her heart on the line ever again, that she didn’t want anything from him bar his body.
But she didn’t.
She reached for the watch, placed the box in her bag and gestured a waiter over.
She would order the most expensive wine on the menu, choose her favourite dishes and finish with a melt-in-the-mouth crème brûlée.
She might have the safety net of her grandmother’s trust fund, but she made her own money and spent it the way she wanted to, and she’d be damned if some guy with a hang-up would make her feel guilty for enjoying the spoils of her success.
And she sure as hell wouldn’t have her memories of this wonderful place ruined by an insensitive clod.
Time enough to kick his ass later.
CHAPTER NINET
EEN
LOGAN HAD ACTED like an asshole yet again. But that fucking watch had been a trigger for a deeply repressed anger, even if Hope didn’t know it.
The moment he’d lifted the lid on that box and seen the glittering silver and gold wristband, the mother-of-pearl face with exquisitely detailed numbers, he’d been catapulted back in time to his fourteenth birthday.
Stephen had actually come home for once, making a special trip for his birthday. Logan had been annoyed and ecstatic simultaneously: annoyed that his mum would spiral yet again when Stephen left and ecstatic because his dad might love him after all. Because his present proved it, right?
They’d never had a lot of money so when his dad had gifted him a shiny new watch that had cost more than the family’s second-hand car Logan had been blown away. He’d considered that watch a symbol of hope, that if his dad could afford something so expensive he must finally be succeeding with his career and would be home more often.
His euphoria had lasted a week.
Not only had Stephen left in the middle of the night, he’d taken Logan’s prized watch with him.
His note had been brief: he had a golden opportunity to travel to New Zealand to do a stand-up show in Wellington that could propel his career internationally, but he couldn’t afford the airfare so needed to pawn the watch, promising to get it back as soon as he had the money.
Logan never saw the watch again.
And he hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t wanted tangible proof that his father was a shallow, narcissistic bastard who only cared about his own needs and didn’t give a flying fuck about his son or wife.
That had been the beginning of the end for Logan. On his father’s next visit home, Logan had made himself scarce. He hadn’t been able to stomach seeing the man who had killed his dreams of actually having a father who cared; and who’d eventually killed his mum too with his callous disregard.
Seeing Hope’s gift brought all the old resentment flooding back.
Was her gift a way to buy his affection too?