by JC Harroway
Instead of his being appeased, his jaw clenches. ‘Women don’t normally run from my bed.’
I bet they don’t.
‘Is that what’s bothering you?’ My eyes flick to his crotch—I can’t help myself—to his magnificent, proud cock, and my internal muscles flutter, keen for more.
He tosses the towel and I drag my eyes from his cock. It’s long and thick against his thigh and if I closed my eyes I could conjure how he felt moving inside me. ‘I didn’t run. We were done.’
His eyes narrow, brows pinched together. He looks like I stole his line, like the clichéd role reversal is freaking him out.
I stifle my smile. ‘No one’s ever got up and left you after sex before?’ I ask, but I know the answer. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want as much of Kit Faulkner as they could get?
But I’m different.
‘I told you—I don’t do relationships. Cuddling, sleepovers...that’s for lovers, couples.’ My last word tastes bulky in my mouth as if I’ll never be able to swallow it down. I glance around the room for signs of his wife—more pictures, her perfume still on the dresser, clothes in the wardrobe—and then snap my eyes back to him when I realise what I’m doing.
I’m greeted with his silence and the hard stare. Why is he so offended? It’s just sex.
‘Why have you never had a relationship?’
Of course he would be that blunt. That direct. I shrug, ignoring the tension across my shoulders and at the back of my neck. ‘It’s just too time-consuming.’ Too permanent. ‘Work has me travelling a lot. Casual works best for me.’
My eyes burn with the force of holding his inscrutable stare. Our reasons for avoiding commitment may be different, but in practice we’re the same.
‘So you’ve never been tempted, not once?’ He folds his arms across his chest, rubbing at his bottom lip with one thumb and forefinger.
I wish he’d put some clothes on... Do I? Really?
‘I came close to something serious at uni. But it didn’t work out. I’m too flighty, too...busy, I guess.’ I look away from his penetrating eyes to Bob—my distraction and my escape plan.
‘Anyway, I’m going to take Bob here for a walk. That should give you enough time to shower. We’ll talk about a work schedule when I get back.’
With a lazy smile that hints he’s seen through my flimsy excuses, Kit stretches his arms above his head, gripping the doorframe so his thick biceps bulge and his abs contract as his cock jerks back to life. ‘Why don’t you join me?’ A sleepy smile. A sexy head-tilt.
Before I can answer, the smile slides from his face and that look of regret returns to his eyes. ‘Still casual.’
He’s serious.
The throb is back between my legs. I force myself immobile, breathing through the urge to do just that. My brain panics around inside my skull. He’s looking at me as if mentally stripping me. Like I’d be looking at him if he weren’t already naked.
No. No. And hell, no.
I laugh to fill the silence.
My throat is dry so I swallow the saliva pooled in my mouth. I assumed once the sex was behind us this pull would abate, but despite feeling like an intruder in his home, despite the shadows Kit hasn’t quite chased away from his stare, my lady parts love the idea of mutual showering with sexy, no-strings Kit.
‘You kind of cheated me, after all,’ he adds, releasing the doorframe but still in no hurry to cover his fantastic body.
I waiver, the arguments becoming more obscure. ‘I did?’ No way does he need to coax and cajole women into morning-after sex—if they last that long. His photo-ready physique is enough temptation.
Plus, he delivers. Astoundingly. In multiples. Another slug of hormones weakens my resolve. But I conceded to him enough last night. And that cloud behind his stare... How long will I be able to ignore it before it blurs the lines? Before it drags me under? Already I’m burning with curiosity about Laura. How she died. What it did to him. Could he ever get over such a loss? Why I even care...?
‘No way.’ My fingers toy with Bob’s silky ear—flip-flap, flip-flap. ‘We had a deal. I kept my side of it. Time to pay up, Mr Faulkner.’
‘Scared?’ A derisive lip-curl—he’s good at those too.
You bet. Way too tempting.
I lift my chin. ‘Of what?’
He shrugs. ‘I’m stark bollock naked, inviting you into my shower. Your nipples are practically breaking out of that top, your eyes are full of that excitement you love so much and yet you’re fully clothed and about to run.’
I splutter, ‘I am not. Your dog needs exercise, and I have work to do. No more bending me to your will until you’ve paid up with your co-operation.’
‘Bending you to my will...?’ His brows pinch and a playful smile dances on his sinful mouth. ‘You didn’t enjoy yourself last night?’ He stalks closer, as self-assured as if he wore one of his immaculate suits. He folds his arms over his chest and plants his feet wide as if he’s fully dressed while he man-spreads.
I fight the urge to drop to my knees, swallow him the way he swallowed me last night and wipe the cocky smile from his face. I shrug, scratching at Bob’s neck to combat the urge to fidget. ‘I like sex. It’s not a crime.’
His eyes narrow and he rubs his bottom lip, as if I’m a puzzling conundrum, one of those brain-twister 3D puzzles to be teased apart. ‘You sure I can’t persuade you to reconsider?’
I snort, shaking my head and looking away, because he’s close enough I can see the sparks of blue flame in his eyes, the other darker emotions absent. His bed, the starkly white linens rumpled, inviting and probably still warm from the heat of his body, is two steps away.
My body starts to sway towards his, although my feet remain glued to the spot. And then the photos flash into my lust-fogged mind. Kit with his wife. Kit with his brothers. Kit with his dog.
A shiny, happy family life. He and his wife probably would have gone on to have shiny, happy children had she lived long enough. Would Kit’s children bear the Faulkner resemblance he and his brothers share?
The skin-prickling restlessness I’ve had since my plane touched down at Heathrow returns. I try to think about my appearance as little as possible because thinking about my looks, so different from my adoptive family’s, leads to wondering where they come from, and that rabbit hole is infinitely deep and dark and full of unknowns.
I hate to concede, but Kit is right. The violent chemistry hasn’t gone away. The pretty constant buzz between my legs is fully on Kit’s side. But it makes no difference. We had sex. Just sex. And now I have a job to do before I move on. End of the Kit and Mia story.
‘What my body may or may not want right now is irrelevant.’ I toss the statement at him and the dog whines. I drop my voice, soothing Bob with gentle strokes to his head, although I’m probably sucking up more comfort than I’m imparting. ‘The point is, you’re trying to get out of today, and that’s not cool, Faulkner.’
He frowns, annoyance tightening his mouth. ‘You know, that name really doesn’t do it for me.’
‘No?’ I drag my eyes back to his, away from the temptation of his lips. ‘It’s a Kiwi thing, I guess. Most men I know wouldn’t bat an eyelid.’
He steps closer and my insides tremble. I should have left five minutes ago. I’m certain he’s still hard. That his offer still stands. That it would be so easy to give in...
Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
‘I’d prefer to hear something else when you address me.’
Pompous dick.
‘Such as?’
Another step. My neck cranes back as I maintain the eye contact that’s preventing me from touching him. Preventing me rolling around naked with him for the rest of the day.
Kit shrugs, his heated eyes only leaving mine to trace my parted lips before returning. ‘Kit. Yes! More! Or even I’m coming w
ill do.’
I shake my head, beyond tempted to silence his conceited drivel with a kiss. But it wouldn’t end there; my fizzing blood and galloping pulse tell me how close to danger I am. He’s not distracting me from work today, not with his fantastic body or his sexual commands. Not even with his beautiful dog...
‘Well, Kit,’ I step back, away from his body heat. Away from temptation, ‘as soon as I’ve walked your poor, under-exercised pet, I’m going to Bounty Events. With or without you.’
I stride from the bedroom, furious with my body’s weakness. While I battle my hormones into submission, I retrace my footsteps down the hallway with an excited Bob at my heels, snatch up the brown leather lead I’d spied hanging from some hooks just inside the entranceway and grab the house key.
‘Mia.’
I spin around.
He’s still naked, but now he’s wearing a wide, cocky grin, as if he knows he’s rattled me. ‘The dog-walker will be here in,’ he looks down at his watch, ‘ten minutes.’
It’s beyond infantile but I give him the finger and storm out with my new four-legged friend to hit the bustling streets of Chelsea.
CHAPTER SIX
Kit
WHEN SHE RETURNS with Bob, I’m dressed and finishing a bowl of cereal. Her cheeks are a fetching shade of pink as if she’s enjoyed herself. An urgent need kicks me below the belt—I want to be the one to show the intriguing Mia here a good time. To show her the sights of London. To impress her, because I already know it’s no easy feat—convention won’t cut it.
I snort—fucking jealous of my own dog. I’m clearly still hungover from the sex or something...
I remember my manners and raise the bowl in offering. ‘Would you like some cereal?’ I wince. What a moron; I should make her some lunch, but I’ve no idea what’s in the cupboards. Ronnie, my long-suffering housekeeper, has given up trying to feed me, claiming it’s wasteful to throw food away week after week.
Mia shakes her head. ‘No, thank you.’
Perhaps she’s already eaten lunch, still on New Zealand time. Now I wish I’d dragged my unmotivated arse out of bed and accompanied Mia and Bob on their walk. We could have stopped at the bistro at the end of my street for brunch—they do an excellent eggs Florentine and I could have dug into the fascinating Mia while she tucked into the food. Perhaps that would have put some more colour into her flawless skin and sated my urge to continue fucking her.
I swallow, my breakfast souring. It’s still there in the crackle in the air between us. Chit-chat, getting to know her, caring was not part of our arrangement. But she’s in my home, working for my family business—I have an obligation to vet her and look out for her welfare.
Yeah, arsehole—that’s what you’re interested in...
At the thought of last night, my dick tingles. I should be over this need by now, moving into the phase of polite indifference. But I’m still sporting the semi she left me with, the disappointment that she turned me down an itch beneath my skin I can’t shake. Of course her talk about casual sex didn’t help—all that did was sharpen my vision every time I look at her, as if, if I’m patient enough, observant enough, I’ll figure out her every nuance.
Who is this woman my brothers have forced into my nice, orderly, defunct life? And what the hell am I going to do with her, because the sex sure as shit isn’t over.
Mia’s still fidgeting, but this time it’s with Bob’s ear.
‘A dog-lover, eh?’
She shrugs, looking down at Bob with something close to adoration, her face as serene as I’ve seen it. ‘I prefer dogs to most people. They’re always so genuine, so happy to see you.’
As if he senses she’s talking about him, Bob looks up at her, wags his tail and then slinks off to his water bowl for a noisy drink before returning to Mia’s side to sit at her feet with canine devotion.
Traitor.
One walk in the park and Bob’s ready to swear undying loyalty. Of course, my still buzzed body tells me the intriguing Mia has had a similar effect on me, albeit a purely physical one. Because that is all I have to offer.
I can’t blame Bob. He’s Laura’s dog. Puppy Bob was my wedding present to her and she was at home with him more. Of course, when we travelled together Bob came everywhere with us—canal boating, walking holidays in the Lake District, Christmas in Scotland. Even when Laura and I travelled abroad, Bob would visit Laura’s parents’ farm in Norfolk. No boarding kennels for Laura’s pampered pooch.
But I don’t do those things any more. Bob’s life has shrunk too.
Remembering my wife, remembering what a home bird she was, how she loved nothing better than curling up on the sofa with Bob and me on a Sunday afternoon to watch some old movie, the sappier the better, my appetite deserts me completely.
I clatter my unfinished cereal into the sink.
Bob looks up at Mia as if she has all the answers. I will a calming breath into my lungs and feast on her instead of soggy cereal. I too find Ms Abbott fascinating. Today she’s wearing a bungee T-shirt with the words Life Without Risk emblazoned across her breasts. She’s heaped her hair up into one of those messy topknot things and escaped wisps kiss her high cheeks and pale, slender neck.
I turn to the sink, adjusting my cock. My libido, not satisfied with last night’s ball-shrivelling session, would happily follow Mia anywhere, sniffing at her heels, just like Bob.
‘Do you own a dog? Back in New Zealand?’
Looks like I’m going with the chit-chat after all.
I rinse the bowl clean and put it on the drainer then dry my hands.
She nods, wary. She probably thinks I’m still trying to stall on my side of the deal. But what do I care if she wants to film what we offer our clients? More importantly, if she’s going to be around, if she’s done screwing me, I’ll have to come up with some strategy for keeping my hands off her. The itch intensifies and I rub at my lip for something else to do with my hands. Would Mia welcome the continuation of our temporary arrangement? I swallow down the thud that beats in my throat and focus on Mia’s full mouth while I wait for her answer.
‘She’s getting old now—a Labrador. And my brother—you met him last night—has a Maltese terrier.’
I nod, although her brother and I hardly met. I simply called to invite his sister out for sex.
Arsehole...
She stoops next to Bob and unclips the strange harness I’ve only just registered he’s wearing.
‘What’s that?’
She stands up, folding the straps into a tight ball and fastening them with Velcro while a flush colours her face. ‘I... I filmed our walk. Well, Bob filmed it. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just such a lovely day out and I... Sometimes the most unusual technique yields the best footage. A dog’s eye view of Chelsea, if you like.’
The hairs on my body stand to attention, as if I have Spidey-sense and I’m about to face a baddie. But the baddie is me. Have I inadvertently neglected poor, ownerless Bob? Is there a gaping hole in his life?
My throat is tight but I manage a gruff croak. ‘Can I see?’
She eyes me with hesitation. But then, perhaps remembering I’m in charge of the company and she’s a contractor or that she just kidnapped my dog and used him to capture unique film footage, she fishes the small, handheld action camera from her back pocket.
I step close enough to see the small screen, the fresh-air, outdoorsy scent of her gusting my way. She fumbles with the buttons. Affected by my proximity, or afraid she’s crossed a line by dog-napping Bob...?
Both her discomfort and her proximity wash over me, a cloud of heat that fans my libido higher while I watch the short film featuring familiar streets near my home—the high street with its trendy shops, bars and cafes, the park, my street—all viewed from Bob’s level. At one point Bob lunges for a pigeon, his favourite sport, and I laugh at the close-up footage. It�
��s charming and quirky—a different way of seeing the familiar—just like Mia.
I suck in a big breath laced with this unusual woman. My fingers curl into a fist mere centimetres from her waist. I could reach out. Pull her close. Remind her of our physical connection.
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge. What the hell am I going to do with her? I can’t dismiss her with a polite We had a good time, see you around as I normally would, because she’s the one who left my bed in the middle of the night. She’s the one who turned down my offer of more sex this morning. And I’m the one who still wants her, the physical high we create between us as potent and addictive as it was when my knuckles were poised to knock on her brother’s front door.
My stare settles on her serene face, which is wreathed in a dreamy smile as she watches the footage of Bob doing nothing more remarkable than walking and sniffing. Her nose and cheeks are dotted with caramel freckles, some of them coalescing into intriguing shapes, like clouds.
She must sense my shift in focus from the video to her, because she stiffens and looks up at me. Her tongue touches her top lip and her chest expands with the indrawn breath she’s managed to keep silent.
I stay close, relishing the scent of her and the way her pupils dilate as she stares at me. ‘We seem to have a problem.’
Her eyes flit to the screen of the camera, her brows pinched in confusion. ‘I won’t use the footage if you object. I can delete it.’
‘I couldn’t give a fuck about you recording my dog, Mia.’ My eyes slide over her parted lips. ‘I’m talking about us.’
She snorts. Actually snorts at me. But the pulse in her neck hammers double time. ‘There is no us.’ She steps back as if my proximity reminds her there is very much an us—a working us and a fucking fantastic sexual us.
‘I disagree. You said we’d get it out of our systems... I’m certain one night hasn’t achieved that. And as you said, it’s just casual.’ She can deny it all she likes. Her body, her stare, the breathy way her voice has changed in pitch, speak the truth.
But when I want something, I can be patient. I hand back the camera. ‘Think on it today, while you’re working. I suggest we continue our arrangement—but it’s your call.’