Exotic Nights: The Virgin’s SecretThe Devil’s HeartPleasured in the Playboy’s Penthouse

by Abby Green

  When she got home later in the evening, Owen was waiting for her, music playing on the seriously fancy stereo, dinner keeping warm in the oven.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked the instant he saw her.

  Was she that transparent?

  ‘I’ve been turfed out of the flat. The landlord is keeping my bond. I’m going to—’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he interrupted carelessly, putting plates on the tray. ‘You can stay here, long as you need to.’

  Her spirits lifted and sank in the one moment. She hadn’t wanted to call on her father, but she didn’t particularly want to be in Owen’s debt either—no more than she already was. Besides, he didn’t do live-in lovers.

  ‘Heaven forbid.’

  He turned a startled gaze on her. ‘What do you mean “heaven forbid”?’

  She grinned, hoping to come across light but inside kind of terrified about his response. ‘That’s what you said at the bar on Waiheke when I asked if you had a live-in lover.’

  He lifted a large iron casserole dish out of the oven, using a couple of tea towels to cover his hands. He carefully placed it on a protective mat on the bench. Only then did he answer—equally light in tone. ‘Bella, we were in a bar flirting and being flippant.’

  He began ladling the steaming contents of the dish onto their plates. ‘I never knew you remembered everything I said so perfectly.’

  Everything he’d ever said she’d committed to memory. If only she could learn her lines with the same skill.

  ‘Anyway, you’re only staying here till you sort out a new place of your own, right?’ Not as his live-in lover, but a temporary guest. He was making the point subtly, but nonetheless still making it. Fair enough.

  ‘Absolutely,’ she agreed. They were just confirming everything—mainly because she felt the need for well-defined boundaries.

  ‘So,’ he added, ‘we don’t need the labels, right? You’re a friend staying here.’

  ‘Sleeping with you.’ There was that small point.

  ‘Till you’ve got your new place sorted,’ he continued, ignoring her comment, starting to sort eating utensils.

  ‘Is that when we stop sleeping together?’ She held her breath.

  He stopped fussing in the cutlery drawer and looked at her. ‘We stop sleeping together when one or other of us says the word.’ He fished out another fork, put it by the plates and caught her eyes with his own once more—not that it was hard; she couldn’t seem to stop staring at him. ‘And says the word gently, right?’

  Right.

  He left the tray and put his hands around her waist instead. ‘Rules established?’ he asked softly.

  ‘I think so.’ Better late than never, she figured.

  Bed buddies. An indefinite series of one-night stands. Except if she thought about it she’d wonder whether this might be more to her than a one-night stand. She might not be that old or that experienced, but even she could see this could lead to trouble—for her at any rate. So she vowed to keep that limit on it—two weeks. She’d have as much of him as she wanted—and she really wanted—then she’d move out and end it all. Before her heart as well as her body got entwined.

  Early the next morning she went to the flat and cleared out the last of her belongings. Gave the whole place a final clean, but even so the burnt-egg smell lingered. Back at Owen’s warehouse she ran a bath, sank into it for the best part of an hour and appreciated the beauty of the room. The dark colour scheme could be austere, but it wasn’t. The flashes of red here and there hinted at a touch of passion—the fire she knew burned inside him. He was full of vitality, ambition, discipline, drive. The bathroom designer had got a good handle on him. It was very, very masculine. It screamed bachelor—for life. And yet, there were twin hand-basins, side-by-side mirrors—one for him and one for the lady currently in his life, huh? The overnight guest.

  All his toiletries were in the drawer beneath the basin, leaving the bench space clear and uncluttered. Minimalist. With a spurt of defiance she lined up her bubble bath, shower gel, shampoo and assorted moisturisers in pump bottles. So she wasn’t his live-in lover? She was just a friend staying? Fine, but she was quite determined to make her mark.

  He was working at the computer when she got home from the café late in the evening.

  ‘You’ll get square eyes,’ she teased.

  ‘You’re not even into the Internet?’ He spun on the chair to face her. ‘What about the social pages?’

  ‘I have no interest in communicating with the people I went to school with when I was five.’ Not when they’d all be wealthy lawyers or doctors or married to some famous person, or anything like that, when she was just a waitress.

  ‘But it’s a necessity in today’s market. You need computer skills to work.’

  ‘I’m not saying I don’t have skills. I can point and click as well as anyone, I’m just not interested. Why would I want to stare at a screen all day?’

  ‘What about online shopping?’

  ‘I’d really rather go to the movies.’

  ‘And that’s not staring at a screen?’ He looked sardonic.

  ‘OK, show me, then,’ she challenged. ‘One thing that’s really interesting.’

  He grinned. ‘Did you know your sister has put photos of the wedding up on her chat page?’

  ‘No.’ Bella froze. ‘Has she?’

  ‘There’s a really cute one of you with the stripe.’

  ‘No!’ she shrieked.

  ‘Yep, up there for anyone and everyone to see.’ He spun back to the computer, clicked a few times.

  The picture was huge on the big screen. Her skin crawled with embarrassment at the line-up of tall blonde bridesmaids … and her.

  ‘We were supposed to look like daffodils,’ she said. ‘Only, there’s me, the lemon on the end.’

  ‘I’d rather have a lemon any day. So much more flavour.’

  She was too aghast at the pictures to feel flattered. ‘Anyone can see these? Anyone?’

  He nodded. ‘I really liked this one myself.’

  Another picture flashed up onto the screen. She was in the background, behind Vita and Hamish. He pressed a couple of buttons and zoomed in on her. The wind had blown the fabric tight against her chest and in the cool breeze she had the biggest case of erect nipples ever seen—you could see the outline of everything.

  She felt heat rise into her cheeks, then actually felt the hardness in her nipples as he looked away from the screen, back to her, desire in his eyes.

  Embarrassed, she let sarcasm mask it. ‘You really are into computer porn.’

  He laughed. ‘Search my hard drive. There’s nothing there. But I’ll admit to studying this one closely for some time. It was all I had until I found out where you were.’

  ‘Where I was?’ She frowned.

  ‘You might not have much of a presence on the web, but your sister certainly does and she gives regular updates on her and her family’s activities.’

  Bella was appalled. ‘She’s supposed to be on honeymoon. She’s not supposed to be sticking things up on …’ She broke off, thinking about what he’d implied. ‘You knew I was in Wellington?’

  He nodded. ‘She mentions in her blog how she missed your family farewell dinner.’

  ‘So you were in the supermarket on purpose?’ Oh, my, that was sneaky.

  ‘No,’ he laughed. ‘That was the Fates being kind.’

  ‘But you knew I’d moved down here.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Were you going to keep looking for me?’ Her silly heart was skipping like crazy.

  ‘I was thinking about it.’ Casually he clicked the picture away. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ He stood, walked away from the computer and towards her. ‘I told you, Bella. I tend to get what I want.’

  ‘But you were so frosty.’

  ‘You’d blown me off, remember? With Tony’s Lawn Mowing Service.’

  ‘Only because you blew me off,’ she defended, ‘and I
didn’t know it was Tony or anyone.’ And without hesitation she went into his arms. ‘Do you always know what you want?’

  ‘Generally.’ He didn’t have to think about the answer long. ‘Do you?’

  Rarely. She knew what she didn’t want, but she didn’t necessarily want the opposite of that. And for once, right now, she knew exactly what she wanted.

  As his arms tightened she knew what he wanted too.

  ‘I haven’t forgiven you for leaving that night,’ she confessed.

  ‘I know you haven’t.’

  ‘But do you know why?’

  ‘You didn’t want to be alone at the wedding.’

  ‘No,’ she whispered, able to admit now that that wasn’t it at all. ‘There were things I had planned for you.’

  ‘Yes,’ his matching whisper mocked. ‘We still have unfinished business, don’t we?’ His hands teased. ‘Now wouldn’t it have been so much easier for me to find you if you had a website? I could have typed in your name and discovered you’re a sexy children’s party fairy—booked up all your weekends.’

  She rolled her eyes. The fairy thing wasn’t something she was that proud of. She didn’t want all those old school friends knowing that was all her ambition had amounted to.

  ‘I’m going to build you one,’ he murmured just before pressing a kiss to her neck.

  ‘Hmm?’ Fast losing track of the conversation as his mouth took a path downwards.

  ‘A website. For your party business. It’ll take a couple of hours max.’

  She stopped tufting his hair with her fingers. ‘Owen, you’ve already done enough for me.’

  ‘Bella, please, let me indulge my geek side.’ He chuckled, his breath warming her skin. ‘More to the point, let me indulge my trainee’s geek side.’

  But at that she chilled completely. ‘You can’t get your employees to build me a website.’

  He lifted his head and looked unconcerned. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I can’t afford to pay you.’ She couldn’t take more things from him.

  He placed his forehead on hers, literally closely watching her. ‘It would be a good practice job for the student placement kid. I need something to occupy his time when the team is busy on strategic stuff.’

  Owen really enjoyed the challenge of getting her to agree to his help. She was always so determined to say no and he liked nothing more than hearing ‘yes’ from her—although more often than not it was a soft ‘OK’. Pricking his finger and staining the fairy dress had been a masterstroke in solving that problem. Building her a website was more of a difficult one. He could see the argument in her eyes. But it was really no biggie and it might be a bit of a confidence boost—make her see herself as the small businesswoman she was. If she took herself seriously, others might too.

  ‘You’d be doing me a favour.’ He knew she didn’t really believe him. She knew, as well as he, it was a weak argument. But Owen liked to win, it didn’t matter how minor the game—and this was minor, wasn’t it? Maybe not, because he decided the end justified the means in this case. So he used his best weapon. And as he kissed her the hint of her refusal drowned beneath the rising desire.

  The week slipped by. He refused to let her cook—saying he knew what she did to eggs and he wasn’t letting her do that kind of damage to anything else. Instead he cooked, enjoying the creativity. He never normally bothered. But night after night he had it ready for when she got home. They ate and then snuggled on the sofa while she gave him a crash course in the great movie classics, starting with Casablanca. He hadn’t spent so much time quietly relaxing in ages. And then, through the night, they hardly relaxed at all. Voracious—the more he had, the more he wanted. The passion ran unabated and it only seemed to get better every time.

  The question of her staying with him had caused a fleeting awkwardness, but he thought he’d got through it smoothly. This was still a purely temporary situation, right? But he’d suffered a sharp twinge when she’d asked about them stopping sleeping together—he definitely wasn’t ready for that yet. A few more days—several more nights. It wasn’t done between them.

  When he went for his run one morning she went with him—riding his bike. She didn’t talk too much. Just a word here and there, and he found it companionable. When he walked into the bathroom after, the scent of her shampoo hung in the steam and disappointment surged when he saw she’d finished already. By the time he got out she was dressed and heading to the door.

  ‘What’s the hurry? I thought you were on late shift again.’

  ‘I have an audition.’ Her hair hung in a wet rope down her back.

  He looked her over. ‘You want me to iron that shirt for you?’

  ‘Do you iron, Owen?’

  ‘Not usually.’ He ignored her chill. ‘I have a service. But I can do it for you if you want.’

  Her cool look grew even frostier. ‘The only thing I iron is my hair.’

  Right, yet she hadn’t even bothered with that.

  ‘It wouldn’t take a second.’ It was a lovely shirt, but the crease down one side didn’t exactly give her the professional look.

  ‘I’m running late as it is.’

  It was his turn to frown. It was her second audition of the week—and she’d been late to that one too, had said it had gone badly, that she’d fluffed the lines completely.

  But she looked so on edge now he stepped aside, letting her go.

  Friday night she was on another late shift. Only he didn’t feel like staying home and cooking. For once the apartment felt too big, too quiet, too lonely. He raided the fridge, found some not-too-ancient leftovers—enough to satisfy the hunger of his stomach for a while. Then he left—needing to satisfy his other hunger.

  She was behind the counter, the one taking the orders, not actually making the coffee. He walked straight up to her, registering with pleasure the surprise in her eyes, the pink in her cheeks, her widening smile. The rush of warmth inside rose so fast it threw him, made him awkward. It wasn’t the heat of lust; while that simmered in the background, this was different. This was a buzz, a thrill of delight caused by something else—affection, maybe? Amusement? He couldn’t think what else. He took a step back, sat at the long counter facing the window so he wasn’t staring straight at her. He pretended to leaf through one of the glossy magazines in the stack, but all the while he was attuned to her sing-song voice as she served the customers.

  ‘Would you like whipped cream with that?’ The teasing question had him irresistibly turning to look at her.

  She was smiling—it turned sinful as she glanced at him—and everything inside suffered an electrical jolt. She could tempt a hunger striker to a four-course banquet if she asked like that. He’d say yes to her like a shot. His discomfort level increased when he realised it—he already was saying yes to her, all the damn time.

  Back at Owen’s house, after her shift, Bella thought how her sense of their boundaries was becoming blurry. One day he was spelling out the terms of their relationship as if it were some business transaction, the next he was incredibly sweet and telling her about his geek-boy attempt to track her down. She couldn’t help but wonder if the magnetism between them was made of something stronger than just a few nights of fun.

  And he was so good at getting her to agree to everything, she wanted to wrest back some of the power. Wanted to gain that independence she’d been seeking for so long. But more than that, she wanted him to be as sunk in her as she was in him—because she’d fallen for him completely now. He was beautiful, bright and bold and she wanted to keep him.

  She didn’t have a hope. She wasn’t the sort of woman for him—if he ever wanted to commit it would be to someone super successful, beautiful, articulate. Someone who could stand beside him in any situation and do him proud. Someone like Vita. Whereas Bella would be an embarrassment—she’d be the one inadvertently wearing half her dinner on her shirt at a posh restaurant; she’d be the one falling on her face down a flight of stairs at a charity ball. She was always
the one making the stupid slip-ups somehow.

  But she could be the best sex of his life. She smothered the chuckle at the lack of loftiness in her ambition. Oh, yes, for whatever reason he wanted her body, and maybe, if she could keep him wanting her, she could keep this affair burning for longer. She wanted longer. All she had to do was trap him in some kind of sensual net—where he couldn’t say no, where he couldn’t get enough.

  Now, in his bed, she slowly crawled down his body, towards his legs. The view he’d be getting was one she’d never be brave enough to give anyone else. But with Owen, it was different. He made no secret of how much he liked to look at her. How much just looking at her turned him on. And she wanted to turn him on really, really hard because that was what he did to her. He’d been right the other day—she had been begging—and she was determined to make him suffer to the same degree. To make him want her so much he’d never be the one to utter the words that would end it. He made her feel capable of anything—of making her most secret fantasies a reality.

  Dangerous—because right now he was her secret fantasy.

  He muttered something unintelligible. His hands came up, moulded round the contours of her bottom, then a finger traversed through her slick heat.

  ‘You want me to stop?’ she gasped.

  ‘Oh, no. Please, no.’

  She wriggled her hips pointedly and to her mixed relief and regret his hands slipped away. At least now she could try to focus.

  ‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘You’re killing me.’

  She nuzzled into him, her hair teasing and twisting round his erection.

  ‘Bella …’

  ‘Roar.’

  ‘Tigress.’ His laugh sounded half strangled.

  She turned around, so she was facing him as she straddled his legs, bending so her breasts were either side of his penis. ‘Watch.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’

  She took him into her mouth and twirled her tongue on the tip of him.

  His hands were fisted by his sides. Every muscle in his body tensed. ‘Bella, stop. Please. I want you. I want all of you.’