The Woman Sent to Tame Him

by Victoria Parker

  Wincing inwardly, she hung on his reaction as she played the friend card, unsure if the tight knot in her stomach wanted him to pick it up or discard it.

  ‘I was planning on staying in most of the night.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Come to think of it, of late there’d been no kiss-and-tell stories. No rumours of orgies or nightclub antics. Half of her gloried in the idea that he was abstaining from his playboy shenanigans and the other half hated the suspicion that he was becoming reclusive, withdrawing from the world even more.

  For pity’s sake, the man had her tearing herself apart!

  Finn scrubbed a palm over the back of his neck. ‘Fine. You can hang out here. For a little while.’

  ‘I’ve never seen a “fine” such as yours right now, Finn.’ At his quizzical expression, she elaborated. ‘Like I’m sticking hot needles down your fingernails.’

  His knuckles bleached white as they gripped the lip of the bench. ‘Probably because that’s what it feels like trying to keep my hands off you.’

  A loaded pause sparked in the air. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Oh, you’re happy now?’

  Maybe. It wasn’t so bad resisting him if he felt the same. Maybe he hadn’t been lying to her. Maybe he did find her beautiful after all.

  Her heart smiled. ‘I’ll be even happier if you feed me and let me beat you on your games console.’ Friend stuff.

  He snorted. ‘In your dreams, baby.’

  She had the feeling that was exactly where he’d be tonight. In her dreams. Centre stage. Just as he had been last night. And every other night she could remember.

  ‘You have until ten o’clock to triumph and prove your console supremacy, then I’m going out.’

  ‘Oh.’ That was not disappointment in her voice. Certainly not.

  Finn cocked an arrogant brow and tilted his head, as if she’d presented him with a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. ‘I’ll make you a deal.’

  ‘I’m not keen on your deals. Last time I ended up—’ Ohh, there it went. Stomach flipping over...

  ‘Getting your belly button piercing licked?’

  Hello, heatwave—blasting her from all angles as the incredible sensation of his hot mouth on her skin flicked over her on replay.

  ‘It wasn’t the most disgusting experience in the world.’ So you can do it again if you like. No—no, he could not. It was a terrible idea. Crazy to think she was hurtling towards a lack of self-preservation as diabolical as his.

  That legendary beautiful smile touched his lips and he raised one hand to scratch at his jawline. ‘Deal is—if you beat me I’ll take you with me.’

  His grin said he was perfectly safe. That she didn’t have a hope in hell of winning. Obviously he didn’t want her going with him at all. Which naturally flipped every one of her excitable curiosity switches.

  Poor guy. She almost felt sorry for him.

  * * *

  He’d been thrashed. By a girl.

  Totally and utterly thrashed at supercars, tennis, football and loaded weapons—repeatedly. Then he’d fed her and fetched her soft drinks. Before she’d zonked out on the sofa in an alluring puddle of colour and vulnerability—the latter hitting him smack-bang in the solar plexus.

  Seraphina Scott was extraordinary in every single way, and if he didn’t give her a good shake pronto he was liable to kiss her awake like Sleeping Beauty. If he was any kind of prince material he would. As it was he’d lied to her repeatedly and lusted after her repeatedly.

  Unfortunately some idiot had suggested he was friend material, and though it scared the crap out of him—because he wasn’t the most reliable bloke on the planet, and his own sister could vouch for that—he fully intended to stick by his word. It was the least he could do after he’d caused her so much pain, despite the fact it was the equivalent of flinging himself onto the track lane mid-race.

  The fact was, she fed his wildness. Unearthed all kinds of feral, animalistic instincts until need was a constant claw that slashed his insides. Not just craving the heat of her sweet, supple body, but wanting to protect her at all cost, to touch that desolate tinge in her grey gaze.

  She was a lonely soul right now.

  It took one to know one. He’d been surrounded by people all his life, and yet soaked in a bone-deep loneliness he found impossible to shake.

  Yeah, and impossible to understand too.

  Easily bored, he relished variety. Every day with Serena would be as unique as she was, a little voice whispered. He told that little voice to shut up. It was being controlled by his libido and for once he wasn’t listening.

  Finn stared at her for a long moment, curling a strand of her hair around his finger. How could anyone even resist her? How long was it going to take before he snapped and crossed the bridge from friends to lovers? An eternity, his conscience told him, because it’s never going to happen. You’re supposed to be keeping her safe, remember?

  ‘Hey, Sleeping Beauty.’ He flipped his hand over to check his watch. ‘It’s nine-thirty and we have a date.’

  With her sinuous stretch and a sultry writhe her T-shirt inched upwards until that sexy-as-hell diamond piercing winked at him.

  Just like that an airlock cinched his chest. ‘Come on, spitfire, get a shake on.’ Before I take that silver loop between my lips, flick it with my tongue and suck it into my mouth. Then I’ll tear those jeans off and lick all the way down to your clit.

  Damn.

  ‘Or maybe I’ll just go by myself.’ Way better idea.

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ she murmured, in that gorgeous, husky sleep-drenched voice.

  He growled long and low. This was such a bad idea. What had possessed him to gamble with her? No one had ever beaten him. Ever. He should’ve known this minx would throw him for a loop—which only made him want her even more! So cancel. Tell her something. Anything.

  The problem was he was already living one lie, and the thought of customising another pierced his guts as if they were twisted in barbed wire. Add in the suspicion that today’s racing blip—courtesy of a flashback like no other—had totalled her aspirations of launching her prototype at Silverstone and he could never tolerate it.

  ‘Where are we going?’ She swung her legs off the leather couch, sat upright and shook out her hair until those spectacular ruby-red flames blazed down her back.

  ‘Here,’ he croaked, grabbing two caps from the marble bench and tossing one in her lap. ‘Put this on.’

  ‘Incognito?’ Her grey eyes bolted to his, sparkled with excitement.

  It was an effervescence that wasn’t going to last long. Or was it? Continually she threw him, and this little jaunt might be just what she needed.

  In a sudden burst of self-honesty he acknowledged that the temptation to take her had arrived shortly after the tickets. But the subject matter had made him pause. She was prudish at times, yet inquisitive at others—the delightful memory of her ear crushed against the bedroom door on his yacht came to mind—and he’d flirted with the idea that her past experiences were slim and less than stellar.

  Meanwhile here he was, a veritable connoisseur in the erotic arts of passion and seduction, impervious to being knocked off his feet, suddenly disturbed—no, downright daunted—because this woman could easily take his legs from under him.

  It took him five minutes to lock up, usher Serena round to the storage compound and heft the double doors wide.

  Click went the automatic lights, flooding the space with fluorescence, blinding him momentarily as he waited for...

  Her swift inhalation. A deep, rapturous moan. One that nearly brought him to his knees.

  Did she have to be the hottest woman on the planet?

  ‘Ohhh, yeah,’ she breathed, her sultry voice loaded with salacious hunger for his latest toy
. ‘Your taste is impeccable, Finn. All that horsepower makes me twitchy. I think I’m about to have the ride of my life.’

  Finn closed his eyes. He was doomed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SERENA WAS DOOMED.

  Finn had driven her across the city behind the wheel of his high-spec, custom-made, invitation-only sports car, slamming her to the edge of the hot zone. Her hormones were frantic as she imagined him making love with the same intensity—with an inordinate skill and a passionate appreciation for the machine in his hands.

  The way he smoothed the leather of the steering wheel with an amorous touch, curled his long fingers around the gearstick with a firm, sensual grip... She’d shuddered with pleasure just watching him.

  Now, seated in a super-comfy armchair in a magnificent tent in the middle of Montreal, she was right back on edge. A thrumming mass of expectation.

  From the outside the structure appeared like a giant theatrical dome, with multiple conical peaks that soared into the sky in a colourful array of blue and yellow stripes—reminiscent of Arabian nights. And inside the capacious space rivalled the outside’s awe factor with a distinct flare of class and luxury. It was the type Serena liked—more avant-garde than ostentatious, cast by the heights of technology for performers to achieve mind-boggling feats. It was exciting and thrill seeking. Definitely her thing.

  Something awesome was about to happen, and anticipation fired through her veins like gasoline sparking to ignite.

  The dark-haired man sitting on the other side of Finn suddenly turned to face him. ‘You’re real familiar. Have we met before?’

  Serena stifled a smile. She’d expected to lounge in some VIP suite, and being one of the masses was more scintillating than ever. Adding a kick of danger that they’d be discovered.

  With the black caps pulled low on their foreheads and dressed in T-shirts and jeans—Finn in a yummy buttery black leather jacket, collar flipped high, and Serena in a dark blue hoodie—they created a perfect image of friends out for kicks.

  Finn smiled, all charismatic charm, and held out his hand for an old-boy shake. ‘I’m sure I would have remembered you if I had, sir. It’s a pleasure.’

  It struck her then. In many ways he was a showman himself. Although he blended seamless confidence and ease in any situation, she fancied he adapted to his surroundings, even altered his accent to fit. A veritable chameleon.

  It was a talent she could only marvel at with no small amount of envy. Yet she couldn’t quite figure out why he felt the need. Why not just be himself?

  She could only presume, from the way he blocked his emotions, it was some kind of survival technique—and, let’s face it, they’d both been reared on fame and fortune so she knew all about those. Except where she’d shunned it he’d danced beneath the limelight, albeit somewhat distanced by not being his true self. It was as if he preferred to be untouched by everyone around him. Now, that was something she definitely understood. Opening up wasn’t easy. It invited all sorts of pain, disappointment and heartache.

  But, more profoundly, what seriously blew her mind was the stranger who came into view when Finn ditched his façades. That man was the most fascinating of all.

  It was the man who’d made her spaghetti in his kitchen—the one who’d tucked her unruly hair behind her ear, pouted when he’d lost at the video games, the one who seemed perfectly happy to hang out with ‘normal’ folk and swig cola.

  As for the secretive girly smile on her face—that was down to the way he seemed more content. Not so restless and edgy. No dark pain in his eyes tonight. So any regret she’d harboured about going to him earlier in the evening had flown by the wayside.

  ‘Hey!’ the man next to him said. ‘I know where I’ve seen you before. On the TV. You’re that guy.’

  Serena bit down on her lips and held her breath, curious to see if he’d protect his privacy, give them this one night. Craving the real him for a bit longer.

  Finn raised his chin, his bewildered expression worthy of an Oscar-winning actor. ‘Who?’

  ‘The one who races them fast cars.’

  Frowning, Finn turned to face her, his voice thick and deep enough to carry a perfect American drawl. ‘Hey, baby, do I look like that race-car driver?’

  Suddenly slap-happy, as if she’d had one too many beers, Serena glanced past Finn to the stranger. ‘That British guy?’ she asked incredulously.

  With a dubious flush, the other man shrugged. ‘He could be.’

  ‘No way.’ Shaking her head, she leaned back against the pad of her chair. ‘He’s weird-looking. And his eyes...’ She deliberately pulled a shudder up her spine.

  Finn cocked one dark blond brow, excused himself graciously, then twisted his mighty fine torso and leaned into her.

  ‘What’s wrong with his eyes?’

  ‘They’re weird. Cerulean blue and yet sometimes...’ She left him dangling for a few blissful seconds in an effort to get him back for all the times he’d toyed with her.

  ‘Sometimes...?’ he demanded.

  ‘They change colour. Gleam in a feral kind of way. Hypnotic.’

  ‘Hypnotic?’ he murmured silkily, his skin flushed beneath the shadowy peak of his cap. ‘Maybe it depends what he’s looking at.’

  Their gazes caught, held in timeless suspension, and the pull tugged at the base of her abdomen until warmth flooded her knickers.

  A groan ripped from his throat as if he knew. Could smell the scent of her arousal.

  ‘And...’ She smothered her lips with moisture. ‘He has this serious animalistic vibe going on. He growls.’

  Sculpted in black leather, his broad shoulders rose and fell as the tempo of his breathing escalated. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘I love it.’ She’d been lured, ensnared, and now she wanted to be caught—

  No. No! God, what was going on with her? She had to cut this out. Think friends.

  The hand that lay on his muscular thigh fisted and he pulled back an inch or three. ‘Do you know what Seraphina means, Miss Scott?’

  She gave a little shake of her head and he elaborated.

  ‘The fiery one.’

  Right now that made perfect sense.

  ‘So be careful that you don’t get set ablaze. You don’t want to get burned, do you, Seraphina?’

  ‘You burn women?’ she whispered, sounding more intrigued than appalled—and how ridiculous was that? Of course the man burned women. He had a much-publicised trail of ashes in his wake to prove it.

  ‘Badly,’ he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. ‘Hence my rules.’

  Throat swollen, she had to squeeze out the words. ‘What rules are they, Finn?’

  ‘No commitment. No emotional ties. Just pleasure beyond your wildest imagination.’

  ‘That sounds...’

  ‘Good. It’s good, baby. For as long as it lasts. A few hours at the most. Then there’s nothing but emptiness. So believe me when I say keep safe and don’t be lured by your inner fire. Especially when it ignites for me.’

  A ten-bell siren blared through her head, silenced her desire. He was only being brutally honest. No flippant innuendo from this man. No play on words. No clever retort. She liked the real Finn St George, she realised. Very much. He was an arrogant, seductive, sexy blend of bad-boy meets boy-next-door.

  Keep safe. Good advice. Not that commitment interested her. Emotional ties made her blood run cold. She’d just lost one man she’d loved, and being obsessed with a player who rapped on death’s door with alarming frequency wasn’t her idea of a rollicking good time.

  Still, what if Finn was the only man she’d ever want sexually? Was she crazy to want to experience such pleasure once in her life? She knew the game, the rote, had been a spectator all her life. She could play by the rules, couldn’t she?

/>   Serena fancied he could see the internal battle warring inside her, because he raised his hand and swept a strand of hair from her brow with a shiver-inducing graze.

  ‘Trust me, beautiful. It’s a bad idea.’

  The main lights dimmed and what remained was a black canvas ceiling dotted with tiny pricks of light. It was like sitting beneath a million twinkling stars. So romantic that yearning pulled at her soul.

  Finn eased back into his own chair, leaving her oddly bereft. Until the music struck an almighty beat and she felt the punch of power deep in the pit of her stomach. Then the full instrumental peeled from the band, the sound caroming around the vast expanse to infuse the atmosphere with what she could only describe as a seriously evocative sensual bent.

  ‘Oh, my life.’

  The thought slammed into her psyche within seconds. Finn hadn’t intended bringing her here at all. So who...?

  As if he could hear her mental meanderings, he murmured, ‘I was coming by myself. This is a new cabaret-style show directed by a friend of mine and he sent some tickets over last night. He knows I like to blend occasionally, and they often debut in Montreal. I’ve no idea what to expect.’

  She was pretty sure he had a better idea than she did.

  ‘All I know is that it’s strictly over eighteens and it explores human sexuality.’

  Okay-dokey, then. Right up her street. Not.

  The risqué undertone of the music was a prelude to a stage lifting from beneath the floor, bringing the performers into view, still as statues. Until the Moulin-Rouge-type beat peaked with an almighty crescendo...

  The cushioned pad beneath her bottom quaked, sending a vibration straight to her core, making the hair on her arms stand on end.

  And then the artists came to life.

  Heat that had nothing to do with the amount of bodies packed in one space and all to do with the hedonistic bent of the performance shot through her bloodstream, growing ever hotter when the stage became a writhing mass of mind-boggling feats of flexibility and synchronicity.

  Bodies were bending, stroking, touching. Hands glissaded over painted flesh, the vivid colours of their skin alive with sensuous beauty.