by Carrie Elks
Just one look and it felt as if her whole body was catching fire. She tried to take a breath, but her throat was too tight. Then he was standing, putting his glass down and walking towards her.
‘You came.’
‘I said I would.’ It had only been two days since she’d last seen him, but she’d already forgotten how beautiful he was. And there was that horse again, running around inside her chest like it was a racecourse.
His lips slowly curled into an easy smile, one that did nothing to calm her heart. And then she was smiling too, laughter tickling the back of her throat, because this really was so crazy.
A waiter walked into the room, carrying a tray with two glasses on it. ‘Du vin, mademoiselle?’
One of the glasses had white wine, the other red. ‘I didn’t know what to order you,’ Lachlan said, inclining his head at the tray. ‘So I asked them to bring both.’
‘I’ll have white,’ she said, reaching out as the waiter passed her the glass. ‘Merci.’
‘De rien.’ The waiter disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived, and it was the two of them again, standing in the empty salon, smiling at each other until their cheeks started to ache.
‘You should drink it before it warms up,’ Lachlan said. ‘Come and sit down.’ He took her hand and led her to the table he’d been sitting at, holding her fingers until she sat on the easy chair. As soon as he let go she missed his touch.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t meet you at the airport,’ he said, sitting in the chair opposite hers. ‘I had a telecom I couldn’t miss.’
‘It’s fine, I enjoyed the drive through the city.’ She didn’t tell him that she’d stared out of the window like the tourist she was, her mouth wide open as she took in the sights she’d only seen in photographs before. Why had it taken her so long to visit?
She took a sip of her wine – cool, crisp and expensive. Idly she wondered if he’d be charged for both glasses.
‘I always enjoy it too.’ He was smiling at her, as though pleased they had that in common. ‘This place never gets old. I could visit a hundred times and there’d still be more to see.’
‘How often have you been here?’
‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. ‘Ten, fifteen times, maybe? I used to have some investments here, but I sold them.’
‘Did you own this hotel?’ she asked. She wouldn’t put it past him.
He laughed. ‘No, not this one. I’m not sure even I could afford this.’ He put his glass down – empty. Hers was still half full. ‘Do you want to look around?’ he asked. ‘I can take you on a quick tour if you like. There are some amazing paintings here, worth taking a look at.’
She wasn’t sure if she should feel disappointed that he wasn’t jumping on her as soon as she walked through the door. Not that he seemed the type to do that. He was too sophisticated, too urbane. The man knew how to seduce slowly and with intent.
She glanced at her watch. It was almost one a.m. in the UK, which meant it was already two a.m. here in France. No wonder she felt tired. A few hours ago she was contemplating an early night, and now she was in a different country.
‘Can we do the tour tomorrow?’ she asked him. ‘I’d really like to freshen up if I can.’ And then go to bed. But she wasn’t brave enough to say it.
There was a flicker in his eyes that matched the beating of her heart. He watched as she finished her wine, then placed the glass on the polished wooden table between them.
‘Yeah, that sounds perfect to me.’
Lachlan glanced at the bathroom door, watching the steam curl its way through the gap. He could hear a tap running, and the buzz of what sounded like an electric toothbrush. She’d only been in there for ten minutes, and he was already getting antsy.
He caught a glance of himself in the mirror, and stared at it, bemused. A few hours ago he’d been certain that he could keep the layer of professionalism between them; now she was almost certainly naked in his bathroom.
The thought sent a shot of desire through his body.
Lucy opened the door and a wall of steam escaped into the living area. She stopped short as soon as she saw him standing there, pulling her white fluffy bathrobe tightly around herself, her wet hair brushed off her face.
There was that scar again. It reminded him of that night he held her. Below it her skin was pink and clean, the aroma of flowers clinging to her. It drew him in, making him walk towards her, his eyes never leaving hers.
He watched her neck bob as she swallowed, then followed her line of flesh down to her collarbone. God, her whole body was delicate. Like a perfectly crafted work of art. He took another step, reaching his hand out to touch her skin, exposed by the ‘V’ of her robe. His finger traced a line down from the dip at her throat to the top of her cleavage, his touch making her chest lift as she inhaled sharply.
‘You’re afraid,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to be afraid.’ He found it enticing, the way she reacted to him.
‘I’m not afraid,’ she whispered. ‘I’m just trying to work out if this is a good idea. I don’t do this sort of thing.’
‘We can stop if you want.’
‘No.’ She placed her hand over his, pressing his palm to her warm, damp skin. When their eyes met, there was a resoluteness in her gaze he hadn’t seen before. ‘Don’t stop.’
He angled his head until their mouths were barely touching. Her breath was fast, hot, her heart barrelling against her chest where he touched her. God, her responsiveness was a turn-on. Her apprehension was, too. And the sensation of her body beneath his hand was almost too much to bear. Pulling his lips away from their almost-kiss, he said, ‘We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’
‘Okay.’
He could feel her relax beneath her touch. ‘You’re in control,’ he said, looking down at her. ‘In fact, let’s take it a step further. Tonight is all about you. You tell me what you want, you tell me what to do, you’re in charge of everything.’
Her tense muscles loosened. Interesting.
‘What’s in it for you?’ she asked.
His eyes were heated when he looked at her. ‘You are.’
She laughed in spite of herself. ‘You haven’t lost your charm along the way, then?’
‘I haven’t lost anything,’ he told her. ‘I play to win, remember?’
She looked like she remembered, her eyes turning glassy as she stared at him.
‘Speaking of which,’ he continued, ‘I have an ulterior motive.’
‘Which is?’
He cupped the side of her face, his palm covering her skin. ‘If you’re in control tonight, then tomorrow night I get to be in charge.’
Her mouth dropped open again. Without thinking, he pressed his thumb against her lips.
‘What do you think?’ he whispered.
Her lips closed around him, her tongue grazing the pad of his thumb, before she slowly slid her mouth back, releasing him. ‘It’s a deal.’
It was the second time she’d crawled into bed with Lachlan MacLeish, but it felt like the first. As though everything was new. As though Glencarraig had been the appetiser, and this was the main course, a chateaubriand for two.
‘Just lie there for a minute,’ she told him, sliding in beside him. ‘Don’t take your boxers off, okay?’
‘Okay.’ He looked amused.
Slowly, she pulled at the sheet until his torso was exposed. Her brain exploded with the memory of how it had felt when he’d held her that night in Glencarraig, the strength in his muscle, the taut, smooth skin.
‘Don’t move,’ she whispered, reaching out. With her index finger, she followed the line of his collarbone, lingering in the dip beneath his throat. Then she continued, until she’d traced her way to his shoulder, and down his arm, along the swell of his bicep. The skin beneath her finger flexed, and when she looked down she could see his hand clenched into a fist, the tendons of his wrist tight and prominent. She traced the inside of his elbow, making him shudder, and a soft chuckle escapin
g from his lips.
She smiled at the sound. ‘Are you ticklish?’ she asked him.
‘No.’
Licking her bottom lip, she moved her finger back up his arm, feathering it across the crease between his chest and bicep. This time his laugh was higher pitched, and he moved away from her. She couldn’t help but laugh too.
‘You are. You’re ticklish.’ The grin split her face. ‘The implacable Lachlan MacLeish has a weak spot.’
‘Don’t go there,’ he said through clenched teeth.
‘You told me tonight was all about me. I can do what I like, remember?’ She clambered over him until her legs were straddling his waist. Hmm, there was that other sensitive part of him, too, pressing in a way that made her feel very, very good. ‘Now put your hands above your head and don’t move.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s not happening.’
‘Are you reneging on our deal?’ she asked. ‘Because I distinctly heard you say I could tell you what to do tonight.’
‘You didn’t say anything about torturing me.’
She grabbed his hands, folding her fingers around them. They were big, strong, just like the rest of him. ‘I don’t remember you placing any caveats on this.’
‘Some things go without saying,’ he told her. ‘Tickling is definitely out of bounds.’ She loved the way he was looking at her, desire and apprehension all mixed into one. As though she was the only thing that mattered in the world right then.
With her eyes on him, she lifted up his hands, so that his arms were pointing to the ceiling. ‘I disagree,’ she said, pushing them further still, until his knuckles were brushing against the headboard, leaving him exposed. So many tender points were in front of her. The sides of his torso, the soft skin beneath his arms. Where to start?
He curled his hands around her wrists. ‘Remember,’ he said, his jaw tight, ‘I’m in charge tomorrow night.’
‘Tomorrow schmorrow,’ she said, tugging to get her hands free. ‘Now let me go.’
‘Lucy…’
She gave him a mischievous grin, shuffling back until she grazed against his erection. She rotated her hips, and he gave a groan, his head dropping back.
‘Jesus, you’re going to kill me.’
‘Well, then I wouldn’t have to worry about tomorrow,’ she said, her voice light. ‘Now let go of my hands, Lachlan.’ She moved again, grinding herself against him. Jesus, he felt hard.
Slowly, he unfurled his fingers, releasing his hold on her. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘I guess it’s a good way to go.’
‘Being tickled to death?’ she asked, wiggling her fingers just to see his reaction. ‘Yeah, I can think of worse ways.’
He bit his lip as she moved her hands to his chest, splaying her fingers until they grazed his nipples. He inhaled sharply at her touch, his hips moving in an attempt to gain friction against her. She lifted herself up enough to foil his plan.
‘I could get used to this power,’ she said, slowly inching her hands to the side of his body. ‘I could get used to touching you, too.’
‘If you’re going to tickle me, get on with it.’ He groaned. ‘I can’t deal with this.’
She leaned forward until her face was only a few inches from his. ‘I’m not letting you off that easily,’ she breathed. ‘The best part of tickling is taking somebody by surprise.’ Closing the gap between their mouths, she pressed her lips to his. ‘Don’t kiss me back,’ she murmured. His lips were soft, warm, and still as she moved hers against them. It felt strange to kiss him when he wasn’t responding, but delicious, too.
Emboldened, she ran the tip of her tongue along the seam of his mouth, feeling as much as hearing the moan escaping from him. Still kissing him, she stroked his nipples with her thumbs, circling her hips again until she felt his hard ridge against her.
‘You’re slaying me,’ he mumbled.
‘Ssh,’ she whispered, ‘I didn’t say you could talk.’
Was it wrong that she was completely turned on by the man beneath her? There was something intoxicating about being able to touch him the way she wanted. About teasing him until he was barely able to keep control. She knew he was letting her do it, that in a second he could flip her over, show his strength. And yet he was resisting, letting her take the lead. It only made her want him more.
Dragging her lips along his jawline, she could feel his scruff scraping her tender skin. Then she moved further, down his throat to his chest, feeling his strangled breaths vibrating against her mouth.
This was turning her on like crazy. Her whole body was tingling every time she touched him. And every time she rolled her hips, pleasure shot through her like a pulse of electricity.
She paused when she reached his pectorals, breathing warm air onto his skin. Glancing up, she could see his hands still above his head, his tight fists gripping the pillow. He was staring at her, his eyes heated and dark, as he watched her slowly move her lips around his nipple. Curious to see what he’d do, she reached the tip of her tongue out, barely grazing the raised skin. He hitched his hips in a reflex response.
‘Goddamn it.’ His head dropped back.
‘You’re swearing a lot tonight.’
‘You’re making me swear.’
She slowly sucked his nipple into her mouth, circling it with her tongue. He moaned, his whole body tensing beneath her. God, it felt good to bring him to the edge. She sucked again, harder this time, wanting to give him a taste of what was to come. She could taste him, clean and yet somehow masculine. It was intoxicating.
She slid her mouth down to his stomach, kissing each ridge of muscle as she went. Her fingers feathered down the sides of his abdomen, and for a moment he tensed again, waiting for her to attack him.
But she was too far gone for that. Any thought of making him laugh had vanished. She wanted to make him sigh, moan, call out her name. She wanted to drive him crazy in a way nobody ever had before.
She wanted him to remember this night for a long, long time.
Shuffling down, she kissed the skin just above the waistband of his boxer shorts. His erection was tenting the material, and as she hovered over him, his tip grazed the valley between her satin-clad breasts.
Sliding a finger beneath his waistband, she moved her head until her lips were hovering over his tented shorts. Then she kissed the tip, her eyes immediately seeking his to see his response.
His chest hitched. ‘Jesus, I think you already killed me.’
She licked the fabric – and him – turning it dark grey. ‘In that case, welcome to heaven.’
‘Let me touch you,’ he said, still gripping the pillow over his head.
‘Not yet.’ She didn’t doubt for a minute he’d disobey her. He’d done everything he could to make her feel comfortable, powerful. And she was revelling in it.
Hooking her thumbs beneath the elastic, she pulled his pants down. He sprang up, thick and veined. She licked her lips, seeing liquid bead at his tip. Reaching her tongue out, she scooped it from her skin.
‘Are you trying to make me beg?’
‘Oh, you can beg,’ she said, smiling. ‘You can definitely beg.’
‘Put your lips on me.’ The rough tone of his voice made her feel even hotter. Was this what tomorrow night was going to feel like? Was she going to be the one lying with her arms above the head, hearing his harsh commands as he dominated her body? Even the thought of it made her shiver.
‘Please?’ she prompted.
‘Put your lips on me… please.’
In her peripheral vision she could see his hands releasing the pillow by his head. ‘Keep your hands up,’ she told him.
‘I want to touch you.’
‘No. Leave them there.’
‘Or what?’
‘Or I’ll stop.’
Lachlan sighed, but he kept his arms where they were. ‘You win.’
She grinned up at him, her lips less than an inch away from where he so clearly needed her. ‘No, Lachlan, I think you’
ll find you do.’
18
Virtue is beauty
– Twelfth Night
A hand sliding softly down her back woke her up. Lucy blinked, her eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the light that was shining through the small gaps in the linen curtains. Her lips were dry, her whole body stiff where she’d been lying. A glance at the clock on the table next to her told her it was almost nine a.m.
And those insistent fingers, still caressing her skin, told her she wasn’t alone.
‘Good morning.’