Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle

by Amy Andrews, Aimee Carson, Avril Tremayne

  ‘Nope, it doesn’t,’ she said. ‘All it shows is that you like variety.’ She nodded sagely. ‘And what were all those women wearing when you met them? How did they look? Were they dressed to attract? Made up to show themselves at their best?’

  How he wished he could claim that at least one of those five women had been met at a farm, in wellington boots, up to her knees in pig muck. But honesty, along with the knowledge that those hazel eyes would see straight through him, compelled him to admit, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Double ha!’ Another shrug and a small smirk tugged those lush lips. ‘There you have it. I win. Just admit it, Adam. Looks matter and clothes matter. Especially to men like you.’ She jabbed her finger at his chest.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Men like me? What does that mean?’ And why did he know he wouldn’t like the answer?

  ‘Men with the money to buy whatever and whomever they choose.’

  ‘Ouch. Are you suggesting I buy my women?’ Good thing his ego was fairly robust.

  ‘Not exactly,’ she admitted as she tilted her head to one side and studied him, a small critical frown creasing her forehead. ‘You’re good-looking, you’re charming—maybe your women would date you regardless of your wallet.’

  ‘Well, gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

  ‘My point is that your money eases your path. It means that even when you’re old and wrinkly beautiful women will always be available to you and you know that. So you’ll keep sampling the variety and so it will go on—for ever and ever, amen.’ She tipped her hands up. ‘A bit like a conveyor belt.’

  A conveyor belt? ‘That implies each woman is the same,’ he countered. ‘Every woman I date is different and I’ve liked every single one.’ Well, he hadn’t disliked any of them, at any rate, and that counted for something, right? ‘And—’ he allowed a reminiscent smile to play about his lips, wanting her to remember he had a lot more to offer a woman than the contents of his wallet ‘—I’m pretty sure they all have very fond memories of me.’

  Her face tinted pink, as if she were reliving the memory of their recent activities in lift and limo. But then she rallied and pressed her lips together in a line of disapproval. ‘Hmmph. No doubt they do. And I’m sure you give them an expensive souvenir of their time spent gracing your bed.’

  ‘Sure I give them presents.’ Actually, he didn’t even do that. He just sent them off to shop in the boutiques in whichever Masterson Hotel they were in and rack their purchases up to his account. ‘And, yes, it is a token of appreciation—but there’s nothing wrong with that.’

  If a woman had given him the pleasure of her company and her body then it seemed reasonable to give her something back. Something that didn’t cost him anything but money. After all he had more of that than he knew what to do with.

  One thing he could thank his marriage for: in his lunatic attempt to prove he could settle down and reclaim the home of his childhood, he’d fallen into a career that he loved. And he’d made sure that Charlotte benefited; the alimony he paid was more than generous.

  Heaven knew she deserved every red cent, because her pain had taught him the truth about himself: he couldn’t do love, he couldn’t do settling down. But that didn’t mean he needed to condemn himself to celibacy. And if that meant a conveyor belt of beautiful women in his life, hell, he didn’t have a problem with that. Not one.

  ‘Olivia. I plead guilty to liking a moving line of beautiful women, but it’s not for the kudos of having a trophy woman on my arm. I date women whose company I find enjoyable in the bedroom and out. And I make damn sure no one gets hurt.’

  ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘I have rules.’

  She gave a small sigh. ‘Of course you have rules. I can’t believe I’m asking this, but please share.’

  ‘Short-term, no expectations, no deep emotions, a good time had by all. That way everyone knows to jump off the conveyor belt when the ride is over. And no one gets hurt.’ He hitched his shoulders. ‘Works for me.’

  ‘Not for me,’ she said. ‘In fact I’d rather poke myself in the eye than lose all my self-respect by even putting my toe on your conveyor belt. I refuse to be some interchangeable good-time girl, only valued for my looks and my understanding that all that’s in it for me is just sex, expensive dinners and some goodbye jewellery.’

  ‘Well, I refuse to be branded some rich Lothario who pays for his pleasures. And, for the record, I offer hot sex—not just sex.’

  * * *

  Hot sex.

  The words lingered on the warm evening breeze alongside her own. Olivia’s brain whirred a frantic calculation. Hot sex, expensive dinners and jewellery. And this was bad because...?

  OK, she’d forego the latter two, but suddenly every molecule of her was asking what exactly was wrong with having hot sex with...say, Adam? In return for...hot sex with Adam.

  Mutual pleasure.

  So where exactly was the catch?

  Oh, yeah, it was short-term. No love on offer.

  She didn’t want long-term. Definitely didn’t want love.

  So what exactly would she lose?

  ‘Olivia?’

  Her head snapped up from her unseeing contemplation of the table.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked, amusement lacing the deep voice. ‘You look like you’re having an internal debate on the meaning of life. And losing.’

  ‘I am fine. Absolutely fine.’

  And she was. Hot sex with Adam would mean loss of control and she would not go there. She’d want him more than he wanted her. She was interchangeable with any beautiful woman. The power would be all his. Bang would go her self-respect. Problem was, right now self-respect seemed highly overrated.

  ‘Why don’t we move inside?’ she suggested. ‘I’m sure you want to catch up with Saru and...’

  ‘You looking for a chaperone, Olivia?’

  She looked up at him, desperate to deny it, but seeing the glint of mischief and sympathy in his brown eyes she couldn’t. ‘Something like that.’ Rallying, she managed a smile. ‘I wouldn’t want that bulldozed attraction to return.’

  ‘Hell, honey, neither would I. I couldn’t agree with you more. There’s safety in numbers, so let’s get ourselves inside.’

  Rising to her feet, she picked up her empty glass and set off towards the bar, sandals crunching into the moon-dappled sand. She went up the rickety wooden steps that led to the interior of the bar and stopped on the threshold, air whooshing from her lungs.

  ‘Wow!’ The inside of the bar was a vibrant Mecca for reggae. Posters covered every millimetre of the walls, and the ceiling was looped with garlands of flags in bright red, yellow and green. Olivia absorbed the life-size cardboard Bob Marley in front of a small stage tucked into the corner. Tables half filled with customers were scattered over the wooden floor and there was a buzz of conversation against the beat of reggae music being emitted from the sophisticated sound system.

  ‘Saru is a bit of a reggae fanatic,’ Adam said. ‘You should hear him and his cousin perform. They are amazing.’

  ‘Hey, Adam,’ Saru called from behind the bar. ‘You want to play?’

  Adam hesitated.

  ‘Go on,’ Olivia said, the urge to see this hitherto unseen side to Adam nigh on overwhelming. This was a different type of relaxed from his usual practised, laid-back charm and she wanted to witness it. ‘Demonstrate your hot stuff.’

  Just far away from me. Please. On the drums. Not on me. Please.

  ‘You sure you don’t mind?’

  ‘Cross my heart.’

  ‘Yes. Come on, Adam. Show Olivia what you can do,’ Saru encouraged as he walked around the bar counter. ‘Olivia, Adam has never brought a woman here before. We should mark the occasion. Sit here. I’ll get you a beer.’ He tapped a man on the shoulder. ‘And Marley, as h
e is known for obvious reasons, will sing.’

  A totally stupid warmth melted over her as Adam ushered her to a table. He had never brought a woman here before. True, he hadn’t exactly chosen to bring her, either, but that wasn’t the point. She wasn’t 100 per cent sure what the point actually was, but right now she didn’t care.

  Olivia watched as Adam strode to the stage and seated himself behind a pair of bongo drums. He stroked the top and drummed his fingers in a gentle experimental tattoo. Saru leapt up next to him and they had a quick whispered confab with Marley before the strains of one of the world’s best-known reggae songs strummed from his guitar, the drums in perfect accompaniment as Marley started to sing.

  He had a magnificent voice, but Olivia’s eyes were riveted to Adam and a whole different level of desire swathed her. Utterly relaxed, lost in the moment and the music, he looked in his element. His large hands moved as if he and the instrument were one—as if he’d been born playing the bongos. When he and Saru chimed in for the chorus, Olivia picked out Adam’s deep melodious voice and a shiver trembled over her spine.

  Envy touched her. The idea of losing herself in something, really believing there was nothing to worry about, was alluring in the extreme. Maybe for a couple of hours tonight, though, she could do that. Be Olivia on holiday—actually be the Queen of Chill for real.

  She drank another glug of beer and allowed her sandal-clad toes to tap the wooden floor. Like the rest of the clientele she found her body swaying as the set progressed. Her heart beat faster and faster as she watched Adam, his hands a blur now, his muscular forearms sheened with sweat, thick thighs pressed against the drums. He was so damn hot her insides twisted with the sheer wanting of him.

  Marley bowed at the close of the song even as the clientele called for more.

  Saru stood up. ‘Anyone else want a go?’

  A Thai man at an adjoining table jumped to his feet. ‘I’ll sing,’ he said.

  Saru plucked a guitar down from the selection hanging behind the stage. ‘Elvis takes the stage,’ he announced as he passed the instrument over. ‘Olivia? You want to try the drums?’

  It took Olivia a second to understand the question. ‘Me?’ she said. ‘Um...I’m fine watching...but thanks all the same. I’m not really very musical.’

  Then Adam looked up from the drums and made a come hither movement with his hand, and of their own volition her feet propelled her upward and onward. Nooooooo! This was the world’s very worst idea. The last drum she’d played she’d been aged two and it had been saucepan-shaped. Yet she kept right on going to where Adam waited at the edge of the stage, his hand outstretched.

  As his fingers clasped hers Olivia bit back a gasp even as she cursed her own imagination. Because that was all it could be. Electric currents could not be generated by desire; it was a scientific impossibility.

  Once on stage Olivia looked around the bar, lit up by a scattering of red-, yellow-, and green-coloured paper lanterns, its relaxed patrons all chatting as ‘Elvis’ limbered up on the guitar. Saru drummed an impromptu solo, the haunting beat carrying on the night breeze wafting in through the open windows.

  ‘I’m really not sure about this,’ Olivia said.

  ‘It’ll be fun,’ Adam said. ‘Give it a go. Come on. The Queen of Chill would.’

  ‘Ha ha!’ Olivia hesitated for a moment and then pinned her shoulders back. What the hell? If she stepped off this stage now she’d regret it. After all, when would she ever get the chance to do something like this again?

  It would be an experience, and it was worth the headiness provoked by Adam’s proximity. He was buzzing; she could feel the vibe jumping off him. His scent assaulted her senses, the pure masculine tang of salt and his underlying woodsy scent sending her dizzy with longing.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

  She followed him to the bongos, dropped down onto the low stool behind them, and pulled the drums forward between her thighs. The leather was warm from Adam’s body heat and Olivia shuddered.

  And then she melted as he slid onto the stool behind her, the rock-solid wall of his chest against her back. A strange noise emerged from her mouth, half mewl, half groan, as his arms slipped round her waist and his big hands covered hers.

  ‘Meep.’

  ‘You need to sit on the edge of the seat,’ he said softly, his breath tickling her ear. ‘And position your legs at a ninety-degree angle.’

  ‘Meep.’

  Get a grip. He is positioning you to play the drums. Nothing else. This is not the time to channel Roadrunner.

  ‘You OK?’ Adam’s voice held amusement and sin; the combination was lethal.

  ‘Yup. Fine.’

  ‘Good. You need the larger drum just below your right knee and nudge the smaller one to your left.’

  If she focused really hard on the drums instead of the press of his body, she could do this.

  ‘You comfy?’

  ‘Just peachy.’ Never mind that her muscles were in clench mode and it was nothing to do with drum-holding.

  ‘Good. That’s important. Make sure you’ve got the drum firmly in place between your legs.’

  His voice was so low, so full of innuendo that Olivia was torn between a desire to elbow him or call him on it. She went for option two.

  Wriggling her bottom backwards she grinned at the evidence of exactly what innuendo was doing to him. ‘You sure you’re talking about the drum?’ she whispered.

  His breath hitched and the solid muscle of his thigh convulsed against her leg. ‘Excellent question. What would you like me to be talking about, Olivia?’

  He pressed the edge of his erection against the small of her back and she moaned. She had to ground herself; she really did. They had agreed to bypass the attraction, so what exactly was Adam doing? Maybe he was being carried away by the music—in which case it was up to her to be the sane one.

  ‘The drums,’ she said hoarsely. ‘That’s what we’re talking about here.’

  ‘Anything you say, cupcake.’ He caressed her hands, his thumbs stroking her index fingers until she couldn’t think straight. ‘In which case now you need to limber up,’ he growled. ‘You’ll need to use your fingers and thumbs to do a lot of the work.’

  ‘Meep. Meep.’

  ‘This is what you’ll need to get a beat going.’ His nose brushed her cheek; he was so very close they were practically melded. Her entire body was on alert as his scent enveloped her.

  Reality, Liv. Try to focus.

  Saru had started playing now, and the singer strummed the first chord of the song.

  ‘Just go with it, Olivia,’ Adam murmured. ‘Go with the rhythm. Lose yourself in it.’

  For a second her body tensed against his and then something shifted inside her chest—a leaden block, pushed aside by the volcano of desire that was building up inside her like a fever. She closed her eyes and allowed her body to sway to the beat, encased by the strength of Adam’s arms. She felt his body move with hers and dizziness soared. Her hands, still underneath his, moved instinctively to the rhythmic beat of the music until the singer sang a final harmonic refrain, the echo of his voice soaring into the warm glow of the bar.

  Applause rang out and Olivia opened her eyes, suddenly aware of the insane grin on her face.

  ‘That was amazing,’ she breathed. And so was this: Adam’s hard body pressed up against her, the high of having done something so out of character. She wondered if it was possible that aliens had abducted the real Olivia Evans.

  ‘There’s nothing like it,’ Adam agreed.

  Saru jumped down off the stage and after a long moment Adam released her waist and rose to his feet. Olivia gave a small shiver. Of cold, she reassured herself. Not loss, because that would be absurd.

  Her heart still pounded, her head still spun, an
d desire still smouldered, desperate to erupt. Damn it, she wanted that physical connection to remain.

  Without letting herself question it further she rose and twisted round, closed the gap between them in a single small step. She looped her arms round the solid column of his waist, curled her fingers into the waistband of his shorts and rocked right up against him.

  TEN

  Adam stared down into her wide hazel eyes, saw her lush pink lips part. There was no way in heaven or hell he could resist her. One taste, one kiss—that was all he’d allow himself. After the glorious frustration of having her lush body so close, her apple scent intoxicating him whilst her sheer abandon in the music had stopped him short, a kiss was surely not too much to take?

  ‘Adam? Please. This time I won’t pull back.’

  Whoa...

  A kiss was one thing; Olivia was asking for more. Huzzah.

  Somehow he had to think past the temptation to throw her over his shoulder, race back to the hotel, and take her at her word. Before she changed her mind.

  ‘Damn it.’ The words emerged from his throat hoarse and guttural. Twice they’d been carried away, and two times Olivia had hauled herself back. There must be reasons for that.

  Complicated reasons.

  So if she was surrendering herself now that was a huge deal for her.

  Which further muddied the already swamp-like water.

  About the only thing Adam was sure of now, apart from his body’s urgent desire, was that complications were bad news.

  For all concerned.

  Olivia was vulnerable and that put her off-limits.

  Digging deep into his reserves of willpower, he gently reached back to unclasp her grip and stepped backwards.

  ‘No can do, Olivia.’

  Her tongue peeped out as she moistened her lips. ‘Why not?’ A downward lingering glance and then her hazel eyes flicked back up to meet his. ‘I can see that you’re feeling this, too.’

  ‘You’ll get no argument there.’ The thought that this hard-on now had nowhere to go was enough to make him weep. ‘But we agreed. No explosion means no pieces to pick up. So help me, right now all I want to do is take you to my bed. But it’s not a good idea. For either of us.’