He was right. Darcy’s hands shook. She wasn’t sure she could undo the other buttons without needing help. She wasn’t sure of anything except being with him was inevitable, and delicious, and stupid. His look burned her skin, made it zing like the first rush of a too hot shower. She fumbled the remaining buttons undone, let the dress fall to her feet and stood there in her mismatched underwear.
“I want you naked.”
She couldn’t do it. She knew her body wasn’t fashionable. She had hips and a backside. And despite the yoga she wasn’t toned to magazine image perfection. The family joke was tables had better legs. And his body was incredible, even with the scars that marked him. And the room was too bright. She went to turn off the light nearest her.
“Leave it.”
Hand on the switch, their eyes met. He repeated, “Leave it.”
She turned it off.
“Fine then—but the bra goes.”
“So you do know how to compromise.”
“I know how to win. Do you want me to do it for you?”
She did. She didn’t. She saw nothing in him to suggest he didn’t like what he saw. She unhooked her bra, let it slide down her arms and watched his eyes flare with satisfaction. Then she leant across and switched on the light. “You win.”
His grin stood in place for the word ‘always’. “Come here.”
She knelt on the bed, then crawled across to him, aware of his eyes eating her up. “I’m going to touch you now, but you’re not to move.”
He made a growl sound, a rumble from his chest, but sat still. She pulled the sheet back, peeling it slowly away from him, till she could see all of him. The jut of his hipbones, the flat of his belly. He had another burn scar on his thigh, tightly muscled calves, high insteps and squared-off toes. He had an erection that made her gulp and every interior muscle clench.
“I’m not feeling any touching,” he said.
“Patience.” She knelt at his side. She was gathering herself before she lost herself.
“I’m not known for it.”
She swept her eyes back to his face. “I might’ve guessed that. But you do know about restraint. You were restrained last night. You wouldn’t let me touch you.”
“If I remember rightly, you were restrained, and I wouldn’t let you argue with me. You’ve got ten seconds.”
“And then what?”
He laughed, his hands came down from behind his head to line the pillows again. Ready to pounce. “You want me to tell you or show you?”
“I want you to sit still.”
“Obedience isn’t my thing either.”
“No kidding.” She shifted to sit across his thighs. Put both hands on his ribs and smoothed them up and over his pecs to his shoulders. She leant forward and put her lips on his collarbone, her nipples grazed his chest, the light blond hair there creating a delicious itch.
“You want to sit a little closer, woman.”
She licked across his collarbone to the hollow at this throat. “I want to do this in my own time.”
His head kicked back against the pillows. “That wasn’t my plan.”
“Got somewhere better to be?”
He snickered, “I’m almost right where I want to be.” He pushed down on the bed so she was bounced further up his thighs. She had to grasp his arms to stop falling into him.
“You’re the devil.”
“I’m working on it, angel.”
“Sit still.”
He groaned. “You’re pushing your luck.”
She knew it. His body was vibrating under her hands, hot under her lips. She put her hand to his face, traced her thumb over the white line under his chin, then followed it with her tongue. He brought his head down and caught her lips in a wet kiss, but let her pull away.
She slid up his body so she was exactly where he wanted her to be and the air came out of him in a slow swoosh. He had both fists full of pillow and his eyes were black bright with desire.
She rocked against him, his hardness and heat. Her own restraint in tatters; her body arched, breasts thrust high, breathy sighs her only language. She forgot he was dangerous. Forgot she was reckless. Forgot her own name. All that was burned away. All she was left with was rolling flickers of electric sensation. Every nerve ending sparking, every muscle firing with pleasure. If he touched her she might become smoke, but burning alive would be glorious.
In one fluid movement he palmed her hips, pulled her down harder against him and flipped her on her back. Part of her wanted to resist, to cry out at the injustice of his disobedience. She wanted to take him, master him, but he was too big, too strong, too everywhere, and her ability to think had dissolved to nothing.
She was made entirely of feeling. His lips and hands and tongue, the racing sound of his breathing and the bite of his fingers. He did what they’d both wanted, and had held back from last night. He was all about her. Wringing reaction from her body with every stroke, press, pinch and thrust.
A spiral of intensity built inside her. It dragged in every thought and emotion she’d ever had and wrapped them tight, stirred them up, blew them apart. She fought it, tried to wait the force of it out, let it wash over her, but he was relentless. He took her to the edge with his fingers, with his tongue, and when he finally entered her she was wild with the need of him, scoring his back with her short nails, biting the skin on his neck.
Beyond the tremors, in the soft comedown, in the silence that held only their panted breath, she played her fingertips though his thick hair. He was heavy, but she knew he was braced on his elbows so not to crush her. He’d made her feel new-forged, but he hadn’t lost himself. He wasn’t relaxed, he wasn’t at peace. Under her hands his muscles were still rigid. She was amazed and grateful and worn out, like she’d done a yoga marathon. But she was also resolved. She needed food, she needed sleep, and then she was going to unravel this man like he’d done to her. Take away his anchors and make him float, give him wings so he could fly too.
10. Success
“Hold faithfulness and sincerity as first principles.” — Confucius
She needed to sleep, but he needed to feed her first. She was everything and more than he expected. She’d let him open her soul up; see everything inside her, all of her without covering, without pretence. It humbled him. She was something else. Nothing he’d experienced before. It could become a problem.
She wore the cream hotel robe and nothing underneath. It flowed against her skin, silk on silk. She sat opposite him, devouring a fruit tart after a main course of salmon. She ate like she enjoyed food. Devoured it. She ate like she fucked. And she’d fucked like she was starving for good food. She could become a problem.
But she wasn’t going to starve this weekend. They weren’t finished with each other by a long shot. All her reserve and hesitancy was gone now. She didn’t dodge his glance or default to shyness or caution. No more nibbling. From here on in it was full mouthfuls.
He patted his thigh and she brought her feet up, let him massage her arches and her toes, groaned with delight when he pressed into her foot, sinking further in her chair. Her robe fell open, and she didn’t bother to try and cover her legs.
He liked this comfort with him. He figured it was the opening act for the kind of brazenness she showed in debate. She had a plan, he could see it brewing. He just hoped it left him able to walk. Because at some point he’d have to. Without looking back.
He parked the thought. They had hours. They had worlds to explore yet.
She broke into his musings. “What are you thinking about?”
“You.”
She smiled, delighted. “Tell me.”
He pressed his thumb into the pad of her foot and she jumped. “I was thinking about how real you are.”
“You said that before. You’ve been hanging out with superheroes too much if you’re so impressed with my realness.”
He laughed. “It’s a money thing. When you have money and influence people see you through its filter
. They act differently. They act how they think you’re going to like them most.”
“Is that why you don’t want me to know your name?”
He stilled his hand, wrapped it over her foot. He didn’t want to think about this. “I get the feeling you’d see me the same way no matter what my name was.”
“Are you sure you’re not a lawyer, or a bookie?” She was laughing at him. “You hedge your bets.”
“Spoken like a journalist.”
She waggled her foot under his hand. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re made to question, and you don’t take things at face value.”
She sighed. “That doesn’t do me any favours. It’s what makes it hard to love me, I think.” She looked wistful.
“You’re just looking in the wrong places. You’re looking at men who see everything as a competition.”
“Oh and you don’t.”
“Sure I do. But I’m not scared of being beaten. Most men are.”
“What makes you different?”
He laughed and it sounded bitter to his own ears. “Because I started out beaten. Being beaten taught me everything I know. I appreciate its value.”
“You don’t just mean the scars, do you?”
“No. I mean beaten in a consciousness sense. Beaten so low nothing is expected of you, and you don’t expect anything of yourself.”
“Where did you get the will to succeed?”
“Journalist.” He shook her foot. “I’m not your lab rat.”
She grimaced. “I know, but I can’t help wanting to understand how you did it.”
“You mean got out of the gutter,” gestured to the room, “and into the palace?”
She stood. Held out her hand. He let her led him into the lounge room. He sat beside her a minute then swung his legs up and stretched out, putting his head in her lap. Her hand went to his hair, like he hoped it might. But he knew the quid pro quo was a story.
“It’s not success when there’s nothing on the flipside.”
“I’m listening.”
“I had a choice. Make good or subsist. Success for most people is a flexible measure. You can stuff lots of definitions into it: a job, a better job, a home, a better home, one kid or three. All depends where you started from. For me it was either never be poor again or live on the dole forever.”
“Wait a minute. You just said, the measure of success was flexible and then gave me a rigid definition with extreme outcomes for yourself.”
“Like I said—inconsistent.”
She gave his hair a hard tug.
“I assume that answer didn’t come up to your impeccable standards of rationality.”
“You assume correct.”
He shook her hand off and sat up to face her. “It’s not rational. It’s just how it was for me.”
“And it’s still that way?”
“Baked in.” He reached for her hand and pulled her to him. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a character out of an Ayn Rand book, making up my own perverse rules of natural order.”
She laughed and swung her leg across him so she straddled his lap.
“Don’t say it. You know I can read a book now. You’re the same anyway.”
“I am not.” She poked him in the chest. “We are not the same.”
“Oh, no? On anyone’s scale, you’d have to be considered a success. You’re independent, educated, you have a career you care about.”
“I’m paid a pittance and I have to fight for every decent by-line. I’m nowhere near where I want to be in my career.”
“You prove my case.”
“And how do I do that, lawyer?”
“By defining success as something beyond reasonable expectations—as something personal to you. As something you stretch the boundaries of your life for every day.”
“You’re a little too smart for your own good.”
“You forgot rich.”
She stroked a finger over his brow and he closed his eyes. She breathed in his ear, “I forget nothing.”
“Certainly not what sitting in my lap does to me.”
She rotated her pelvis, forward, back. Tease. “What does it do to you?”
He opened one eye. “I know you’re not stupid, woman.”
“I want you to tell me.”
“Because showing you isn’t enough?”
She laughed, a wanton sound, leaned forward to kiss him. Long and lush enough to make time stand still. He pulled her against his chest, pushed the robe off her shoulders. Her hands went for the tie on his. Her lips were at his neck. Her movements were feverish, while he felt drugged by her nearness, by the warmth and softness of her caresses. He had no inclination to move back to the bedroom, and she had every intention of keeping him right here. She abandoned his lap and slid to the carpet, doll eyes full of mischief, overflowing with carnal intent.
He pulled a strand of her hair, let it slide between his fingers. “I’m not sure I want you on your knees.”
“I don’t require your permission.”
He captured her hands before she could do anything lethal with them. “You do.”
She pulled free, wrapped the robe about her, stood up and put the coffee table between them. Disappointment spiked sharp though his body, though he had no right to it. She had her arms folded, the silk pulled firm across her breasts. Her nipples were tight beads. Ripe to taste again.
“You’re a control freak and I don’t like it.”
He shrugged. “It’s how I am. You knew that.”
“Not here. Not with me.”
“Just because the door’s closed, just because this isn’t the usual Saturday date night, it’s still the real world.”
“If this was the real world, I wouldn’t be here. I don’t let strangers buy me, fuck me.”
Hearing the obscenity from her mouth made him groan out loud. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to let go.”
“Baby, there isn’t anything being held back.” Except the one thing that would seal her opinion of him in a casket.
“Liar. You know how to give. God, you know how to give. You just don’t know how to give yourself.”
He sighed, this wasn’t fun. Her over there, wanting to debate him. Him over here on the defensive. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do.”
She didn’t know what she was asking, but the look of determination on her face, the double knot in the belt of her robe, told him she was closed for business unless he changed the product on offer.
What would it be like to let go with her? Shoot his control full of holes and let instinct take over? Except his instinct veered towards aggression, and that was as unacceptable now as it had ever been. He didn’t trust himself not to hurt her. He’d promised not to.
“I can’t.”
“You expect me to believe that. You don’t want to.”
“You’re right. Wasn’t I enough for you?”
She softened, her shoulders dropping. “You’re the most generous lover I’ve ever had. But you don’t play fair.”
“You didn’t get the memo. Life’s not fair.”
“But in this room, with me, now—it could be. Just for a little while.”
He closed his eyes against the temptation, sank into the suede.
“I trust you.”
He barked a laugh, opened his eyes to find her standing in front of him. “You know I’m a liar and you think I’m a pirate. Why would you trust me?”
“Because of what we’ve already done. Because I know you too.”
“You only think—”
“Shut up.”
She said it with such force it surprised him into closing his mouth, swallowing the sentence.
“You’re a man who’s made his own world. A world of prestige and power out of raw materials most would have struggled to build anything with, and you brought your brother al
ong for the ride. But to get where you are now was expensive. It cost you deeply. It made you controlling. It made you scared to let go.”
“It didn’t make me any—”
“Shut. Up.”
She was fierce now. All cat with claws.
“You read widely because you still think you have to catch up. You sleep with women you pay for because it’s a contract and the rules are clear. This, being here with me, it’s wildly out of the ordinary for you too.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m speculating. Am I wrong?”
She had her hands on her hips. The neck of the robe was slashed opened to her waist. It was getting harder and harder to hold out against her. “You hated telling me you that, didn’t you?”
She could drag admissions out of the devil. “I prefer a neat Scotch.”
“You hate the idea of letting go, maybe losing control.”
“I’d prefer you in my lap. Come here.”
“Don’t dodge the question.” She frowned at him. “I don’t want to be in your lap.”
“You want to be at my feet? I don’t understand.”
“I want to unravel you.”
He stood up. This had to stop now. “That’s not on the program.”
“Then the program’s wrong.”
She came at him and it occurred to him it might be sensible to back away. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking you to trust me.”
“It’s not about me trusting you.”
“What’s it about?”
This was ridiculous. He laughed. “Me not trusting me.”
She stood toe to toe with him. Shorter by a head. She held his gaze. “I dare you.”
“This isn’t some game. You’re playing with fire.”
“God I hope so.” She eye-rolled as though this was a mere irritant.
He stroked his hand down her hair, gripped the back of her neck. “I didn’t get scratched up because I’m a sweet loving person.”
“You’re telling me you’re a brawler.”
“And then some.”
“So you’re scared you might hit me?”
He recoiled, dropped his hold on her and stepped back. She wasn’t clever to keep pushing this. He’d cut his own arm off before he’d hit a woman, but there were oh so many other ways to hurt them.
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