by Miranda Lee
His momentary silence at the other end was telling. But then he laughed. ‘So that’s how it is, is it? You’re with someone and you can’t talk. Or you won’t talk, more like it. You won’t even use my name, though it actually is my name. Val’s short for Valentino. Named after the great lover himself. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ she said stiffly, though it was damned appropriate.
‘At least you haven’t hung up,’ he remarked drily, ‘so that’s a start. To answer your question, everything was more than satisfactory the other day. I told you, passion always gets me in, and you’re one passionate woman, Lucille. More than passionate. You’re…incandescent…when you’re turned on. That’s why I find I can’t leave things at a one-night stand. I have to have more of you, my darling. Do you like me calling you my darling?’
Oh, God, he had no idea. It sent quivers running up and down her spine. It made her melt inside. It made her glow all over.
Was that what he meant by incandescent?
She quickly turned her face away from Michele’s curious eyes so that she wouldn’t see anything as telling as rosy cheeks.
‘I sure as hell do,’ he went on. ‘Especially when the ice princess can’t slap me down or tell me to shut you. You have to stay polite and say the right things. So say the right thing, my darling Lucille, and tell me you’ll be with me tonight. Here. At my place this time. If you don’t, I might just have to come and camp outside your building. I might even bring a guitar and serenade you like the lovesick swains of old. Would you like that?’
Lucille gulped down the lump in her throat. What did you say to such a man? The hide of him. The magnificent hide!
‘I know you still want me,’ he continued, his voice low and seductive. ‘I can feel it in your silence. I can hear it in your breathing.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Valentino, but—’
‘I’m well aware you don’t want to be seen in public with such a notorious playboy,’ he broke in, his tone sardonic. ‘But I’m not asking for that, am I? This will be a very private rendezvous. We’ll eat in. I’ll have dinner delivered. I’ll have everything delivered. We’ll spend the night drinking champagne and lolling around in the spa and having the most glorious sex. What more could you possibly want? No one will know. I’ll be your secret toyboy and you can be my secret playmate. So what do you say to that, my darling Lucille? Have you got the courage to take some more of what you want? Or don’t you dare?’
Daring her was almost as good as calling her his darling. A surge of adrenaline shot through her veins, bringing with it a heady recklessness.
‘I do apologise, Mr Valentino,’ she said matter-of-factly, thrilling at her ability to sound so cool in the face of the mad excitement fizzing through her bloodstream. ‘But I simply can’t drop everything at the moment. I’m very busy. And I never drive into the city area during peak hour. But I’ll pop over later this evening with everything you want. Shall we say…eight? Would that be satisfactory?’
She wasn’t sure what his silence meant this time. Surprise, perhaps, at the ease of his success? Hopefully nothing like smug triumph. She could bear anything but that.
‘You won’t regret it,’ he said at last, his voice low and vibrating with the most seductive passion.
It got to her. Just as her passion got to him.
But it was still only sex.
She had to never forget that.
For the first time since meeting Val, Lucille began to worry that she might.
‘I already do,’ she muttered under her breath as she clicked off the phone.
When she looked up it was to find Michele frowning at her. ‘This Mr Valentino’s a client, I presume?’
‘Yes. I settled him into a fancy apartment in Darling Harbour on Monday afternoon.’
‘What on earth does he want that you have to drive over there personally on a Friday evening?’
Lucille reckoned she deserved an Academy Award for not blushing. ‘Move Smooth always provide their overseas clients with brochures which tell them all the best tourist spots and restaurants, plus the pitfalls of the Australian language and culture,’ she said, quite truthfully. ‘Anyway, I forgot them on Monday. It was a bit of a rush job. I promised to drop them in for him this week and haven’t yet, and he’s a bit peeved. So I’d better do it, or he might complain to the big boss. He’s by way of being an old friend of hers.’
‘How old?’
Lucille thought it was time to terminate this line of questioning. ‘For pity’s sake, Michele, you’re not trying to play matchmaker again, are you?’
‘It was just that he has an Italian name and we already decided you might go for a foreign guy. You don’t fancy this Mr Valentino at all?’
‘He’s the last man on earth I’d consider having a relationship with,’ she stated firmly. Have sex with, yes. But a relationship? No.
‘Too old?’
‘It’s not a question of age.’
‘Too ugly?’
‘He’s not at all ugly.’
‘What, then? Not even a single teensy-weensy spark?’
‘No.’ It was more like fireworks. ‘Trust me on this.’
‘Mmm. If you say so. But don’t think I’m going to give up altogether. I’m determined to find you a man-friend by Christmas. Just think, wouldn’t it be great to take a really good-looking guy home with you on Christmas Day and give your family a nice surprise?’
Lucille tried to picture what would happen if she showed up at the typically suburban family barbecue on Christmas Day with Val Seymour on her arm.
It was too impossible a scenario to speculate over, and since it was never going to happen, why bother? What was going to happen was she was going to go over to Val’s snazzy apartment this evening, where Val was going to shag her silly all night. And then, by morning, with a bit of luck, she might have got him out of her system. And vice versa.
But he wasn’t out of her system yet, she accepted, her hand trembling as she dropped the phone back into her bag. Not by a long shot. ‘I’d better get this dress off and get going, Michele,’ she said, trying not to unravel just yet. ‘I’ll have to drop back into the office and collect the brochures before Jody locks up for the weekend.’
What she was really going to do was get out of here and go home. She simply could not keep sounding normal when everything inside herself had gone haywire.
‘You’re just trying to get out of my buying you this dress,’ Michele said. ‘But it isn’t going to work. I’ll just pay for it after you’ve gone and give it to you on Monday, at lunch.’
Lucille threw her a resigned smile. ‘If you must.’
‘I must.’
‘You’re a sweetie, Michele,’ Lucille said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Thanks.’
‘Just promise me you’ll wear it somewhere before Christmas.’
‘I promise.’
‘I aim to keep you to that.’
‘Bye, Michele. Have a good weekend.’
‘You too. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
Too late, Lucille groaned to herself as she hurried out of the boutique. I already have.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FIVE to eight that evening found Lucille alighting from a taxi outside Val’s exclusive apartment building. She’d been just too nervous to drive. Too…distracted.
Not that she looked nervous. The reflection she glimpsed in the revolving glass door as she pushed her way into the lobby was that of a confident, well-groomed business woman. The tailored black suit she was wearing was smart rather than sexy, although the skirt was pretty tight and short, as was the fashion these days, and the lapelled jacket was nipped in at the waist, highlighting her hourglass shape. Her make-up was subtle, her blonde hair swept back into an elegant but severe French pleat. The only jewellery she wore was her plain gold wristwatch.
Admittedly, the addition of sheer black stockings and black patent stilettos gave her overall appearance an edge which might sug
gest that their wearer was on her way to something other than a business appointment.
Lucille had been tempted to wear something seriously sexy, but she worried Val might talk her into staying the whole night, and she didn’t want to leave the building the next morning in something totally unsuitable for daywear. The last thing she wanted was to waltz out of his apartment looking like a woman who’d been out on the tiles all night, so to speak.
As Lucille approached the reception desk in the lobby she hoped the black leather briefcase she was carrying would complete the businesslike façade she was adopting. After all, no one would know that it contained nothing but the basic essentials for feminine survival, including a spare pair of black panties and a new packet of pantyhose to replace the skintight teddy and stay-up stockings she was wearing underneath her suit if needs be.
The man behind the desk looked up at her approach. He was about forty, with thinning brown hair and sharp grey eyes which seemed to see all at a glance. He had a tag pinned to the breast pocket of his navy blazer which introduced him as the ‘Night Manager’.
‘Good evening, ma’am,’ he said in nasal voice. ‘How may I help you?’
‘Mr Seymour in 12A is expecting me,’ she replied, her crisp, no-nonsense tone belying the butterflies which were playing catch-me-if-you-can in her stomach.
‘I’ll have to ring and check, ma’am. Your name, please?’ He produced a handkerchief and wiped his nose.
‘Lucille Jordan from Move Smooth.’ Lucille hoped that adding a business name would deflect any possible suspicion on the man’s part that she was really a call-girl in disguise. It was unfortunate that she couldn’t just walk over to the lift and ride up to Val’s floor unannounced. But the lift wouldn’t work without a keycard pass.
The night manager spoke to Val on the telephone in hushed words, and Lucille imagined that his unctuous smile had a slightly knowing quality as he hung up and turned back to her. ‘Here’s your temporary pass for the lift, Ms Jordan. Could you please drop it back here at the desk when you eventually leave? If I’m not here personally, then someone else will be. I go off duty at four.’
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, not happy with the implication that he didn’t expect her to leave till practically dawn. What had Val said to him?
She never found out. Val distracted her from her intention to ask by opening his door as she walked towards it. His gaze raked over her from head to toe, taking in everything on view, especially the shoes and the briefcase.
A mixture of pride and defiance had her giving as good as she got, though her facial expression was challenging rather than drily amused.
He wasn’t wearing black this time. He was wearing grey. Dark grey trousers and a pale grey shirt, open at the neck. His hair was still wet from a shower, but his face was again sporting a few days’ growth.
She actually liked the designer stubble look on him. It was devilishly sexy.
So was his smile. ‘And what are you selling tonight, Ms Jordan?’ he drawled, black eyes sparkling.
His teasing irked her for a moment, till she realised this was the only way to play this game. Start taking it all too seriously and she’d never be able to cope. Erica had spelled it out for her. Men like Val were fun. Fun to be with. Fun to sleep with.
She had to learn to go with the flow.
‘I was hoping to interest you in a new type of personal protection,’ she said without batting an eye.
His eyebrows arched. ‘Door to door salespeople are certainly much better-looking than they used to be. Do come in, Ms Jordan. I’ll be interested in hearing your spiel. Or do you prefer to demonstrate your products?’
‘Oh, no,’ she said with a perfect poker face. ‘We ice princesses don’t demonstrate. We just like to talk.’
Their eyes met, hers throwing all kinds of challenges at him.
Suddenly, his hand shot out and he yanked her inside, kicking the door shut behind her. The briefcase clattered to the tiled floor as he pushed her up against the door and crashed his mouth down on hers, his lips prying hers apart and his tongue darting deep.
Lucille might have gasped at his oral assault if she’d been capable of gasping. But her mouth was too full of him for anything but a low, whimpering moan.
Soon, it wasn’t just his tongue she had to contend with. There were his hands, those sensual, knowing hands which had taken so long to undress her the other night.
They weren’t slow tonight. They had her jacket off in no time. Then the straps of her black satin teddy were pushed off her shoulders and pulled down her arms till she was naked to the waist, the satin straps left to dangle by her elbows, imprisoning her arms by her sides.
All this with his mouth still on hers, seducing her into a state of utter submission to his will.
His abrupt lifting of his head startled her back to the raw reality of her standing there like that, half-naked, her back against his front door.
She could have done something about it, she supposed. Could have somehow wriggled the straps back up onto her shoulders. They weren’t all that tight around her elbows.
But she didn’t, of course. The truth was she liked being on display for him. It was exciting to pretend she couldn’t move to cover her bared breasts, that she was somehow a helpless captive of his male aggression.
She loved the way he was looking at her, his eyes narrowed and smouldering. Her head began whirling with her own dark desires, the sexual tension she’d been suffering from all week soaring to new heights. If he didn’t do something soon, she thought, she’d go mad!
He did. He touched her. His right hand reaching out to graze the backs of his fingers across her aching nipples. She groaned and willed him to do it again. He did, watching her eyes dilate and her breathing quicken.
‘Oh,’ she gasped when he cradled both her breasts in his hands at once, moaning when he began rubbing over the now rock-hard tips with his thumbs.
‘Stop,’ she choked out when everything began spinning out of control inside her head. ‘Stop…’
‘But you like it,’ he insisted. ‘You want me to touch them, lick them, suck them.’
‘Oh,’ she moaned when he bent to do just that.
‘Don’t stop now,’ she groaned when he suddenly straightened.
His eyes searched hers. Hot, blazing black eyes.
She met them with her own glazed green ones.
‘Please, Val,’ she whispered shakily. ‘Please…’
The next few moments happened in a flash. One second she was sagging back against the door, her arms limp by her sides, the next she was leaning over a nearby marble console, gripping its corners with nerveless hands and staring, wide-eyed, into the mirror on the wall.
Val was behind her, his hands frantic on her clothes. Her skirt was being hitched up, the teddy unsnapped at her groin, her body being made accessible to his.
Her eyes widened at the realisation of what he was going to do. But not a word of protest came from her lips. Because this was what she wanted too. Him, inside her. Just like this. Every muscle and nerve-ending she owned was already tightening in anticipation of his penetration.
His stopping long enough to protect them both amazed her. She moaned when she finally felt his flesh pushing into hers, then again when he began pumping into her, his hands gripping her hips like twin vices. His impassioned thrusts sent her body rocking back and forth, her hot, hard nipples rubbing against the cold, hard marble.
Lucille had never felt the like, either in her body or in her head. Watching herself in the mirror seemed to add to her rapture as she revelled in her reflection’s abandoned sensuality; her flushed face; her wild green eyes; her panting mouth.
It was all terribly decadent, but more exciting than anything she’d ever done!
She liked watching Val too. Liked watching the almost hypnotised way he was staring down at what he was doing. Unable to see that low in the mirror, Lucille let her heated imagination paint an erotic picture of her bared buttocks, raise
d and taut with tension, their pale, soft-skinned globes quivering under Val’s powerful and primal rhythm.
Her insides contracted wildly at the thought, and he cried out, grimacing as his head fell back and he came. She came too, just as suddenly, bringing a strangled moan from her widely gaping mouth. She gripped the console even harder, for fear of somehow dislodging his body from hers, a thought that didn’t bear thinking about. She wanted him to stay deep inside her. No, needed him to stay inside her.
She sobbed when the spasms went on and on.
‘It’s all right, baby,’ he assured her throatily. ‘It’s all right. Here. Don’t do that.’ He reached round to pry her white-knuckled fingers from the marble, then slowly, carefully, levered her upright, his hands spreading to press possessively against her stomach and breasts.
Eventually her tortured flesh calmed, and her head tipped back against his shoulder on a long, adrenaline-draining sigh.
‘That feel better now?’ he crooned, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her ear.
Lucille quivered under his feathery lips, amazed that he was still partially erect inside her, and even more amazed when her heartbeat began quickening again. Yet this was what he’d done the other night. No sooner had one episode ended than another would begin.
‘Fantastic,’ he murmured. ‘Simply fantastic.’ He nibbled at her earlobe, bringing another erotic little shiver. ‘Do you think we might stay like this for ever? We could be bronzed into a statue. They could put it in a park somewhere. Lovers from all over the world would come to see us.’ When his mouth covered her ear entirely and blew softly inside, she trembled uncontrollably.
‘I know that doesn’t mean you’re cold,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve never known a woman as hot as you are once you get going.’
‘Please stop, Val,’ she groaned, despite not making any physical struggles to get away from him. ‘I…I don’t think I could cope with anything more just now.’ She was starting to really feel him. Which could only mean he was becoming fully erect again. Lord knows how. The man had to be a machine!