A Week to be Wild

by JC Harroway

  ‘Trouble is...’

  His wet finger travelled north again, pleasure dancing under the firm pressure of the tip.

  ‘I want all of you.’

  He plunged two fingers inside her, spreading them to open her sensitive walls.

  ‘More than fucking.’

  He tugged her hair, tilting her head back.

  ‘More than a few stolen days.’

  She twisted, opening her eyes to glance back at him.

  His eyes burned with an intensity she’d yet to witness.

  ‘I want it all.’

  He latched his stare to hers. The raw hunger she saw in his features, slack with lust, need burning in the depths of his eyes, stole her breath. She had no time to answer or to acknowledge his words. No time to untangle the knotted threads of her own feelings.

  Alex released her hair, flipped her onto her back and climbed above her.

  His kisses started with her mouth, all too soon departing for her throat and her shoulders. Her restless hands clawed at him, her nails likely leaving marks, but she was helpless, and for the first time in years she was accepting the state instead of trying to outrun it. Completely at his mercy and—for now—his.

  His mouth lavished her breasts, nipping and sucking until her legs twisted around his in an attempt to bring them closer together.

  When he traced her belly with his lips, his hands pushing her thighs apart, she thought she’d die, so great was the need coiled inside her. She cradled his face while he suckled her sex, his grunts of pleasure vibrating through her clit.

  His mouth left her abruptly and he kneeled between her thighs, his stare tracing her from top to toe.

  ‘I want all of you. I want you to be mine.’

  He reached for the condom he’d tossed on the bed earlier and ripped into it, his eyes holding her captive, bold, daring her as he sheathed himself.

  And then he was pushing inside her, and her hands were clasped in his, their fingers interlocked as if they’d never let go, his stare eating her alive and his body rigid above her like a man on the edge.

  His head dipped to her breast once more, his hot mouth drawing out her cries and whimpers as his hips ground into hers. Within two or three thrusts she came, clinging to him with everything she had as the slow-rolling spasms rocked her time and time again.

  ‘Yes...’ he murmured around her flesh, nibbling at her tortured nipple with firm lips and licks of fire from the gentle scrape of his teeth. ‘Give me more, Olivia. Give me everything.’

  He kept up the suction, carrying her past the molten liquid phase until the sharp bite of arousal gripped her once more. Sweat gathered at Alex’s hairline. He shifted, stretching her hands above her head and raising himself up on his knees to deepen the penetration. His smooth gliding thrusts picked up tempo, jerking to pound her sex with the wildness she’d craved.

  His teeth gripped his bottom lip as he fought for his own pleasure. She wanted to push him over, as he’d pushed her. She longed to give him what she knew he wanted. Some promise. Some commitment. Some acknowledgment that what they had between them was as unique for her as he’d hinted it was for him.

  She wriggled her hands free of his, reaching between them to cup his face. He twisted his head, his lips kissing the centre of one palm before he sought her eyes once more.

  Muscles bulged in his jaw. His face contorted as his hips grew more frantic. ‘Come with me, Libby.’

  She gripped his face tighter, her stare seeking deep inside his. “Alex... I...’

  He roared, his face twisted with rapture as he came, grasping her shoulders and giving her a third orgasm as surely as he’d given her a part of himself.

  * * *

  Libby pressed her toes into the soft sand. The tiny grains reflected the glint of a perfect Mediterranean morning. This early, they practically had the strip of golden beach to themselves, the only sounds the occasional cry of a gull and the constant drone of jet ski engines.

  She lifted one hand to shield her eyes, catching a glimpse of Alex streaking ahead of Jack as they traversed the bay, plumes of water in their wakes. Her stomach lurched, and the familiar jolt of adrenaline was one of the reasons she’d opted for sunbathing over skimming the surface of the Med on little more than a bicycle with a propeller.

  She flopped back onto her lounger, closing her eyes and forcing herself to think of something other than death or permanent injury. Only one thought emerged—Alex. Opening up to him last night had left her palms damp and her mouth dry. But she couldn’t bring herself to regret it for one second. They’d fallen asleep covered in each other, as close as two people could be. Breathing the same air, skin touching from head to toe, sharing soft, sleepy kisses until unconsciousness claimed them.

  It changed nothing. This time tomorrow she’d be on a flight back to New York. But something inside her had renewed. A hard kernel had cracked open and the tiny green shoot inside, delicate but brave, was pushing into the sunlight. She’d developed feelings for him. In the space of a few short days. A cliché. A whirlwind. Completely blindsiding her.

  Now what? Pining over the changes to her working relationship with Sonya, reeling from her conflicted emotions, living a whole continent away? The obstacles seemed greater than ever. And Alex hadn’t verbalised his feelings beyond stating that he wanted to see her again. Perhaps he’d meant once a year, when he travelled to New York on business.

  And the reasons for her reluctance still simmered inside her. When he’d winked and suggested she ride pillion with him on the jet ski she’d shrunk away, feigning a desire to work on her tan rather than confess the truth.

  She’d been there. Once was enough. If she’d been riding the motorbike that day, been in control, would the outcome have differed? Would she be married to Callum now? About to celebrate their three-year anniversary? Pregnant with his baby?

  The daydreams left her skin prickled with goosebumps. She rubbed her arms, trying and failing to rub the unsettling thoughts from her mind. If she’d had all of that she wouldn’t be here now, with Alex. She wouldn’t know that his eyes sparked when he teased her, that he danced when he was happy and didn’t care if anyone saw him, or that on the mornings they awoke together he’d pad to the kitchen dressed only in boxers to make her a ‘proper cup of English tea’.

  The angry roar of an engine grabbed Libby from her reverie. She sat up in time to see Alex, his jet ski aimed at an oncoming wave, travelling at full throttle.

  What the hell?

  Libby’s stomach lurched into her throat. Her hand covered her mouth as his jet ski hit the wave head-on. The wall of water tossed the small craft into the air, flipping it upside down, and the hollow growl of the airborne engine ricocheted inside Libby’s skull until her eardrums threatened to perforate.

  Her mind blanked. Her body tensed on the very edge of the lounger while time slowed and Alex seemed suspended in mid-air for what felt like a year. And then, with a slap as it hit the surface, the jet ski righted itself, the somersault complete, and Alex raced over to Jack, hand raised with a fist-pump of victory.

  Icy shivers covered Libby’s body. Every hair rose to attention. Every muscle twitched. As her stomach settled back inside her abdomen where it belonged, allowing air inside her lungs, the epiphany struck.

  She loved him.

  She’d fallen in love with an adrenaline junkie. A man not content just to enjoy the thrill, but who wanted to push the boundaries to the limit. A limit that made her hands tremble and her vision darken.

  Libby reeled. She had to move. To do something with the restless energy boiling inside her.

  She reached for her sarong, slipping it on and gathering up her phone and a set of keys for one of the estate’s vehicles.

  Before she’d taken two steps she snapped her head round as another guttural roar cut through the warm air. Libby froze. Her feet stuck to the hot
sand. Her eyes were glued to the unfolding drama.

  This somersault was higher, its angle, even to Libby’s untrained eye, more acute, and the wave to which Alex trusted his life bigger. As he disappeared from view over the crest Libby took off running.

  Her legs acted independently of her mind, her ears trained for the landing slap. It came, but the wave continued to roll ashore, obscuring her view. Had he made it? Was he unconscious? Bleeding? His lungs full of seawater?

  The wave broke and the orange hull of the capsized jet ski flashed. Her eyes scanned the water, her knees almost buckling when Alex surfaced, his arm raised with a wave to let them know he was okay. Within seconds Jack had cruised over to his cousin, the jet ski was righted and Alex had climbed back into the driver’s seat.

  But Libby was done.

  She’d seen enough to last her two lifetimes. The ice in her blood boiled. If he came in now she wouldn’t be responsible for the things she said. Changing direction, she hurried up the beach, the heat on her back and under her feet adding to the fury and impotence raging inside her.

  She needed time to think. She needed distance.

  Everything between them had happened so quickly, and now her feelings for Alex were spiralling out of control. She’d vowed after Callum’s funeral never to get this close again. But here she was, in love with a daredevil billionaire with a penchant for fast toys and dangerous sports. No. She couldn’t do it again. Refused to put herself through it.

  She’d loved Callum. She loved Alex. It terrified her to admit it, but if she didn’t she’d make the mistake of being led by her feelings, of succumbing to their insidious allure.

  She arrived at one of the vehicles, her hand trembling on the automatic lock. Alex and Jack would have the truck and trailer, so they could get back to the château in time for the wedding. But she had to get away.

  If she had to watch Alex do that again... No.

  She gunned the engine. She didn’t know the way back, but the car was top of the range and fitted with GPS. And right now, with all the turmoil pounding through her, getting lost for a few hours wasn’t such a bad idea.

  She didn’t want Alex to worry about her when he discovered her missing, so she plugged her phone into the hands-free and set off. He’d call when he came ashore and she’d text him when she’d calmed down.

  She drove, the twisting coastal road that hugged the cliffs a perfect distraction from her riotous thoughts. Halfway back to the château a call came in. But it was Vinnie’s voice that startled her.

  ‘Libby? Sonya’s been admitted to hospital. I thought you should know.’

  Stunned, Libby indicated and pulled off the road, killing the engine. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘All’s well, but her blood pressure is high. They’ll be inducing labour in the morning.’

  She pressed her forefinger to her throbbing temple, her mind flying between thinking of all the necessary arrangements and concern for her friend and her unborn child.

  ‘Change my flight, Vinnie.’

  ‘Sonya said to tell you she’s fine. It’s just a precaution because she’s at term.’

  Libby used a tone he’d understand. ‘Get me on the next flight home.’

  A pause. Then, ‘Sure.’

  She hung up and pulled back onto the road, breaking a few French traffic laws.

  Yes, she probably had time to wait for Alex to return, to explain why she’d left him at the beach and why she was leaving France earlier than she’d planned. But, whether she’d asked or not, Sonya needed her. And would voicing her views on Alex’s reckless behaviour change anything? Did she even want to change him? The problem was hers.

  She swallowed, her throat hot and her eyes stinging. Cowardice won. She chose to run.

  Chapter Twelve

  ALEX SHIFTED IN the seat as he waited for the call to connect, the creak of leather as irritating as the view of the cumulus through the tiny window of his jet. The brief journey to London crawled, every second drawn out to breaking point. How could he have been so stupid?

  When he’d found Libby gone after returning to the beach yesterday he’d feared every scenario but the truth—kidnapping, murder, drowning—as if his mind hadn’t wanted to believe the obvious. He’d messed up and she was gone.

  He scrubbed his knuckles down the side of his face, the rasp of stubble evidence of his hasty departure from France that morning. He’d have left last night if it hadn’t been for his cousin’s wedding. He’d missed most of the nuptials anyway, with his mind going over every second of his time with Libby and every word of their conversations.

  The call connected.

  ‘Mr Lancaster,’ said Molly. ‘I’m sorry. I was in the shower.’

  Fuck. He had no excuse for behaving like a shitty boss today. He’d make it up to her.

  ‘Can you schedule an appointment for me with Libby Noble at her New York office at her earliest convenience, please, Molly? And send flowers to Sonya Pullman via the Noble and Pullman offices.’

  He understood that Libby would be worried for her friend. Of course she’d want to rush to her side. But without saying goodbye? Without any discussion on the state of their relationship?

  The final words of her brief explanatory text replayed in his head, over and over, mocking him with their finality.

  Sorry to have to say goodbye via text. Thank you for a wonderful week. I’ll always remember it. Good luck with the charity, and if you’re ever in New York... Libby xx

  His fist clenched hard around the phone. ‘I’ll be on the ground in twenty minutes. Can you have an overnight bag delivered to the airport and make the necessary arrangements? I’ll be flying straight to New York after refuelling.’

  He’d tried the personal approach, calling and then texting Libby. He didn’t blame her for her silence.

  He’d enticed her to be his date at a wedding—likely a trigger for her, given that she must have cancelled her own wedding whilst grieving and burying her fiancé.

  He’d drawn out her perfect sublime surrender to him, with their lovemaking opening up new trust, a deeper connection, unspoken endearments.

  And then he’d spooked her, no doubt forcing her to relive the worst moment of her life, with his jet ski stunts.

  He’d known her reticence as soon as she’d declined to ride behind him. Part of him had wanted to forgo the rush of skimming the bay. But he’d also wanted to demonstrate his competence. Not showing off, but showing Libby that life was for living. The somersault—something he’d perfected from the age of sixteen—had been a step too far.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, answering Molly’s brief questions with terse, staccato responses. How had he misjudged things so badly? He’d wanted to give Libby a day that would stay in her memory. One that would remind her of their time together. One that would make it impossible for her to deny her feelings. Feelings he guessed terrified her.

  He understood her fear. He felt it too. Their brief encounter had rocked him in its intensity. But to walk away? Never to see her again? Never to explore the burgeoning feelings expanding inside him...

  He couldn’t do it. What he wanted to know was how could she? He’d been away from her less than twenty-four hours, but already he ached to see her again, to touch her, to kiss her.

  If there was no future beyond their few stolen days she’d have to tell him face to face, in that frank, forthright manner of hers. Tell him that the connection they shared could be easily discarded. Tell him that she was happy simply returning to her safe life, risking nothing—especially her heart.

  His PA drew him back to their conversation.

  ‘One last thing, Molly—send a memo to Human Resources to increase your salary by twenty per cent. That’s all for now.’

  He ended the call, but not before he heard Molly’s gasp.

  He sagged back into the seat as the pil
ot announced their descent. He’d always refused to give up without a fight. He had no intention of conceding now. He’d shown Libby he loved her. Now it was time to tell her.

  * * *

  Libby tapped gently at the door of Sonya’s private room in the maternity care unit. She peered through the glass, quietly entering when she saw Sonya was awake.

  She placed her gifts on a nearby table and went to her friend, pulling her into an embrace that she never wanted to end.

  Sonya’s tears seeped into the shoulder of Libby’s blouse. Libby clung tighter, her mind racing. ‘Shh, it’s okay.’

  Sonya never cried. Not since her first college boyfriend had broken her heart and they’d commiserated with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and two spoons. Libby pulled back, reached for a tissue from the nightstand and wiped her friend’s blotchy cheeks.

  Sonya gave a tearful chuckle. ‘Sorry. I’m told it’s the hormones. It had better stop soon or I’m having my tear ducts removed. Rich doesn’t know what to do with me,’ she said of her husband.

  Libby smiled, smoothing the hair back from Sonya’s face. ‘I’m not sure myself.’

  They laughed, breaking the tension, although Libby was selfishly tempted to add a meltdown of her own. She’d never felt so adrift.

  Swallowing back her own tumult of emotions, she focussed on her reason for being here. Her friend.

  Libby pointed at the Perspex crib on the far side of the bed, eyes wide. ‘Is this her?’ she whispered, awe bubbling up in her chest and her smile making her cheeks ache.

  Sonya nodded, her watery gaze flicking to where her tiny newborn slept. Libby tiptoed to the crib, her own throat suspiciously choked. Sonya’s daughter had a shock of black hair, just like her mom. Her tiny fist was clenched beside her angelic face, which was peaceful in slumber.

  It was hard for Libby to breathe. She fought the urge to lift the baby from the crib, bury her face in the soft down of her hair and sob her heart out.

  ‘She’s so beautiful, Son...’ Libby stroked the blanket covering the baby, so as not to wake her.