Five Exotic Fantasies: Love in Reverse, Book 3

by Serenity Woods

  But she mustn’t let her affection for him stand in the way of the fact that he’d just been incredibly insensitive and rude to poor Sasha, who was already suffering from the stress of the situation. She didn’t know Sasha well, but the very fact that the girl had asked her to be there proved to Coco that Sasha had been nervous, even though she often came across as hostile and devil-may-care.

  “Do you really think she was ‘asking for it’ because she occasionally wore a skirt above her knees?” she asked, curious as to whether he’d given the notion even a fraction of a thought.

  “Of course not.” He stood and walked over to the window, hands behind his back. “I was just trying to establish whether Dell might have thought she was dressing provocatively for him.” He turned to look at her, frustration showing in his frown and the pained look in his eyes. “It’s hard sometimes, Coco, to know. Beneath our attempt at civilisation, we’re all chemicals and hormones and electrical impulses, governed by our biological urge to reproduce.”

  She remembered the way he’d reacted before, when he’d suddenly realised he’d pushed her in a way that he’d obviously thought Dell might have pushed Sasha. She understood, but that still didn’t excuse what Dell had done. “I know what you’re saying, but nowadays we’re supposed to have the ability to control our base feelings, aren’t we? Isn’t that what being civilised is all about?”

  “Yes, but it’s not that easy.” He gestured to her clothing. “For instance, I know you’re wearing stockings and that you have a white lacy bra on beneath your blouse.” She felt her cheeks grow warm—how had he known that? “You paint your lips red and you spray on perfume.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “I know you do this for yourself as much as anything. But I defy anyone to say they take care over their appearance and don’t get a kick from the attention it draws from the opposite sex. Men too—I’m including myself in this. I wear nice suits and use product in my hair and splash on cologne because I know I look smart, and I feel good when women look at me with admiration. It may be shallow, but at least I admit it.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she admitted. “We all like to be admired. But that’s not really the issue here.”

  “I know. Just because I want to look good doesn’t give permission for any woman to march up and run her hands through my hair—I get that.” He paced the room, frowning. “I do understand Sasha’s comment, that even if she walked in naked, she wouldn’t be ‘asking for it’. But equally, if a woman flirts with a man, wears a low-cut top and bends forward to give him a view down her cleavage, crosses her legs, flutters her eyelashes, moistens her lips, blushes, gives him all the signs that we have to look for if we have any hope of finding a partner to share our lives with… If she does all that, the man is going to make a move. It’s in our nature. And it seems incredibly unfair for the woman to then act outraged.” He ended breathless, stiff and indignant.

  Coco thought about it, trying to imagine how she would feel if she were in a man’s shoes. “I happen to agree. It’s true that even in this day and age, the man is usually the one to make the first move. And I can only guess how nerve-racking that must be. It’s a fine line for both sexes, I think. As you say, we all dress to attract attention because it makes us feel good to be admired, and it’s unfair to then protest when we receive that attention.”

  Then she thought about Peter, about what had happened all those years ago. “But that’s not the same as ‘asking for it’. I concur that if Sasha flirted with Peter, if she did all those things you mention, then it would be hypocritical for her to cry that he’d assaulted her. But I guess the point here is: did she send him those signs? Does she occasionally wear short skirts? Yes. Does she wear lipstick, style her hair, wear perfume and try to dress nicely? Yes. But does she unbutton her shirt every time he passes by? Does she make sexual innuendo, flirt, moisten her lips, giggle, and generally encourage him? No, I don’t believe she does, and I’m sure when you get around to talking to other members of staff, they’ll say she doesn’t either. And if you come to the conclusion that she doesn’t do that, and has never done that where Dell is concerned, I’m sure you’ll understand just why she feels so incensed at your semi-accusation that she ‘asked for it’.”

  Felix studied her, his face expressionless, for a while, blinking occasionally. What was he thinking? Was he about to shout at her for being so confrontational? For disagreeing with him?

  Then, to her surprise, his lips slowly curved and he came forward to sit opposite her. “Thank you,” he said, tipping his head and fixing his warm brown eyes on her.

  She raised her eyebrows. “What for?”

  “For being honest with me. For fronting up to me. I’m glad you challenge me. I do my best, but sometimes it’s hard to see things from the other side.”

  She shrugged self-consciously under his admiring gaze. “I haven’t always been so brave.” And maybe if she had, Sasha wouldn’t be in this position, she thought sadly. “It’s something I’ve had to work on.”

  His gaze flicked over to the door before coming back to rest on her. “Obviously, after last night’s escapades, tonight we need a good night’s sleep.” He winked, and chuckled as she looked down, embarrassed. “But tomorrow, would you like to do something again? Maybe fulfil another of your exotic fantasies?” His eyes gleamed.

  She hesitated. She should say no. She’d had her fun, and indulging repeatedly was never going to end well.

  But he was so gorgeous, and she couldn’t shake the memory of him turning her over, whispering erotic things in her ear as he thrust in and out of her so forcefully. He was like a drug, and she was very quickly becoming addicted to him.

  “I shouldn’t,” she said.

  “I know.” The look in his eyes told her he understood and felt the same. He knew this was a bad idea—that they were getting hooked, but he felt as compelled to see her again as she did him, and that finally convinced her.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  A look of relief crossed his face. “Thanks, treacle,” he said.

  “Treacle?”

  “Sorry. Treacle tart—sweetheart.” He winked at her, his good humour restored, and turned back to his iPad, but his gaze burned into her butt as she left the room.

  She thought about his look of relief a lot over the next two days, while he continued his interviews of the partners and other lawyers. Sasha had gone home after the interview and then phoned in sick the next day, and Felix had left her alone, saying it was easier to carry out the investigation without her there anyway and he’d speak to her later in the week once he had a clearer picture of events.

  Coco had never given much thought before to how men felt about asking women out. Of course nowadays it was considered perfectly acceptable for a woman to ask a guy out on a date, but she couldn’t ever imagine doing so herself. How scary would that be, though? Trying to work out if the guy in question was actually interested? Plucking up the courage to make the move, knowing she would have to act all nonchalant if he turned her down? Having to face him after that, knowing he knew she thought he was attractive?

  The strange dance the sexes carried out was complex and confusing, and it was no surprise the occasional problem like the one with Sasha occurred. But still, Coco wasn’t convinced that was actually the case here. Knowing what she knew about Peter Dell suggested to her that Sasha probably hadn’t given him any signs at all—he’d taken a liking to her and decided he would try to seduce her, maybe sure she wouldn’t dare turn down a senior partner, possibly hoping to make her an offer of promotion or something to persuade her to accept his advances. He disgusted her, and she was disgusted with herself for not being able to tell Felix the truth about what had happened to herself in the past.

  But she couldn’t, and there was no point in torturing herself over what was done. She had to move on and hope that Felix was smart enough to understand the truth and make the right decision.

  She didn’t see much of him for the rest of
Monday or Tuesday. He remained confined to his office with the door shut most of the time as he and Rob interviewed the partners and associates, and she purposely kept out of the way. Luckily, she was busy, and the time went quickly.

  Monday evening proved hard work, with Eleanor giving her yet another lecture about her private life and trying to convince Coco that moving into a home was a positive thing. It was like a war of attrition, as if her mother was trying to wear her down gradually, eroding her love and patience like the sea erodes rock. The same thing happened Tuesday when she got home from work. She told Eleanor she was going out with Felix again, and Eleanor became so gleeful that Coco nearly told her she wasn’t going.

  “I knew you’d see sense eventually,” Eleanor said, rubbing her hands together.

  Coco stood up and smacked the paper she’d been reading on the table. “Stop it. This is nothing, Mum, just a brief distraction. It doesn’t mean anything. Stop acting as if I’ve found the love of my life and I’m getting married in the morning.”

  “It’s not just a dalliance,” Eleanor said, her face glowing with more colour than Coco had seen it in decades. “I know you, sweetheart. There’s more to this than a quick fling.”

  Hot tears scalded Coco’s eyes, but she blinked them away and glared at her mother. “Felix is here for precisely six more days, then he moves to the other end of the island.”

  “You could always move with him.” Eleanor winked and giggled like a teenage girl.

  Coco left the room. She hated doing that—walking away, because it seemed unfair when Eleanor’s mobility was so strictly limited, but sometimes she needed the space and it was actually a relief that Eleanor couldn’t follow her.

  She went into her room and started to get dressed. She knew she should tell Felix she’d changed her mind, text him not to come around, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Eleanor was wrong, and he was only a distraction. But it was a nice distraction all the same.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Felix rang the doorbell and waited for Coco to answer. He leaned on the doorjamb, a little tired, wondering if he was being sensible planning an intense sex session while he was so busy with the case.

  He’d spent the rest of Monday and most of Tuesday talking to the partners and other lawyers in the firm about Peter Dell. Unsurprisingly, Dell’s colleagues had little criticism of the senior partner’s behaviour. No, they didn’t know anything about him making advances on Sasha De Langen, or indeed any other women at the firm. No, as far as they knew he had never had an affair. Yes, sometimes he made mildly sexual jokes, but didn’t everyone? No, they were unaware of any member of the firm being upset by anything Peter had ever said. In fact, he was the life and soul of the party, liked by everyone, including all the women.

  He had no way of knowing whether the lawyers were covering for Dell, or whether they were telling the truth. But certainly, apart from Sasha’s statement, he had no evidence as yet that Dell had behaved inappropriately to anyone in the office.

  Coco opened the door, and his heart immediately lifted, so much so that he knew he’d done the right thing arranging to see her again. For a moment she looked briefly distressed, although she brightened as she saw him, and giggled when she saw what he was wearing.

  “How many layers?” He stepped back to let her out of the door and ran his gaze down her, taking in the pants and boots, the woolly hat, and the thick coat whose bulk indicated more clothing underneath.

  “Um, seven, I think. I’m just glad it’s not a hot day or I’d look a right dork.”

  He laughed and took her hand, noticing that she didn’t go back inside to say goodbye to her mother. But perhaps she’d already said goodbye.

  As they walked to the car, he wondered whether Sasha’s case was playing on Coco’s mind. He hadn’t spoken to her much over the last two days and he’d had no way to gauge what she was thinking. He’d texted her a couple of times, just a small joke or a smiley face, and she’d returned it each time, so she couldn’t be that mad at him. Plus she hadn’t rung or texted to cancel their evening. Still, he noted the droop of her shoulders, the sadness in her eyes as she got into the waiting taxi, moving awkwardly with all the clothing. Perhaps it was her mother, then.

  He got in and directed the taxi to the hotel, then turned to her and smiled. “Any idea what we’re up to this evening?”

  For the first time, humour lit her eyes. “I have a few ideas.”

  He grinned. “I meant which scenario.”

  “Oh.” She giggled. “Well, I’m presuming it’s the igloo one, although I have no idea what you’ve come up with for that. I’m guessing we’re not on our way to the airport to Reykjavik though.”

  “Nope. I’ve brought Reykjavik to Wellington tonight.” He smiled and took her hand again, soft in its woollen mitten. He couldn’t help himself asking, “Are you okay?”

  She waved the other hand, and her eyes took on a glassy sheen. “Just family stuff. Mum’s driving me nuts. I nearly yelled at her tonight, and I’ve never done that before. I had to walk out of the room.” She bit her lip and looked out of the window.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head without turning around.

  He frowned. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t even her friend really, not in the confidante sense of the word. Their relationship was purely physical, and there was absolutely no reason she should confide in him or open up to him.

  And yet as his gaze caressed her profile, her straight, slightly pert nose, her pale, clear skin, her long slender neck, he felt a sweep of affection for her and an urge to comfort her, to take her in his arms and make everything right.

  He cleared his throat. This wouldn’t do at all. He was growing soft in his old age.

  He lifted her hand, slid off her glove and raised her hand to his lips. She looked back, watching as he planted a kiss on her knuckles, then on her fingers, then turned her hand over and kissed her palm. He lowered her hand, but continued to rub his thumb across, stroking the sensitive skin inside her wrist.

  “I’m glad to see you’re well wrapped up, anyway,” he said, deciding distraction was probably the best course of action. “It’s going to be cold where we’re going.”

  A hint of a smile touched her lips, and she ran her gaze down him. “You look good. If a little bulky.”

  He grinned. “You can have fun peeling the layers off later.”

  She met his gaze and he held it, hoping his eyes were telling her how much he was looking forward to this. Over the last two days, he’d talked and smiled and jotted down notes and puzzled over Sasha and her case, but every time he was alone, pictures of Coco had flooded his mind, and he’d had to struggle to pull himself back to reality.

  The journey to his hotel took no time at all, but it was still too long, and he thrust the money into the taxi driver’s hand before leading Coco through the doors of the hotel and across the foyer.

  “What’s the hurry?” she complained, smiling nevertheless. “You can’t wait to get me naked?”

  He led her to the elevators and pressed the button. “Oh, getting you naked is going to take a very long time tonight. But I can’t wait to kiss you. I dreamed about it practically all night last night.”

  The doors slid open, and he pulled her inside, pressed the button for his floor, and then before the doors were completely shut, he pushed her up against the wall and his lips were on hers.

  He hadn’t been joking—he’d dreamed about her all night. And not just kissing—about the slide of his hand up her pale thigh, the softness of her nipples on his tongue, the sound of her sighs as she came, clenching around him. He grew hard just thinking about it, although there was no way she was going to notice through all the layers of clothing.

  Her lips were soft, and he forced himself to kiss her slowly, wanting to make the evening last and to enjoy every minute with her. He pulled her hat from her head and threaded a hand into her hair, which felt like slippery silk ribbon in his fing
ers, and cupped her head while he moved his lips across hers and stroked his tongue into her mouth. She moaned and raised her arms around his neck, and he revelled in the blissful feeling of her in his arms, so welcoming, so yielding.

  By the time the elevator doors slid open he was ready to rip off her clothes and do her right there, but he just sighed, took her hand and led her to his door, smiling at the sight of her, with her lipstick kissed off and her hair all ruffled as she jammed her hat back onto her head.

  He stopped outside, holding the door handle. “Are you ready?”

  “I have absolutely no idea what to expect,” she said, eyes wide.

  He grinned, and opened the door. Coco stepped inside, and gasped.

  He tried to look at it with fresh eyes, which was difficult as he’d spent the previous evening, some of lunch and the past two hours working on it. He’d visited the local supermarket and asked for any spare cardboard boxes they had going, flattened them and managed to smuggle them into his room, then reassembled them. He’d moved the furniture back against the walls again, covered the carpet with a white sheet, and stuck the boxes together in the shape of an igloo in the centre of the room—nowhere near as big as a real igloo, but big enough so they could get inside it. He’d covered the igloo with another white sheet and stapled it on, and he had to admit it offered a pretty good representation of the real thing. That evening, he’d plugged in his laptop and projected onto the wall a scene of a vast tundra where it was snowing heavily, and the speakers played the sound of a swirling snowstorm. He’d turned on the air conditioning to its lowest setting, and then finished the scene by adding a blue circle of paper to one side of the igloo. A large, stuffed toy seal sat solemnly staring into the fishing hole.

  Coco burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Felix, you are certifiable.”

  “I can’t believe the temperature. It’s taters in here.” He shut the door behind him. His breath wasn’t quite frosting before his face, but the room was decidedly icy.