Sweet Seduction Sacrifice

by Nicola Claire

  And I wonder why I kept letting him back in. It made no sense to me now at all, but distance helps to clear the mind sometimes. The more distance I had from Brett Elliott, the better.

  "Do you want a drink?" I asked, placing my handbag on the dining table and feeling strangely pleased to see Dominic standing in my lounge looking out across the street to the park.

  "What have you got?" he asked, turning to face me, his hands thrust in his trouser pockets, his jacket pushed open at the front. He looked delicious.

  "Um," I said trying to clear my lust-filled thoughts. I turned to the fridge in the kitchen and opened the door, bending over slightly to look inside. "Lager, some light beer and a Sauvignon Blanc," I semi-shouted over my shoulder and then yelped as he reached past me and grabbed the lager, his chest and arm brushing my back and side, his hips practically framing my butt. "Where did you come from?" I demanded, then corrected myself, "Why don't you make any sound when you move?"

  He unscrewed the lid on the bottle and casually took a deep pull from its tip, all the while resting his body against the bench to the side.

  "Sometimes stealth can be an advantage," he said coolly. "I make it a habit to learn any skill that could stand me in good stead."

  "I bet you do," I muttered, grabbing a lager myself and attempting to undo the lid.

  He laughed and reached over to take the bottle from my fingers, resting his down on the bench. A quick twist of his hand and the lid came smoothly off. Of course it did. He handed it back with another one of those smiles plastered on his face.

  "Stop doing that!" I demanded, then took a quick fortifying sip of the beer.

  "What?" he asked all innocent. That look suited him too. I shook my head and walked across the room to the French doors, opening them wide to let in the evening sounds of Auckland.

  I wasn't surprised to find Dominic hovering over my shoulder, but I almost jumped out of my skin when his arm wrapped around my chest and he pulled me back against his own. My head fell back hitting his shoulders, his lips brushed automatically against the hair at my temple, just as he had done on the steps of the apartment building itself. Then he took a sip of his beer and stared out over the park, completely content to have me in his arms.

  I waited a beat, to see if he'd let me go, he didn't. So I plucked up courage to talk. "You need to release me."

  "You don't want that," he said conversationally.

  "Ah, I think I do," I replied, finding my courage at last.

  "You like me touching you," he shot back and took another swig of his beer.

  "I don't even know you," I ground out between clenched teeth.

  "What do you want to know?" he asked reasonably.

  I hesitated, an opening like this was unheard of. There was so much about this man that intrigued me, finding answers to the multitude of questions I'd had today alone was brilliant. Then I cursed myself inwardly and focused on the issue at hand. I struggled against his arm and turned to face him, somehow executing the movement without too much resistance from him. I realised why when his body pressed full frontal to mine, his arm tightening as soon as I was where he wanted me to be.

  "Oh, that's better," he said looking down at me, forgetting the view from my balcony for now.

  "What are you doing?" I asked in desperation.

  "What does it look like I'm doing?" he said in a low voice, both arms wrapped around my waist now, the bottle of beer forgotten too.

  "I have no idea," I said honestly. "But you need to let me go."

  "You need to relax. Go with the flow. It'll be worth it," he promised.

  I let a breath of air out in frustration. You have got to be kidding me. This man was determined to make me uncomfortable, determined to drive me mad. And then his face came down and nuzzled into the side of my neck, a hot tongue licking up to my earlobe, followed by a soft nibble of the sensitive skin there. I collapsed against his chest, my hands coming up to hold onto his jacket lapels for support, a small moan escaping my lips.

  "You were saying?" he whispered in my ear, then followed it up with another nibble which had me pressing closer to his body, begging outrageously for more.

  "I don't even know you," I persisted breathlessly, still clinging to his jacket for dear life.

  "You will do, there's plenty of time."

  I couldn't think straight to save myself. I knew I had been attracted to him the moment I saw him in that lift and from then on every time he had been close my body had practically shut down and refused to obey my commands. But I have never acted this way with a complete stranger before, and let's face it that's what he is.

  "I can't do this," I whispered, somehow my face was now nestled into his neck. My tongue came out and licked his skin, simply because I was there and it was there and hell, how could I not take a taste? He groaned and shifted against me, his hands coming up to cup my face. He tilted my head up to his, his lips hovering an inch from mine. I so wanted that space to be closer, like not exist at all.

  "What are you afraid of?" he asked, and he sounded serious.

  I wasn't sure what I was afraid of, but the fact I didn't know this man at all kept blaring in my head. "I don't know you," was all I could think of saying.

  "But you will do, I promise," he said, still cupping my face, his hot breath washing over my lips. I licked them. His eyes shot down to the movement and then flicked back up to mine. "You want me as much as I want you. We're two consenting adults, no one to answer to. Why not take what we want. Get to know each other later, but enjoy right now."

  It sounded easy when he put it like that, but he was asking a lot of a normal Kiwi girl. Yes, I wanted him, more so than ever now I'd tasted his skin and seen how much he wanted me back, but this was not who I am. I don't sleep with a guy on the first date. I don't go have a date with a guy on the first day I meet him. My life is a mess, I would only mess up his too with the crap that's washed off on me from Brett. It wasn't fair to him and I wasn't sure I could handle the intensity that is Dominic god-like Anscombe. He was way out of my league.

  "This is not who I am," I settled on.

  "I know," he replied, surprising me. "But it could be."

  I raised an eyebrow at him, his words somehow permeating the god-like fog. "You mean I could be a slut if I want to?"

  He pulled back, his brows furrowed, his lips pressed in a thin line. "That's not what I said." He spoke in a low voice - a little bit scary, low voice, if I'm honest. "You are not a slut." I blinked. At least it was good to know he thought that. "Genevieve," he went on and hearing my full name spoken on his lips sent a thrill of excitement through me, pooling directly between my legs. It sounded so exotic, so sensual. It rolled off his tongue as though he had said it a thousand times already and also, as though it meant his very air. "I want you, but not because I think you are easy. I want you because you are stunningly beautiful, your smile lights up a room when you enter it. You say things that make me laugh. You can't seem to stop yourself once you get started and I'm not sure what will spill out of those luscious lips the next time you open them, but I know I want to be around to hear it when it does. You wear your work clothes as though they are tailor made for you, every curve defined, hinting at what beauty lies beneath. You have a backbone in there, I saw it. When you threw those flowers out and didn't care what anyone thought of you destroying over five hundred dollars worth of goods on the street." He sighed and pulled me closer, his face softening. "You clean your store - a store you would lay down your life for - in socks whilst singing at the top of your lungs. How can I not want any of that?"

  He'd seen me, really seen me, in less than a day. How was that possible? And not once did he mention Brett. He didn't define me by what I had done with Brett, by the mistakes I had made. He didn't judge me, or pigeon hole me because I had a criminal ex-boyfriend who was on radar. Everything he had said he had witnessed today, first hand.

  He wanted me.

  Holy crap.

  "I think I need a drink," I said un
der my breath and pushed firmly against his chest. He started laughing, but let me go.

  "I bare my soul and you step away," he muttered as though to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.

  "You have to admit, you move fast," I offered, taking a large gulp of my beer, but not feeling anywhere near as uncomfortable about his intentions as I had before. Just feeling slightly overwhelmed and ridiculously turned on. I needed space to breathe, but I no longer needed it to run from him.

  Not that I had openly accepted every word he had said, but I had to admit to myself that it was impressive. That he was impressive. That I was drawn to him before he spoke those beautiful words and now I had no hope of ever pulling away again.

  "I know what I like when I see it, sweetheart. And I like the look of you."

  I stared at him for a beat, then slowly lifted my bottle to my lips, still holding his intense blue-blue gaze.

  "Do you always get what you like?" I asked.

  He smiled, that sexy, ohmigod smile. "Always."

  "I may not be what you've bargained for," I added, trying to be nonchalant.

  His smile widened, if that was at all possible. "I do hope so," he said, not looking away.

  I swilled the beer around in the bottom of the bottle, knowing the fizz would be destroyed, but no longer caring.

  "I can be difficult," I said, from out of nowhere. Admitting faults was not a great way to impress. But Brett had called me difficult. Many times. A thorn in his side, the millstone around his neck. A bubble of laughter came up and escaped through my lips. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into," I muttered, staring at the floor.

  "I like what I see so far," he admitted softly, then suddenly appeared before my eyes, taking the bottle from my hand and placing it on a nearby table. He lifted his hands and took hold of both of mine, resting them against his hard chest, his thumbs running over the back of them, sending shivers across my skin. "I want to see where this takes us. And while you need protection, I'll be your bodyguard."

  "You'll what?" I asked amazed.

  His hand came up and brushed a few strands from my face. "I can protect you."

  "What about Ben?"

  "He can get to work on finding Elliott, the sooner he's under control, the safer you'll be."

  I stared at him for a moment, letting all of that sink in. Getting Brett under control, as he said, was important, but Ben was a trained bodyguard - I assumed - and Dominic was not.

  "You're a lawyer," I stated, obviously.

  "There is more to me than my law degree," he answered, still stroking his thumbs over my skin. "I intend to show you just what."

  I huffed a breath out in frustration. There was no way Dominic could take on bad guys if they came knocking. He had manicured fingernails for God's sake.

  "What if I don't want you to be my bodyguard? And just what do you think a bodyguard does anyway?"

  "You don't have a choice in this, sweetheart. The moment you licked me, your choice was already made."

  "What?" I demanded, incredulously. What did he just say?

  "Admit it," he went on in the same low, sexy voice he'd been using up until now. "You want me and when you licked me, you're mind was made up."

  "I licked you because you were there and I was curious," I answered quickly, pulling my hands from his and crossing them over my chest. Then thinking that really made me sound like a slut, I added, "It seemed like a nice thing to do at the time, I'm regretting it now." No, that wasn't much better. "It's not like I go around licking random guys or anything, it's just that you smelled kind of nice and well, you were there." Oh, God another brain malfunction coupled with runaway mouth moment. "It just happened, OK? I didn't mean for it to, I hadn't thought it through. Clearly," I added with a hint of frustration.

  His body was shaking, but I couldn't hear him making a sound. He could even laugh silently too, not just creep around on silent feet. He reached out and tugged my arm, then pulled me hard against his chest. All the air was forced out of my lungs on impact, making it impossible for me to continue to speak. Effective, but annoying.

  "You are adorable," he said burying his head in my hair.

  "Am not," I managed to get out and felt his body shake harder.

  "This is going to be so much fun," he added, making me stomp my foot and clench my fists. I was not entertainment.

  His body shook even harder and now I could hear the laughter. It sounded so nice. I frowned at my pathetic response to everything this man did and tried to pull away. His arms tightened around me and his face dipped down to my ear.

  He whispered, "Sweetheart, you haven't got a hope in hell of escape."

  Chapter 6

  The Worst Kind Of Fool

  We settled on an Italian restaurant on Albert Street, the walk taking longer than the one from Sweet Seduction to my loft. All the way, Dominic insisted he hold my hand. Although it felt incredibly nice and made butterflies flutter in my belly, I couldn't help thinking this man was more than I could handle. Who gets this intimate on the first day they meet?

  I didn't have an answer for that, but the way Dominic seemed so at ease in my company, touching me, making such intimate comments, looking at me as if he'd known me all his life - it was surreal and fantastic, but incredibly unusual. Or at least it was for me. Dominic acted as though this was all very normal, nothing to be concerned about. In fact, when we entered the restaurant, his hand resting in the dip of my spine above my rear - another gesture that led you to believe he knew me way better than he did - he insisted we sit side by side in the booth, not opposite each other. His thigh pressed along the length of mine, his shoulder rubbing my shoulder, then after placing our orders and waiting for them to arrive, he threw an arm around the back of my seat, boxing me in and started playing with a strand of my hair.

  I was way out of my depth, struggling to accept his familiarity and define it. I'd honestly never met a man like him and what made matters worse was, I welcomed every, single, minute touch he gave. I was starved for them, I craved them, I began placing myself in positions that would elicit a physical contact in response. In other words, I acted like a slut.

  This was not easy to contemplate, so I chose for the moment to ignore my misgivings about his unusual intimacies, about my need to seek more tactile moments with this man. In an effort to drown out the increasingly loud voice inside my head warning me this was not normal, not right, I concentrated all my efforts on the conversation.

  But that only led to me being in a worshipful daze of not only his god-like appearance and sexiest smile and name I had ever laid eyes on, but also of his sense of humour, his ability to carry the conversation with such apparent ease. He asked copious amounts of questions about me, my life, my childhood, my dreams and passions. And for some strange reason I answered them all.

  The food was lovely, the wine delicious, but the company was out of this world. For so long I have had one dream consume me. I had set a goal and I achieved it, all the while enduring a relationship that was not in any way sweet or fulfilling. I had decided that one dream was it. I'd dreamt it, I'd accomplished it, there would be no more. Yet as I sat there, staring into the amazingly blue-blue eyes of Dominic god-like Anscombe, I felt I was living a dream.

  For the most part I went with it, but there was this niggling thought that simply would not go away. That this wasn't meant to be my dream at all, this sort of thing didn't happen to Kiwi girl Gen Cain. I was usurping someone else's dream, I was an interloper, a fake. There was no way this would last.

  But as Dominic traced patterns over the back on my hand as it rested on the table between us, I decided that whilst whatever this was with Brett played out, I'd take this chance offered me. I'd enjoy this dream, this someone else's dream, and pretend - for however long this lasts - that it was mine. I knew I shouldn't, I knew I should be protecting myself, preparing for the worst, but looking at the man beside me, the incredibly handsome, accomplished, amazingly gorgeous, intelligent man, I couldn't say
no.

  I just simply could not say no to him.

  We finished dinner and took a longer route back to the loft, down to Quay Street and the wharves, and then back up Britomart. A stroll, hand in hand, as the sun began to set. The word surreal was becoming a permanent fixture inside my head.

  We'd just left Britomart and crossed over to Emily Place when his cellphone rang. He didn't release my hand, simply pulled his phone out of his suit jacket and flipped it open one handed. I chose to use the moment to prepare myself for what was going to happen next. Did I invite him in? Was that wise, with the way things were progressing at lightning speed? Did I let him kiss me at my doorstep? Could I kiss a man on the first day I met him? Could I not? This was god-like Dominic Anscombe, in little more than twelve hours I was losing myself to him.

  The implications of that thought were impossible to digest.

  We were getting close to my apartment building when I felt Dominic stiffen. I wondered if he'd seen something or someone, maybe one of the very bad men who wanted Brett and now knew I belonged to him. But it became clear he wasn't stiffening at a threat approaching, but at whatever was being said to him over the phone. He'd barely said a word, just his name on answering the call and little else. The conversation was definitely one-sided, and the longer it progressed the more uptight he got.

  Dominic may have acted like he had known me for years, but I was still trying to piece together the man at my side, so I'm not sure why I could tell that something had made him mad. He didn't look mad, he looked cool and calm and collected. But I felt something in the air between us, something tangible and heavy. And it scared the crap out of me. It was as though I could literally feel his anger washing off him and I was just enormously happy it wasn't directed at me, but whoever was on the phone.

  "All right, I'll be there in ten minutes," he finally spoke into the phone, in clipped, angry words. He may have been able to hide his anger in his expressions, but he wasn't inclined to when he talked.