“Rafe,” she groaned, lifting her legs to give him better access. His laugh against her sensitive flesh was an added eroticism. She wiggled her hips, her whole body tingling as the stubble on his face grazed her thighs. “I need you.”
She felt him smile against her. He breathed warm air over her and then he stood, staring down at her, his chest moving rapidly. He pushed his shorts down, slowly, his eyes not leaving hers.
“I need you,” she said again, impatient and desperate.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He unfurled a condom over his length and her eyes followed the movement of his long, confident fingers, wishing she was running her own hands over him instead. She pulled at her wrists once more and he laughed.
His body on hers was heaven.
She arched her back, her legs folded, knees facing the ceiling. He brought his mouth down on hers at the same time he thrust into her in one swift, possessive motion. Hard, fast and deep. Dominant and demanding, just like his kiss; just like the hands that were dragging over her body as though verifying she was as he remembered.
“You taste like champagne,” he said quietly, thrusting into her.
“You taste like me.”
His groan was acknowledgement of the eroticism of her imagery. Cristo, she was unique.
“You surprise me,” he said, dragging his mouth along her jaw, flicking his tongue against her earlobe as he moved inside of her.
“I’m glad.” She shuddered as sensations began to tremble in the pit of her stomach, whooshing through her, spreading like wildfire and then she was tumbling down a steep, terrifying hill, like when she’d learned to ride a bike and not been able to find the brakes. The intensity of feeling was overwhelming. She brought her legs around his back and cried out as pleasure made thought, awareness, speech almost impossible.
She was high on the wave as he came with her, his own hoarse voice mingling with hers, an animalistic sound of release she didn’t even hear because her own heart was throbbing so loudly in her ears.
Ivy couldn’t have said how long they lay entwined like that, her legs wrapped around his waist, with him inside her throbbing heart, but eventually, he shifted, and she made a small sound. A sigh. A sob.
His eyes lifted to her face and a frown etched his lips.
She stared up at him, wondering at the change in his demeanour, but when he lifted a hand to her cheek and stroked it, she felt wetness. Embarrassment flooded her. She was crying? She pulled at her wrists and they didn’t give.
“Can you undo me?”
He nodded, but didn’t move. “You’re crying.”
“I didn’t realise. That was … intense.”
“Mmmm.” A gravelly admission, but his frown lingered as he moved his fingers upwards and stretched her underwear so that she could wiggle a wrist out. With one out, the other gave easily.
Rafe held the underpants in his hands, a smile tickling his lips. “I think we’ve ruined these.”
“And my shirt,” she said with a small nod, wiping her palms across her cheek to remove any sign of the emotions that had been unwelcome guests upon her face.
“You’ll have to go home half-naked,” he teased, bringing his mouth to hers.
And the idea of going home sat strangely in her mind. The realisation that maybe he expected her to leave again immediately flooded her with uncertainty.
The first night she’d come to his apartment, she’d crept out in the middle of the night because she hadn’t wanted her unsophistication in such matters to show. The idea of wearing out her welcome had been anathema to her. So too the idea of his warmth and heat turning to unwelcoming cool.
And now? He wanted her with a desperate passion that was on a par with hers.
When Steve had left her, she’d been blind-sided. Surely there’d been signs, but she hadn’t seen them. She’d ignored them. She’d been so caught up in her own blissful pleasure and happiness that she’d failed to see his unhappiness. Maybe if she’d paid better attention, she would have read Steve’s feelings better; anticipated his needs. Known what was coming.
Well, she wouldn’t make that mistake again. Having a man tell her to leave, or feeling that she’d outstayed her desired welcome, was not something she’d ever go through again. From this moment on, Ivy would leave before she could be asked to go.
Her smile was perfunctory. She drew on reserves of strength that had failed her in the past as she pushed out of the bed and strolled through his bedroom. Her body was tingling and her muscles felt stretched. Pleasantly stretched. His bathroom was palatial; she remembered it clearly from the early morning escape she’d performed weeks earlier. She also knew he had a walk-through wardrobe just beyond it. She slipped inside, unaware that Rafe was sitting in bed watching her with a mix of confusion and amusement.
His clothes were hung with military precision. Starched shirts, pants, ties. She selected a white shirt and pulled out drawers until she found his underwear. As she lifted a pair of his silk boxers in place, she couldn’t help but get a kick of arousal. They were enormous on her, but they were better than nothing.
She stepped out of the bathroom, hair pulled over one shoulder, face unreadable save for the practiced smile she’d forced herself to offer.
“Am I to ruin my own shirt now, as payback?” He pondered, arching a brow in an expression that was so sexy it made her stomach churn.
“I really do think it would cause a stir if I got on the tube in just a bra and skirt.”
“Mmm,” he grinned. “You could be right.”
He stood up, walking towards her with a determination that was predatory. “So when you go, you can wear this.”
She spoke without a hint of emotion. “I’m going to go now.”
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his hands linked behind her back. “You’re leaving? Again?”
She wouldn’t stay so long that he tired of her. “Yeah.” Her smile was a fraud. “I got what I came for,” she winked to soften the offense he might take from the words.
But his laugh was a deep rumble. “I see.”
But Ivy sobered. “It’s all I want, Rafe. I need to know you get that.”
He scanned her face, and again, she had the strangest sense that he was reading her, decoding her, understanding her even when she was telling him how she felt. What more was there to know?
“Fine,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
She swallowed. Good. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? Boundaries, rules, an understanding that this relationship was limited by what had happened to her, and by what Rafe was. There was safety in parameters. “I’ll just get my skirt.”
“Allow me.” He kissed her quickly and then stepped away. When he returned a moment later, he held her skirt, and a small paper bag.
“A gift. For you,” he held it out to her.
Curiously, she unsealed the top and looked inside. It was a small spray bottle. Perfume? She lifted it out, her eyes skimming the label. And she laughed.
Portable – Stain – Remover.
“It seemed like something you need. A lot.”
Ivy’s eyes met his, and her stomach squeezed. She didn’t want to go! Danger, danger, danger. “Thank you,” she said, in an effort to sound calmer and more confident than she was. “I’ll treasure it always.”
He grinned. “It’ll be good to see you without drinks down the front of your clothes.” He lifted a hand to the valley between her neat breasts. “Although,” he murmured, “It has been nice to have a reason to stare at your breasts.”
“I aim to please,” she quipped, handing the spray to him so she could slide her skirt up her legs and zip it into place.
The awkwardness swirled around them. Or maybe it was just Ivy. She felt beset by uncertainty. “That’s definitely not how I expected my night to go,” she said with a small smile.
“Nor I, when I woke this morning.” His finger pressed at her chin, lifting her eyes to face his. “You are welcome to spend the night, Ivy.”
&nbs
p; But for how long? How many nights? Two? Three? Before long he’d be wanting his space. And she wouldn’t be the kind of woman who got so swept up she didn’t read the signs.
“I have to be at work early tomorrow,” she said with a lopsided smile, walking out of his bedroom and towards the front door of the apartment. “Our new owner’s a hard-ass and I don’t want to get in trouble.”
His laugh chased her. She scooped down for her bag before he could, and her hand was on the door when suddenly his fingers curled around her shoulders and spun her. His mouth took hers. It controlled it. His tongue was an invasion of her mouth and her senses. She collapsed weakly against the door, her mind mushy as he stoked her to a new level of desire.
Stay.
Stay and enjoy this.
Was he saying that, or was it her own traitorous mind shouting at her?
“Tomorrow,” he ground the word into her mouth. “Straight after work. My driver will collect you.”
She shook her head. But to what? She was drowning, adrift at sea, with no idea what she should say or do.
“Tomorrow,” he intoned and now his body pressed to hers and she groaned softly.
“Tomorrow,” she murmured. Twenty-one hours - torture.
Danger, danger, danger, but in that moment, she didn’t completely care.
CHAPTER SIX
THE DAY RAN AWAY from her.
A server in California crashed taking with it a heap of online stores and notably, their news distribution networks for half of the world. Ivy was more technically responsible for interface development and appropriate content distribution but ultimately, when things went wrong, it was all hands on deck.
The first half of the day was spent on complex international calls, strong-arming her teams into proactively problem solving. The latter part required elaborate work-arounds that would take pressure off the server while it was fixed and still provide access to the news app, at least. All with Margerite popping her head around Ivy’s door every few minutes, hands rubbing together frantically, demanding to know ‘what was happening’, leaving Ivy with a pounding headache and a sense that she was never going to get through the day.
It was after nine before the server was brought back online and even then, user log-ins had been lost somewhere and tech teams were working around the clock to retrieve them.
In short, it was a disaster and the obsessive thoughts that had been stirring her mind from the second she’d woken up until she’d arrived at work had been plunged into darkness. There had actually been moments throughout the day when she’d forgotten all about her plans to see Rafe again.
She grimaced as she pulled her phone out of her bag. There was no message from him. Nothing.
Her frown was laced with uncertainty.
Did that mean something?
Did he no longer want her to go by his place?
Had he lost interest already?
With a small groan, she tapped out a text message. Work was manic. Too late to catch up? She sent the message, grimacing at the pathetic euphemism, hating the insecurities that were now scored deep into her flesh.
His response came through a moment later.
I heard about the server issue. Never too late.
Oh. Of course he’d heard. It was his company that had been affected by the disaster. Maybe others of his companies had suffered similarly.
Okay. See you soon.
His response was immediate. My driver is waiting.
Her smile was flooded with disbelief. And relief. She yawned as she stood, slipping her sleeves into her jacket and flicking off the lights to her office.
True to his word, the same driver who’d conveyed her the night before, and who’d taken them to his apartment from the casino the night they’d met, was waiting for her at the bottom of the building.
“Miss Hennessey,” he said, opening the back door to the sleek black car. It was a Bugatti, she’d gleaned on the previous trip, and she knew enough to know that they were incredibly elite and expensive.
As if the luxurious leather interior wouldn’t have given that away. With its soft white seats and screens in-laid into the sides of the doors. She nestled herself in the corner, her eyes heavy, anticipation curling through her.
“Miss Hennessey?”
She blinked, disorientated. Had she fallen asleep?
“We’re here.”
“Oh,” she murmured groggily, blinking rapidly.
The driver opened the door wider and Ivy stepped out, her eyes scanning the secure elevator doors. The driver waved something over them and pressed a button, then stepped out, allowing Ivy to ride to Rafe’s apartment in solitude.
“You look exhausted,” he murmured as soon as she stepped into the apartment.
“Gee, thanks.”
He, on the other hand, looked outrageously, impossibly good. His suit was a charcoal grey, the shirt a crisp white, and it had been unbuttoned at the throat to reveal the dark column of his neck. He was so sexy.
“Big day?”
“Oh, you know, just the end to the world as we know it. Albeit temporarily.”
“No big deal then?”
She grinned. “Nope.”
Her stomach gave a lurch and she remembered that she hadn’t eaten all day at the same moment an incredible aroma reached her. “What’s that smell?”
“Dinner.”
“Dinner?” Her stomach twisted. She was starving. But dinner… dinner was dangerous, wasn’t it?
“You know, that meal people tend to have at the end of the day?”
She sent him a look of droll amusement. “I am familiar with the concept.”
But gratitude throbbed in her, winning out over her need to keep firm boundaries in place. “Thank you for that. I didn’t stop for lunch.”
She walked deeper in the apartment and his hands wrapped around her shoulders, reminding her of the night before, when he’d grabbed her and kissed her like she was his only hope of survival. He pushed her coat gently down her arms, removing it deftly and tossing it over the back of a chair.
The table was set, take-away containers lined up, two bowls, and a bottle of wine.
“Been slaving over a hot stove?” She teased, peering into the tubs of Chinese food with relief.
“Oh, yeah. Apron and all.” He held her chair out for her and she flicked her gaze towards him. His smile was impossible to read. It was as enigmatic as a male version of the Mona Lisa’s.
“Now, that I’d like to see.”
He laughed. “One day.”
One day spoke of the future. One day was a lie. She changed the subject quickly. “Were any of your other businesses affected by the outage today?”
“Yes.” He took the seat opposite, his feet brushing hers beneath the table. Desire warred with hunger.
“So your day was even worse than mine?”
He poured two glasses of wine and leaned back in his chair. “It’s looking up now.”
Colour bloomed in her cheeks. “I’m glad.” And she was. Contentment spread through her like warm honey.
“It was bedlam. We finally got most things restored, but it took hours and hours. I have no idea what could cause such a wide-spread disaster…”
“A fan stopped working,” he said, sipping his wine, watching as she scooped fried rice and sweet and sour pork out onto her plate. “It caused a block of servers to overheat. Just a small but crucial part that triggered a melt-down across the board. Usually load-sharing kicks in but it didn’t, so technicians had to get in and manually move the pieces around. Or so I’m told.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you know more about it than I do.”
“Not really,” she said with a shrug. “That side of things isn’t my forte.”
“What is your forte?” He prompted curiously.
Her eyes lifted to his. “This is running dangerously close to a job interview.”
“You already work for me,” he pointed out with a wink.
“Ah, true.” She lifted some pork into
her mouth, closing her eyes in appreciation as the piquant flavours filled her. “I’m good at software,” she said thoughtfully. “And spotting trends. Working out what technology is emerging as a consumer favourite and capitalising on that. Margerite was dead-set against a dedicated news app, but it’s now got the highest hit and read rate across any of our platforms.”
“I see,” he murmured.
Guilty and misplaced loyalty swarmed in her. “I don’t mean to make it sound like Margerite is inept. Just … a bit of a luddite.”
He laughed softly. “Is that any different in this day and age?”
“She’s not into tech,” Ivy said, choosing her words carefully. “In fact, if she had to run the tech division of GBRTV you probably would have paid a tenth of the purchase price.”
He arched a brow, a smile twitching on his lips. Ivy crossed one leg over the other, her mind deep in thought.
“But what Margerite is good at is people. She promoted the hell out of me. I’m twenty-four, that’s at least ten years younger than any of the other management heads. She copped huge flack for choosing me over other more experienced candidates.”
“So why did she?”
“Because I’m great at what I do.” She said truthfully. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but I live and breathe apps and news and I just love that stuff.” She spoke in a way that was completely without vanity. He admired that. Her honesty, too, where some people might have hidden their skillset for fear of seeming to big-note themselves. “What Margerite does well is find the right person for the job. Then she drives them a little bit crazy once they take it,” she joked.
“Crazy how?” He prompted, curiously.
And a warning flashed in her mind. It was so easy to forget herself when around him, but this man had just acquired the company at which she worked. The last thing she wanted to do was pillow talk someone out of a job.
“Oh, well, you know,” Ivy shook her head. “I think we need… a rule about this stuff.”
“A rule?” He arched his brows enquiringly.
“Yeah, a rule. Sort of like a privilege rule, that what we talk about here doesn’t affect what happens out there.” She nodded vaguely towards the window, indicating the broader contexts of their lives.
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