He leaned down, finally took possession of her mouth again, and his kiss was deep and scorching, dragging the air from her lungs and making that needy ache in her pelvis burn exquisitely hot and bright. She could have kissed like that for ever, lost in the midst of hunger and passion, all rational thought conveniently suspended.
When his mouth left hers she almost moaned in protest, until she realised his lips weren’t going far—just to the edge of her jaw, then along to the soft skin beneath her earlobe and down the curve of her throat, pressing searing kisses to flushed, sensitive flesh that quivered in anticipation of each new touch, all the way to the tip of her breast.
Jordan caught her breath, knowing instinctively what he would do next, and yet still she wasn’t fully prepared for the lightning-hot sensation of him capturing her nipple between his lips and sucking her deep into his mouth. Her body arched and she tunnelled her fingers into the soft, thick hair at the back of his head, crying out at the unbearable pleasure he inflicted, afraid this sweet torture on its own would make her come.
He lavished the same attention on her other breast before blazing a trail of fire with his mouth down to her navel, where his tongue circled and dipped in an erotic fashion before travelling lower.
The ache between Jordan’s thighs became so intense, so consuming, that when she heard him say, ‘Raise your hips,’ she obeyed automatically, realising only once her shorts and knickers had hit the floor that he’d stripped her completely naked.
His big hands stroked up her inner thighs and then pushed them apart, opening her up to his unabashed scrutiny.
‘Xavier...’ His name fell from her lips on a breathless whisper, and she didn’t know if it was plea or protest.
‘Perfección,’ he murmured, and her cheeks burned at being so explicitly exposed and studied.
Slowly he ran a fingertip down through her bright red curls and then delved deeper, finding the place where she was hot and wet and thrumming with need. He looked up, caught her gaze and held it captive as he pushed his finger inside her.
Instantly she felt her inner muscles tighten, responding needily to the deep, intimate caress. He slid a second finger in, stretching her a little wider, increasing the pleasure as he stroked into her, sliding deeper and finding just the right spot...
Oh, God.
Her body tremored, rushing towards climax even before he lowered his head and used the hot, velvet slide of his tongue to hurtle her over the edge.
It was the hottest, most intense orgasm she’d ever had, exhilarating and yet embarrassing at the same time, because she came so fast and hard she couldn’t control herself. Couldn’t hold back the loud moan that climbed her throat or stop the almost violent contortion of her body as the spasms of pleasure hurtled through her.
Mortified, she turned her flaming face into a pillow as Xavier rose from between her legs. How had she fooled herself into thinking even for a second that he wouldn’t be in total control of this encounter? Of her.
He slid his hand under her cheek and turned her face towards him. She kept her eyes closed and he laughed softly.
‘It’s a little late for shyness, amante.’
She forced herself to look at him. ‘You’ve still got all your clothes on,’ she croaked, ‘and I’ve already—’ She threw her forearm over her eyes, unable to finish.
He eased her arm away and made her look at him again. ‘The first of many,’ he said, his voice a deep purr of promise that sent a delicious shiver down her spine.
His head lowered and her embarrassment receded beneath a surge of anticipation as those sensual lips descended towards hers.
And then a loud chirruping sound came from the other end of the sofa and he tensed above her.
It took her a moment to realise it was his phone ringing.
He swore and started to draw away, and for a second she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, pull him down to her and demand he not answer it.
He did answer it. Of course. And she saw his expression change as he listened, saw how after a minute he frowned down at her, naked and spreadeagled on the cushions, as if he were only just then noticing her and wondering why a naked woman was lying on his sofa.
Mortification flooded back. Along with a cold dose of sanity. Swiftly she sat up, covering her breasts with her arm while reaching with her other hand for her discarded clothing.
Xavier turned away, sparing her the indignity of having to dress in front of him. He was speaking now, in a rapid stream of Spanish, and his voice grew muted as he walked into another room.
Jordan dressed quickly—and then didn’t know what to do with herself. Or what to think of herself, for that matter, after what had just happened.
She walked over to the window and took a couple of deep breaths.
Madness.
That was what it had felt like. Crazy and breathless and desperate, and well beyond anything she’d experienced.
Not that she had a ton of experience with men. Josh had been her one and only lover. They’d worked at the same hospital in Sydney, so she’d known him for several months before they dated and slept together. After several more months he’d suggested she move in with him and she had, believing for a time that he was the one.
Foolish her. Josh was already married—to his career. He didn’t need a wife—just a woman who would stroke his ego and happily take a back seat to his ambition to become the best and most lauded cardiothoracic surgeon in the world.
Ellie, bless her, had helped her move her things out of his place, given her a great big sympathy hug and then told her she’d done the right thing ‘dumping that arrogant jerk’.
Jordan blew out a heavy breath. Xavier had Josh beaten hands down in the arrogance department.
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the glass.
Heaven help her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
XAV DROPPED HIS phone onto the dresser in the master suite and went through to the bathroom. He leaned over the basin on the marble vanity and sluiced his face in cold water, then grabbed a towel and scrubbed his skin dry.
What he desperately needed to do was douse his entire body in ice-cold water, but he didn’t have time for a shower.
His brother was downstairs in his office. It had been Ramon on the phone.
Xav cursed. Ramon had told him days ago—and reminded him during their phone call yesterday—that he was bringing his wife, Emily, and their baby daughter, Katie, to Barcelona for a week. They’d agreed to have lunch today to discuss the Reynaud deal, among other things.
How the hell had he forgotten?
He braced his palms on the edge of the vanity unit and pulled in a shuddering breath.
His mind had been elsewhere—that was how he’d forgotten. Arriving at the office at seven a.m. after a restless night, he’d tried to focus on work and instead found his mind returning repeatedly to the events of yesterday. In particular his abrupt treatment of Jordan by the pool.
He’d seen the hurt in her eyes before he’d walked away. Hurt she hadn’t deserved. He’d rejected her for the right reasons, but the way he’d gone about it had been harsh. Wrong.
And walking away from her, shutting himself in his study for the rest of the evening, hadn’t stopped the incessant wanting.
He had only himself to blame. Yes, she had provoked him, flirting with that guy on the beach, shoving the brother thing in his face, knowing it would push his buttons, but he’d spent a lifetime training himself not to react impulsively to provocation.
But this time he had reacted.
He’d kissed her out of anger and an inability to subdue his desire. Then he’d punished her for it, shutting her out, speaking barely a word to her afterwards.
By mid-morning a tight knot of guilt had settled in his gut.
He prided himself on being a man of principle and str
ong moral character—better than those who would undermine him—and yet he couldn’t view his behaviour yesterday with any sense of pride.
As for his behaviour today...
He clenched his jaw and stared down at his white-knuckled hands, reluctant to look at his reflection in the mirror for fear he would see not himself but some half-crazed Neanderthal he hardly recognised.
How the hell had he ended up doing what he’d just done out there on the sofa?
It had been the furthest thing from his mind when he’d picked up the phone and called Rosa.
His plan had been simple. As simple as he and Jordan sharing a polite, civilised meal that would allow him to claw back some self-respect and prove he wasn’t the bastard she had every reason to believe him to be.
Above all he’d resolved to keep a lid on his lust and, if necessary, rebuff any of her advances.
Gently.
Except when he’d called his housekeeper to tell her he’d be home to dine with his guest this evening Rosa had promptly told him his guest was gone.
At first he’d thought she meant that Jordan had ventured out for the day, and for a second he’d regretted not having had the forethought to put a car and driver at her disposal.
But, no. Rosa had meant gone gone.
Not coming back gone.
For ever gone.
Shock had mingled with disbelief, making his stomach harden, his chest tighten.
And then the anger had come—swift and hot and all-encompassing.
She’d left.
Of course he’d known her time in Barcelona would be limited. But to leave without a word? Without so much as a goodbye?
He didn’t think his heart had ever thundered with such ferocity in his chest.
During the trip to the ferry terminal his blood had pounded with increasing agitation.
He knew there was only one daytime sailing to Mallorca, the other being late in the evening, so his chance of intercepting her was good.
But what if Rosa had been wrong about Jordan’s plans?
Fortunately Rosa had been right.
And when Jordan had climbed out of the taxi, just metres away from where he stood, the mix of triumph and relief he’d felt was like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart.
Only then had he fully appreciated that he’d acted—yet again, where Jordan was concerned—entirely on impulse, and hadn’t thought ahead to what he would do after he stopped her.
He pushed away from the vanity now, returned to the bedroom and looked for a fresh shirt and matching tie in the walk-in wardrobe.
The smart thing for him to have done after his call with Rosa would have been to shrug his shoulders. Let Jordan go. But something about that woman fused his brain. Impelled him to make rash decisions. And, just like on Saturday, every instinct in him had railed against her leaving.
He unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it off, caught the scent of jasmine on the fabric and something earthier, muskier. He swallowed hard.
Truthfully he’d not had sex on his mind when he’d brought her up here, but he had struggled to harness his anger, even as a voice in his head had urged him to consider that his behaviour yesterday had given Jordan a perfectly valid reason to flee.
Perversely, that thinking had only made his mood deteriorate and his temper spike—because then he’d been angry not only at her but at himself.
Wrap all that in an atmosphere charged with sexual tension and sparks had been inevitable.
He buttoned up the fresh shirt, pinned gold cufflinks at his wrists, then grabbed the tie.
Jordan had lit the fuse. Hoisting her chin like she had, pursing her lush lips in a tight moue and throwing him that look of defiance...of pure, unadulterated challenge...
A man of principle he might be, but he was only mortal. And mortal men had limits.
Desires.
He scowled at his reflection in the mirror as he checked the knot of his tie was straight.
He’d never had a problem controlling his physical urges. His baser instincts. But he’d lost himself out there. Utterly. Completely.
Lost himself in her.
He smoothed his hair, where Jordan’s hands had messed it up, then turned from his reflection with a sneer of self-disgust.
He’d been rough at first, kissing her like a lusting barbarian with no self-control and no knowledge of how a man should treat a woman.
She should have slapped him. Instead she’d arched those beautiful supple curves against him and kissed him back with an equal fire and, he’d sensed, a little anger of her own.
But he’d also sensed an honesty in her response. A refusal to play coy. There might have been an edge of savagery to their kiss, but it had also been raw and real, unlike anything he’d experienced before.
He had no doubt that if Ramon hadn’t called he’d be buried deep inside her right now, oblivious to the fact that it was the middle of a work day and his secretary had no clue where he was. And to think he’d almost ignored his phone. Thank God he hadn’t. His brother was one of the few people who knew the code to his apartment. Ramon could have walked in at any moment.
It was only that knowledge that had forced Xav to turn his back on Jordan and walk away. Because one glance at her lying naked on his sofa, hair tousled, lips swollen from his kisses and her skin still flushed from her stunningly sensual climax, and he’d wanted to throw down the phone and resume where they’d left off, regardless of the risk.
He slid his phone into his pocket. He had told Ramon to wait for him in his office and he needed to get down there. Before his brother—and his secretary—grew suspicious about his whereabouts.
As for Jordan... The idea he’d entertained of playing the perfect gentleman over a polite, civilised dinner now sounded more like an evening of agonising torture.
The truth was they’d gone beyond polite—way beyond—and there was no going back.
What he did need to get back was his focus and his concentration on work—something that had been woefully lacking in recent days.
With his body still in a state of semi-hardened arousal and his thoughts consumed by a certain redhead, however, he knew there was only one way to make that happen. And that was to finish what he’d started on his sofa.
* * *
Jordan heard movement behind her and turned from the window.
Xavier was off the phone. He wore a fresh shirt and matching tie, and she noticed he’d smoothed his hair.
It looked so perfect her fingers itched with a crazy urge to muss it up again.
He grabbed his suit jacket and put it on, and disappointment flared even though she’d already assumed they wouldn’t pick up where they’d left off.
He came towards her and her treacherous body prickled with heat. He looked suave and imperturbable again—as if ten short minutes ago he hadn’t had his face buried between her legs.
Her face flamed and she cursed mentally. She needed to control her thoughts. As Xavier seemed able to do. He’d obviously had no trouble diverting his mind from sex. Why did men compartmentalise so much better than women?
He kept coming and her pulse stumbled. Had there not been a wall of glass behind her she would have stepped backwards. She crossed her arms instead.
He slipped one hand around her waist.
Her eyes widened.
Then he raised her chin with his fingers and she blinked up at him—right before he planted a soft, lingering kiss on her mouth.
Her breath was bottled in her throat. Who would have thought the lips that before had scorched and devoured and subjugated could be so...gentle?
By the time his head lifted her knees had developed a serious wobble.
His gaze held hers. ‘Forgive me, but I must return to the office.’
Afraid her hands might roam where they shouldn’t if she fre
ed them, she kept her arms folded, which provided the added benefit of a safety barrier between his chest and her breasts.
Blast him, she thought churlishly. Why couldn’t he have said something arrogant and infuriating? Arrogant and infuriating she could deal with. But tender and apologetic...?
Not fair.
She turned her head to stare out of the window, because looking at the chiselled perfection of his face was not helping her to think straight. ‘Am I supposed to sit here and wait for you? Because if we’re done here I could still make that ferry sailing.’
He brought her chin back around, forcing her to look at him. ‘“Done”?’ His grey eyes gleamed. ‘I think we’re a long way from done—’ the hand on her back tugged her closer and she gasped at the feel of his erection through their clothing ‘—don’t you?’
Heat singed her cheeks. And other parts of her anatomy.
She scowled. ‘You said it was a mistake...kissing me,’ she reminded him. ‘You said it wouldn’t happen again.’
He looked unconcerned. ‘I was wrong. It happens once in a while,’ he added, so deadpan she thought he was serious—until she saw the infinitesimal twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Her heart knocked against her ribs at this unexpected glimpse of teasing humour. It wasn’t the first evidence she’d seen of a lighter side to Xavier, but coming now, on the heels of their intense sexual encounter, it threw her.
Was that his intent? To keep her off-balance? As a way to maintain the upper hand? Or was she being oversensitive now?
Drawing in a deep breath, she changed tack. ‘Am I a prisoner here?’
His eyes narrowed at that. His hand slid off her waist and she told herself she didn’t regret the loss of physical contact.
He pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘I’m texting you the code for the elevator,’ he said, doing it as he spoke, ‘so you can come and go via the car park with privacy. If you prefer to stay in, you can relax here and no one will disturb you. There’s an outdoor terrace and a lap pool, and you’ll find the kitchen is stocked with essentials.’ He slid the phone back into his pocket and settled his gaze on her. ‘The answer to your question is no, Jordan. You are not a prisoner.’
A Mistress, a Scandal, a Ring Page 11