by Anna Cleary
He must have been crazed, because he cradled her face in his hands, scorching her with his devouring gaze, and said hoarsely, ‘You’re still so gorgeous. You’re just—gorgeous.’
Then he kissed her, a sensual tasting of each of her lips while he plundered her mouth tissues with his clever tongue. She didn’t care that he was clearly short-sighted and mentally deranged. She supposed she could have interrupted and said, ‘It’s the dress, stupid,’ but this wasn’t the time to give him a lesson on dresses and what they could do for the female form because she was deeply into the kiss. Her bones were dissolving and she had to cling to him to support herself.
The kiss broke and he stared into her face, his eyes ablaze with two disturbing points of flame she remembered well. An age-old excitement gripped her.
For heaven’s sake, some last vestige of reason clanged in her brain, they were in a boutique fitting room. She gave him a small, provocative push away, then turned her back to him and held up her hair.
The move didn’t have any dampening effect, it seemed. Now his reflection smouldered before her in the mirror, lust in his eyes.
Against everything her brain knew was wise, her blood surged to the primitive call, rocking into a slow, heavy, sensual beat.
‘Have I torn it?’ Even to her own ears she sounded huskier than the norm.
‘Just a bit.’ His voice was deeper than a well. ‘Looks like a part of the stitching’s come away.’
‘Shh. Keep your voice down.’
He worked at the zip, frowning in concentration, occasionally brushing her back with his knuckles. Her wanton skin welcomed every tiny contact, and each time it happened his eyes clashed with hers in the mirror and ignited more burning embers in her blood.
At last he murmured, ‘There.’ She felt him tug at the zip, shift it a little way, then ease it smoothly all the way down to the small of her back. Cooler air played along her spine.
‘Great,’ she breathed, letting her hair fall. She didn’t move, and neither did he move away from her. She grew preternaturally conscious of his closeness, the tense current pulsing between them, her breasts naked under the thin red satin.
The air in the little room grew taut with risk.
His strong hands closed around her upper arms and her heart started to thud. In the mirror she saw him bend towards her. She closed her eyes, quivering as his lips scorched her nape, her flesh leaping in instant response.
He lifted his head, and she waited. She met his darkened gaze in the mirror, and saw that her own eyes were curiously dark and glowing. Her skin prickled as he ran a light finger along the ridge of her spine, igniting little streamlets of fire.
Then he paused. She dared not breathe, teetering on the verge of a tingling suspense, longing for him to touch her again. Her nipples tautened with suspense, aching, yearning to be touched.
Then, to her intense pleasure, he slid his warm hands in under the dress opening, loosening the snug bodice. He drew her against him while he held her breasts, softly squeezing and stroking them, igniting little rivulets of fire under her skin. She panted as her breasts swelled with heat, her nipples tingling as he delicately teased and taunted them with his long, lean fingers.
Fingers that were delicious enough to lick. She burned everywhere, but the wildest thirst burned between her legs, and she was seized by that old reckless sensation he’d always inspired in her and forgot all prudent considerations.
He kissed her neck and put his tongue in her ear, his hot breath tickling and inflaming the sensitive orifice.
Lucky he was supporting her with his big lean frame, because her knees nearly collapsed and she sagged against him. The mingled sensations were so pleasant and arousing, her hidden delta craved and yearned to be caressed.
Her veins seemed to flow with liquid fire as though her body were all at once bursting from its conventional constraints and longing to plunge into a wild explosion of every possible pleasure.
She tried to turn around to him to open up the possibilities but he held her severely before him. Feeling the hard length of his erection pressing into her, she reached behind her in an attempt to encourage him to hurry in their stolen hideaway. But growling something under his breath, he grabbed her hands and held them still.
His face in the mirror was so raw and naked it scorched her mesmerised gaze and she couldn’t look away.
She couldn’t remember feeling so hot, but still he toyed with her. He slid his hot, urgent hands caressingly over her hips and thighs as if she were some rare and precious figurine he was moulding from clay, then, when she was least expecting it, to her excitement he eased up the dress and exposed her pants and the nude pale skin at the tops of her stockings.
She saw lust flare in his eyes.
Lust was infectious. She stilled, holding her breath, her erotic tissues ignited with a desperate craving. Then fascinated, simmering with fever, she watched the reflection as his lean tanned hand slid across her navel then down beneath the elastic of the flimsy underwear.
She felt a small involuntary rush of moisture.
Panting and trembling, she could feel his hot breath on her neck. As if he understood her most intimate needs, with exquisite softness his smooth fingertips sought the delicate lips, found her sensitive, burning, engorged folds and stroked them. Found her sweetest, most delicate, most explosive spot, and caressed her there.
Ah-h-h. Rapture forced a series of little gasps from her. Then hypnotised, swooning with delight, she watched as he slid those long smooth fingers inside her.
Ecstasy.
Shuddering, her breath coming in hoarse gasps—she might have whimpered—she parted her thighs to give him more access and gave herself up to enjoyment of the forbidden magic. Just when she was climbing to a pitch of the most fantastic, blissful tension, a demanding feminine voice cut through the sultry mists of her pleasure.
‘Mademoiselle. Mam’selle exige-t-il l’aide?’
She started back to reality and they both froze. ‘What?’ she mouthed at Joe.
He frowned and shook his head, signalling no.
‘No,’ she squeaked. ‘No, merci, madame. I’m fine, and I’m coming. Now. At once.’
If only that had been true. It was the ultimate in anticlimax. Plans she’d been concocting for Joe’s pleasure were put on hold as, hot, flustered and aroused, she gave the woman time to swish away, checked the coast was clear, then pushed a reluctant Joe outside.
Hurriedly she dragged off the dress and struggled into her own clothes, hoping she hadn’t made too much noise in the exigency of the moment.
The situation didn’t give her much time to think, but she managed to fix her hair and face a little before she sashayed from the fitting room with the dresses. She did her best to smooth out the red one, praying the wrinkles where it had been creased didn’t shout what had transpired while she was wearing it.
Joe was waiting at the counter with his back to her, and she checked, then braced herself and strolled up to him as coolly as she could. At first she barely had the nerve to look at him. When he turned to her that hot, hungry gleam shot into his eyes and for a second her heart plunged into the mad, pulsing rhythm again, and she knew she was in trouble.
Hot, helpless trouble.
The saleswoman raised her hard, accusing gaze to Mirandi. She smoothed out each dress and examined them minutely.
Flushing, Mirandi bit her lip, careful to avoid Joe’s eyes for fear of laughing. Clearly, the fitting room shenanigans had awakened suspicion.
Bracing herself, she launched into what she could at least confess without shame.
‘This dress is excellent, madame, but I—I had a bit of trouble with the zip on this one.’ She indicated the spot where the stitching had failed. ‘I found it difficult to close, then I couldn’t easily unzip it to take the dress off.’ She illustrated as best she could with her hands.
The woman frowned suspiciously at her, examined the zip seam, then her mouth dropped open and she burst into a stre
am of voluble French, waving her hands in horror.
Dismayed, Mirandi turned to Joe. To her utter astonishment he took charge of the situation, addressing the saleswoman in smooth, fluent, confident French, waving his hands with Gallic expertise as if he’d been born to a chateau on the Loire. After a rapid-fire exchange of arguments, heated on the woman’s side, suavely authoritative on Joe’s, the woman backed down a little and a reluctant understanding appeared to be in view.
She turned to Mirandi and explained in English that perhaps the mademoiselle was not entirely to blame. It was possible, though extremely unlikely, that the fault had been with the product, as monsieur had pointed out.
‘As it is, this dress cannot now be sold,’ she declared with sly triumph. ‘It must be returned to Paris and resewn.’
Joe produced a credit card and laid it smoothly before her. ‘We’ll take it.’
‘But no, monsieur. This dress must not leave the shop.’ The cold glint of revenge made her small black eyes harder than ever. ‘As monsieur has stated, the reputation of our company is at stake here, of our seamstresses, of our very nation. I am afraid we cannot help mademoiselle.’
‘I think you can, madame,’ Joe said in a tone that, although smooth, would allow no argument. ‘This is the dress we want, and it is the dress we must have. Exactly as it is. In fact, we’ll take both dresses.’
Mirandi swivelled around to stare at him. ‘What? Both?’
‘Both,’ he stated firmly. ‘And we’ll also require some matching shoes and purses.’ His eyes lit on a lingerie rack in the far corner. ‘And some of those lacy things with the suspenders.’
‘What?’ The shocks were coming so quick and fast Mirandi’s mouth was formed in a perpetual O.
Madame considered her options for a bristling moment, then caved in. Such a profitable sale was irresistible.
Afterwards, floating along the street carrying some of the boutique’s elegant packages while still more dangled from Joe’s hand, Mirandi was in a giddy haze.
‘Joe. I really don’t know what to say—but…thank you. This was so generous. I mean, two dresses. One would be amazing enough, but two. And the shoes. And these bags are to die for. I adore them. I just adore them.’
He held up his hand. ‘It was my pleasure. Every minute of it.’ He gave a wicked reminiscent laugh.
She joined in with her own gurgle of laughter. ‘All right, but you know…two—two dresses. Do you have any idea what those shoes cost? And two bags. I don’t ever own more than one and I keep it until it falls apart. And those lace knickers. And the corset with the suspenders…’ She cast him a sidelong glance. ‘I can’t imagine where I’ll ever wear that.’
‘Can’t you?’ His eyes shimmered. ‘But you are wearing it now, aren’t you?’ His voice was deeper than midnight.
She smiled acknowledgement. The truth was she’d admired herself in it so much, especially the way the black bustier pushed up her breasts and made them swell at the top, she hadn’t been able to bear to take it off and had informed madame she would wear it home under her clothes.
‘Clever of you to remember,’ she teased.
Of course, under madame’s watchful eye Joe hadn’t been privy to the fitting room at the trying-on of the corselet, but overhearing this discussion he’d turned a fascinated gaze on Mirandi, almost as if he were seeing straight through her blue suit to the sexy black lace underneath.
‘It’s not the sort of thing a man forgets. It’s the only thing keeping me awake.’
She laughed. ‘Really. Oh, and before I forget. I have to tell you how impressed I am by your magnificent French. I’ve forgotten most of mine from school. For a guy who only visited France for one weekend, how do you manage it?’
He gave a shrug, and the corner of his mouth curled in a grimace. ‘I once knew a Frenchwoman.’
‘Oh.’ Her heart took a dive. Of course. She should have known. The only question was how many?
She tried not to let it deflate her. She had no claims on him now. A fitting-room clinch didn’t mark him as hers. Face it, he’d already evaded her brand of entanglement in the past. He wasn’t about to plunge into it again.
Strolling along under the leafy canopy of trees, she stole a look at him and saw his face shadowed with that brooding absorption he’d had earlier, and mentally kicked herself for being a fool. Why spoil a near-perfect day with useless speculation about how many women he’d had? Was currently seeing, despite poor Kirsty having bitten the dust?
‘Anyway,’ she said, determined to recapture the mood. ‘It was so kind and generous of you. More than generous, Joe, it was…’ She spread her arms wide. ‘How can I ever thank you?’
He grabbed her and held her still, smiling into her eyes with tender amusement. ‘Don’t thank me. I’m the one who should be thanking you.’
He put his arms around her, and, as though both driven by the same impulse, their lips collided. His strong arms tightened around her and he deepened the kiss, as far as it was possible in a public boulevard with shoppers milling around them. Straight away, so soon after the last kiss, the desire still lurking between them sprang back to life and sizzled through her like fifty thousand volts of electricity.
She’d noticed before that they were heading in the direction of the hotel and the ferry quay. When they broke apart she felt breathless and a little drunk. ‘So…what do you think now? A cruise on Lake Zurich?’
His eyes shimmered. ‘Well, as you said, we’re jet-lagged.’ His voice deepened and his expression grew solemn. ‘I think an afternoon rest would do us good, don’t you?’ His eyes were surprisingly bright for a man contemplating sleep, his voice deep and velvety. ‘Give us plenty of energy for tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ She sent him a quick oblique glance.
His eyes smouldered. ‘Well, we don’t want to waste it, do we?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
EUPHORIA was a beautiful thing. It carried them up in the lift and along the hotel corridor, punctuated by kisses and giggles from Mirandi and shouts of laughter from Joe whenever they remembered the boutique woman’s face.
‘We can’t really blame her.’
‘But at least she was happy in the end with her sale, wasn’t she?’
‘Though if she’d had a humane bone in her body she could at least have given us another five minutes…’
‘Oh, yes, if only. I had such plans for you, you’ll never know. Pity you couldn’t have come in with me while I tried on the lingerie.’
Joe’s eyes gleamed. ‘Ah, yes. The lingerie.’
He took the key from her hand and slid it into the slot. Her room door opened, and he stood back and allowed her to float through first.
Rooms at the Chateau du Lac were airy and opulent, with windows you could open, pretty painted ceilings and a gratifying number of mirrors that gave a woman plenty of angles from which to observe the effect she was making.
She wafted into the centre of hers, twirled, then dropped her packages on the floor and turned to face Joe. Desire electrified the air, whispered along her nerve-endings and teased her erotic zones with pleasant yearning. Joe deposited his parcels on a chair, then caught her at the waist and held her still, his light firm grip searing her through her clothes.
Her breath was trapped in her lungs when she met the fever burning in his eyes like points of flame. It was too late for resolutions.
‘This is exactly what we said we wouldn’t do,’ she said shakily, her heart pounding like a wild thing.
‘And what we always knew we would do.’
His voice had thickened with the intensity of his lust, instantly reviving her own unassuaged desire until her body trembled to know his embrace and burned.
He reached for the top button of her jacket and she smiled as swiftly and expertly he stripped her of her suit.
His eyes flared when he revealed her in her lacy corselet. He stood back to take in the full effect of her suspenders, the stockings attached and her flimsy little see-through pant
s, and with a primitive urge to inspire him she slipped the grips on the suspenders and peeled off her stockings with long, caressing, sensual movements, holding each of them high and letting them flutter to the ground.
She held him at bay with a gesture, then she danced a little, provocatively stroking her hips and swaying, fanning her hair out then arching her back to let the silky stuff fall behind her in a mass.
When she straightened he was standing as though riveted, breathing hard, his eyes burning like coals. His tie was hanging loose and she saw the faintest sheen of moisture on his upper lip.
A buoyant sensation she’d nearly forgotten existed shot through her, as if her veins were injected with magic. She felt like a midnight witch, reckless and sexy and aroused. Powerful. Inspired.
Desire whispered along her nerve-endings and pulsed in her blood. Tantalising her masculine captive, she swayed a little more to help him appreciate the treasures on offer, pouted to remind him she had lips in other places, and wiggled her hips to entice him.
It seemed to work. Though she held him in check with her tease, his devouring gaze, a certain tension in the lines of his big lean body, suggested his unaccustomed patience in such a situation was about to explode into action.
She sashayed up to him to unbutton his shirt and he stood even more motionless, but it was brooding stillness like that of a ticking grenade. He watched her face while she slipped the buttons, her trembling hands affected by the powerful heartbeat she could feel beneath the thin fabric. Only his harsh quickened breath revealed the control he was employing to hold the volcano of passion in check.
He undid his cufflinks, then tore off his shirt. Her mouth dried when she saw his broad, bronzed chest again, with his powerful pecs and lean muscled abdomen as stirring as ever before. Greedily her eyes devoured the black whorls of hair arrowing down below his belt.
Sighing, unable to help herself, she pressed her lips to his hard chest and they felt scorched by the heat in his skin. At once his arms snaked around her, then his hands slid to her arms and held them in a purposeful grip. She could feel the hot current of passion flowing through him.