“Do you?” she came back defensively.
“Not for a moment,” he answered without hesitation.
She chewed on her bottom lip for several long seconds before nodding. “Me either,” she acknowledged ruefully. “In fact, I was thinking a few minutes ago that it was very unfair of me not to have reciprocated.”
Rourke was going to need clarification of that remark. They were at least talking to each other a little more easily now, and the last thing he wanted to do was misinterpret something Sophie said and, in doing so, take them back to the previous awkwardness. “You want to spank my arse too?”
“As enticing as the idea sounds…no.” She teasingly eyed that part of his anatomy before looking up at his face. “I was thinking more along the lines of reciprocating by giving you the same pleasure you gave to me.”
Rourke was so taken aback by the suggestion that, for a moment, it felt as if he’d swallowed his own tongue. Did Sophie mean what he thought she meant? What he hoped she meant?
The swelling of his cock inside his jeans indicated it was obviously hoping that was what she’d meant too.
But Rourke really had fucked up too much yesterday with Sophie to want to take anything for granted. “In the interest of self-preservation, could you tell me exactly what you mean by that?”
Any other time, Sophie would have thought Rourke was playing with her, but the uncertainty she could see in his dark gaze told her that wasn’t the case at all. He really didn’t want to make any more mistakes with her by assuming anything.
She squeezed his arm in reassurance. “Why don’t we adjourn to the bedroom, you take off your clothes, and I’ll show you what I mean?” If she and Rourke were going to say goodbye soon, then she intended making the most of these last few days with him.
“Jesus,” Rourke muttered under his breath as he allowed her to take hold of his hand and lead the way to the bedroom.
By the time the bedroom door was closed and locked behind them, Sophie’s nerves were beginning to show.
She knew she had sounded calm and confident when she suggested they come in here, even playful and flirtatious, but the reality was that she really hadn’t ever done anything like this before. Dates were one thing; physical intimacy was something else. She had never cared enough or been attracted enough to any man to go further than kissing him.
Instead, she had been on a lot of first dates, and more often than not, it was her choice not to accept a second one. What was the point when the only man she’d wanted for the past three years was Rourke Steele?
The same man now standing in front of her, drawing his polo shirt over his head.
“Wow,” she gasped softly, openly staring at Rourke’s totally ripped chest and abdomen. She’d realized he was fit, but hadn’t known he was so muscular beneath those tailored three-piece suits and silk shirts he favored wearing to work.
Lightly tanned skin covered defined muscles in his arms and chest, the latter an eight-pack down his abdomen that ended in a tempting vee pointing down to the bulge in the front of his jeans. A bulge that grew noticeably larger and thicker as she stared at it.
Her breath caught in her throat, her mouth going dry, as Rourke’s long fingers moved to unfasten the button and zip on his jeans before pushing them down his thighs. He slipped his shoes off and removed the jeans completely before straightening.
Oh my God…
Now wearing only fitted black boxers, Rourke was a god. From his messy dark hair, those chiseled features, and down the sculpted length of his body. But he was more potent than any god, because he was a living, breathing, flesh-and-blood man.
He was also the man Sophie desired more than any other.
Rourke winced as the silence stretched between the two of them. “I really hope you didn’t ask me to strip off so you could leave me standing here half-naked like an idiot.”
Not that he didn’t deserve it, after yesterday. Rourke had always known that at some point, the outward veneer of friendship he normally showed toward Sophie would crack wide open. Just not in quite the way, and as completely, as it had yesterday. In doing so it had revealed parts of himself Sophie might not have been ready to see. Perhaps she still wasn’t.
Her smile was rueful. “You could never look like an idiot, Rourke, and certainly not when you’re almost naked. I would really like it if we could dispense with the ‘almost’ part of that statement, by the way.” She looked at him expectantly.
Rourke kept himself fit. He had a gym in his apartment, and he worked out in there every morning before showering and dressing for work.
He had never been shy about his own nakedness in the past, but for some reason, he was now. With Sophie. Possibly because, for the first time, it actually mattered that a woman liked what she saw when she looked at him.
He kept his gaze fixed on her face as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slowly eased the material down over the throb and heat of his erection before allowing the garment to fall to his ankles so he could step out of them completely.
Sophie’s eyes darkened as she stared at him, the irises expanding until they almost obliterated the blue, lips slightly parted as she breathed shallowly. “Wow,” she finally murmured again.
Rourke grinned. “I’m going to take that as a positive response.” He moved to sit on the side of the bed before holding out his hand to her. “Care to join me?”
Sophie wiped her palms down denim-clad thighs as she slowly crossed the room until she stood in front of him.
Rourke sat with his thighs parted to accommodate the heavy sac between them, the long length of his cock reaching and sweeping a damp trail against the hair at his navel.
Sophie heard Rourke draw in a sharp breath as she followed her instincts and slowly dropped onto her knees between those parted thighs. The impact was softened by a cream carpet as luxurious as the interior of the rest of the plane. Obviously, no expense had been spared on Gregori Markovic’s privately owned jet.
Just thinking about that, of the man’s place at the head of the London Russian bratva, was enough to add another, even more dangerous edge to being alone with Rourke in this bedroom thousands of feet from terra firma.
She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “Will this count as becoming part of the mile-high club? Or are you already a part of that club?” She frowned her uncertainty. At thirty-three, Rourke was far from being the sexual novice she was.
“No, I’m not.” Rourke bent down to grasp her arms and pull her up until she was seated sideways on the heat of his thighs, his arms securely about her waist holding her in place. “But even if I was,” he continued gruffly, “I want each of our firsts to be exactly that, a first for us, with no intrusive memories of other lovers.” His voice hardened in warning.
“Our firsts…?” Sophie repeated cautiously.
Rourke moved his hand beneath her chin and used it to turn her face toward him. His breath was warm against her lips. “Once this mess is sorted out, I’m staking my claim. My claim on you,” he added firmly.
Sophie wasn’t completely sure what he meant by that. Did he intend keeping her once this situation had been resolved—if it was resolved? Or was Rourke merely talking of sating their desire for each other before moving on, as he usually did?
Did it really matter when here and now, she belonged to Rourke?
Even more important, for however long this lasted, Rourke belonged to her.
Chapter Nine
“I think we’ve allowed ourselves to be sidetracked for long enough,” Sophie teased after feeling Rourke’s engorged cock throbbing in reminder against her thigh.
She shifted slightly until she was able to lightly stroke her fingers along his thighs and along that burgeoning length, from the root surrounded by dark curls to the red and glistening tip, surprised at how velvety soft his skin felt against her palm.
“Oh God…” Rourke groaned, arms falling from about her waist as he leaned back on his hands.
&nb
sp; Sophie took that as encouragement to slide off his lap and back onto her knees between his parted thighs.
Rourke’s cock was just as much of a work of sculpted art as the rest of him—long and wide, with a thick vein running along its length. The mushroomed top was a fierce red and glistening with pre-cum. His skin was like velvet over steel as the fingers of one of Sophie’s hands curled about that thickness and began to pump along its length while her other hand cupped the taut and heavy sac beneath.
Because she wanted to taste that pre-cum and lick that deliciously soft skin, that’s exactly what she did. She parted her lips and took the whole of that bulbous head into the heat of her mouth.
“Sophie…!” Rourke gasped. He was too aroused to be gentle with her as his palms moved to cup each side of her head, his long fingers becoming entangled in her hair as he held her steady while he controlled the thrusting of his cock into that hot, moist, and welcoming cavern.
Sophie’s mouth felt like a blanket of wet heat surrounding his cock as he thrust inside. After each thrust, he allowed her time to adjust to that new depth before moving deeper still.
If anyone ever looked at Rourke and thought “enjoyable but vanilla sex,” they were way off course. In the last fifteen years, Rourke had tried a little of everything. Even that vanilla sex, which definitely had its place in a loving relationship. He had explored hardcore BDSM for a couple of weeks and found that wasn’t for him either. He didn’t want either a doormat or someone who liked being physically hurt. What he wanted was somewhere in between those two. A woman who could give as good as she got, resulting in giving them both pleasure.
After his previous caution where she was concerned, Rourke was starting to believe Sophie was that woman.
For instance, he had felt Sophie’s gag reflex when he thrust just a little too deep for her comfort. But not for long, because she immediately counteracted by relaxing the muscles at the back of her throat and allowing him to slide deeper still. She made no sound of demur as he remained lodged there for several seconds and could stroke his own length inside her throat. Her eyes were a little moist when Rourke finally pulled back, but no tears fell.
Time after time, she not only allowed Rourke to repeat that pleasure, but her fingers now gripping and digging into his thighs encouraged him to do so.
She groaned with pleasure after Rourke leaned forward to pull up her top and unfasten and push her bra aside so that he could cup and squeeze the softness of her breasts as he pinched and pulled her aroused nipples downward.
“Do you like that?” he prompted gruffly.
Moist blue eyes looked up at him as Sophie nodded.
“And this?” He alternated pulling on her nipples.
The low groan in her throat vibrated along the length of Rourke’s cock and into his balls, acting as a spark to the tinder of his barely contained control.
“I’m coming, Sophie,” he gasped. “I want you to come with me,” he demanded, feeling her body quake as she did exactly that and his release shot the length of his cock before it exploded in pulse after pulse of hot cum down Sophie’s relaxed throat.
Sophie woke to the smell of coffee and the knowledge that she was alone in bed.
The first was a little odd because, living alone, there was no one in her apartment to make her coffee.
The second was even odder because she was pretty sure this wasn’t her bed.
She also felt as if she was rocking slightly, but not in a steady and soothing way. No, this was more like—
“We’ll be landing in about thirty minutes.”
The sound of Rourke’s voice nearby, very nearby, definitely meant Sophie was dreaming. A pleasant dream but—
What the hell—?
Had that familiar voice said they would be landing in thirty minutes?
Sophie opened her eyes and sat up so suddenly, she almost hit a fully dressed Rourke on the nose as he sat on the bed beside her. She would have done so if he hadn’t flinched back in time.
Which was when the events of the past forty-eight hours all came rushing back at her.
In Technicolor.
Zachary Tillman’s threat.
The wedding.
The man who had attacked her at the hotel.
Rourke’s rescue.
His lovemaking yesterday.
Then leaving England on Gregori Markovic’s—the head of the Russian bratva in London—private jet, and which he was personally piloting.
Sophie’s life had taken on a surreal quality the past eight days since she learned her father was a thief, but that last one was definitely the most out there.
She was a twenty-three-year-old university dropout, working as a receptionist in a security company. In the normal course of events she would never have met someone like Gregori Markovic, let alone be travelled on his private jet to a set of islands in the Caribbean that were one of the world’s biggest financial centers. Which might have something to do with the fact the Caymans were also a tax haven.
She was being accompanied there by the man Sophie had secretly been in love with for the past three years.
Her breath caught in her throat as she also recalled she had sucked and licked Rourke’s cock earlier until he shot his hot and delicious cream into her mouth, which she had eagerly swallowed down her waiting throat. Not once but three times. She hadn’t known men were capable of coming in such quick succession as that, but Rourke certainly was, and Sophie was more than happy to continue giving him that pleasure until he begged for mercy after his third orgasm in such a short time had caused him to tremble and shake during that release.
Sophie had excused herself to go into the en suite bathroom, cleaning her teeth and washing her face and hands before removing her clothes and taking a shower. She had kept her mind deliberately blank as she dried herself before pulling on a silk robe she found hanging on a hook behind the door.
By the time Sophie returned to the bedroom, the blinds were drawn and the single lamp in the room showed Rourke was lying on his side on the farthest side of the bed. He watched with glittering eyes as she remained standing in the doorway of the bathroom, before turning back the bedcovers beside him in invitation for her to join him.
Sophie recalled the heated blush in her cheeks and avoiding meeting his gaze as she crossed the room and slid into bed beside him, still wearing the silk robe, before lying on her side, turned away from him.
Rourke hadn’t spoken a word of rebuke about her keeping on the robe or her physical distance but had instead moved his arm about her waist to pull her back against him before he spooned her body with his. “Go to sleep,” he then murmured against her ear.
Sophie had been convinced she wouldn’t be able to do that with Rourke’s naked body cuddled up behind her. But if, as Rourke said, it was now only half an hour until they arrived at Grand Cayman, then she must have been asleep for hours.
She gave an exaggerated yawn as she pulled the bedcovers high enough to cover her breasts. “I think I must have missed lunch.”
Rourke nodded. “And afternoon tea. But Candi has prepared some sandwiches for you to eat in the car on the way to the hotel.”
Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “I thought her name was Candice?”
He shrugged. “She prefers Candi.”
“You and Candi seem to have become very friendly while I was sleeping.”
Any other time, from any other woman, Rourke would have immediate shut down the slightest hint of a jealous accusation with a few abrupt and cutting words. But not when it was Sophie showing that jealousy. She could be as jealous as hell of other women, and he would revel in it rather than feel the usual irritation he experienced when a woman tried to make any sort of claim on him. It was different with Sophie, because if she really was jealous, then it gave Rourke hope she might be starting to care for him in the same way he did her. A long shot, maybe, but even an unrepentant sinner was allowed to hope.
He shrugged. “You were asleep for a long time.”
&n
bsp; “And Candi kept you company for all of it?”
His eyes narrowed at her continued emphasis on that shortened version of the hostess’s name. “She served me lunch and afternoon tea.”
“You didn’t manage to sleep at all?”
“I dozed for an hour or so, but then I got up so that I didn’t disturb you with my fidgeting.” He stood up. “I’ve already showered if you want to use the bathroom.”
Sophie wasn’t sure what she wanted.
To be on her way to the Cayman Islands in the search for her errant father was obviously top of the list of things she didn’t want.
But that ship—or plane—had obviously departed, leaving Sophie with no choice but to deal with it. After all, she was the one who had insisted on accompanying Rourke to the Caribbean.
“Are you feeling okay?”
She gave Rourke a brief glance, long enough to see the wariness in his eyes. “I’m fine.” She reached out for the mug of cooling coffee on the cabinet beside the bed before taking a welcome swallow.
Rourke winced. “Was I too much for you earlier?”
Sophie raised her brows. “In what way?”
He snorted. “I have this…ability to continue making love long after most men would have fallen into a satiated sleep.”
Her brow cleared. “That’s really hot.”
“It is?”
She chuckled. “Of course it is.”
“That hasn’t usually been my experience.”
Sophie sobered. “Then maybe you’ve been making love with the wrong women.”
“I’ve had sex dozens of times, but I’ve never made love with any other woman but you,” he corrected firmly.
Again, Sophie wasn’t quite sure how much or if she should read anything at all into Rourke’s comment. It sounded as if Rourke considered her as being different to those other women who had been in his life and bed, but she didn’t want to make a fool of herself by making assumptions.
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