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  He resumes his position, staring out of the floor to ceiling window and pats his leg. “Get here.”

  I should get back to the office but as it’s his work I need to finish, I guess he just trumped his own instructions. I climb happily onto his lap, resting my back against his chest, and sip my Scotch, letting the fluid heat the back of my throat. This is a most unlike Gregory thing to do at work and massively inappropriate of me but his hot breath on my neck quashes my rational thoughts. He nibbles the skin, then my lobe and I hum my contentment.

  “Another rough day,” he says.

  He draws my chin to face him with his scotch-free hand. Pulling my waist tighter, his mouth meets mine. It’s a triumphant kiss. We’ve fended off another attack. But our war against Gregory’s demons is far from over.

  “Sorry, I’ll come back.” Williams halts midway between the door and Gregory’s desk.

  “Oh, gosh, no, I’ll go.” I make to leave Gregory’s lap but he holds me to him as I wriggle uncomfortably.

  “Neither of you need to go. Get yourself a drink, Williams.” This is so unlike Gregory it’s disconcerting. He’s had a traumatic day—another one, and from the short time I’ve known him, I’ve come to learn that he retreats...or fucks. But he definitely doesn’t sit at his desk, in his tower, with his girl on his lap, welcoming his friend for a drink.

  Williams brings his half-full glass and sits onto Gregory’s desk next to us, his long legs crossed at the ankles. He drops a hand to his friend’s shoulder then sips his scotch. We look out over the River Thames in silence for the time it takes us to finish our drinks.

  “I need to go,” I eventually admit to myself on a sigh. “I have a slave-driving client who needs a document for his meeting first thing.” It suddenly hits me that Gregory is leaving for China tomorrow morning. I don’t know how to cope with everything that’s going on without him.

  Gregory tugs on my waist as I try to stand then casts a glance to his friend. “I need to get on,” Williams says. “Thanks for today, Scarlett.”

  Turning as much as I can in Gregory’s tight hold I waft a hand in the air. “It’s my job.”

  “Come home and work,” Gregory whispers into my neck. “I don’t want to be without you tonight.”

  I drop my head back, exposing my throat. “Hmm, as tempting as that sounds, I’ll get much more done in the office.”

  “What if I promise not to talk to you until you’re done?” He parts his lips as he sucks on my skin.

  “Hey, don’t mark me,” I say, wriggling from his touch, feeling cold at the loss of contact.

  “I’ll mark you if I want to.” He presses his lips to my neck again. “It just so happens that I don’t want to today.”

  I don’t need to see him to know he’s grinning against my flesh. “Come home, please.”

  Pressing my lips against his, I nod my agreement, not wanting to break our contact.

  “Do you have everything you need?” he asks, lifting me to my feet.

  “Yes, I’ve got my laptop.”

  After punching two buttons on his Blackberry and declaring, “We’re ready,” we’re leaving the office, side by side, professional personas firmly rooted in place.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Sydney?” I ask when we’re in the back of the Mercedes with Kenneth weaving us in and out of the London traffic. I want to know why he’s even considering keeping her at the company when he seems ruthless in every other aspect of his business life. Admittedly, he did sort of offer Tim and Jean-Paul an olive branch but I suspect that’s because they do a good job of managing Constant Sources.

  “What about her?”

  “Erm, that she’s sleeping with Nick.”

  “It’s not that I didn’t tell you, Scarlett. It wasn’t something you needed to know.”

  “Have you slept with her?”

  He scowls at me. “Her ex-husband used to mess her around, Scarlett, and she’s got two young kids. Now Nick is preying on her, making her promises he’s got no intention of keeping, making a fool of her. I helped her, I didn’t sleep with her.”

  I sit back against the leather seat and watch traffic through my window feeling suitably admonished, ridiculously and pathetically jealous. There’s something else I didn’t know about Scarlett Heath; she’s got a nasty jealous streak.

  We finish the journey in silence and when Gregory lets us into the apartment he takes himself straight into the kitchen area.

  “Are you sulking?” I ask.

  He downs the glass of water he’s poured from the fridge filter. “No. I’m giving you what I promised, space to do your work.” He places his glass down on the black granite worktop and looks at me. “But if you keep up with the attitude I won’t be responsible for losing control and stripping that red dress right off you.”

  He really has no idea how much I’d like him to lose control. Or maybe he does.

  “Go!” He demands, raising a finger in the direction of his office.

  I nestle into the big, black leather chair and tuck myself under Gregory’s contemporary white desk. I laugh to myself—more black and white to surround my man who definitely operates in the grey. Black and white is who I used to be, addicted to rules and boundaries. Not anymore. Not since Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire CEO swanned into my pitch and broke down my walls of sense and sensibility. My world used to operate at content enough but he’s shown me how to live at mind blowing, off the scale one minute and crashing to unbearable lows the next.

  Five hours in, emails dealt with for the day and Gregory’s paper almost complete, I twist my hair into a messy bun and push a slide through to hold it in place. My eyes are starting to sting so I put on my Dior tortoise shell glasses and resolve to be finished in thirty minutes.

  Right on cue, as I’m carrying out an arms-raised, celebratory stretch, a perfectly toned body clothed in a fitted black T-shirt and low-rise dark jeans appears in the doorway. “If I’d known I wouldn’t get to touch you ’til this hour I would’ve never agreed to give you space.”

  “I’m done.”

  “Glasses?”

  “Only when my eyes are tired.” I pinch the corner of the cat frames to remove them, feeling a little exposed.

  “Hot.” His voice is laced with sex and my body’s already responding. My sex tingles, my chest fills, my shoulders roll back in my chair as he strides towards me. I leave my glasses where they are. “Very naughty secretary.”

  I smile but can’t help wondering whether he likes his secretaries that way; they’re all uncommonly pretty and they drool at his feet when they see him.

  He stalks around the desk and turns my chair to face him. Hunkering down in front of me, he lifts my chin with his index finger until I’m looking him in the eye. “Stop those cogs whirring.”

  He kisses me gently once, then deepens the contact. Strong arms lift me to my feet without breaking our contact. In my heels, I don’t need to reach so high to wrap my arms around his neck and he doesn’t need to bend as much as usual. Holding me with firm hands on my waist, he performs a slow, beautiful grind of his hips against mine.

  “Each time I kiss you it’s like kissing you for the first time.” His words fall onto my neck. This is going to be Miss Me Sex—a reminder of what I’ll be missing whilst he’s away. He nibbles my lobe, then my neck and sucks gently. “I want people to know you’re mine whilst I’m gone.” I know what’s coming and I know he’s asking permission. There’s no way I want to be marked for everyone to see but his lips drive me crazy. I lean my head slightly to one side. Taking his signal, he clamps his lips down on my skin and begins to draw the blood to the surface, sending my insides into a tailspin.

  “Proud of yourself?” I ask when he lifts his head to face me.

  There’s an air of amused satisfaction about him. “Perfect.”

  “
You’re insane.”

  “And you’re insatiable.” He says on a pulse inducing grind.

  “You created the problem.”

  “And I’ll be the only person to fix it, baby.”

  “Yes, you will. Kiss me.”

  His mouth is back on mine and firing on all cylinders, licking, stroking, sucking. He breaks our contact to turn me and draw the zip of my dress down my back. He lifts the hem up my body and throws the dress to the floor.

  “You look fucking amazing in red.” His eyes absorb the red bra and matching French knickers I chose this morning.

  He turns me back to face him and cups me over the red lace, pulling my body towards him. Bending, he presses his lips between my breasts then pulls down one cup of my bra and drags my already hard nipple through his teeth. I pull my fingers through his hair as he moves onto my other breast.

  His tongue trails down the centre of my abdomen and his thumbs hook into the sides of my knickers, drawing them to the floor. From his knees, he looks up to me through his lashes, a look that resonates in my sex even more than his touch. He parts me with his fingers, leaving his trailing tongue to move freely down my centre as I groan, my muscles already starting to clench. I can’t get enough of him and it terrifies me that I could have to be without him for any length of time. China. Dubai. Prison. I squeeze my eyes shut and push all of those thoughts from my head. Tonight is us, only us, and I want him to miss me every bit as much as I’ll miss him.

  He attacks my clit with controlled circles of his slick tongue and pushes a finger into me then slowly draws it out, the sensation against my swelling skin almost unbearable. His mouth works like silk up my centre, hot breaths between smooth, sensual licks moving up my body all the way to my mouth.

  “Taste.” I accept his moist finger and taste my own saltiness, sucking like I would do to the thick head of his cock.

  I lift the hem of his T-shirt, needing to feel his skin on mine and he quickly relieves himself of his jeans, his stiffness springing towards his stomach. He presses his entire body against mine and leans me back slightly so my spine arches, pushing my hips into his as our mouths meet greedily.

  He peels himself away, leaving me panting and longing for more until he’s behind me, kissing my shoulders. He sits onto the edge of the leather chair and guides me back until I’m standing directly above his rigid shaft, my feet planted either side of his on the floor. He holds me still with one hand on my waist as he moves his fingers down my sex. I turn to watch as he plants them in his own mouth, his eyes fixed on mine. The satisfied look on his face when he tastes me has me aching to feel him.

  “Do you want me, baby?”

  “So much. Please, Gregory. I need you.”

  “Then you’ll have me.” He pulls me down on top of him, making me gasp at the deepness. “Wait.” He draws a shallow breath and holds us still for a moment, then slowly rotates my hips around him. “Fuck me, that’s too fucking good. Does it feel good, Scarlett?”

  “Unbelievable.”

  He pushes me up and pulls me back down on top of him, my muscles clamping around him, eager for the decadent feeling, urging my orgasm to take hold. He lifts me and yanks me down again, hard but slow, too controlled for my detonating insides. I brace my hands on his knees and take control of the next rise and fall. And again. My hips rotating on each down.

  “Slower, baby, it’s too good to stop. I want you to remember this when I’m gone. How good it feels.”

  He means China but a sombre feeling swells in my chest. What if it ever had to be longer? What if we were talking about months or years?

  His hands take control of my waist again and I don’t bother fighting against him. I let him lift me and pull me back down, each time climbing higher, my heart ready to erupt as violently as every other part of me.

  “Gregory, I’m there.”

  He lifts me again, harder, faster and on an explosion of expletives, I feel him buck beneath me, losing control as I scream my climax around him. He bites my back, pushing me to the threshold of pain as his entire body tenses and he bursts into me.

  His nose nuzzles into my neck. “What am I going to do without this for three days?”

  “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of women throwing themselves at you.” I don’t even know why I said it, it’s not remotely funny but it is true.

  “Hey.” He turns my head to face him. “I don’t notice other women. Not anymore. I have eyes for one woman.”

  I nod but inside I’m praying that really is true.

  “Stop overthinking, Scarlett.” He pecks the tip of my nose. “Only you, baby.”

  I miss him so much already it physically hurts. And everything is uncertain now but deadlines are looming. The decision of the CPS to charge Gregory or not. Neil and Abdulla needing a decision on Dubai. I’m crumbling inside and I don’t know how to tell him. He has enough to deal with, more than he’ll let me know.

  Chapter Eight

  “Please don’t look at me like that.”

  I can’t help it. I know how pathetically needy it is but I don’t want him to go. He leans down and plants a kiss on my brow. I push myself up on the bed and bring my face to meet his. He smirks at my greediness before placing his lips on mine.

  “I’ll buy you a treat,” he says through a grin.

  “I’m not a child.”

  “Then stop behaving like one. I’ve got to go.”

  “I know.” And I do know. I’ve always put work top of my priorities—well, just below my father. He would’ve never knowingly stood in my way.

  “It’s just...what if...”

  “What if I’m charged?”

  I twist my fingers in my lap.

  “Baby, it was self-defence and that’s why it’s taking so long. You heard John Harrison. If the CPS thought I was a danger to society I’d be charged. But they don’t, I’m not, and I won’t be charged.”

  “Gregory, you don’t know that.” My eyes feel heavy as I continue staring down at my fingers. “What if in a few days...”

  “I can’t put my life on hold, Scarlett. I have a business to run.” He places a hand over mine holding my fingers still. “And I won’t put us on hold. I’ll be back Friday and we’ll enjoy our weekend together, okay?”

  I nod but inside I know nothing has changed. “Okay. I’ll see you Friday.”

  “See you soon, beautiful.”

  I have to use this time. Three days to get my head straight without any Forget-the-World sex or Angry sex or Miss-Me sex, without the distraction of this excruciatingly stunning, infuriating man. Time to process everything: me, Gregory, us, my father, the investigation, Dubai.

  My life really has gotten screwed up since I met the man who still in so many ways is a complete mystery to me, the man who’s taken complete control of my mind and body and sent my head and heart into the battle of all battles. The man who won’t let me in and the man who really might not be in love with me. Who am I kidding, these three days are going to be mental torture.

  My alarm draws me out of my muddled thoughts. Reaching over to the bedside table, I silence the Blackberry then get ready in the luxury of solitude, not having to worry that Gregory will walk into the shower and try to seduce me midway between leg and underarm shaving, or that he’ll capture the moment I have pre-cleansed panda eyes. I wash and condition my hair and take time to coat myself in body butter when I eventually drag myself from the shower. I opt for a fitted black dress and a soft-damson blazer with black heels, then curl the ends of my hair.

  Amy has already arrived when I make my way downstairs.

  “Good morning, peach,” she sings as she busies herself, her oversized jumper swishing at the thighs of her leggings as she rubs the already gleaming worktops of the kitchen back to super-sparkle. “You look very nice. Would you like coffee?” />
  “Yes, thank you.” I plonk myself on a stool at the island.

  “Strawberries and yoghurt or something warm for a change?”

  I check my watch. “Actually, I probably have time for something warm.”

  “Eggs? Bacon? Porridge?”

  “Porridge would be nice, please.”

  She stops scrubbing and pours me a coffee from the filter machine. “Let’s see...hmm...seeds, nuts, berries, honey, banana?”

  “You spoil me, Amy. Seeds and honey sounds great, please.”

  “Right you are. Did Gregory get off okay?”

  I nod through my coffee. “He left early, about five, I think.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know where that man gets all his energy. He works so hard.”

  “How long have you worked for him, Amy?”

  “Gosh, maybe five years. I used to just clean but he’s hopeless. He’d work all hours, get up at the crack of sparrows to exercise with that nutty driver of his and never eat, well, never eat or eat rubbish. You know they put all kinds of fat and salt and sugar in food in those fancy restaurants.”

  I giggle to myself; she sounds just like Sandy. “What about the women he’s lived with? Didn’t they cook for him?”

  Amy throws her head back on an almighty chuckle. “Sweetness, that man has never been with a woman long enough to move her in. You’re special to him, I can tell.” She throws me a wink that draws my smile up to my ears.

  “You’ll get the sack for spouting rubbish like that,” Jackson chirps before he limps into the kitchen in sports shorts and a polo. “And I’m not a nutter.”

  Amy twists her damp tea towel and whips it across Jackson’s arse.

  “Argh!” He bends forward gripping his injured leg and hopping.

  Amy’s quickly by his side, panic stricken.

  “Only joking!” Jackson stands with a cheeky grin.

  “You are a nutter!” Amy slaps his shoulder and moves back to stirring porridge. “I hope you don’t expect me to feed you after that little performance.”