The question unsettles her more than it should. Her gaze slips back to the bar and then she breathes out, as if she’s forcing herself to inflate and deflate her lungs. She’s nervous.
I do have that effect on people—not intentionally but, more often than not, my reputation precedes me. I’m known for being ruthless, determined, cold-hearted, cynical, power-hungry. All adjectives that do describe me but they make me laugh for the image they create, like I’m some kind of dragon. Still, I rarely disabuse anyone of that idea, because it serves me well to have people intimidated by me.
‘Camille Davis,’ she says softly, the pretty name catching in her throat. ‘But everyone calls me Millie.’
Both names suit her. She is elegant and gracious—Camille. But youthful and kind of sweet-seeming, with a constellation of freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose—Millie.
‘Well, Millie, why don’t you join me for a drink?’
Her eyes flare wide and her pulse begins to hammer hard in her throat. I can see it, the rapid beating beneath her fragile skin.
‘I—’ Her tongue darts out, tracing the line of her lower lip. ‘I’m working.’ The words are practically mumbled and then she hastens away, leaving me with a brooding frown and a sense of confusion at what just happened.
I have a standing reservation at Petit Pois, but I’m in no rush to leave the bar. I sit back in the chair and tell myself my reluctance has nothing to do with the pretty Australian, and everything to do with the sharp left turn my case has just taken.
* * *
Most of the after-work crowd has cleared, though there are enough people to keep us busy. I continue serving, pretending I’m ignoring him. But Michael Brophy sits with his back to me and I find I can’t stop watching him.
Am I really going to proposition a man I don’t know for sex?
This whole trip is supposed to be about adventure. New experiences. The last promise I made to my mother was that I would live a little before settling down. We plotted this together, planning where I’d go, what I’d see.
Don’t make my mistakes, Millie. There’s so much more to life than work—go. See it for yourself. Have fun. Be careless. Be silly. Then come home and do the sensible thing.
Between my medical degree and caring for a terminally ill mother, I really hadn’t made a conscious decision to be sensible. I’d simply put my head down and done what needed to be done. But, within months of graduating, my mother had died and I was left with that promise I’d made her and enough of an inheritance to make her dreams for me come true.
So here I am in Dublin, the first stop in what I’ve loosely planned to be a two-year adventure. And after six years of study, five of those simultaneously nursing Mum, I’ve woken up and realised that I am actually a woman. With normal impulses and needs, and suddenly they’re blaring inside me, demanding indulgence.
Before I can second-guess myself, I move out from behind the bar, heading to his table, fuelled only by instinct and adrenalin.
His lips curve into a half-smile when I approach.
‘Millie,’ he says slowly, his voice throaty and my name like magic in his mouth.
‘Would you like anything else?’
He lifts his eyes to mine and the very air between us seems to spark. A frisson dances down my spine. He holds the tumbler in the palm of his hand, cradling it, and his manner is contemplative. Thoughtful.
‘I’ll have another, if you’ll join me.’
‘I’m...still working,’ I say softly.
He shifts in his seat, looking over his shoulder, then turns back to me. ‘It’s not busy. Take a break.’
Such command! Such confidence. My first instinct, that I didn’t like his arrogance, reasserts itself, but it is quickly subsumed by other more immediate considerations.
I could take a break—Duncan wouldn’t care. But I’m not sure I want to concede to this man—not yet. So I stay standing, and eye him with some of the wariness I’m feeling. ‘This won’t take long.’
I’ve piqued his interest. I search for something to say to get me out of this but draw a blank. Besides, I want this.
Life’s too short for timidity.
‘Go on.’ He reclines in the chair, his large frame relaxed, his eyes intense.
‘It’s simple,’ I say, telling myself it really is simple. He hooks up with enough women for me to know that sex means very little to him. And I want this to be meaningless. A transaction. My virginity, for his experience. A first time that is pleasurable, that means nothing. A memory, for the album I’m collecting on this trip of a lifetime.
‘What’s simple?’ he asks, leaning forward a little, so that I catch a hint of his masculine fragrance, earthy and spiced, and my insides kick in immediate response. His legs are long, his thighs muscular. His pants strain across them and I force myself to hold his gaze. If he agrees to this, I’ll have time to admire his body later.
Be brave.
Be brave.
Be brave.
‘I want to go home with you. Tonight.’
One thick brow lifts, sardonic amusement the only emotion I can detect on his handsome, rock-hard features.
‘I see.’ He runs a finger around the top of his glass, a smile flickering on his lips.
‘I’m serious,’ I say with a shake of my head, swallowing past the sense of panic, ignoring a desire to wrench the words back into my mouth.
Suddenly the itch to fast forward three weeks and leave immediately for Paris wraps around me. The mortification is intense.
Heat stains my cheeks. ‘But maybe that’s a stupid idea. Forget about it.’
I take a step towards the bar but his hand reaches out, catching my wrist. It’s the first time we’ve touched and I think the feeling will stay with me for ever. Sensation zaps under my skin, setting miniature explosions raging in every cell. I’m electrified.
‘I didn’t say no,’ he growls and my stomach squeezes. His eyes latch onto mine, and I imagine what he’s like in court—formidable, intimidating, inquiring. And whip-smart. ‘Why?’
I swallow, knowing this is kind of the point of no return. I want this. I’m actually surprised by how much I want this. Now I just have to own that.
‘Because I’m a virgin, and I want you to be my first.’
CHAPTER TWO
HER WORDS ARE drumming through my head. I wait until we’re in the car and it’s moving and then turn to face her, the screen up between my driver and us.
‘You’re a virgin.’
It’s not a question, but I feel like I have to say it again just to try to unravel it.
She nods, her eyes shuttered. Her cheeks are stained a pale pink and her long blonde hair falls disarmingly over one shoulder, half covering her face from me.
‘Yes.’ There’s strength in the response. Defiance.
‘Why?’
Her lips twist in a half-smile. ‘Does it matter?’
My pulse is hammering me from the inside out. ‘Yes.’
She blinks, even that simple gesture distracting. ‘Why?’
Great question. Why do I care? I turn away from her a little, staring out at Dublin as it passes in a brightly lit blur.
There’s uneasiness inside me. Something I can’t put my finger on. A hesitation I don’t understand, and I tell myself it’s because none of this makes sense. I’m someone who likes to comprehend people, what makes them tick, why they act the way they do. My job and life are predicated on my abilities there. But with this woman, I can’t make sense of it.
She’s surprised me. I’m not often surprised. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-three.’ More defiance.
I barely register it though. I turn back to face her and my scepticism must show, because she regards me with a look of defensiveness.
‘A twenty-three-year-old virgin.’ I drawl the wor
ds, while my mind rushes furiously, trying to comprehend this.
‘So?’ She moves a little closer, her eyes sparking to mine, a hint of her vanilla fragrance catching my nostrils. ‘What does that matter?’
‘I’m not interested in being your first.’ That’s obviously not completely true. My dick is hard, my body’s surging with adrenaline and desire.
‘Liar.’ She calls me on it with a soft laugh and, to my surprise, unbuckles her seat belt and slides across the leather seat, right to my side. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at me.’
I fix her with a level stare; my cock throbs. ‘And how’s that?’
‘Like you’re undressing me with your eyes.’
She’s right. That’s exactly how I’ve been looking at her since she first started working at the bar. ‘Is that right?’
She nods slowly, her eyes not leaving my face. ‘I think you want to fuck me.’
She’s brazen, I’ll give her that. ‘Yeah.’ It’s a gruff admission. But then... Jesus. A virgin. ‘I don’t do relationships.’
Her brows arch and then she laughs. ‘Good. I don’t want that.’
Relief washes over me, followed quickly by uncertainty. ‘Why not?’
‘For one—’ she presses a hand to my chest, her gaze following its path ‘—I’m only in Ireland another few weeks. Second, I don’t “do” relationships either. At least, not now. I’m not looking for any kind of emotional complication.’
‘You say that now...’
She laughs then, a sound so sweet it’s unbelievably sexy. I wonder if she knows how she’s driving me crazy. ‘You think you’re so good in bed I’m going to forget my travel plans and beg to stay here with you?’
I realise how arrogant that sounds and my own husky laugh fills the limo. ‘You never know.’
She sobers, her eyes narrowing. ‘I do know.’ Steel crosses her expression. ‘I will be leaving Dublin in less than three weeks.’ The words are vice-like. ‘Nothing and no one will change that.’ Her fingers creep higher, to the button of my shirt. She flicks it, her tongue darting to the corner of her lips as she concentrates on pushing it through the shirt hole.
‘But, before I go, I want to do this.’ Her fingers creep inside my open shirt and my gut clenches. Desire pounds through me, thick and fast. ‘With you.’
Her gaze has dropped to my mouth. Her lips separate. My body rushes with need.
Fuck, I want her. I want her even more than I did when I thought she was just a hot bargirl.
But she’s a virgin. She has no idea what she’s asking of me. No idea what she might feel once we’ve slept together. It takes practice to be able to fuck someone and forget them almost instantly. I’ve acquired that skill over the years. Or maybe I always had it. Maybe that’s something to do with growing up the way I did; you learn to get good at cutting people off.
Despite what Millie’s saying, I’m not sure I believe her.
‘I don’t do virgins.’
Her eyes are slightly mocking when they lift to mine. ‘Is that a rule you’ve got, Michael?’
Her Australian accent is broader when she says my name. It’s hot. I like it. More than I want to.
‘So you don’t do relationships.’ She moves her fingers to the next button down, undoing it, her expression lightly teasing. ‘You don’t do virgins.’ She bites down on her lower lip. ‘But will you do me, Michael?’
I catch her hand at the wrist, pulling it away from my chest, moving it to her lap. It’s a mistake. At least it’s a mistake if my goal is to put some distance between us. Because her skin is so soft beneath my fingers, and our bodies are closer now. She’s warm. She’s beautiful. She wants me.
Shit.
I have never slept with a virgin—not even when I was one. The thought of being someone’s first has never really appealed to me. It’s too emotional. Too...something.
‘It wouldn’t mean anything,’ she murmurs, and that shimmers inside me, giving me hope but also pause for thought.
‘And don’t you think it should?’ Hypocrite, my cock screams, reminding me of how little sex means to me, generally.
She shrugs. ‘I think...that’s a judgement call.’
I like her. At least I like the way she thinks. ‘And your judgement’s telling you this is what you want?’
She nods slowly, and then her hand creeps away from mine, from her lap, to my dick. My breath hisses out of my mouth as she runs her fingertips over it briefly, testing its hardness, her smile just a ghost on her beautiful face.
‘And my judgement is that I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin who doesn’t want to be.’ She bites down on her pillowy lower lip and I groan. ‘Will you help me?’
What’s wrong with me? Why the hell am I not just pulling her into my arms and fucking her right here? It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t done before, I think with a grimace. Is that it? Is there some kind of bullshit part of me that feels...undeserving...to be her first? Because my attitude to sex is generally so cavalier that I don’t want her virginity?
That’s madness, and it’s not me. Is it?
I have no idea why I’m hesitating.
I shake my head, as if I can mute my doubts that way.
‘Don’t,’ she murmurs, her hand lifting back to my throat. She smiles as she slides her fingers into the fabric, running them over my chest, to my shoulder. She lifts her legs, curling them over my lap, and I realise—belatedly—that she’s not wearing a seat belt.
I reach behind her, my arm brushing her breasts. ‘Buckle in.’ The words are gruff, like an order.
She doesn’t move, so I slide the seat belt around her, hooking it into the clasp. When I lift my head, her face is right there. And she’s smiling. A knowing smile. Because, for all I’m saying ‘no,’ I think she feels my body, she feels my desire, she knows what I want. And it’s exactly what she’s suggesting.
‘Millie...’ The word is a warning. ‘You’re playing with fire.’
‘Mmm...’ A throaty noise of agreement. ‘And I badly want to get burned.’
I pull a face. ‘You’ve just got all the answers, haven’t you?’
She shrugs, her slender shoulders dragging my eyes lower, to the curve of her breasts. Desire whips me from the inside out.
‘Sometimes.’
‘So, answer me this. Why haven’t you slept with anyone?’
She shakes her head from side to side, her eyes teasing. ‘I thought we decided that didn’t matter?’
‘It matters to me.’
‘Why?’
‘I thought I was asking the questions?’
‘Indulge me.’
‘I like to understand people. So?’
She arches a single brow, studying me for a moment, and then she smiles, a dazzling smile. ‘I’ve just never had the chance.’
My eyes are locked to her smile, but my voice is pleasingly dismissive when I speak. ‘That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.’
Something shimmers in the depths of her eyes, but then she shrugs. ‘If you don’t want to do this,’ she says, bringing her head closer to mine, her lips almost brushing against my mouth; I catch a groan in my throat, ‘you can get your driver to let me out just over there.’ She points her thumb to a strip of restaurants and bars. ‘I’m sure I’ll find someone else who’ll be only too happy to be my first...’
Christ.
I’m not sure I should fuck her, but I know I absolutely don’t want anyone else to.
‘Let’s talk about it at my place.’
Her laugh is throaty. ‘I don’t need to talk about anything, least of all this.’
‘You should be sure...’
‘I’ve had weeks to make sure I’m sure.’ Her eyes run over my face, then drop to my body. ‘I want it to be you.’
Her confidence is a turn-on, so too is her professed
desire for me. But she has no idea what this would be like between us. I told her she’s playing with fire; doesn’t she see that?
Without any sign of my intent, I drop my head and kiss her. I crush my lips to hers, curving my hand around the nape of her neck, tangling my fingers in her hair as I hold her there, exposed to my kiss, utterly mine.
I feel her moan and smile against her lips. There’s heat in this kiss. So much heat. At first she’s timid but, as desire takes over and instincts overrule any thinking she might be doing—any thinking I’m doing—we’re just two people who want to fuck each other, in the back of the blackened limo.
I’m not in the business of sleeping with virgins, but maybe it’s time I re-evaluated that. Maybe for Millie I can make an exception.
Maybe it’ll even be more fun than I’ve had in a long while.
‘Come up and talk,’ I breathe into her mouth, breaking the kiss with true regret. And then, bringing my hand between her legs, brushing my thumb over the seam of her jeans, ‘I promise I’ll make it worth your while.’
* * *
I was nervous in the bar but ever since I got into his limo—seriously, how rich is this guy?—I’ve been overtaken by some weird shot of power. I know what I want, and I know he’s going to give it to me. To be honest, I’m kind of glad he didn’t just acquiesce to my request. I love that he’s making me fight for this. It’s hot. Really hot.
The car pulls up in a high-rise basement. His parking space is the closest to the lifts and I know that’s not an accident—these things are always allocated by the value of apartments. This prime car parking space must mean he’s got the best apartment in the place, presumably a penthouse.
We haven’t spoken since he told me he’d make this worth my while. His hand rested between my legs, and I feel so hot and very, very wet. I feel... I’m so ready for this. It’s funny how I put all this on hold while Mum was sick, how I shelved so many parts of myself, how I gave all of myself to her, to her recovery and, when her cancer was terminal, to her comfort.
I cannot believe she’s dead. Some days I wake up sure it’s all just a bad dream. But she died, and it’s like losing her has pushed me off the ledge, dropping me into the real world. The waters are moving fast and I have to keep paddling to keep up.
His Innocent Seduction Page 2