Kelly Hunter - At His Service - Millionaire's Mistress

Her eyes snapped open to find his eyes focused on hers. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Holding her breath as his hand glided towards her inner thigh, calluses at the base of his fingers creating a delicious friction and sending shivers spiralling from his touch. Moisture swamped her most feminine place.

His hand changed direction, sliding slowly, inexorably towards the source of that moisture, every second an exercise in torture, every inch a scandalous pleasure. She sucked in a breath but there wasn’t any oxygen, only hot airless space filled with his scent. Then her breathing stalled completely as his thumb found the source of her heat, the pinnacle of her pleasure.

‘Or maybe you need me here …’ He prodded the swollen knot of need with gentle pressure.

‘Ah-h-h …’ Oh, yes, right … there . She shuddered on the edge of the world, unable to look away from his eyes glittering in the muted light from the bathroom. His facial muscles bunched, his lips firmed, then curved ever so slightly in the knowledge that he’d taken her to the brink of no return with a single flick of his wrist.

It was humiliating to realise that at this moment the man had total and absolute control over her mind and body. But somewhere in her semi-coherent brain a fragment of sanity still clung. ‘No,’ she whispered, knowing her eyes made a liar of her. Knowing the engorged knot throbbing wantonly against him made a mockery of her.

He wiggled his thumb. ‘Your body’s sending me an entirely different message.’

‘My body doesn’t want to listen to reason,’ she said over a parched throat. ‘I don’t even like you.’

A brief hesitation, then his lips stretched into a smile, and she realised he didn’t care one way or the other. ‘Since when did that stop two people from enjoying such a mutually satisfying experience?’ he said reasonably, continuing to stroke her moisture as she rocked helplessly against him.

She swallowed. Yeah, since when? Over his shoulder she saw a gibbous moon sail silently from behind a high-rise, bathing the room in silver light.

‘Didi.’ He removed his clever hand to tilt her face to his, thumbs rasping over her cheeks, eyes dark with intensity. ‘I played along with you, didn’t I? Don’t you want to convince Veronica I’m the real deal?’

‘I think we managed that a few moments ago.’

‘Ah, but tomorrow morning she’ll be expecting to see the afterglow in your smile.’

‘Afterglow …?’ Her breath caught as every internal organ leaped up and changed places.

‘I promise,’ he said. Low and smooth and sexy. Confident. Arrogant, even.

And she had no doubt he could deliver. She shuddered even as she willed those talented fingers to find their way beneath her towel again.

The hot tub of desire in his eyes swirled and swallowed her up. ‘Why don’t we find out what this thing between us is all about?’

‘This thing?’ This angsty, itchy thing that hadn’t given her a decent night’s sleep since she’d met him? ‘The thing about “things” is they get complicated and someone ends up getting hurt.’

‘It doesn’t have to be complicated.’ He paused. ‘Unless there’s someone else?’

She glared at him, her back stiffening, shoulders tensing as Jay’s image flitted through her mind. ‘Would I be standing here naked with you if there was?’ Sweet heaven, naked with Cameron Black .

He must have read her wistful expression because he looked into her eyes and said, ‘Who was he, Didi?’

‘Just a guy I … thought I loved.’

‘He hurt you. He’s scum.’

She bit her lip. ‘I’m over him. And I don’t want to talk about him.’

She tried to pull away but he held her fast. ‘Neither do I.’ He tightened his fingers on her cheeks. ‘As I said, we can keep this simple. This time we know up front how it’s going to be—no one gets hurt.’

She shook her head. ‘We have a working relationship—’

His finger on her lips stopped her. ‘Work’s for tomorrow. So stop analysing, stop talking and for Pete’s sakes relax …’

The knot in the towel came undone at his touch. Cool air breathed over her body, a stunning contrast to the heat emanating from his gaze as the towel slid to the floor. He took in every curve, from the hollow at the base of her neck where her pulse beat like horses’ hooves, the fullness of her breasts swelling beneath his scrutiny, her waist, the flare of her hips.

‘You’re a work of art yourself, Ms O’Flanagan.’ His voice was smooth and sensual and Didi could imagine he used that self-assured tone with women all the time. But there was something in his eyes reflected in the moon’s silver light that hinted at that innate vulnerability she’d seen that night in the ladies’ loo before he blinked it away.

He reached out. One fingertip brushed against her neck, over her left breast to draw a circle around the stiff nipple. Another.

Oh-h-h. Her already aroused body hummed with unbearable tension. Seeing him clothed while she stood as naked as a Greek statue was unspeakably erotic. A few more seconds of this protracted torment and she was likely to snap.

‘Relax?’ She managed, barely, to get the word out. ‘Right now this work of art is fraying at the edges.’

His hitherto solemn expression transformed to a grin. ‘That so?’

‘Damn right.’ Don’t think about whether this is a wise decision . Because even if she did, she didn’t think she could pull back. Long-suppressed need asserted itself. She took a step closer so that their bodies were a shiver away and poked his chest. ‘In fact it’s in danger of disintegrating …’ Her fingertip discovered a shirt button, found the edge of his shirt, wiggled through to find hard, hairy skin. ‘It needs serious attention. Now.’

She emphasised her demand by closing the gap and bumping her body against his. To explore the sensation of cotton against her breasts, the ridge of belt buckle, the coarser weave of fine skin-warmed wool along her thighs.

To spread her prickling palm against the front of his trousers and soothe the itch along every inch of his hard, hot length.

It didn’t soothe—neither her nor him. The itch was a virus spreading through her body, as powerful as it was contagious. His sexy grin vanished, he jerked beneath her hand and a sound, something between a growl and a groan, erupted from his chest.

Then she was being swept up in the hard strength of his powerful arms and deposited in the middle of his bed. She lay, breathless and waiting as she watched him yank the shirt over his head, buttons popping.

He toed off his shoes. Undid his belt. His zipper being lowered was the only sound in the room, then his trousers pooled at his feet and he stepped out of them. Naked with that magnificent erection jutting at her, he transformed from urban sophisticate to primeval man.

She was in awe. Aroused, yes. Apprehensive, definitely. But, watching his long thighs with their dusting of dark masculine hair flex as he climbed onto the bed with her, she was mostly in awe.

He straddled her, gripped her wrists, holding them above her head, and looked into her eyes. ‘Leave your arms there,’ he instructed. The only body parts touching were their hands and his knees against her hips. Then he slid to the bottom of the bed and pushed her thighs apart.

And the world ceased to exist.

Only the feel of his tongue, moist and warm, leaving a damp trail that cooled in the air as he worked his way from instep to ankle, to the inside of her knee. Higher …

She might have come right there, right then, but he only skimmed the place yearning for him most and moved on to suckle each of her nipples gently with teeth and lips and tongue, teasing them into stiff, aching peaks. And all the while his hands were moving, touching, exploring, fingers gliding up the inside of her arms to twine once more with hers.