Suddenly the inevitability of it oppressed her and she filled with the need to fight, to gain some control over her raging desires, some control over him.
She clamped her upper thighs together. ‘I’m not going to have an orgasm on an aeroplane surrounded by passengers.’ She choked the words out.
‘No?’ His voice was rough. ‘But you’re close.’ Statement not question.
His breath stirred her ear and she closed her eyes, pressing her lips tighter together, trying to stop the moans, trying to stop the sensations from overwhelming her. How could she want him so badly?
‘You really are built for pleasure, aren’t you?’
Something in the way he said it made her freeze completely. What was she doing having a grope in public? This was a cheap and easy thrill—was that all he thought she was? What about him?
‘James. Stop.’
He did immediately. Got the ice in her tone and got his hand out of her pants. She turned. His frown was almost imperceptible but it was there.
‘And here was me thinking you were a wild child,’ he said. ‘A hedonist. Someone who’d take pleasure any chance she could get it.’
She moved, going to the far side of her own seat—putting what little distance she could between them. ‘I’m not everything you think me, James.’ She smiled and bluffed. ‘It has to be the right place, the right time.’ She paused. ‘The right person.’
‘The right person, for the right moment.’
Momentary. She rebelled against his automatic assumption that this would be short-lived. Why did everyone think anything she was involved in would be transient?
But his attention was still on her body. ‘What will you be like? Will you close your eyes or will you let me see you raw in your ecstasy?’
‘You’re wondering what kind of performance you’ll get?’ Her frustration moved to anger.
His eyes lifted, trapping hers, and it was all serious intensity. ‘I’m not interested in performance . I’m not interested in the princess thing or anything of the trappings. I’m interested in what’s underneath.’
She knew he didn’t mean her clothes. ‘What if there’s nothing?’
That stopped him. Their eyes met—stripped of desire, forced to reveal painful honesty.
He spoke, the words ground out slowly as he frowned. ‘I don’t want to believe that.’ He reached his hand across the seats and spread his fingers slightly to the left of her breastbone. The palm of his hand pressed against her heart. His hand was big and strong and she knew he could hold her heart in that one hand alone. The thought was scary.
He pushed, fingers digging a little into her breast as he emphasised his words. ‘I’d like to think there might be things in there that you don’t let anyone see.’
‘Why, James.’ She laughed, wanting to push him back, not wanting him to feel how much faster her heart beat when he touched her, when he pried too close. ‘You’re a romantic.’
The momentary openness in his gaze was shuttered. His hand withdrew. ‘I’m not, princess. I’ve already told you the way I play it. So don’t delude yourself about me. You do enough of that in other areas of your life already.’
It was OK for him to challenge her, but not for her to question him? All she wanted was the same as what he wanted from her—to find out what was underneath. Yes, he was charming and witty and urbane, but not very far under the surface was this layer of steel that hid a depth to his personality. She wanted to understand why he kept it so reserved. But he wasn’t going to let her. So why should she grant him things that he wasn’t about to give her?
She knew he wanted her. But she also knew he didn’t want to. And while she knew the reasons why an affair with him was a bad idea for her, she didn’t know his reasons. Couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to want her so badly. She didn’t quite know how to respond to that.
All the heat faded and she truly did feel cold.
He draped his blanket on top of hers, giving her the extra layer. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve got a big night ahead of you tomorrow.’
She felt the finality of his words and got the message. The fooling around was finished. Light, naughty talk was all it was—he might have said he wanted to see what was beneath her surface, but it was just words. He certainly didn’t see her real self, not right now—and she’d never be able to show him. Not when she knew he wasn’t interested in anything more than burning out the flame.
But she still wanted him. And if she was going to have him, then she would make sure he was a slave to it as much as she was.
When they finally arrived on Aristo it was early on the morning of the party. James headed straight into meetings with the contractors and Liss buzzed straight to the ballroom to make sure all the plans were in place. The catering company had use of the kitchen and she was pleased to see all the food had arrived and was being prepared with the finishing touches she’d requested.
With a satisfied air she watched for a while as the army of florists worked. The building itself was spectacular. She’d just added some exquisite details. There was no way it wouldn’t be a success.
In the late afternoon she dressed with care but with speed, hyped on adrenalin. Underneath she bubbled with the kind of excitement that came only from anticipation of what delights the evening might bring. The evening when James would be wearing a tux and, fingers crossed, be totally wowed by all her efforts. Surely, once the party was done, she deserved a little reward? Technically her work for him would be done, so she could kind of argue that he was no longer her boss. And no one else from the Sydney office was here. No one would know…
She paused in the doorway, the earliest she’d ever arrived at a ball, but as she was effectively the hostess she had to be here to greet her guests. She ran her hands over her hips—smoothing the sensuous fabric with satisfaction. She’d gone with black—classic, elegant. A one-off designer number—sexy and sophisticated, and she’d been saving it for just such an occasion.
James saw her immediately; for a moment they looked each other over and the electric attraction pulsed between them. The flash of heat was so intense she wanted to bail out on the ball and have him in her room right then. Nobody, but nobody wore a tux The way James Black did.
‘Princess.’ He was the one who spoke, reminding her of the presence of the manager, of all the wait staff.
‘You’ve done a wonderful job with the decoration of the ballroom,’ the manager gushed.
Liss smiled, replied politely and wondered why James wasn’t gushing—he should be. But he stood quiet beside her and then the guests began to arrive. As fun as it was catching up with everyone she only had an awareness of him. Almost on auto she mingled and mixed up the people, kept an eye on the overview, ensuring everything was going as smoothly as possible.
Waiters filled glasses from a fountain she’d had installed—it ceaselessly flowed with Cristal champagne. The room was filled with the heady scent of the orchids she’d had flown in specially. Gathered in large boughs, they were exotic and dramatic and doused the place in an atmosphere of expense.
She couldn’t help frequently glancing at James to assess his reaction. She saw him take some of the caviar that was being offered on exquisite napkins. There was nothing more exclusive. He ate one sample but didn’t take another. She saw him looking round at the guests filling the room, saw him look at his watch. She felt pleased. They were all here, already—all eager to come to what was the ball of the year. The dresses and skin on show were something. She stood and smiled and chatted. A success, right from the start. She’d actually done it. A giddy glow warmed her—heightened by the knowledge that he was so close.
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