Avril Tremayne - Kiss Don’t Tell

With a swallow and a nod—which was a ridiculous response, because what was there to nod at?—Lane headed again for the elevators.

She turned for one last look at him as the elevator doors opened and he—good God!—winked at her. Which discomposed her so much, she took a fraction too long entering the elevator and the doors semi-closed on her.

She heard him chuckle as she stepped fully in and the doors closed properly, and as the elevator commenced its descent to the car park, she leaned weakly against the wall. Great. It was just great to be laughed at because she was awkward and clumsy and incapable of taking the nuances of sexual attraction in her stride. She knew all about being a laughing-stock to your sexual partner— thank you, DeWayne Callaghan, for that lesson —and she didn’t like it. At all.

This was not the way things were supposed to unfold. Adam had barely glanced at the contract before signing it, and she’d just bet he hadn’t looked at it since. He seemed disinclined to listen to a word she said about the contract’s terms and conditions. And she was fairly certain what he’d threatened to tell her to do with the contract would be anatomically unpleasant, if not impossible.

This was not good.

On the other hand … on the drive home, she fired up her imagination as Adam had suggested, and the visions in her head were fairly eye-popping for a girl who was almost a virgin.

***

It took an hour for Adam to cool off enough to front up at Lane’s. And even then, it took every ounce of his self-control to knock not pound on the door of her super-neat house in her super-neat street, chosen pragmatically, he’d just bet, to be close to the airport for the flight attendant housemate.

Okay, he was honest enough to admit he deserved to be slapped down for forcing that office meeting on her. And he knew he wouldn’t be pleased if one of his lovers sauntered onto one of his building sites and planted her mouth on him in front of anyone who happened to be in the vicinity the way he’d done to Lane, so she’d hit that nail on the head.

But it just galled him that she hadn’t slapped him down so much as ‘managed’ him like he was a naughty boy. He would have preferred it if she’d lost her temper, flamed up at him, stomped off without even speaking to him. But no, never in public of course—as he should have known.

All his hopes now were pinned on her losing her cool the moment she opened the door and they were ‘in private’ . It would be a sign she was human, at least. The closer he’d got to her house, the keener he was to see how her temper manifested itself. Nothing short of a rage-filled ‘How dare you do that to me!?!’ would do.

But when she opened the door …?

Nope.

No temper.

Just that barely there smile that he was starting to believe was her habitual expression and not applied deliberately to one-up him. Not bothering to comment on his lateness—not even giving him the satisfaction of a subtle glimpse at her wristwatch.

Impressive. And infuriating.

She held the door open for him.

He stepped in, walked past her, through the short hallway and into the living room. He looked around. No canapés this time. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing smoked salmon in this house again any time soon. She’d learned her lesson, like the good student she was.

‘All right, I’ve been imagining, as instructed, and I’m ready,’ she said. ‘So—here or in the bedroom?’

Adam’s temper evaporated with the shock of that. He shook his head to clear it. Had he heard right? Surely not. It would be taking cool, calm, and collected way too far, even for her. But she was waiting for his answer, and there was no hint that she felt anything except interest in his answer—no, his instruction .

‘The bedroom,’ he said, a little awed, a lot intrigued. How far would she go?

‘Through here,’ she said.

Was that a tremble in her voice or did he only hope it was?

She led the way to her room and turned to face him. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Shall we get undressed?’

She’d already removed her jacket. Now her hands went to the buttons on her shirt.

CHAPTER SIX

There was no doubt who was calling the shots tonight, and it wasn’t Adam Quinn.

Was he gaping? Adam thought he must be. But Lane just kept unbuttoning.

She managed to get half her buttons undone before Adam could find enough of a voice to say, ‘Keep your clothes on.’

That stopped her. ‘Is it a … a turn-off, to do that without being asked?’

Turn-off? She sounded so uncomfortable saying that. He recalled how she’d tripped over the word ‘douchebag’. Weirdly, it cheered him up, that she couldn’t say those things easily.

‘Is it a what?’ he asked, hoping she’d repeat it.

‘I mean, is it unappealing?’ she clarified. ‘When a woman takes the initiative and starts … you know … the ball rolling?’

Starts the ball rolling? Adam swallowed a laugh. She was brazen enough to pay a man for sex but couldn’t actually talk about it without sounding like a prude. Ball rolling? It was kind of adorable.

‘Well is it unappealing?’ she asked again, a little impatient now.

Adam knew exactly what the early stages of arousal felt like, and figured Lane was certainly appealing to something in him, because the half-moon of bra he could see through the slackened opening of her shirt was pushing him into it—and God only knew why, since that bra was the most utilitarian undergarment he’d ever seen on a woman. Maybe seeing Lane even slightly dishevelled was as forceful as seeing another woman butt-naked. Especially coming on top of that kiss earlier, which had been so much hotter than he’d expected it to be.

‘I like women who take the initiative,’ he said, and somehow managed to sound like he was talking about the weather. He was going to match her cool for cool if it killed him.

Lane’s shoulders seemed to slump—yet they didn’t actually move. ‘Then what is it?’ she asked, rebuttoning herself briskly.

‘There’s just no need to hurry.’

‘But there is,’ Lane burst out, then seemed to catch herself. ‘Look, please understand, I’m not giving you an order, or trying to coerce you, or telling you what you should be doing. This isn’t … isn’t personal.’

‘Not personal?’ It was news to him that sex wasn’t personal. He waited, fascinated, for what would come next.

‘No. It’s just that I’m giving a presentation on economic indicators in the morning and I therefore need to be in the office early. So if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to step things up, so I can … um … check … my slide deck … um … before … er … What are you doing?’ Because Adam, one slow step at a time, had come right up to her.

‘This,’ he said, and reached out a finger to run the tip of it around the edge of her lips. ‘One of the first things to learn is that you don’t have to do everything all at once.’ He circled his fingertip inwards. ‘Waiting can be extremely … exciting. Lesson … Number … Two.’

Oh, God, her lips were soft. He moved his finger again, running it down her chin to the top of her collar, dipping it just below the stiff white fabric to rest where her clavicle dipped in the centre, at the base of her neck. He had to pause there because his breathing was becoming erratic. And he was supposed to be the experienced one! His finger still hooked in her shirt, he kissed near one eye, then the other, until her eyes closed, then he softly kissed her eyelids.

He moved back again, but Lane’s eyes stayed closed. She was leaning forward, lips parted, showing him that he was her guide in this, that she was willing to be led. It was as though that uncomfortable scene at the office had never happened, as though she was giving herself to him, putting her trust in him. It set off a strange feeling inside him. A shivery feeling that he wanted to understand for both their sakes before he went any further. It was something to do with how she could be both tough and soft at the same time.