The Mistresses Collection. Оливия Гейтс

line went dead. James banged the receiver down and cursed. He should never have picked the bloody thing up.

      ‘Well, well,’ a sultry voice commented slyly.

      James lifted his hand from his eyes and looked up from his awkward position on the floor. She was peering over the edge of the mattress, looking down at him like the cat who’d got the cream.

      ‘Who’d ever have thought that James Wolfe was capable of lying to his loved ones?’ She inched forward so she hung a little further over the edge, a smile on her lips that spelled trouble. ‘Only another day in New York? Last night you told me you were on holiday for two weeks.’

      ‘I’m tired.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t want to spend more time travelling.’

      ‘Diddums. First world problems.’ Her blue eyes were too alert and all-seeing for this time of the morning.

      ‘Have you got a problem with me?’ He tried to brazen it out.

      ‘Possibly. You’re avoiding your family?’

      He wanted to avoid that topic. ‘What, you’re saying you’ve never told a lie?’

      ‘Sure I have.’ She shrugged.

      It was the smile that did it. He wanted it. Wanted to haul her close and kiss it from her. He lifted his hand and very gently touched her chin with his finger. ‘But I can’t?’

      ‘You’re the good guy, remember?’ The colour of her eyes deepened, the black pupils swelling as she stared down at his.

      ‘What is it that’s so bad about you? You look good to me.’ He slid his finger along the edge of her jaw.

      ‘You’re flirting again? More avoidance?’

      ‘With you, it’s too entertaining not to,’ he muttered. ‘It’s amazing how little it takes to make you blush. For a supposed bad girl you embarrass easily.’

      She was blushing now.

      ‘It’s a skill I picked up backstage at all those shows.’

      ‘You’re saying you fake it?’ he scoffed. ‘Darling, you shouldn’t be backstage, you should be front and centre. Right in the limelight.’

      ‘I have greater talents elsewhere,’ she said smugly. ‘One can’t turn one’s back on one’s gifts.’

      ‘Elsewhere?’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘There’s no beating you, is there?’ He liked it. ‘You have a comeback for everything.’

      ‘I can do defence.’

      ‘I’m getting that.’ He slid his hand round to cup the back of her neck. One touch wasn’t enough. ‘Deflection, distraction. You’ve got all the d-words down pat.’

      ‘Especially determination.’

      He stretched up and wrapped his free hand around her upper arm. So she couldn’t back away. Because he couldn’t back away. Not from this. Not now. He needed the distraction and the defence.

      ‘What about desire?’ he asked roughly. ‘You can do that too?’

      Colour scorched her face again. ‘Is that what you want?’

      ‘It’s all about want,’ he murmured, slowly, carefully applying pressure to pull her closer towards the edge of the bed. Towards him. ‘Isn’t it?’

      ‘I think we want different things,’ she whispered.

      ‘Not so different.’ He pulled harder, until she slithered right off the mattress and onto him.

      Caitlin gasped as she crashed down off the bed and landed in a sprawl right on top of him—arms and legs akimbo. He was harder than concrete. All his muscles were flexed.

      Dear heaven.

      She put her hands on the carpet either side of his head and levered herself up enough to look down into his face. The action pushed her pelvis harder against his. She gasped again as the rigid length of him pushed hard against her. But now he had one hand on the small of her back, keeping her body pressed to his and his hand circling the back of her neck was strong—pushing her head back down. Pushing until her lips met his.

      Given her gasp, her mouth was already parted. So was his. Hot, hungry, he lashed out with his tongue, claiming her with no hesitation.

      She heard his low growl, was aware a strangled groan had sounded deep in her own throat. But there was no stopping, no talking. No breathing.

      It was all kiss. And not gentle. Not tender. Just raw, rampant hunger.

      His lips moved, wide and wicked, slicking over hers as he swept his tongue inside her mouth again and again as if he could never get enough of her taste. His fingers pushed up into her hair, clasping it. She liked the tight hold he had on her. She liked the unrestrained need emanating from him. She was aware part of him was unhappy, still moody from that phone call. So she knew he was using her.

      But she didn’t care. She was using him too. Because nothing had felt so good in so long. He’d lit a fire and in seconds it burned beyond her control. She soared towards it—the pleasure, the possible release. The sheer thrill of his touch and the way it made her feel.

      Pure euphoria.

      She was on him. All over him. She writhed, her hips restless and circling, eager to feel all his hard strength under all of her body. The kisses were chaotic. No smooth skill or seduction. It was hunger. Frantic, fast passion. One taste not enough. Nor two. Nor three. The chemistry was incredible—irresistible. She gripped his hair with both her hands, keeping him in place as much as he was her. Keeping her mouth sealed to his. She tangled her tongue round his as he slammed his hand on the small of her back again to keep her in place right over his heat. She couldn’t stay still—she yearned. Ached for it all.

      Her body readied in an instant. She was wet, hot, slippery as she rocked her hips in helpless abandon, seeking closer, complete contact. She spread her legs wider, so she could feel his strength between her sensitive upper thighs. His bare, hair-roughened skin heated her more.

      She wanted. She wanted, wanted, wanted. She moaned as he kissed her. Moaned as she thought of the more to come. Moaned as it wasn’t happening quick enough.

      She wore the T-shirt, he wore the boxers. There wasn’t another item of clothing between them. She wriggled to accommodate him, fitting into place to feel his blunt, hard erection pushing right where she desperately ached. She cursed the cotton covering him. If it weren’t for that he could be inside her already. She burned for him to fill her, to propel her furiously towards release. His fingers slid down over the T-shirt, over her butt until he encountered the bare back of her thigh. She ground down harder on him in instinctive reaction. His fingers began to trail back up her leg, this time sliding under the tee. As he encountered the bare skin of her buttocks he groaned, his body flexing in automatic response—a powerful, passionate thrust that made her gasp even as he plundered her mouth with his tongue. For a long moment they lay locked—straining together, his tongue thrust deep, his blind cock seeking to drive deeper still, while she bore down on him, open and wet and willing.

      He tore his mouth free. ‘Hell.’ He grabbed her hips hard and pushed her up—away from him. ‘Stop.’

      Panting, she looked down at his gleaming body. What the hell was he on about? She was seconds from orgasm and she wanted that orgasm. Badly.

      ‘Caitlin,’ he grunted, his breathing rough and loud. ‘I can’t...’

      His words came choppy; his fingers bit into her flesh. There was no mistaking the rigid determination on his face. He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want her.

      Of course he didn’t.

      Caitlin froze as if she’d plunged through a crack in an ice-covered lake.

      ‘This is a bad idea,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t going to let this happen. I told myself—’