At His Service: Millionaire's Mistress. Kelly Hunter

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.

      That simple connection, the joining of hands as he looked into her eyes … She closed her eyes to block him out. No one had ever made love to her like this before. No one had ever made her feel this way before. But uncomplicated sex was all she was looking for, she told herself, and so was he—they’d both just admitted as much.

      So she concentrated on his warm masculine scent, the friction of hot skin on hot skin. Every movement, every murmur, every breath, invoked a different sensation, a new experience in delight. She wanted to touch him the way he’d touched her, but the grip of his fingers held her fast.

      Cameron didn’t want to loosen his grip, even when he felt her resistance. ‘Not yet,’ he whispered against her ear.

      He had her right where he wanted her, with her hard little nipples prodding his chest, her heart beating out the wild rhythm echoing his own. Somewhere in the back of his mind it mystified him that someone as individual as Didi, as opposed to him as north and south, should match him in any way.

      She was all compact curves and sinuous limbs. Fire roared through his veins, hammered in his groin. The urge to plunge into her wet heat without further preliminaries and satisfy himself slammed into him like a fully loaded cement truck on steroids. But he’d barely started. He wanted to see the passion build in those silver eyes, to watch her come undone beneath him—and he had to unlock their hands to do that.

      He banked the fire, let it smoulder through his system. Slow. Freeing her to do her own exploring while taking her with him on his leisurely tour of discovery. As he brushed his lips over skin as smooth as satin—a cheek, a shoulder, the softer flesh of her neck, each with their own unique fragrance and texture.

      She might be somewhat naïve but she wasn’t shy—a surprise given her innocent pixie-like charms. He hadn’t counted on the ability of those small deft fingers to fan the embers into a red-hot need with such swiftness.

      Another surprise. He didn’t need women, he enjoyed them. And when the enjoyment faded, so did the relationship. Only Kat had managed to inveigle her way beneath his defences. His hand tightened a little over Didi’s breast. Never again.

      What had happened with her ex-lover? he wondered, watching her eyes turn to pewter as her fingernails scraped over his nipples, a tease of pleasure, a hint of pain. He slammed the thought to the back of his mind. But he couldn’t shake the uneasy, unfamiliar feeling it evoked. Jealousy?