The Dare Collection: April 2018. Stefanie London

interests. It’s...’ she mashed her lips together, her perfectly arched eyebrows knitted ‘...distracting.’

      He stepped closer, his movements slow and easy as if he feared he’d spook her. Or perhaps he was simply stopping himself from touching her again.

      ‘I have a car. Want a lift?’ He held his breath, her answer way too important for someone who shouldn’t care if she walked across Manhattan alone in four-inch designer heels.

      No. It was the least he could do after Alex.

      She looked up, a small shake of her head.

      ‘Your car is probably snared up in the same jam as mine. It’s chaos out there.’ She fingered her temple, her brow furrowed.

      His hands twitched, the inexplicable urge to pull her close, to feel her feminine curves pressed against him again, relentless pounding waves. It must be the chemistry or sexual frustration on his part. Or the way she looked at him, as if she too liked the idea.

      He retrieved his phone from his pocket and fired a quick text to Will. There was likely a back entrance to this building. Aside from everything, Harley looked beat. And despite what she thought of him, he wasn’t an asshole...revenge fucks aside.

      ‘I’ll sort something out.’ He pocketed his phone, his hands staying safely tucked in his pockets. Hands that remembered every contour of her and how readily she’d embraced their physical connection, her greedy abandon at his apartment the biggest turn-on.

      She still wore the frown, eyes wary.

      ‘Why are you helping me?’

      He shrugged, hiding the rush of skin crawling her question and the look on her face caused.

      ‘I’m a nice guy.’ She’d have once known that if she’d stuck around.

      Not that their tender, naïve relationship would have lasted. After his parents’ acrimonious split, he’d re-evaluated all areas of his life, not deeming entanglements worth what it cost him in the control stakes.

      He swallowed the surge of bitterness, forcing dangerous thoughts from his mind.

      Her tongue darted out to moisten her top lip as she dissected him with her stare. A shot of lust zapped his balls. She favoured cherry-red lip-gloss; he’d noticed that this afternoon and again this evening. What would those pouty, luscious lips look like wrapped around his cock, leaving behind a red print? Damn, he really did need to get laid.

      Her stare flicked south.

      Was she thinking the same thing? Did she, like him, want another taste?

      Perhaps this would tick all the boxes. He’d settle the score and she’d get a sample of what she’d missed out on. After all, he’d never had any complaints and she’d been keen enough this afternoon. She couldn’t hide her physical interest, no matter how much she disliked or distrusted him.

      ‘Do you want to hang about here in a draughty stairwell or shall we talk about the orgasms?’

      Her eyes widened, a pretty pink flush staining her neck and cheeks. She shifted, crossing one foot over the other.

      He held back a smile. So his words struck home. He could control this. Them—his physical craving for her and her reaction to the chemistry neither of them seemed able to resist. On his terms. They’d both get what they needed.

      She tilted her chin, eyes blazing with challenge, and, he hoped, lust. ‘Orgasms?’

      He nodded, slowly encroaching until her body heat registered and her delicious scent tickled his nose.

      ‘We established earlier, there’s little trust between us. But we don’t need to trust each other outside of the bedroom to have a good time.’

      Her pulse fluttered in her throat and he let his stare linger there, letting her know he saw that she wanted him.

      ‘You trust me with your body.’

      She laughed, a nervous snort she used to conceal the rush of excitement lighting her eyes. ‘Cocky much?’

      He nodded. Slow, sure, sincere. He’d show her a good time. For old times’ sake. A taste of what she’d never got to experience and what she clearly craved.

      His blood pounded harder, her excitement ramping up his own.

      ‘Here’s how it’s going to go.’ He rolled his shoulders, enjoying the kick of satisfaction when she looked him up and down, her tongue darting out onto that glossy red lip.

      ‘I’ll call the shots, and you’ll reap the orgasms.’

      She lifted one brow. ‘Plural?’

      Another nod. Another inch closer. ‘Think of this afternoon as a prelude—not my best work.’ He allowed his eyes to linger on her parted lips, her soft rapid pants encouraging him. ‘The next one will be better. And better...’

      She stared as if he’d proposed a naked run through Central Park. ‘Call the shots?’

      He held his ground, but she stepped half a step closer. Perhaps she wasn’t even conscious of it. Now only a sliver of air separated them, practically sparking with erotic possibility.

      He nodded, his hand sweeping the swathe of her hair behind one delicate shoulder, while his stare searched hers.

      ‘Are you done?’ He lifted a brow, tempting. ‘Or do you want more?’ He leaned in, his eyes practically closing as her warm scent bathed him. ‘You know I can give them to you. The question is, how much do you want them?’

      She placed her hand on the centre of his chest, fingers flexing with enough pressure that he wasn’t sure if she’d push him away or curl those fingers into a fist around his shirt and pull him in.

      Fuck, perhaps he’d played too hard? Miscalculated?

      No. The unfinished business between them went beyond the stalled deal for the Morris Building. He knew it. She knew it.

      Would she submit to his proposal, pick up where they left off earlier, leaving everything but sex at the bedroom door? She called it cocky, but he was a man of his word, he’d prove that to her, even if he had to drag that understanding from her one orgasm at a time while he worked this itch from beneath his skin.

      She came to him, her petite frame pressing into his body from breast to thigh, and her breath gusting over his lips. The eyes she lifted to his glowed, the passion and defiance he’d guessed at earlier clearly on display.

      ‘I’m not sure that one earlier can be topped.’ Her fingers curled into his shirt.

      His blood surged, thick and powerful.

      ‘Oh, I’ll top it.’ Lust slammed through him. A primal roar. Game on.

      With a swoop from him and a tug from her their mouths collided. He manoeuvred her against the wall and kissed her, pouring every scrap of frustration into the slide and skim of lips and tongues. The surge of lust that had simmered beneath the surface since this morning at the building site flooding through him, breaking free, seeking fulfilment.

      She whimpered, as if he’d held back for too long and she was as starved as him for the ferocious kisses. She palmed his cock, drawing a hiss from him, and he tugged the hem of her clingy dress, exposing bare, toned thighs. Pale and smooth—a place a man could lose himself.

      She spread them, her fingers hooking into his belt loops to pull him between her legs, her hands as grabby as his, her need matching his with every stroke. He ground his erection into her, the clothing barriers hindering his goal—to get inside her and take them both over the edge. Over and over until she begged for more.

      He pulled back from her hungry mouth, his gaze flicking up and down the stairs in case they were being observed. Harley kissed and nibbled a path to his neck, tonguing his earlobe until his eyes rolled back.

      Was he seriously considering fucking her in a stairwell where they could be interrupted