The Dare Collection November 2019. Anne Marsh

raising an eyebrow of enquiry before wedging himself between my thighs, coaxing my clit equally awake with his tongue.

      ‘Yes, I had a seven a.m. meeting.’ The only way I would be able to squeeze in what I needed to work on and spend tomorrow skiing the Zermatt with him before we leave the day after. ‘I see you’ve been shopping…’

      He shrugs, one corner of his mouth kicking up at my gross understatement. ‘Just a couple of things. An extension of my apology for tearing your dress.’

      ‘A dress you already replaced. This is too much, Cam.’

      His mouth twists in that sexy way of his, one usually preceding some sexy command or request. ‘I noticed that you travel light, so I thought you might need a few things, especially for the opera tonight.’

      ‘Cam, I’m a woman, a woman who loves shoes, but even I wouldn’t go this far.’ I look around the room, my financier’s brain totting up a dizzying sum.

      ‘That’s because you’re frugal. Indulge me,’ he says before I can take umbrage. ‘And remember the rules—you get to have your wicked way with me as often as you like, and I dictate the after-work itinerary and cover the costs.’

      I nod, breathless because now I want to have my way with him once more. I could use a dose of Cam’s special magic after the morning of meetings, of hustling, of living up to my reputation as one of the industry’s global trailblazers.

      A strange and unfamiliar restlessness infects me; it was there when I walked through the door. I probe the feeling so I can label it.

      I’m jealous.

      Jealous of the time he spends without me, even though I’m the one who’s leaving him to work. I’m jealous that he’s doing who knows what, while I have the same meeting over and over, only in different countries and different languages. And I’m jealous that living the high life seems to come naturally to him; wherever we are, he hunts out something fun to do. This is my sixth trip to Zurich, and I’ve never been to the opera.

      I stroke Cam’s strong arms. He’s becoming an addiction—the more I have, the more I want. An edge of panic grips my throat. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way…

      ‘So what else have you been up to while I’ve been at work?’ I hadn’t thought about how he keeps himself busy when I’m not around—I guess I assumed he works out at the club gym or goes for a swim.

      His expression turns shifty, pricking my curiosity. ‘You won’t approve.’

      ‘Why? Did you elbow an elderly lady out of the way to get to that ballgown?’

      He laughs but his eyes stay wary. Then he sighs. ‘I visited a music store—I still play the drums.’

      ‘So that’s why you’re always tapping something?’

      He pulls me in for another kiss and I sink into it, grateful he made the first move because the urge to kiss him is pretty constant. I’d practically zoned out during one of my meetings this morning, fantasising about him, what he might be doing, whether he was naked, in our bed, perhaps jerking off because he couldn’t wait for me to get back.

      I’m drawn back to the present when he pulls away. ‘I bought a drum kit.’

      I look around in confusion. ‘There’s no room here for a drum kit.’

      He shakes his head. ‘More’s the pity. No, these weren’t for me.’ He turns serious and I hold my breath, certain he’ll show me a little piece of himself if only I’m patient.

      ‘There was a kid at the music shop. The sales assistant told me he comes in every week to pay off some money towards the kit he wants.’ He shrugs, his eyes taking on a faraway look. ‘I remember what that was like, how hard I saved for my first set—I worked surf lifesaving all summer.’

      I smile and slide my fingers through his glorious hair. I can picture a teenaged Cam, all tanned, his hair bleached by the sun.

      ‘I couldn’t resist—I paid off the kid’s balance and had the kit delivered to his house.’ Suddenly he scoops me around the waist, hoists my feet from the floor and swings me in a circle. ‘You should have seen his face.’

      I squeal and laugh, and then my feet touch down and I sober as I look hard into his eyes. ‘Cam, that was such a kind thing to do.’ I try to picture the man I know doing that, the one who tips everyone he meets and spends money with reckless abandon. It makes my stomach hurt.

      He downplays his generosity with a shrug, but I can see that this means something to him, something more than purchasing exquisite gowns he thinks I’ll like. ‘Playing drums helped me through my teens. Music is a great hobby.’

      He looks uncomfortable and I squeeze his biceps, because I’m still holding on to them as if I’m scared he’ll disappear. Were his teens difficult? Did he go through a rebellious phase? Butt horns with his father? My chest aches with questions but I bite my tongue, not only because it’s clearly a soft spot for him, but also because it’s personal. I know from the haunted look in his eyes that he once struggled and strived to buy things I would have taken for granted. I want to ask, to know this side of him, but it’s not what we’re about.

      I take a shuddering breath as the restlessness returns, twice as fierce. I think about the meeting I have this afternoon with my Zurich chief financial officer and head of investments. I’d much rather spend time with Cam, break my own rules and get to know the drum-playing, sexy Santa side of him better.

      ‘Anyway,’ he says, releasing me and walking to the bed. ‘I see you haven’t had time to unwrap everything,’ he picks up a black box I hadn’t noticed and holds it out in my direction, ‘but I want to watch you open this one.’

      I accept the change of subject, shelve my curiosity and take the box, which is heavier than it looks, black velvet, monogrammed with the M Club logo and slightly smaller than a shoebox.

      ‘What is it?’ I ask, the look of heated challenge in his eyes leaving me nervous and so turned on I’m hyperaware of every breath I take.

      ‘It’s for you—I couldn’t resist.’ His voice is deep, dark, and his eyes gleam, that sexy secret smile of his firing every pleasure centre in my brain so I want to abandon my own curiosity as to the box’s contents and jump him, to drag us both back to the safe place where we lose ourselves in each other, in pleasure.

      ‘Open it.’ It’s a husky demand, just like the ones he issues in bed.

      I prise open the lid and gasp, and then laugh, locking eyes with his in time to see the excitement dancing there. Inside the box, nestled in deep maroon satin, is a matt-black vibrator, the base bearing an M Club logo encrusted with tiny diamonds.’ I finger the two rows of sparkling stones on top of the M.

      ‘Are these real?’ Pressure builds in my chest, as if I’m oxygen-deprived. Only Cam would buy such an extravagant and intimate gift.

      He nods, slow, confident, sexy, and then he watches my tracing finger.

      With a breathy shudder I can’t hold inside, I slide my fingertip up the length of the sex toy as slowly and sensually as I can, tracing the realistic ridges to the very tip, and then meet his stare with a challenging one of my own. ‘It’s not as big as you.’

      His eyes darken with sexy promise and that hint of challenge he seems to love where I’m concerned, one I’m only too happy to meet head on. Can’t have him thinking he’s besting me in our little arrangement.

      ‘No, but it’s big enough. I thought you needed a sex toy for when I’m no longer around.’

      Lust is a tangible aura around us, impossible after the amount of sex we’ve had this week, but there all the same. Lust and something else. Perhaps trust. A deeper awareness. I focus on the lust because that’s the only feeling I’ll allow myself, although Cam’s reminder that this is temporary dampens some of my excitement.

       Because