Modern Romance October 2018 Books 5-8. Trish Morey

told me that already. I’m playing with fire.’ The bed beckoned, oversized, draped in the finest Egyptian cottons and silk.

      Rose turned to face him. The lighting in the room was mellow and forgiving. ‘I’ve had a bit to drink,’ she admitted without skipping a beat, ‘but I’m not the worse for wear. I’ve been drinking a lot of water in between the wine and I’ve also eaten for England. Those canapés were to die for.’ She walked towards him, kicking off the heels on the way. ‘Want me to walk a straight line for you?’

      ‘There’s a lot I want you to do for me and walking a straight line doesn’t figure.’

      ‘What? What would you like me to do for you? What about this?’ She reached down to cup the bulge between his legs and felt his swift intake of breath. Now or never.

      Art pressed his hand over hers. He had to because, if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what his body was going to do at the pressure she was exerting on his arousal.

      ‘I want you.’ Rose maintained eye contact. She’d never seemed more sober. ‘When you told me who you really were I felt betrayed and deceived and I never, ever wanted to see you again.’ She moved her hand and reached up to link fingers behind his neck. It was as if she’d given herself permission to touch and it was all she wanted to do now. ‘I thought that it would be easy to put you behind me. How could I carry on wanting a guy who had used me?’

      ‘Rose...’

      ‘I know you’re going to go into a long spiel about why you did what you did but that doesn’t matter. What matters is I couldn’t put you behind me. It didn’t matter what you’d done, you’d still managed to get to me in ways...in ways I just never thought possible.’

      ‘You underestimated the power of sex,’ Art murmured, resting his hands on her narrow waist.

      ‘I thought that if I saw the real you, the unscrupulous billionaire, then I would be so turned off that this stupid attraction would wither and die.’

      Art inclined his head and knew that he had felt something similar, that if he saw her out of her surroundings and in his own terrain then common sense would reassert itself. ‘No luck?’ He ran his fingers along her back then over her ribcage, leaving them tantalisingly close to her breasts, close enough for her to shiver and half close her eyes.

      ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Rose practically wailed.

      ‘Some things don’t.’ Art hadn’t planned on taking her to bed, not tonight. But this wasn’t a Rose who was not in control of her faculties. This was a Rose who was so in control that she could vocalise why she was doing what she was doing. This was the Rose he knew—open, honest, forthright and willing to confront a difficult decision head-on.

      She couldn’t have been a bigger turn-on.

      Sex. The power of it. Never more than now was he forced to recognise the strength of body over mind. For someone always in control, this was like being thrown into a raging current without the benefit of a lifebelt. He looked forward to the challenge of battling against that current and emerging the victor.

      He hooked his fingers beneath the straps of the sexy red dress and slid them down. She was wearing a silky bra that cupped her breasts like a film of gauze. Art groaned at the sight. The circular discs of her nipples were clearly visible, as was the stiffened bud tipping each pink sphere.

      ‘You gave your phone number to another man,’ he said illogically.

      ‘Were you jealous?’

      ‘I wanted to punch him straight into another continent.’

      ‘But you told me I should network...’

      ‘I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you.’

      ‘Take me,’ she breathed, reaching behind her to unhook the bra, which she shrugged off, stepping back then to unzip the dress at the side and then wriggling out of it so that she was standing in front of him in just her lacy panties.

      ‘Is this the wine talking?’ Art was close to the point of no return. She wasn’t tripping over her feet but there was no way he was going to get up close and personal with her, only to find himself pushed to one side because she’d fallen asleep on him. He intended to hear groans of pleasure as opposed to the snores of someone who’d had a glass too many.

      He smiled at the image because if there was one woman alive who would fall asleep on him it was Rose.

      ‘You’re grinning.’ Rose began undressing him, clearly trying her best not to rush.

      ‘I’m grinning because I’m busy picturing you falling asleep on me and snoring like a trooper, leaving me with the consolation prize of a cold shower.’

      ‘No chance of that,’ Rose said huskily. ‘You don’t have to worry that I’m under the influence.’ She shot him a wicked look from under her lashes. ‘Don’t tell me that you’re so lacking in self-confidence that you think a woman will only sleep with you if she’s had one too many.’

      ‘Wench...’ But he burst out laughing and propelled her gently back in the direction of the bed, simultaneously completing the job she had begun of getting rid of his clothes. ‘Shall I show you how timid and lacking in confidence I am when it comes to pleasuring a woman?’

      Rose hit the bed and flopped back onto it, laughing and pulling him down towards her.

      ‘Please,’ she breathed, arching up to kiss him. ‘Please, please, please... That’s exactly what I want...’

       CHAPTER NINE

      ROSE HAD FANTASISED about those nights when she and Art had made love. She’d delved deep into her memory banks and closed her eyes and tasted, in the emptiness of her bed after he’d disappeared in a puff of treacherous smoke, the touch of his mouth on hers, the feel of his hands tracing the contours of her body, the heavy weight of him on top of her and the way her legs had parted for him, welcoming him into the very core of her.

      Now, touching him again, she realised that no amount of recall could ever have done justice to the reality of him.

      Running her hands over his lean, hard body was like tasting nectar after a diet of vinegar.

      He felt so good.

      She traced the corded muscles of his back and then squirmed so that she was taking charge of proceedings, flattening him against the bed and angling her body in such a way that she could devote all her attention to his vibrant arousal whilst, at the same time, he could pleasure her between her legs.

      She’d forgotten how well their bodies meshed, as though created to fit one against the other. She moved against his questing tongue, her breathing fast and furious, making little guttural noises as she licked and tasted him, feasting on his hardness and playing with his erection while she explored it with her mouth.

      Her long hair was everywhere and she flipped it over her shoulder and then arched up, her whole body quivering as ripples of an orgasm began coursing slowly through her.

      ‘Art...’ she gasped, not wanting to come.

      Not yet.

      This time it was Art who took control. With one easy move, he flipped her so that she was now facing him and he edged her up so that there was next to no pause in his ministrations.

      She was sitting over him, allowing him the greatest intimacy as he continued to flick his tongue over the stiffened bud of her core. Hands firmly on her waist so that he was keeping her in position, he teased her with his mouth and when her breathing quickened and her body began to stiffen he concentrated on bringing her to a shuddering explosive orgasm.

      * * *

      She spasmed against his mouth and he revelled in the honeyed moistness of her orgasm.

      He’d missed