The Dare Collection: February 2018. Anne Marsh

to with dizzying heights or stomach-dropping rides.

      ‘Kiss me like you’re telling me that you wanted to fuck me last night instead of leaving.’

      Please—before she came to her senses and fled, or passed out.

      His nostrils flared as he sucked in a harsh breath, focussed his intense stare on hers.

      ‘I did.’

      His voice, full of gravel, scraped her raw—as raw as the hunger she saw flare in his eyes.

      ‘I did want to fuck you last night. You told me to watch.’

      Yes. She’d got what she wanted—but the hollow victory had left her cold.

      He closed the gap between them by another half step. ‘I can’t get the taste of you out of my mouth.’ His gaze flicked down, scorching her from head to toe. ‘The image of you lying there, your hand working between your legs…’

      He dropped his head back, closing his eyes for a second before he pinned her with his penetrating stare once more.

      ‘Believe me, I’ve wanted to kiss you all fucking morning.’

      His admission knocked the air from her lungs, and a surge of triumph banished the last of her doubts.

      ‘Why don’t you then?’ Barely a whisper.

      His lips thinned, air gusting out of flared nostrils. ‘Fucked if I know.’

      They reached for each other, closing the distance with a lurch. He slammed his mouth over hers and she practically jumped up to meet him. His arms locked around her waist to catch her in mid-air. Her fingers delved into his hair as he pressed her close, their mouths opening and tongues sliding with ravenous need. The icy fear of moments ago trickled away, replaced by the sluggish thrill of euphoria. Her limbs liquefied, and the thud of her heart was loud enough to block out all her reservations.

      Yes. This was what she’d craved since last night. The knowledge that she wasn’t alone in her furious attraction to this man. He felt it too. Their searing connection. The all-consuming rush. The need to feed the fire with any available fuel.

      They pulled back, breath gusting.

      Alex gripped her face, his eyes darting between hers. ‘You sure?’

      She couldn’t speak. His concern, his consideration in the wake of that kiss was too much.

      She nodded. Another stomach flip—although she couldn’t tell if it was fear this time or the heady knowledge that there’d be more of those kisses if she wanted them. More of him.

      He slid his hands from her face, one capturing her hand. Warm, confident, his grip was firm and comforting. With a single resolute nod that filled her with belief in his piloting skills he turned them back towards the helicopter.

      But for all her bravado and bravery, the clack of her heels on the concrete roof echoed.

      A death march or the soundtrack to an adventure?

       CHAPTER FIVE

      ‘TOLD YOU IT was worth it.’

      Alex eyed her over the rim of his wine glass. The early-evening sun glinted off her dark hair, revealing glowing streaks of gold. The same gold streaks that flashed in her eyes when she challenged him, berated him or when she was turned on.

      How quickly he’d grown to crave those flashes—a sure sign that he’d got to her, whether to rile up her keen mind and razor-sharp wit or to witness the unapologetic hunger that mirrored his own. Despite the professional business attire and the way she tamed her hair, Olivia claimed her sexuality as she owned her forthright manner and articulate negotiation skills.

      She put her glass to her lips and his eyes were mesmerised by their plump curves and the tiny flash of pink tongue.

      She swallowed, shrugging one elegant shoulder. ‘It’s okay. I’ve had better. Californian wines are the best in the world.’

      At least her acidic sense of humour had returned, along with the colour in her cheeks. Fuck, what an idiot he’d been. He should have asked her, rather than assumed she’d be happy to fly. His bird was his favourite mode of transportation. And some primitive part of his brain had wanted to impress her with a flashy stunt. A dick move.

      But he’d made good on his promise. The flight to his Oxfordshire boutique winery and restaurant had lasted only thirty minutes. She’d even managed to open her eyes for long enough to enjoy the views, and a begrudging, tight smile had hovered on her beautiful mouth.

      As soon as they’d landed he’d ushered her to the Thames-side restaurant on his estate, where the glass of wine had been chilled and waiting for her on the best table in the house.

      She placed her glass back on the table, her eyes scanning the three-Michelin-starred restaurant. Two or three other parties occupied tables in the conservatory, which was decorated with a sea of twinkling fairy lights that bounced shards of light off the silver dinnerware and the crisp snow-white table linen.

      ‘So this is how you impress women?’

      He laughed. She slayed him. The twitch of her mouth and the haughty tilt of her chin let him know that she was far from affected by him or his lifestyle. Her poise, her cutting wit, her acerbic tongue, her uncompromising cut-to-the-chase attitude—all of it made him want to put on airs and graces just to rile her up and see that flash in her eyes and the dismissive shake of her head. Why was sparring with her such a turn-on?

      ‘I don’t usually have to work so hard. And now I’m curious as to why you’re so impervious.’

      What would it take to impress her? A prize certainly worth having.

      Her eyes hardened and he discreetly adjusted his ever-present erection.

      ‘Is that what this is about? You show me your chopper and I fall at your grape-crushing feet? You’ll have to pay better attention if you’re expecting me to gush over your clever piloting skills.’

      She opened the heavy embossed menu, lifting her nose and focussing her attention on the contents.

      The flutter of her pulse at the base of her elegant neck gave her away and he shifted in his seat. Fuck. She turned him to steel—a pretty constant state and a bloody uncomfortable way to walk around. But he wasn’t complaining. The throb reminded him of the deal they’d brokered, adding a fresh slug of adrenaline to course through his bloodstream.

      Two of his favourite things. The heady thrill of a business negotiation and the buzz of exhilaration just before you jumped from the cliff’s edge.

      And the prize? Not only had this feisty, independent brunette agreed to lend her experience to his fledgling charity, she’d also instigated a game of control tag. A game that, as he saw it, he couldn’t lose. A game that was still on, even though he’d disregarded her rules and gorged himself on her last night.

      Not that he regretted that for one second. The memory of her taste was still potent enough to fog his mind.

      His stomach growled. He was hungry for food, but even hungrier for her. That brief taste of her mouth on the roof of Lancaster Tower earlier had done little to quench his craving. He’d been hard since leaving her hotel room last night, his balls a heavy ache that he’d carried all day while she sat mere inches away, her scent tantalising, her luminous eyes seeing through him and her voice scraping over his nerve endings until he’d contemplated banging one out in his private bathroom like a randy teenager.

      He’d forced himself not to touch her—determined to fight his attraction to her in case she called off the deal. He’d half expected her to bail, simply not to show up for their meeting. When she’d asked him to kiss her he’d thought he’d hallucinated. The urge to drag her into the helicopter, splay her over the leather seats and taste her again had been