The Dare Collection: February 2018. Anne Marsh

him close as she rocked into his mouth.

      The sublime glide of his tongue ceased, and the pleasure drained away to a slow simmer.

      ‘Yes, you’ll come to France?’

      He kept her on the edge, with his thumb where his mouth had been. Not what she wanted, but enough to prolong the haze.

      ‘Yes…yes…’ She’d argue later, rescind her acceptance. Any agreement made under sexual duress was null and void.

      ‘Yes, you’ll come…on my face?’

      The wicked glimmer in his eyes stole the last of her breath and all she could offer was a feeble nod.

      When his mouth covered her again a second finger pushed inside her to join the first. She exploded, her thighs gripping his head and her fingers twisting in his hair as she clung on for dear life in the moving vehicle.

      The spasms trailed away and she pushed at his shoulders, breaking the divine contact and missing it at the same time. Before her body had in any way recovered from the intense orgasm she pounced on him, kissing his wet mouth and tugging his belt free. He helped, their fingers working simultaneously to free him from his dress pants. She gripped him, her hand fisting his hard length, her tongue tasting him, tasting herself.

      He produced a condom from his pocket and Libby jerked him up onto the seat beside her, snatching it from him in her haste to have him inside her. She covered him, feeling that ache back between her thighs. She didn’t want to think about games, or weddings, or the past. She craved him more than ever, more than the first time, her need only intensifying with each time they were together like this.

      ‘Hurry.’

      She hitched her dress higher, straddling his lap. One hand gripped the leather upholstery behind his shoulder as the other delved between them to align him at her entrance. And then she was sinking onto him, their mutual groans resounding through the confined space, with only the darkened night outside to hear them.

      Alex gripped her face in his palms, demanding eye contact as she rocked on his lap. ‘Mean it, Libby. Say you want to stop playing.’

      He was pushing the boundaries, changing the game plan. But in that moment she’d promise him anything.

      She gripped the lapels of his expensive, exquisitely tailored tux, crushing the fabric in her palms.

      Part of her did want to stop playing. Part of her was desperate to get to know real Alex, the man, flaws and all. Part of her wished she could be the old, unguarded version of herself. But she couldn’t give him everything he wanted…everything she longed to give.

      Another compromise? She could shore up her dread for one day. Go to this stupid wedding. Act, smile, drink champagne. Just one day. An end to this fairy-tale week that she hadn’t planned for but was powerless to stop.

      She tensed her internal muscles, forcing another groan from him. Dipping her head to his shoulder, she traced her mouth in a path along the soft skin of the side of his neck, and feathered his ear with her lips.

      ‘I’ll come to France. No games.’

      And then she’d head home. Try to forget Alex Lancaster and her European adventure.

      His hands cupped her buttocks, taking control of the friction with thrusts from beneath. Libby held on tight, knowing this ride, this time, meant something more, that the stakes had been raised to levels she couldn’t afford.

      They came together—him with a shout the driver probably heard, and her with the collar of his tux clamped between her teeth. Anything else and she’d have blurted out something suspiciously like feelings. Feelings she had no room for—especially not where a man like Alex Lancaster was concerned.

       CHAPTER NINE

      LIBBY STARTED AWAKE. The unfamiliar room came into focus and she felt the weight of Alex’s arm on her waist, the heat of his naked chest at her back. The dream that had woken her, vaguely familiar in the way recurring dreams were, was still pounding the blood around her body. Always the same. She was searching for something she had no hope of finding, only to jerk awake with the feeling that she’d failed some momentous task and would never be happy again.

      She lay still, closing her eyes and slowing her breathing, mindfully scanning her body, willing her tense muscles to relax in the hope of returning to sleep. But, like many nights before, tonight was to be one of mind-racing exhaustion, and after ten minutes she gave up, carefully slid from underneath the slumbering Alex and shuffled to the edge of his enormous bed.

      Like the one at his Oxfordshire estate, this bed was a sleek, modern four-poster. He lay sprawled in the middle, his muscular back revealed by the sheets pooled at his waist and his hair a dishevelled mop partly obscuring his handsome, relaxed face.

      The tattoo that snaked around one side of his chest was partly visible—a line of script: Rise by lifting others. She’d read it fully earlier in the shower, her fingers tracing the ink.

      After the limo they’d showered together, soaping and nibbling every inch of each other’s bodies until they’d drawn a third orgasm from each other and then collapsed into Alex’s very comfortable, too-big bed. Not that he’d let her keep her distance. And Libby had been too tired to object when he’d dragged her by the waist into his spooning.

      Finding his dress shirt discarded on a chair, she slipped it on and crept from the room. Her clutch was where she’d dropped it on the hall table. She located her phone and headed for the state-of-the-art kitchen, hoping to find a kettle amongst the seamless cupboards and contemporary appliances.

      Within a few minutes she’d brewed tea and was snuggled on an oversized couch, pulling a throw over her legs to ward off the middle-of-the-night chill. A quick calculation of the time difference proved favourable and she dialled Sonya’s number. She’d neglected her pregnant friend, sending only daily e-mails. She needed to hear her voice. Reset her equilibrium.

      Sonya answered on the second ring. ‘What are you doing up? Isn’t it the middle of the night over there?’

      ‘Hi, to you too. I couldn’t sleep.’ Libby sipped her tea, spotting a well-placed mirrored coaster on the minimalist slab that paraded as a coffee table.

      ‘Still jet-lagged?’

      Libby longed to pick apart her insomnia with Sonya, to bounce her unsettled emotions off her friend. She winced. But Sonya was nine months pregnant and solely in charge of their business.

      ‘I guess… How are you? I rang to make sure you aren’t working too hard.’ Libby’s throat burned, and she felt inexplicable emotion close to the surface at the sound of her friend’s voice.

      A long sigh. ‘I’m fine. Fit to burst, but fine. I’ve worked from home these last two days,’ said Sonya. ‘Vinnie has rescheduled some of my out-of-town appointments for you when you get back next week. Sorry. I guess it’s finally catching up with me.’

      Libby worried at a cuticle, her shoulders tense. ‘Of course. That’s absolutely fine. I can come home earlier if you need me.’

      She could drop everything and be back in New York in ten hours. No wedding. No more adrenaline. No more Alex.

      She barely managed a swallow.

      ‘No need. It’s almost the weekend. No one needs you that urgently.’

      A smile tugged her cheeks. Sonya sounded like her old self. Perhaps she needed them. Her friends, her business, her life. That was who she was.

      The rush of homesickness tightened her chest, but she suspected the vice would be crossing the Atlantic with her when she returned to New York. The only thing to warm Libby’s bed there was Dumbledore, and he hogged the pillow, purred in her ear and had fishy breath.

      She scrubbed at her face. Perhaps the idea of a wedding had unsettled