Socialite's Gamble. Michelle Conder

as she opened to him.

      He made a rough sound against her mouth that sent tingles down her spine, and gathered her closer, pressing her breasts into his torso, moulding her lower body to his. He was aroused—and huge—and Cara let out a low moan as his mouth took everything she had to offer.

      His lips were warm and firm and then his tongue was in her mouth and—oh, God—sensations zigzagged through her, causing heat to pool at her core. With a small sound she kissed him back and twined her tongue with his, her fingers squeezing his wide shoulders and curving around his neck and into his thick hair. In that moment she could have been anywhere—Paris, Rome … Mars—and she wouldn’t have been aware of anything but his kiss.

      Unfortunately a loud bang somewhere below startled them both and before she could blink she was free, her breaths coming in short, sharp pants. She pressed her hand to her chest, not unlike the stewardess earlier, and stared at him completely dumbstruck.

      His eyes bored into hers, his breathing just as uneven as her own. She stared at the buttons on his shirt, his impressive chest that moved up and down like bellows as he attempted to contain his breathing.

      ‘Meet me later. After the game.’

      It wasn’t a request, but a command. Rough. Forceful. Exciting beyond measure.

      Cara couldn’t look away from the burning hunger in his gaze, her blood as thick as treacle as it flowed through her veins. All she wanted to do was lean into him, assuage the hollow ache deep in her body. She’d never had such a visceral reaction to a man before and her mind recoiled from it as much as it craved it.

      Her lips buzzed and even though her mind kept telling her that it was wrong, that she should show caution, that she would only get hurt, she took a deep breath and said the only thing that she could.

      ‘Yes.’