Her heart squeezed at the gleam of admiration in those pure blue eyes. She held his wrist and lifted his hand away from her face. ‘So are you. Which would probably explain why, despite my best intentions, this keeps happening.’
He toyed with a damp curl that hung over her shoulder, tantalisingly close to her breast, a slow smile forming. ‘I’m hoping that means this isn’t another one-off.’ He lifted the curl to his lips and kissed it, the tenderness of the gesture causing the blood to thunder in her ears. ‘And you’re not still planning to run out on me tomorrow.’
‘I think we both just proved neither of us are that good at denial.’
He dropped the curl, the smile widening. ‘So is this a thing, or a fling?’
The mocking question eased the squeeze on her heart. ‘A fling. But that’s all it is. My flight back’s in just over a week’s time and that’s when this will have to end.’
The broad smile didn’t falter. ‘Works for me.’ His hand skimmed down her neck and cupped her breast, his thumb circling the rigid nipple. ‘But no more dumb stuff about work.’ His eyes met hers, the expression more determined than playful. ‘What we do in bed together—and anywhere else we choose—hasn’t got a damn thing to do with your commission. You got that?’
She stretched, trying to focus on the conversation while his absent caress sent sensation into her sex. ‘Yes, boss.’
His eyebrows shot up and she laughed. Grabbing her wrists, he yanked her arms above her head and held her captive for a quick hard kiss. ‘Damn, but I want you again, you little tease.’
‘What’s stopping you, Rhett?’ She rubbed her leg against his, enjoying the feel of the soft hairs, the muscled flanks and the sight of his eyes dilating to black.
‘Lord, give me strength,’ he murmured, trapping her legs with one hard thigh. ‘We’re gonna have to take a rain check.’ He glanced out of the window at the dying storm. ‘Literally. I need more condoms. A lot more.’ His gaze roamed over her. ‘I’m thinking a whole box wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Not a problem, sugar. Like all smart, responsible, twenty-first-century women, I keep an emergency supply in my toiletry bag.’ She reared up to kiss him on the nose, feeling ridiculously perky, and carefree and relieved. There was no need to read more into this fling than there actually was—they had a history, but one he need never know about, and one she had come to terms with a long time ago. ‘I’ll go get them.’
‘Nuh-uh.’ He snagged her round the waist as she launched off the bed. ‘Right now I’m a big fan of female emancipation, but I’m still the guy. I’ll get them.’
She laughed, the command delivered in a wry monotone that was both stupidly macho and surprisingly cute. ‘My hero,’ she purred, the endorphins shooting round her body overriding the last of her caution. She
lounged against the pillows and watched him march into the bathroom, gloriously naked. A man on a mission.
She admired the tight buns as his bare butt disappeared from view and sent up her own silent prayer of thanks. They had just over a week to finally finish this. To satisfy the sexual hunger that had always burned so brightly, so insistently between them. And this time there could be no harm done—because she wasn’t that wild, reckless, vulnerable girl any more, but a smart, sorted career woman who...
‘What the Sam Hell...?’
The startled oath had her shooting upright—the smug contentment faltering as she recalled exactly what else she kept in her toiletry bag.
Carter emerged from the bathroom with a fistful of condoms in one hand, and the long column of moulded plastic held delicately between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand—as if it were an unexploded bomb. He cleared his throat dramatically and held it up for inspection. ‘Well, now. What do you have here, Miss Gina?’
She flopped back on the pillows, and stared at the ceiling fan, struggling to quell the blush blossoming across her chest. ‘You found Justin.’
‘You gave it a name?’ The question came out on a choke of outrage.
She inched up on her elbows, the blush subsiding as her lips quirked. ‘Well, of course I did. I don’t want to be getting it on with a stranger.’ What was there to be embarrassed about? If a smart, responsible, twenty-first-century woman was single and intended to stay that way, a vibrator was essential equipment.
He made a sound in his throat as if he were choking. ‘I think I just died and went to hell! What did you call it, again?’
She covered her mouth to suppress the unladylike snort of amusement. ‘Justin.’
‘Hell, I thought so.’ He peered at it. ‘Not only did you give it a name, you gave it a sissy name.’
The snort popped out, tinged with mock outrage. ‘Justin is not a sissy name. I happened to have a major crush on Justin Timberlake once upon a time. So it seemed appropriate.’
‘Sugar, I don’t know what kind of guys you’ve been dating. But nothing about this tool is appropriate. It isn’t even anatomically correct. No guy’s got that much heft this side of an elephant.’
She giggled, crawling across the bed to perch on the edge and cup him. She stroked, and hummed deep in her throat, her gaze sweeping down to assess the firm flesh as it swelled and hardened. Her gaze swept back up to peer at him through lashes that fluttered demurely. ‘I don’t know... You seem to be giving Justin a fairly good run for his money.’
‘Right, that does it.’ Flipping the vibrator over his shoulder, he gave her shoulders a shove, tumbling her onto the bed. He climbed on top, caging her in, his rough chuckles mingling with her giggles.
‘Hey, be careful with Justin!’ she said, still channelling the mock outrage. ‘He wasn’t exactly cheap.’
‘Sweetheart, in case you haven’t figured this out yet...’ He rubbed the heel of his palm against her mound, the dire warning in his voice promising all sorts of delicious retribution ‘...from here on in, you are dumping Justeen in favour of a real man.’