Was he joking?
They’d just had sex! Make that wild monkey sex. And they didn’t even like each other. She closed her legs, curled away from him, the aching tenderness between her thighs a shameful reminder of the way they’d just ravaged each other.
It wasn’t just wrong, it was insane. Forget ten years ago. This now classified as the biggest, most humiliating mistake of her life.
‘Absolutely nothing,’ she said caustically, the scent of sex suffocating her as she scooted over to the corner of the bed.
She sat up, ready to make a swift getaway, but one strong arm banded round her waist and dragged her back against a solid male chest.
Panic constricted around her throat. ‘I really have to leave.’
‘Settle down. Why are you in such a rush? You haven’t got what you came for yet.’
‘I…’ She stuttered to a halt, his words slicing through the panic and cutting straight to the shame. ‘I didn’t…’ She stopped, cleared her throat. The conversation they’d had before ripping each other’s clothes off replaying in her mind at top volume.
She cringed. She hadn’t meant to tell him she’d have sex with him for money, but somehow the desire, the need, the resentment had got all tangled up. And she had. Sort of.
Wild monkey sex had been bad enough, but adding in the money took things to a whole new level of sordid. ‘The money wasn’t the reason I…’ She paused. Tried again to explain the unexplainable. ‘I don’t expect you to pay…’
His arm tightened. ‘I know that, Issy. After what almost happened at the club, sex was inevitable.’ He gave a rough chuckle. ‘And, frankly, I’m insulted. I don’t pay women for sex. Even you.’
She blinked. Furious at the sting of tears. ‘Good, I’m glad you understand that,’ she said, trying to regain a little dignity while she was stark naked and blushing like a beetroot.
She struggled. He held firm.
‘Will you let go?’ she demanded.
‘What’s the big hurry?’ he said, his reasonableness starting to irritate her. ‘Now we’ve got the sex out of the way, why shouldn’t we talk about the money?’
Because I’d rather die on the spot.
She swung round, astonished at his blasé attitude. Was it really that easy for him to dismiss what they had done? Chalk it up to inevitability and forget about it?
She’d never had sex just to scratch an itch. Not until now anyway. She felt dreadful about it. Didn’t he feel even a little bit ashamed about their behaviour?
Apparently not, from the easygoing look on his face.
She gripped the sheet in her fist. ‘Yes, well, now we’ve got the sex out of the way…’ How could he reduce everything to the lowest common denominator like that? ‘I don’t want to discuss anything else.’ Because she, at least, had scruples. ‘I need to get dressed. I’m getting a chill.’
Which was a blatant lie. She was the opposite of cold. The sun was blazing through the windows, and she could feel something that was still remarkably hard pressing against her bottom.
His hands stroked her tummy through the thin linen sheet, sending a shiver through her that had nothing to do with being chilled either.
‘You can get dressed on one condition.’ His breath whispered past her ear. ‘That you don’t run off.’
She nodded, so aroused again she would agree to tap dance naked to get out of his arms. Having to endure a conversation with him was by far the safer option, she decided as
she dashed out of the bed.
To her consternation, he made no effort to get dressed himself, but simply relaxed back against the pillows, folded one arm behind his head and watched her. Ignoring him, she raced round the room in a crouch, with one arm banded across her breasts and the other covering what she could of her sex. Unfortunately she soon discovered that left her one crucial hand short to pick her bra and panties off the floor.
‘Issy, what exactly are you doing?’ Gio’s amused voice rumbled from the bed.
She glanced round to find him staring at her, a puzzled smile on his face. ‘I’m trying to maintain a little modesty. If that’s okay with you,’ she snapped.
Something he conspicuously lacked, she thought resentfully. With the sheet slung low on his hips, barely covering the distinctive bulge beneath, he looked as if he were auditioning for a banner ad in Playgirl.
‘Isn’t it a little late for that?’ he said casually.