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His nod was slow. ‘Perhaps you should do something about that.’

Her throat felt thick and dry. She stepped out of the fabric of her dress that was pooled at her feet, then kicked off her heels, conscious that she lost a vital few inches in the process, padding barefoot across the room to where he stood not far from her.

Up close, memories slammed into her, the kind of memories that were carried by scent and hormone, so that with every breath he tantalised her and reminded her of what they’d shared.

It was ridiculous to feel shy, but she did—or rather, unfamiliar, because she’d never undressed a man before. Though she’d been surrounded by enough naked men to barely even notice when a bare chest or bottom wandered past, given her line of work, it felt strangely intimate to curl her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and lift it from his body.

Her fingertips trailed across his sides, muscles bunching beneath her touch, until she reached his underarms and had to stand up onto the tips of her toes to lift the shirt the rest of the way. It brought her body close to his, her breasts against his hair-roughened chest, her nipples tightening in immediate response. They were so sensitive, aching for his touch, for his mouth; all over, she ached for him.

She dropped the shirt to the ground, her breath hoarse as she turned her attention to his trousers. Her fingers fumbled on the button and she bit back a curse, moving more slowly, forcing herself to concentrate.

But her fingers weren’t cooperating. With a groan of frustration, she dropped to the zip instead, pushing it lower and then attacking the button. It worked. Hallelujah. His jeans opened, but it was all too much. She felt as if her nerves were vibrating out of her body. She walked behind him instead, pushing his trousers down from behind, glad for the reprieve from his ever-watchfulness, glad for a moment to regroup.

She crouched down, pushing his jeans to the floor, and he stepped out of them at the same time he turned around to face her. Her clever plan to rediscover her sanity was a complete failure, because she found herself at eye height with his unmistakable arousal. Her eyes lifted to his, uncertainty in them, and he held his hands out towards her. She hesitated for the briefest moment and then put hers in his so he could pull her up, guiding her body towards his.

Their faces were so close, their lips separated by only an inch or two. He stared down at her and her stomach squeezed with anticipation; she felt a rush of adrenalin and a spike of desire. She needed to kiss him. Her body lifted up, her mouth now just a hair’s width from his, hunger consuming her.

‘I’m not naked yet.’ He growled the words, so it felt as though he’d breathed them against her.

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘You’re not.’ Her hands slid into the waistband of his boxer shorts, pushing at the cotton, curving over his buttocks as she guided them from his body. He stepped out of the fabric and brought his body hard against hers in one manoeuvre. She gasped at the feel of his hardness against her belly.

‘And now, your turn,’ he murmured, crouching down as he removed her thong. She put a hand on his shoulder as she moved her feet from the elastic.

‘Do you know what I’ve been thinking about since that afternoon in my office?’

‘No,’ she squeaked as his hands gripped her thighs, moving them a little wider.

‘You. And all the ways I plan on making you explode.’ His smile was devilish, arrogant, cocky, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

‘I have been thinking about you here...’ He pressed a finger to her sex, and she shivered, her body convulsing at the lightest touch. ‘About touching you here...’ He flicked his fingers over the most sensitive cluster of nerves at her opening and she gasped. ‘And here.’ He pushed a finger inside her wet core and she moaned loudly, the hand she’d curved around his shoulder digging in, her nails scoring his naked flesh without meaning to.

‘I have been thinking about tasting you here,’ he murmured, his eyes lifting to hers, giving her a chance to object, to say something—anything. But she didn’t. She simply stared down at his dark head as he pushed forward and ran his tongue along her seam.

Her body reacted fiercely to the unfamiliar possession, so his hands lifted to her hips to steady her, which helped a little. At first. But, as his exploration grew more intense and pleasure began to overtake her entire body, she couldn’t stop trembling. Wave after wave of pleasure was making her shake. She dug both hands into his shoulders and surrendered to it completely.

Pleasure built and then she was tumbling off the edges of the earth, falling deep into its core where the heat finally matched that within her body. Her eyes sprang open and she stared out at the ocean, the bobbing boats, the ancient moon, the dark sea, and she felt the strangest sense of relief, of pleasure. And, inexplicably, of rightness.

CHAPTER SIX

HE WAS GONE when she woke up—and no wonder. Jemima pushed back the covers, sitting bolt upright in the luxurious king-size bed, jolting her head towards the window. It was bright outside; warm, too.

‘What the heck?’ She turned back to her bedside table and reached for her phone, squinting a little as she read the time. It was almost ten! She hadn’t slept this late since—probably for ever.

Heat suffused her cheeks—was it any wonder she’d gone into a form of narcoleptic stasis? The things they’d done...all night. She moaned softly, memories slicing through her, warming her, and when she pushed to standing her body felt different. Sore, but in the most delicious way.

She luxuriated in a shower then pulled on a bikini and a flowing kaftan that had been a gift from a designer friend. When she moved into the kitchen in search of coffee, she saw a card propped against the machine, almost as if he’d known it would be the first thing she headed for in the morning.

Gone to work.

I’ll be back tonight.

Rest up—you’ll need it.

More heat in her cheeks. She read the card again and again, imbuing his husky accent over the words, and desire flared in her belly. She found a smile had stretched over her lips as she poured her coffee, and it didn’t drop throughout the rest of the morning.

It was a stunning summer’s day. Warm without being unbearable. By mid-afternoon, she was growing impatient to see Cesare. It was ridiculous—they’d made love all night. How could she want him again already?

She grabbed a towel and headed to the pool, determined to work off some of this energy with a swim.


Tags: Clare Connelly Billionaire Romance