The barriers of their clothing didn’t disguise the need he felt for her. She writhed beneath him, and her body shuddered as his tongue lashed her mouth. He was angry. Furious. His kiss was heavy with those emotions, and his hands, as they moved over her body, were seeking. He was not Prince Charming. He was the evil fucking step brother. His part in her story was pure villain. There was no sense pretending anything else.
He pushed at her shirt, lifting it over her head and throwing it to the floor. Her bra was simple white cotton. He didn’t dare keep his mouth from hers, in case she changed her mind. Reality was always at the edge, and it would ruin everything. Now, when he kissed her, he was able to push aside the flimsy material and feel her naked breasts. They were larger than he’d thought they would be – a pleasing handful. Her legs wrapped around him of their own free will, and Hendrix moved his arousal, simulating the movements he wanted to be making. The way he wanted to be moving inside of her.
“Hendrix,” she cried, digging her nails into his back as her whole frame began to shake with sensation. “I’m … what are we …” she cried out as an orgasm began to tingle, right down in her toes.
His laugh was the only answer she was to receive. He moved his stubbled chin down her body, delighting as she responded to the tactile contact. He took one of her nipples in his mouth and continued to move his hips against her. When her arms came around his neck, he grabbed them easily in one hand and pinned them above her head. She was his prisoner, and more than that, she was his.
He knew, as he tormented her breasts with a mix of intense pleasure and teasing pain, that she had never felt this level of arousal before. It was all for him. And piece by piece, he was going to erase that bastard William Ansell-Johns from her memory and her life. He was going to take the woman William had loved, and he was going to own her completely.
That bastard didn’t deserve a woman like Chloe.
And Hendrix was relishing the prospect of showing him that.
CHAPTER FOUR
Manhattan was a city that never slept. Despite the lateness of the hour, as his car cut through the labyrinth of downtown roads, the vista beyond his window was alive with neon activity. It passed him by in a colourful blur. His reflection stared back at him, his black eyes piercing him with angry reproach.
Chloe Ansell-Johns was not the experienced society wife one might have anticipated. She hadn’t married William for his claim to the family fortune, and she hadn’t married him for what he could give her.
She’d married him because she’d believed herself to have been swept off her feet. She had believed his lies, and she had loved him.
Her soft admissions that evening had infuriated him. She had practically laid down and begged William to stomp all over her. And he had. He’d
treated her appallingly, and he’d been free to hurt God knew how many other women because his wife turned a devotedly blind eye.
Would his sister have become involved with William, if Chloe had taken more of an interest in her husband’s extra-marital behaviours?
He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the insinuation that Chloe was in some way to blame for Eleanor’s death. Whatever else he knew about the situation, that Chloe was as much a victim as Eleanor had been was obvious.
Those black eyes pinned him with darts of guilt. She was a victim, and yet he’d punished her. His body reacted as he remembered the way she’d moved beneath him. Despite the fact she’d been married and borne a daughter, the fact that her body had never been properly explored and aroused was obvious. She had moved in his arms as a virgin might. She had been terrified by the strength of her feelings, and he had used his experience to drive her to new levels of pleasure.
The only saving grace was that he’d stopped short of having sex with her. He had wanted to. Of course he had. And not just to throw it in William’s face. But instinctively, he bucked against the idea of sleeping with her under those circumstances.
Instead, he’d brought an end to their exploration of one another, and he’d left.
His stomach rolled.
Guilt was not a familiar emotion to Hendrix Forrester. He was assured of his rightness in most matters. But not now. Not this.
He made a sound of frustration and lifted his phone from his pocket.
What could he say to her?
He closed his eyes and remembered Chloe, as she’d been that first day he’d met her. Uncertain, pretty, and anxious. Was he really prepared to use her to avenge his sister?
Of course he was. Chloe would become collateral damage in his quest for vengeance, and he didn’t relish that prospect. But his thirst suddenly to deliver a blow against the man who had got away with killing his sister overpowered any other consideration.
He ran his finger over the screen of his phone and thought of their parting words.
“I didn’t come here for that,” he’d said, stroking her hair gently, as though that made up for the fact that he’d tormented her with the pleasure her body could produce.
She’d fiddled with the ends of her hair, and those enormous blue eyes of hers had collided with his. Her smile had been the last word in valiant disguise. “I know.” She’d swallowed, and then forced an even brighter smile. Her slender shoulders had shrugged. Her bra strap was visible because she’d buttoned her shirt so hastily. “These things happen.”
He’d leaned against the door of her apartment, and made a show of seeming relaxed. “I like you, Chloe. I’d like to see you again.”
“You’re my lawyer, remember,” she’d said with a genuine grin warming her face.
“Separate to that,” he’d refused to be drawn off point. “I mean, I want to see you.”