Damn. He wanted Fletcher gone. He wanted this farce of a wedding to be proved the lie it was. But once it was, once Fletcher had his money, she’d be gone too, eager for her cut.
And by now Jo would already have made him an offer. Fletcher might already have said yes and be on his way back to collect it, setting Monica free.
He wanted Monica free.
But then Sophie would leave.
He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. There was only one way to find out. He slid the phone open and clicked through to ‘messages’.
It was from Jo.
With a tight gut he clicked it open, read the words—Fletcher said no—and released a lungful of air he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
He slid the phone shut and turned back to the shadowed view of diamond-crusted velvet sea and the clusters of lights along the coast. Jo would be waiting for his instruction to up the offer, but for the moment Jo could wait. Which meant that, for the moment, Sophie was his to enjoy.
Besides, she seemed to enjoy making her wedding plans—in fact, she’d seemed so full of it tonight that anyone would think she believed it was real.
Who was he to deprive her of her fun?
‘Daniel?’ She was standing half-behind the sliding door, wearing only the moonlight and a tumble of golden hair. Instantly he stirred to life. ‘Is something wrong?’
He held out a hand to her. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ And sheepishly, like a shy virgin instead of a woman with the body and responsiveness of a goddess, she moved silently to join him, the sway of her breasts like a call to action.
She took his hand and allowed herself to be drawn into the circle of his arms at the railing. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked as he nuzzled her neck from behind, breathing in woman spiced with the heady scent of their love-making; his hands traversed from breast to thigh in one delicious, sensual exploration that had her arching her back on a sigh.
Was there anything she could do?
Oh, sweet Jesus, yes.
She moaned as he parted her, sliding his fingers between her slick folds while he patted his pockets with his other hand; he wanted to howl at the moon when he found what he needed. ‘Maybe there is something,’ he groaned as he ripped open the packet with his teeth. He dropped his shorts and kicked them away as he donned protection, thankful when he had two hands free again to stroke her, two hands to both give and find pleasure.
‘Daniel!’ she cried, already panting, her nipples tight and hard between his fingers. The curve of her behind fitted his hand perfectly as he soothed her legs apart, entering her in one delicious thrust that had them both gasping.
The lights of the coastal towns winked on the distant shore, the sea glittered where kissed by the moon, and the warm breeze carried the perfume of a thousand exotic flowers. When they came, the lights, sea and moon stayed the same, but the warm, perfumed breeze carried with it the cry of both their names.
CHAPTER TEN
‘NO RUSH,’ Daniel said from behind his office desk. ‘Let him sweat a little. We don’t have to look too eager.’
Jo squirmed noticeably in his chair. ‘I thought you were in a hurry.’
Daniel picked up a paperweight from his desk, testing its weight in his hands, thinking abstractly that Sophie’s breasts must weigh about the same—only they filled his hands so much more satisfactorily.
‘You were in a hurry, you said.’
‘I hear patience is a virtue.’
Jo wiped his brow with a handkerchief. ‘I think you should make him another offer. Ramp up the pressure. It’s obviously what he’s waiting for.’
‘And I think you should listen when I say I’m happy to sit tight.’
‘So you’re not worried about your sister—with him—any more, then? After what happened to that other girl?’
Daniel dropped the paperweight back on the desk, swivelling his chair around to directly face the big man down. ‘That other girl’s name was Emma.’
‘Yeah. Her. You wouldn’t want the same thing to happen to Monica.’
Daniel was caught between a bloodlust for retribution for what had happened so many years ago, and an anger for what he stood to lose now. Who did Jo think he was, telling Daniel what was important?
But Monica was his sister.
And if anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.
Whereas Sophie was a passing lust—entertaining; sexually satisfying; mind-blowing, even. But ultimately disposable.
They all were.
Unlike Monica. What right did he have to indulge his own primal urges before ensuring the safety of his own sister? ‘All right,’ he said through gritted teeth, seeing the sense in Jo’s argument, glad he had someone who knew enough history to keep him honest. ‘Double the offer. Make it two million.’