Double Dare (20 page)

She nodded, her breasts rising and falling with desire.

He sank down to kiss her cleavage, pushing the material of her top down with his chin. His lips were like steel branding her with his mark. She wanted him to brand her everywhere. He lifted his head and began to rip the top with his hands, tearing the material slowly, revealing her naked skin inch by inch.

The sound seemed to twitch inside her sex. It begged to be opened up to him too. Her body curved up to him on the bed as he took her naked nipples into his mouth in turn. As he sucked it tugged deep inside her and she whispered her need close to his ear.

He leaned back and began to undo the buttons of her trousers. She hummed her approval and wriggled free of the material. He touched her mound, as if testing the fruit for ripeness then reached to the platter and brought a slice of guava to her mouth. She bit into it. Its spongy flesh was ice-cold and she tore it gently from his fingers. She took the next piece of fruit from his hand and offered it to his mouth.

"We could be on a tropical island now...the heat, the flavors, the storm that's coming."

He knew which storm she meant, but he shook his head. "No. We are only borrowing the flavors. The real heat is our own." His voice led a tremor through her body. She was unable to reply. "Anyway, if it were a tropical island I would have to protect your pale skin from the wicked sun." His hands spread a sticky path across her body, her skin sticking eagerly to his fingers. "I would rather take you to a beach in winter. A snow filled beach...where it would be so cold you would need me to keep you warm."

Her eyes closed as his fingers trailed their sticky prints along the insides of her thighs. As her lids lowered she saw Blayne Castle imprinted there. It stood near a windswept cove. In her mind's eye she could see the snow falling.

"I think I know the place," she murmured, as his juicy fingers met the juice that came from within her.

"Will you show it to me?" he asked, his fingers paused.

"Maybe." She smiled at him.

He stared at her, his eyes flashing with passion, with warmth and humor, then reached for another slice of mango and touched it along her pussy lips.

It was cool torture to her and she moaned quietly against the back of her hand. He slid it gently inside her. It was cold and firm against her hot skin. She stirred her hips. She wanted to plunge down onto his hand, but she also wanted to beg for something else. Her whole body throbbed with heat that emanated from a heavy spot within her womb.

"It wouldn't be too cold for you?" He was smiling wickedly at her as he moved the mango inside her.

The cool, fleshy fruit and the tease of his fingers brought about a sense of desperation. The air crackled with the imminent storm. A thunderbolt rumbled in.

"No, not with you there to warm me."

He dropped down to eat the mango from her, the heat of his lips and tongue taking the coolness away and replacing it with a heat and energy equal to her own.

He drew her first climax from her with his mouth, teasing the anxious surface of her sex folds with his tongue and inviting them to enjoy his caresses. He sucked gently at her, taking her juice from her inner sex and offering it to her ripe clitoris with his cupped lips.

She was buoyed up, weightless—strung out by the dynamism and intensity of his touch on her sex. There seemed to be a direct link between him and the thunderous skies over their heads, through the medium of her body. As she lifted, and came, Abby heard the sound of her own voice echoing through the room, like a rain bird in flight above them.

They lay still together for a moment until a flash of lightning began a new moment, a new movement. They shed their remaining clothes and embraced one another as the flashes of electric light captured them in the flow of the elements—the elements outside and those within. They were driven, fuelled by the energy of nature. They climbed over one another, searched deep, reached further. As the skies began to open and the rain started, she rode him, and their naked bodies slid together in frantic movements, sweat-drenched movements. They sought the prize. They offered it to one another.

He rose up and she locked her legs around his hips when she saw the look of intense need in his face. He sat up into her embrace and reached for her breasts, sliding his hands over their hot damp surface, reaching for her throat.

She looked down at him and peeled his damp hair from his face, her hips rocking back and forth. His gaze locked with hers and his hands twined around her neck as she moved against the full shaft of him inside her. The climax was coming close. A trickle of sweat gleamed on the bone of his temple and she reached down to take it with her tongue, arching her body over him. He sank his head into her neck, his arms enclosing her, locking them together. The sounds in his throat were pleasured, pained.

She felt her womb begin to contract and her arms locked over his back as her flesh tightened around his cock.

"Zac," she whispered, "come to me now." Her nails flew across the skin of his back, and he came right at the moment she wanted him to.

* * * *

They stood by the window, looking out at the wet ground. The air smelt fresh, damp.

"Shall I order you a taxi?" Zac asked, stroking her arm gently.

"Yes, thanks." She turned away from him to get dressed before she changed her mind about going home.

He walked to the wardrobe, but Abby went to the chair where she had spied his abandoned clothes earlier, and picked up the shirt he had worn that day. It was white with a tiny black line coiled in barely visible patterns on its surface. She held it up and inhaled his scent on it. She turned to him.

"Can I have this one?"

He nodded, came over, and slipped it around her, buttoning it gently. It was cool and crisp against her skin.

She smoothed it over her breasts. "Now I have you with me whenever I want, even though you will be in Paris."

He opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to think better of it and kissed her instead, before reaching for the phone. After he'd booked a taxi, he folded a piece of paper into her hand. "This is where I'll be staying in Paris. I'll tell them to expect you at the reception." He looked serious. "I want you to join me, but I will understand if you can't." He seemed unwilling to qualify that.

"I'll be there." Her bruised lips reached for him again, pressing their wearied kisses to his. To be without was the only real pain.

He traced the outline of her body slowly with his hands, as if memorizing its shape. "I'll be looking forward to your arrival."

She reached to stroke his face. "Me too."

He dressed and walked her to the taxi. When she got in she wound down the window and he leant on the doorframe.

"Paris?"

She nodded, and touched his lips. "I'll get away as soon as I can...I think I can last until then."

"If you can't, let me know and I'll fly back."

She laughed and blew him a kiss as the car pulled away.

As the taxi drove into the night, she looked at the time. It was one o' clock. In eight and a half hours she would be bidding for her chosen property in the auction. Zac had deepened her desire to win Blayne Castle. Now she wondered if they would ever be there together in the future.

Chapter Nine

Fitzsimmons of Twickenham, one of London's finest property auctioneers, was a fine neoclassical building with double doors that sprang twenty feet high, flanked by twin Corinthian columns.

Zac stood outside, eyeing the building, doubting his own sanity. He knew he shouldn't be there. He just couldn't resist coming along to see if Abby managed to secure the castle. After their encounter last night, he wanted to see the dream realized, to be there with her.

Pushing his shades higher on his nose, he glanced up and down the street in case she was about to pass by. He was pretty sure she'd already be inside to get a good seat for the bidding. It was a one-room auction house with a clear exit. The place had been a chapel at one time. She'd be focused on the bidding, she wouldn't even see him if he stayed at the back of the crowd. He could just observe and leave as soon as he knew.

It was a crazy thing to do. If she spotted him she'd likely find out about the link between them and he wasn't quite ready for that yet, but he couldn't resist. Besides, he wanted to see her again. He shook his head. It was only thirty-six hours until he had her to himself in Paris, if everything went according to plan.

A few stragglers went inside. He glanced through the doorway and noticed they had to stand at the back. Full house. That was good. He knew the layout and he'd have cover. Ironically it was the same auction house where he'd bought the venue he converted into The Hub. He glanced at his watch. The auction would have begun.

Without allowing himself to analyze his state of mind further he darted up the steps, picked up a catalogue at the reception desk and stepped in at the back of the crowd.

The crowd was thick and heavy with anticipation. The auction was well under way and, aside from a quiet murmur here and there, the auctioneer had the crowd's full attention. Zac craned his neck, looking for Abby. After a moment, he caught sight of her in front row on the right-hand side, so he dipped left and skirted the edge of the standing attendees until he had a good view of her.

Fitzsimmons senior was taking the auction. Zac lowered his head. Fitzsimmons and his Mother went back years. Many of her adventures in property had been started here. Flicking open the catalogue, he saw they were only one property away from Blayne Castle.

He wondered how Abby would play it. She looked immaculate, cool and sophisticated in a fitted jade colored dress, her hair hanging over her shoulder in a rope-like plait. She held a clipboard folder in her hand, the catalogue on it. Why did he feel so much pride as he watched, he wondered?

When Fitzsimmons opened the bidding for Blayne, she chose her moment well, waiting for the competition to make themselves known before moving. There were two other interested parties. The first was an agent who relayed everything via his phone to his clients, the second a father and son team who to look like they might be building contractors. The two parties took each other up in small increments.

Abby sat wordlessly, waiting, until the head of the building contractors shook his head and dropped out. The agent looked smug as he reported the news back to his client.

Abby lifted her numbered identification card and made a bid. She'd taken it up in a double step, causing a murmur to run round the hall, but Zac knew from the proposal that she was still within the agreed limit. She was signaling her intent to win. Her glance dipped from Fitzsimmons to her bidding opposition, her demeanor not giving anything away. She was good at this. He couldn't help smiling. He wanted her to get it so badly.

Realizing he'd moved out from the crowd to observe, he shifted position. As he did so, he saw a familiar face standing a few feet away in the crowd. The man was smartly dressed, probably in his fifties, and he was watching the unfolding event just as avidly as he himself was. Zac tried to place him.

At the front of the hall, Fitzsimmons began to push the agent for another bid. Zac glanced back. The agent looked annoyed as he spoke into his phone. He nodded, gave another bid. Fitzsimmons pointed his hammer at Abby for her reaction. The crowd was riveted, their heads moving as if they were at Wimbledon, the bidding being the ball knocked back between Abby and the agent.

Zac glanced back at the man watching from the crowd. He was staring at Abby, a smug, possessive smile on his face. That's when he remembered, he recalled him from the dossier photographs. This was Tom Robertson, Abby's boss. And something about the way he was looking at Abby grated on Zac's nerves. He must have accompanied her. If that was the case, why wasn't he sitting with her?

He heard Fitzsimmons prompting the bid, glanced back. Abby moved, taking the bidding up to the limit that they had agreed. This was it. If the agent put in another bid, she'd lose the property. Fitzsimmons looked back at the agent, who held up his hands and shook his head. She'd won.

Zac gave himself one more second to absorb the pleasure he saw on her face before he turned away to make a hasty exit. As he did, he discovered that Tom Robertson was just ahead of him, making his own quick departure.

Zac's emotional response to the situation was both primal and territorial. He wanted to stop the guy, ask him what he was up to and warn him off, and yet he knew it was he himself who was acting dodgy as hell here. Her boss had a right to be there. He was shocked at his own raw, troubled reaction.