Her Best Worst Mistake (11 page)

And now she was sitting opposite him. Or she would be
when she returned from the bathroom in that clingy, flowing yellow
dress that cupped her breasts and ass like an embrace.

God help him.

He shifted in his seat, surreptitiously trying to
adjust himself. How long could a man stay hard? An hour? Two? At
what point did desire simply burn itself out?

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he
knew Violet had returned to the dining room. The urge to turn and
watch her walk toward her seat was so strong he clenched his hands
around his cutlery. He wasn’t going to ogle her like some desperate
teen lothario. He was going to retain some semblance of dignity,
even if the lower half of his body had given up the battle long
ago.

Still, he was aware of the soft swish of her skirt as
she entered. She had to pass him to round the end of the table and
reach her own seat. He inhaled, searching for a hint of her
perfume. He could still remember the faint trace he’d licked from
her skin that night...

“
Here. You’ve dropped your napkin,”
her voice said behind him.

His hand automatically went to his lap, searching for
the square of starched linen that had hidden many sins for the past
half hour, even as he half turned toward Violet. His fingers
encounter stiff fabric in his lap—his napkin, not lost at all—as
Violet bent down and lifted something from the floor. Before he had
a chance to register what she was doing, she leaned close. He
expected her to hand over an errant napkin that someone else had
clearly misplaced, but instead he felt her hand slip into the
pocket of his suit jacket.

A split second and the encounter was over, the whole
maneuver so casual, so subtle that he was almost certain that no
one at the table understood what had just happened.

“
Thanks,” he said as she moved away,
his voice sounding surprisingly normal.

His gaze followed her as she rounded the table and
sat opposite him again, but every cell in his being was focussed on
what she’d slipped into his pocket.

A note?

Her number?

He was desperate to find out, but also aware that he
would give the game away if he suddenly started patting his pockets
down.

So he waited. He watched as Violet settled back into
her seat, exclaiming over how prettily presented their meal was,
making a comment to Bronwyn about how much she loved asparagus.
Conversation swirled around him as he watched her, waiting for her
to lift her gaze to his.

Finally, after a torturous few minutes, she glanced
across the table. Her amber eyes were dramatically smokey with
eyeshadow, her lashes long and dark. The glint in their depths was
pure provocation. His cock surged between his legs and he
understood that she’d read his need when she’d caught him watching
her leave the room.

Eyes still locked with hers, he slid his hand into
his pocket.

Silky fabric caressed his fingers. His heart
stuttered in his chest.

Dear God, she’d slipped her underwear into his
pocket.

His hand clenched around whisper-soft silk and lace.
He forgot to breathe for a minute as the implications of his
discovery rippled through him. If he had her underwear, it meant
she was naked beneath her flowing yellow dress. Right now, right
this minute, sitting not four feet away from him.

He didn’t think it was possible for him to get any
harder, but he did. He shifted in his seat again, sweat breaking
out on his brow.

This was torture, pure torture—and he’d never been
more turned on in his life. He loosened his grip on her underwear,
rubbing the soft fabric between thumb and forefinger, eyes still
locked with hers. He felt a trace of dampness and swallowed a
groan. The need to lift his hand to his face and inhale her scent
was primal, almost undeniable.

He cleared his throat and drew his hand free. Across
the table, Violet’s gaze dropped demurely to her plate. Somehow, he
managed to regain control of his thundering heart. Breathing out
slowly through his nose, he lifted his glass and took another
mouthful of wine and began to plan his exit strategy.

Over the next hour and a half, he and Violet played a
secretive game of hot glances and subtle gestures. She fingered the
stem of her wine glass, then touched the neckline of her dress. He
slid his hand into his pocket and felt the silk of her underwear
and wouldn’t let her look away. She sucked on the tip of an
asparagus spear. He licked cream off a bright red raspberry.

Finally the dessert plates had been removed and
coffees offered. Martin took advantage of the general hubbub to
slip away from the table. Fortunately his jacket covered the
evidence of his arousal, but he took the precaution of collecting
his overcoat from the master bedroom before heading back into the
dining room to take his leave.

“
You’re not going already!” Bronwyn
exclaimed when she saw him in his coat.

“
I’m heading North first thing
tomorrow. Early start,” Martin lied.

As excuses went, it was pretty thin, but Bronwyn’s
cheeks were rosy from drink and she wasn’t about to cross-examine
him.

“
I’ll walk you to the door,” Perry
said, rising from the table.

Out of the corner of his eye, Martin saw Violet push
back her chair as he and Perry exited the room. He struggled to
concentrate on what his friend was saying as they parted ways at
the door—something about playing squash soon, maybe catching up for
a drink if Martin wanted to talk. It wasn’t until he’d exited the
building that Martin understood that Perry had been referring
oh-so-politely and obliquely to Elizabeth and their broken
engagement.

In his own reserved, very proper way, Perry was
letting him know that if he needed to download, he was there.
Decent of him, but Martin had precious little to say about
Elizabeth. In the month since she’d called off the wedding, he’d
been surprised by how little she’d been in his thoughts. There had
been a certain embarrassment around the initial announcement, some
annoyance regarding cancellations and whatnot and there was a new
restraint between him and Edward, but he hadn’t been lying awake at
night, brooding over the wrongs done to him or how much he missed
Elizabeth.

The only woman he’d been brooding over was Violet—if
one could call ferocious fantasizing and self-gratification
brooding. He was more inclined to see it as a compulsive obsession.
One he’d been sure he would never satisfy—until Violet had slipped
her panties into his pocket.

The door opened behind him and he turned to watch as
Violet stepped out into the street. Now that they were alone, her
gaze was more skittish, less bold as it met his. As though she
wasn’t quite sure what the next step was now that they were no
longer playing a game.

He knew. God, did he know.

“
My car’s this way,” he said,
gesturing with his head.

He didn’t dare take her arm or touch her. He didn’t
trust himself. As it was, he was going to be pushing it to walk
half a block beside her without shoving her against the nearest
flat surface and taking her.

Her heels clicked on the pavement as they walked side
by side. Her hands were deep in her pockets, her chin tucked into
the collar of her coat. Her dark red hair swung down her back.

He wanted her so badly he ached.

He’d parked in the mews behind Bron and Perry’s
place, a secluded, dark space. The flash of his car lights as he
unlocked his car remotely was almost blinding.

He glanced across at Violet, about to ask if she
preferred her place or his, but she was already pushing the top
button of her coat free. Without saying a word, she slid it off her
shoulders, then opened the rear door of the Jag and stepped
inside.

Jesus. She was so fucking hot.

He yanked his own coat free, tossing it onto the car
floor, then followed it with his suit jacket. Then and only then
did he follow her inside.

Her perfume enveloped him as he reached for her. His
hands smoothed over soft fabric before finding the warmth of her
skin. She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him hungrily,
greedily.

She tasted so good. Like sin. Like every dirty
thought he’d ever had.

He pushed her onto her back, covering her body with
his, one hand already reaching beneath the hem of her skirt. His
hand slid up smooth, soft thigh and into liquid heat. Violet gave a
small, strangled sob as he traced the line of her sex, fingers
slick with her need. Her clit was a small, hard pearl when he found
it, and she trembled when he teased her with his thumb. He was
desperate to be inside her, but there was something about Violet’s
thready breathing and the way she clung to him and her needful,
deep kisses that made him want to draw this out.

He wanted her to beg for him. He wanted her to pant
and ache. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her. He
wanted to make up for all the times she’d tormented him in his
fantasies.

He slipped a finger inside her, his thumb still
teasing her clit. She lifted her hips, urging him on. He cupped her
breast with his free hand, sliding it inside the bodice of her
dress to find her nipple. She gripped his ass, pulling his hips
closer to hers.

He slid another finger inside her and started up a
steady, slippery rhythm. She dropped her head back and started to
pant.

“
Martin... Please... I need
you.”

Her voice was ragged, helpless. He knew what she
wanted, but he’d been thinking about this for weeks. He kept
circling her clit, fingers slick with her juices, until he felt her
tighten around him. Her breathing hitched, her back arched. He
kissed her as she shuddered into climax, breathing in her desire.
The second she was done, he reached for his belt.

“
Dear God, yes,” she whispered as he
undid his fly.

It took him seconds to slide on a condom, then he
took himself in hand and used the head of his cock to tease her
some more. She moaned and lifted her hips, desperate for him to
penetrate her. He strung it out as long as he could before plunging
inside her.

So hot and tight and wet. So damn good.

Any plans he had to draw it out further went out the
window. Suddenly there was only her and him and the demanding ache
in his cock. He stroked into her, setting up a punishing rhythm.
She sobbed her approval and locked her ankles behind his back,
meeting every thrust with one of her own.

She slipped her hands inside his suit pants to find
his ass, nails digging in, urging him to go faster, harder. He felt
his climax rising inside him. He buried himself deep and let it
take him, his face pressed into the fragrant, soft skin of her
neck.

As he came back down to earth, he felt Violet’s hand
slip between their bodies to where they were will still joined,
felt the fierce, quick movement of her hand as she touched
herself.

“
Don’t move. Please, don’t move,”
she pleaded.

Seconds later she was coming a second time, her body
convulsing around his.

Then and only then did he become aware of how cramped
the back of his car was, of how his shoulder was jammed against the
front seat, his neck bent awkwardly, his knee in danger of slipping
off the seat cushion. Their combined breathing sounded loud in the
small space, and when he glanced up he saw the windows were fogged.
He withdrew from her, wrapping the condom in his handkerchief
before easing away enough to zip his pants. Violet lay very still,
her eyes glinting as she watched him. He shifted from between her
legs and she sat up and pulled her skirt down.

“
Violet—”

“
Don’t. I don’t want to hear how
sorry you are.”

“
That’s not what I was going to
say.”

She seemed surprised, her gaze darting away from
his.

“
What were you going to say,
then?”

“
I was going to thank you,” he said.
“Then I was going to tell you how fucking sexy you are.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

He’d shocked her. It made him wonder what she was
used to hearing from men after they’d lost themselves inside her.
Apologies? Excuses? Insults?

Then it occurred to him that she’d probably counted
him amongst those men after their last encounter. For the first
time he felt a dart of shame over the way he’d slipped silently
from her apartment that night. He’d waited the barest five minutes
before telling himself she wanted him to go. Then he’d made his
escape and indulged in a round of self-indulgent navel gazing. Even
when he’d sent her flowers the next day, his actions had been
guided more by expectation and a need to civilize what had happened
between them than any thought of her or her feelings.

She was frowning, a small crease between her brows.
After a long beat she reached for the door handle and got out of
the car. He grabbed her coat from the seat before following her,
holding it for her as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

“
I’ll drive you home,” he said,
opening the front passenger door.

Violet took a step backward. “No, thank you.”

It was his turn to frown.

“
We both know what will happen if
you take me home,” she said.

He didn’t bother denying it. He was already hard
again at the prospect of round two.

“
Is that a problem?”

“
Yes, it is. Elizabeth’s my
friend.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Elizabeth
had been her friend five minutes ago, when he’d been deep inside
her, but he controlled the impulse. He wasn’t about to beg. And she
was right—she had far more to lose in this situation than him. He
could excuse her to himself as a fling, an indulgence he’d allowed
himself in the aftermath of his broken engagement. She had no such
excuse for sleeping with him.