Husband Stay (Husband #2) (15 page)

“Too little, I’ll
bet,” she said, nodding. “And that’s not a problem. I know people who can help
you with that side of things. I trust them with my business interests, so they
won’t screw you over. You won’t have to worry about that if you sign with me.”

“I’m leaning that
way,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “I think I can trust you. And Noah
Steele trusts you, clearly, or he wouldn’t have recommended you.”

Her mouth quirked
at that, a minimalist smile. “So my father’s reputation has nothing to do with
it?”

I
had
done
a bit of background research, so I knew that Tatts wasn’t her real name. Her
father was Marlon Tattersall, the eighties showman who’d brought International
acts to Australia and opened up our country as a musician’s touring
destination. He was revered in the industry, but she hadn’t taken over his
business when he’d retired. She’d set up her own agency, taking Australian
talent to the world instead. She was part of an incredible legacy, and to be
honest, I felt excited to simply be talking to her.

But more than
that, having met her and liked her, and knowing she was right here in Sydney, I
was swayed. Working with her felt a million times easier than having a big US
agent doing everything remotely. And if Rosie’s talent list was anything to go
by, I’d be in great hands.

I’d promised
myself I’d go with my gut, so really, I should just put her out of her misery. But
I couldn’t stop myself thinking there were ramifications I needed to understand.
This was my whole future we were talking about. Surely that warranted
twenty-four hours of serious contemplation.

So I shook her
hand and walked away, intent on going home and making up a
pros and cons
list,
with a side of
deal breakers
to discuss
.
I planned to ring Jill
as well, and get her to help me think this through. But as I exited the
elevator into the lobby of the building, I suddenly remembered Jack and the
forms—
not
something likely to promote clear-headed thought.

But I needed the
money, so I put on my heavy yellow jacket, tugged it down over my cast, and
headed for the taxi rank, wondering which version of Jack I’d be meeting this
time!

The waiter put our
drinks down as Jack said, “I accidentally left the papers in my room...”

Accidentally.

He had a twinkle
in his eye that was so
annoying it set my teeth on edge. But he was also
casually gorgeous lounging back in the booth of the trendy bar that reception
staff had directed me to, after he hadn’t been in the lobby as arranged.

“…so I thought
we’d have a drink first.”

He was wearing a
loose white shirt tucked into jeans and I couldn’t stop staring, as if he was a
dessert I was looking at after a sugar-free diet of…what? Two days? Had it only
been that long since our incredible sexual encounter?

Fritha had texted
me on the way to the hotel, asking me if I’d slept with Jack again, and I was
determined to prove to her that I wasn’t some trembling flower mesmerized by
the first man to give me an orgasm.

Although that
appeared to be true.

I straightened my
shoulders on my side of the booth and said primly, “I’m on a schedule. I’m
afraid I don’t have time—”

“You’re lying. I
can always tell.”

I took a nervous
sip of wine, wondering if he could. Watching someone’s sexual reactions might tell
you a lot about them.

Too much.

He shifted his
whisky on the table between us and I couldn’t help noticing how long his
fingers were. In fact, for some reason I became fixated on them—and what they
could do. The next thing I knew, my breasts were tingling and, as if he could
read my mind, he glanced down and smiled. “Your nipples are up.”

I spilt my
chardonnay in my rush to look down at the top of my yellow chiffon dress, and
damn him, he was right. I should have left my jacket on, but it had been so hot
in the taxi, and then I’d been flustered when I couldn’t find him in the lobby.
I put the drink down and shook my fingers off. “It’s cold in here,” I lied.

“Right. You want
me to lick those fingers?”

I stopped fussing
and stared across at him, feeling the throb of arousal start low in my body. It
wasn’t cold at all. In fact, if it was any hotter my cheeks would ignite.

“Thank you, no,” I
managed to say. The dimly lit bar was not well patronized, so for a second it
felt like we were alone in a world of plush brown leather, unobtrusive jazz and
the erotic scent of liqueurs drifting over from the bar. Unfortunately,
that
made me think about sex on the table.

Something must
have shown in my eyes because he said, “If you keep looking at me like that,
I’ll think you’re lying again,
Angel Baby
.”

I swallowed
thickly and said, “Pardon?” He’d made it worse by calling me Angel Baby. No one
had ever called me
Baby
, and as far as endearments went, that one seemed
unutterably sexy, particularly when it rolled off his delicious tongue in that
familiar western drawl.

But before I could
regroup, he leant closer and said, “You’re looking at me as if licking is very
much on your mind. Am I right?”

Lie, Angela.
Flat-out lie.

I seemed to have
lost my verbal skills, so I shook my head.

He just grinned,
as if I’d confirmed something that amused him. “Fight it all you like,” he
said, leaning back on the lounge and draping an arm along its back. “Your eyes tell
me what you’re really thinking.” He took another sip of his neat whisky and
licked his lips. Deliberately, I was sure.

I forced myself to
glance away, focusing on my drink which I determined to finish quickly so we
could move on to the paperwork. Because otherwise I might do something
incredibly stupid, like say what was on my mind.
Yes, Jack, you’re right.
All I’ve been thinking about since I saw you is the smell of your body, the
taste of your lips and the mind-blowing orgasms you gave me with your clever
fingers and your wicked tongue.

Even in my dreams
he was smiling that cocky smile, telling me he knew more about my body than I
did, and making me come again and again. And when my mind drifted, I’d remember
how it had felt when he’d lain above me, his fingers thrust into my hair,
gripping my scalp as he kissed me and plunged into me again and again.

I wasn’t sure why
I would fantasize about his orgasm rather than mine, but I could tell it was
dangerous, because in that moment of his vulnerability, I’d felt tenderly
toward him, and replaying that over and over in my mind had reinforced the idea
that underneath his sexual bravado was a genuine human being. But was that
true?

For all I knew, he
was a man-whore who didn’t have the emotional capacity for a serious
relationship. I knew some women found that idea sexy, but I had enough
self-respect to not want to be a notch on some stud’s bedpost.

Of course, I could
be completely wrong about that. He might have had a long-term girlfriend who’d taught
him his way around a woman’s body. They might have recently broken up.

Or he might
still be in a relationship.

I felt my pulse
slow as I considered that option. It was sick-making, but I hadn’t asked if he
was single. I’d just commented on him being
experienced
and he’d said,
We’re
not going there.
For all I knew, he could be married, as Danny had been
when he’d been sleeping around.

It was a shocking
thought, and I couldn’t help saying, “Are you…married?”

He raised an
eyebrow. “Do you mean, married like you are? Waiting for your twelve months to
be up so you can get a divorce?”

“No.” I blushed to
the roots of my hair, hoping Sister Carmel never heard about this. I considered
myself single. I hadn’t seen Danny in six months and there was no way I was
reconciling with him. So in my mind it was okay to have sex, despite Jack’s
teasing. “Separated is almost single. I’m asking you if you have a wife at
home?”

He shook his head,
and I felt my breath ease out as my shoulders relaxed. I’d really got myself wound
up about that. But he was looking at me thoughtfully now, his beautiful brown
eyes narrowed.

“The only reason
you’d ask me that is because you’re thinking of having sex with me again.”

“No.” I was such a
compulsive liar around him. How had that happened? “I just…was worried about
we’ve already done.” I could feel myself blushing as his eyes narrowed further.
“If you were married, that would mean I’d—”

“No.” There was no
sign of humor in him now. “You wouldn’t be in the wrong. You would have been innocent,
like the women your husband tricked into having sex with him.”

Abruptly the heat
left my cheeks. “My marriage is none of your business.”

He shrugged. “Then
how is my marital status your business?”

I stared at him
for several seconds, convinced that his argument was wrong, but not able to
sort through the logic of how. When I was around him, it was
so
hard to
concentrate. I settled on saying, “We’re both single. That’s the main thing.”

He leant back in
the booth again and tilted his head, watching me closely. “Is it? The main
thing?”

I shook my head. Was
it a trick question? “What else—”

“Because, for a
while there, it looked like you were falling for me.”

“Falling…?” I
managed to say, blinking at him in astonishment.

“I was surprised,
I have to admit,” he went on blithely, “Because we hardly know each other,
but…” He shrugged. “The way you were looking at me after those orgasms. It
wasn’t just sex.”

I was actually too
shocked to be outraged, so it was probably safer to stick with facts. “You’re
right. It wasn’t just sex. It was sex with orgasms.
That
was new to me.”

“So you’re not in
love with me.”

I wanted to laugh
out loud, but I was still too stunned by his assumptions. “No. I’m quite sure
I’m
not
in love with you.”

“Then it is just
sex?”

“It
was
,” I
corrected.

“So…not leading
anywhere.” He leant across the table and placed a large, warm hand over mine,
turning it over so his fingers could stroke my inner wrist. “Nothing of the
heart. Just hot…throbbing…satisfying…toe-curling sex. No strings attached.”

My mouth had gone
dry, and those warm fingers stroking the sensitive skin inside my wrist was
undoing me. If I’d been standing up, my knees would have wobbled.

“You sure that’s
all it was?” he asked quietly, staring deep into my eyes.

It was a struggle
to speak, but I managed to say, “A one-night stand—”

“It won’t be…if we
do it again.”

The words hung
between us like a dare, and suddenly the dim lighting, the warmth of his
fingers and the mellow scent of whisky conspired to intoxicate me. I heard my own
internal voice saying,
He’s right. If you do it again, you won’t be a
super-slut. It will be dating—kind of—and that’s far less promiscuous than a
one-night stand
.

“Shall we?” His
molten gaze continued to mesmerize me.

I swallowed
thickly and shook my head. “I think I should leave.”

“At least sign the
papers,” he said persuasively, but I shook my head again. I seriously needed to
get out of his proximity.

He smiled a tiny
defeated smile. “Okay. But you can’t blame me for trying.”

“Can’t I?” Sweet
Shiva, I sounded so breathless.

“You might have
had three orgasms, Angel, but I had the best sex of my life.”

I blinked in
surprise and he nodded to confirm his statement.

“But…I’m not
experienced.”

He shrugged. “What
can I say? You’re my kind of sexy. Those warm curves and that succulent mouth, your
mass of shiny hair sliding over me. I’m completely ruined. I can’t think of
anything beyond making you howl.”

Okay. Now I
couldn’t breathe at all.

“So…” he drawled, “Why
don’t we go up to my room, sign the papers, and then see how you feel
about…sex.” He eased out of the booth and stood with his hand out. “Angel?”

I nodded. Although,
what I was agreeing to was anyone’s guess. But I didn’t feel scared. I
instinctively knew that
No
would stop him at any point.

I just wasn’t sure
what would stop me.

I slid out of the
booth, took his hand and let him lead me on shaky legs to the elevator where we
stood in silence, him still holding my hand. When we reached his floor, he led
me down the quiet nondescript corridors to his room—which turned out to be a
suite.

The beige walls
and olive lounges led to big picture windows that framed the Sydney Opera House
with its iconic white sails against a dazzling blue harbor. I had no concept of
hotel prices, but I was sure this suite had to be worth a thousand a night, at
least.

No wonder he could
care less about claims on his insurance.

Before I could
start feeling sorry for my current financial position, however, I realized that
this was exactly the sort of accommodation Rosie would want me in if I was
successful. Could I ever feel comfortable in this level of luxury?

“Just two
signatures, and your bank account details at the bottom, for the deposit.” He
pointed to the table and I dragged my attention away from the huge king-sized
bed I could see in the next room. It was neatly made up, but I knew it wouldn’t
take much to muss it.

A hot blush swept
over me as I turned back to the table and fumbled for the pen. “Where?”

He pointed, but my
brain was so scrambled, after the first signature I had to ask him again where
the second was to go before I could scribble my name again. Luckily I knew my
bank account details off by heart, but it took more embarrassing moments to
find where to enter them and my hand was shaking so much the digits were
wobbly.

“There.” I put
down the pen and looked up into his eyes, belatedly realizing that he was very
still and I was all jerky nervous energy. “It’s done,” I added, quite
unnecessarily.

“That part is
done.” He continued to watch me, not moving a muscle, letting his deep,
rumbling voice carry the innuendo, without any need for glancing at the bed. We
both knew it was close. And convenient.

I forced myself to
hold his gaze, to say nothing, because I was afraid I might babble. The room
felt suddenly too warm, yet my nipples were pressing against my bra, as if a
chill had peaked them.

“Angela…”

I swallowed,
wondering why I wasn’t just walking out. I wanted to go, didn’t I? There were
very good reasons I didn’t want to step into his personal space and thread the
fingers of my good hand into his hair and pull him down for a kiss that I knew
would end in an orgasm that would rock my world.

“…you have to say
Yes
please
or I stay where I am.”

Sweet mother of
Shakti. Tear my panties off!

He made no move to
comply, and I suddenly realized I’d only thought that. I hadn’t said it aloud.
So there was still time. I could—

“Jack.” I sucked
in an uneven breath. “I want…what you do.”

“I know.”

He stepped in and
pulled me hard up against his chest as his lips found mine, so smoothly, so
hotly, that I couldn’t even gasp. One of his arms held me locked against him
while he dizzied me with the sort of kiss that says
I’m going to fuck you
when I’ve made myself crazy with lust.
But it was me who was crazy.

I could feel his
other hand sliding into my hair to tilt my head so he could deepen the kiss,
then his fingers were brushing down my throat to the side of my breast and gliding
down to close over my ass and pull me even harder against him. Everywhere we
touched, I was alive with sensation, pulsing with hunger to feel more, harder,
faster.

When he pulled
away from my mouth to start kissing down my neck, I thought I would melt, and
it was only when he pushed me gently against the wall that I stopped wobbling.