The Morning After the Night Before: Love & Lust in the city that never sleeps! (13 page)

Like nothing else she'd ever known.

‘Enjoying the champagne, Iz?' he murmured and she blinked back to the present. ‘Your pupils have doubled in size.'

‘Um…it's lovely.'

‘And you were thinking about that night at the party.'

‘No.'
Ugh, way too fervent.
‘I was…admiring the view.'

‘London from above generally arouses you, does it? You wouldn't want to spend a lot of time on The Eye, then. Could get quite messy.'

‘I'm not aroused.'

‘You're standing here in my living room hot as hell. From just one sip of champagne.'

‘Yeah,' she snorted, ‘because I'm that easy.'

The tips of his white teeth peeked out of his cocky grin. ‘Told you we had chemistry.'

‘Hate to disappoint, but I'm not a slave to biology.'

‘Then why are you panting?'

Outrage tossed her some much-needed focus. ‘I'm not
panting
—'

‘Please. Your breasts are heaving like some silent-movie heroine.'

Something about that word on those lips. It immediately reminded her exactly how well his mouth knew her breasts.

‘Fine. Whatever. We have chemistry.'

His irises glittered as intense and vivid as the only tropical holiday she'd ever taken. With her first paid leave. ‘Once wasn't enough, was it?'

‘Once was plenty. We have a professional relationship now.' More was the pity.

‘You don't think two people can have sex and remain professional?'

Ah…no!
‘The two seem mutually exclusive.'

‘Maybe you've just never done it successfully.'

Maybe she'd just never done it at all. But she'd heard plenty of stories from friends about disastrous workplace flings. That made her an expert once removed. ‘Harry Mitchell, are you admitting to serially sleeping with your staff?'

‘You'd like that, wouldn't you, because it would lessen the impact of this thing bubbling between you and I? Make it less notable.'

Nope. Not going there.

‘The only chemical reaction between you
and I is the one happening in this glass.' The words tumbled off her flustered lips. Dangerous words, practically a dare, but better than them doing what they wanted to be doing right now. What she could see in Harry's eyes. What she could feel in her body.

‘You think?' He stepped closer, closing the distance between them to just inches, and she tipped her head back to keep her eyes on his predatory smile. He plucked the offending glass from her nerveless fingers and placed it with his own on a side table. ‘Your blood's not boiling with pheromones right now?'

‘Actually, I think pheromones come from your skin…' she whispered. But right now she'd nod and smile if someone told her they came from outer space.

‘Thanks for the biology lecture.' He smiled, close and dangerous. ‘Shall we find out?'

‘Um…'

Without waiting for permission, he lifted her wrist and lowered his lips within millimetres of it, but he didn't touch them there. He breathed in heavily—inhaling her—pausing at the inside of her elbow, her shoulder, using her arm as a tether, bringing them closer, his hazy blue eyes on hers the whole time. His torso brushed up
along her extended arm, effectively bypassing her first layer of defence, and pressed up against her body, warm and hard. His focus shifted to her throat. It should have released her, being free of that captivating gaze, but, by then, the heat of Harry's breath had taken over sentry duty, holding her captive.

‘I'm not convinced,' he murmured somewhere near her ear. ‘Could just be your perfume.'

So he set about exploring other parts of her skin, nuzzling her neck, the pulse point under her jaw, nosing up beneath the silken sheath of her hair at her temple.

Liquid fire burned through her whole body but she resisted it, standing as still as her near-trembling legs would allow. His big hands branched through her hair, cupping her head, tilting it.

But still he didn't kiss her.

Tease.

‘Must be pheromones,' he whispered. ‘I can't think of anything else right now except you and that sofa.'

She spoke through the sensuous haze. ‘There's a sofa here?'

His chuckle was pure gasoline on an open
fire. ‘A very comfortable one. Bigger than your single bed.'

‘I'm not having sex with you,' she battled, but they were the most half-hearted words she'd ever uttered.

‘No?' Cobalt found her, direct and hard. ‘Mind if I do?'

With that, he swept her up into his arms and had her halfway to the sofa before she could suck in more than a breath. Then gravity took them both down onto it—rather abruptly—and that single breath came back out as a gasp.

‘Sorry,' he pressed against her lips just before sealing them with his. ‘Over eager.'

They were the kisses from the party again but better. Hotter. Heavier. Because they weren't first kisses between them anymore. Because they had each other's measure now. Because they had weeks of built-up tension behind them. All that chemistry he'd been banging on about swirled up and around them in a heavy, seductive eddy, stealing her breath and sapping her strength.

And because he'd admitted to being excited about it. It did all kinds of squishy things inside her to hear him letting himself be vulnerable with her.

His mouth consumed. His hands owned. His tongue branded. The very weight of him on her was intoxicating.

Izzy writhed beneath him and it only made things hotter—harder—and her twisted dress crept further and further up her legs. His talented fingers were only too happy to help keep it moving.

But when he abandoned her lips to forage down her throat, her chest, over her fabric-covered belly, it roused her enough to curl her fists in his hair and tug him to a halt.

He lifted his gaze to her, and it burned live fire.

‘You said no sex,' he slurred. ‘I'm just improvising.'

She squeezed words out between gasps. ‘I think that counts.'

‘Semantics.'

And then he was gone again, busying himself with tucking her dress up around her hips, with shimmying free her underwear. She toed them down to dangle off one shoeless ankle, thinking vaguely about protesting. Thinking vaguely about twisting free, tumbling to the carpeted floor and hopping on one foot until she was far enough away from him to think more clearly.

But then that mouth got working again and she found herself incapable of thinking about anything other than how it felt to have him working so hard to pleasure her. About how the only other men she'd been with always stopped right about…now. How they assumed this was just a warm-up act.

And how unfair that always was.

But Harry didn't stop. He only got more focused. More intense. And her body mirrored his effort, cranking up and up as he worked so hard against her. Inside her.

‘Oh, God…'

At least that was what she would have said if it hadn't come out such a gurgle. The cords of pleasure drew together, tighter and tighter, deep within her, responding to his touch and to the rasp of his goatee on her most sensitive skin. The novelty and sheer naughtiness of doing this right next to a glass wall, no matter how far above London, did their trick. Someone stargazing across the river on Millbank could be watching them through a telescope right now. It was even more risky and forbidden than their single liaison at her party.

Intoxicatingly forbidden.

Maybe she really had found her courage.

Harry resettled her thighs over his shoulders and her gurgle turned to whimpers, which turned to gasps and finally an agonistic groan as she couldn't stand another moment of his torment, no matter how proficient.

He rode her violent bucks and managed to keep his skull from being crushed between her seizing thighs.

Stroking hands eased her down off the brink.

Then he held her as she twitched.

And God love him if he didn't then slide back up the sofa next to her and collapse, just as satisfied as she was, against her neck.

No foreplay. No warm-up act. No not-so-subtle hints for reciprocation. His belt buckle remained totally inviolate.

Just…satisfaction.

She studied him from under leaded eyelids.

‘I missed that last time,' he murmured, absently stroking the slight curve of her still-clothed breast with a finger.

They'd done just about everything else in their single night together. ‘So you just thought you'd cross that off your list?'

‘Opportunity presented itself.'

‘What opportunity?'

‘You. Here. With me.'

‘And champagne?'

‘And champagne.'

‘So this was some kind of personal challenge?'

He pushed up onto one elbow and stared down at her. ‘No. This was an apology.'

‘For what?'

‘For last time.'

‘You're apologising for sleeping with me?'

That would hurt more if not for the fact he'd just been buried so deeply between her thighs.

‘I'm apologising for rushing it last time. I can do better.'

That coaxed a little laugh out of her. Because it was ridiculously impossible. ‘You think I keep score?'

‘All women keep score. And they talk.'

‘Oh, so you're worried for your reputation?'

Though, truth be told, she'd be blabbing to Poppy the moment she got home.

‘No. I'm looking after you. I failed to do that last time.'

I'm looking after you.

Huh, first time she'd heard that in…um… ever.

‘No, you didn't. You succeeded. Twice, actually.'

‘More by accident than design. I was…not on my best form.'

She pushed up to meet him. More awake, now, as realisation struck. ‘I think you're actually serious.'

‘I'm very serious. I'm not usually that…'

She lifted a silent brow at him.

‘Eager.'

There was that word again.

‘You're truly embarrassed about your performance last time we were together?'

‘I truly am.'

‘And are you also on drugs?'

He brushed damp strands of his own hair from his face and smiled. ‘Only endorphins.'

‘You were—'
amazing,
but that was hardly dignified ‘—more than satisfactory last time.'

He dipped his head, just a hint. ‘Last time was quite a lot about me. What I wanted.'

Of course it was. He was a man. And it was a one-night stand. She blew a few stray hairs from her damp face. ‘Well, then, consider me very willing collateral damage.'

How surreal. Lying here with her skirt still hiked, talking about Harry Mitchell's sexual prowess
with
Harry Mitchell.

She twisted to look closer. ‘Are you going all weird on me?'

‘Just fulfilling an agreement I made with myself.'

‘And what was that?'

‘That if I had the opportunity to rectify things I would.'

And boy had he. ‘And an apology card wouldn't have cut it?'

‘Not even close.'

‘Anything else you want to confess while we're talking?'

The blue in his eyes dulled off to a London grey and she missed the sparkle immediately. ‘Nope.'

She swung her still-weak legs over the edge of the sofa and he helped her sit upright.

‘So now that you've settled some inner score—'

His warm hand prevented her from rising, gentle on her shoulder. ‘Don't get me wrong, Izzy. That's not the end of anything. Just the beginning.'

It took a lot to keep the rush of hope from showing in her flushed face. And it surprised her to even feel it.

‘You're assuming rather a lot.'

‘You didn't like it?'

Really, Harry? Writhing and gasping wasn't a clue?

‘We've had sex three times now—' kind of ‘—but we haven't even been on a date. Or talked, particularly. I may not even like you.'

Pffff…
But the lie gave her back some of the dignity she feared she just lost thrashing about on his sofa.

‘We spent hours together the other night,' he pointed out.

‘That was work.'

‘You want me to buy you dinner?'

She shrugged off his hand and stood as steadily as she could. ‘With a gracious offer like that, how could I refuse?'

He stopped her with a gentle hand. ‘I get it, Iz. This is all backwards. Normally we
would
have had a more conventional date by now. And we haven't. It doesn't mean I don't want to.'

If sincerity didn't look like that, it bloody well should. Her lips tightened. ‘You want to have dinner with me?'

‘I want to get to know you. Go back a few paces. Like normal people.'

‘You do remember where you just were three minutes ago?'

And what he'd said that first time.

I'm not looking for a relationship.
A squirrelly kind of pleasure began spiralling out from deep in her chest. That he'd changed the rules for her.

For
her.

‘Yeah, Iz, I do.' He mussed up his already perfectly mussed-up hair with his fingers. ‘Do you have time tonight?'

‘For dinner?'

‘You do eat?'

She quirked a brow at him. ‘Try to. At least once a day.'

‘Then how about it?'

Harry Mitchell was nothing like anyone she'd ever met. Arrogant and irritating and handsome and captivating and confusing, interspersed with moments of cryptic kindness.

Such a deadly, alluring combination.

‘Yes. I have time tonight.'

‘Great. Let me just grab my jacket.' He smiled. ‘Do you like Thai?'