Misbehaving Under the Mistletoe: On the First Night of Christmas... / Secrets of the Rich & Famous / Truth-Or-Date.com
‘Don’t be ridiculous—your coat isn’t back yet.’
She tugged down the hem of her tunic, feeling hideously exposed.
‘I’ll wait downstairs, in the lobby.’ It would be mortifying in her bare feet, but what could be more mortifying than simpering all over a guy who was secretly laughing at her?
She crossed the living room, holding her head up.
‘Hang on a minute. You’re being absurd. What exactly are you so upset about?’
The frustrated words stopped her dead. She swung round.
He stood by his walnut coffee table, looking like a poster boy for original sin and the humiliation coalesced in her stomach into a hot ball of resentment.
‘I know I’m absurd,’ she said, and watched his brow crease in a puzzled frown. ‘I had a massive crush on you. Which was my own stupid fault. I admit it.’ She walked back and poked him in the chest. ‘But that doesn’t give you the right to make fun of me. Now or then.’
He grasped her finger, the green of his irises darkening to a stormy emerald. ‘I’m not making fun of you. And I didn’t then.’
‘Yes, you did.’ She tugged her finger free, not liking the way his touch had set off those silly shivers again. ‘I heard you and Jenny Kelty laughing at me.’ Not that it mattered now, but it was the principle of the thing. She had gone over that encounter a thousand times in her mind in the months that followed. And felt more and more mortified every time. Why had she stood there like a lemon? Why had she smiled at him? But she could see now, she hadn’t been the only one at fault. They shouldn’t have laughed at her.
‘Who the hell is Jenny Kelty?’ he asked.
‘Unbelievable,’ she said, exasperated. ‘Don’t you remember any of the girls you slept with back then either?’
‘It was a long time ago.’ He shoved his fingers through his hair, the movement jerky and a lot less relaxed than before. ‘And whatever her name was, I didn’t sleep with her. You put a stop to that.’
‘Well, good,’ she said, righteous indignation framing each word. ‘I’m glad I saved Jenny from becoming yet another notch on your bedpost.’
‘You didn’t save Jenny. She saved herself. Once I found out what a cow she was, my interest in her cooled considerably.’
Jenny had been a cow, and every girl foolish enough to cross her had known it, but Cassie was still startled by the vehemence in the statement.
‘So what changed your mind about Jenny?’ She threw the words back at him. ‘Did she refuse to snog you?’
His eyebrows rose another notch at the sarcastic tone. And Cassie felt power surge through her veins as if she had been plugged into a nuclear reactor.
Finally she, Cassie Fitzgerald, was standing up for herself. And not letting her rose-tinted glasses blind her to the truth. She wasn’t dumb little Cassie who had caught her fiancée on the couch with his lover and was too stupid to see it coming. Or naive little Cassie who felt pathetically grateful just because a sexy guy had said her eyes were an unusual colour and that he wanted to kiss her. She was bold, brash, powerful Cassie, prepared to fight for the respect and consideration she deserved.
‘She didn’t refuse to snog me,’ he said easily.
‘I refused to snog her. After she shouted at you and scared the hell out of you.’
‘I—’ The tirade she’d planned cut off. ‘After she what?’
‘I don’t like bullies and I told her so.’ He slung a hand into the pocket of his trousers. ‘She got the hump and stomped off. And I was glad to see the back of her.’
‘But you …’ That couldn’t be right. That wasn’t how she remembered the incident at all. ‘But you were laughing at me, too. I heard you.’ Hadn’t she?
He shrugged. ‘I very much doubt that, as I didn’t find her behaviour remotely funny.’
‘But I thought …’ Cassie trailed off, the power surge deflating inside her like a popped party balloon. ‘I misunderstood.’
He’d stood up for her. The knowledge should have pleased her. But it didn’t. It only made her feel more idiotic.
How come she’d instantly assumed he hadn’t stood up for her? Why had her self-esteem been so low? Even then? And why on earth had she flown off the handle like that about a minor incident that had happened years ago? And meant absolutely nothing?
He probably thought she was a complete nutjob.
She risked a glance at him. But instead of looking concerned at the state of her mental health, he looked amused, that damn sexy grin bringing out the dimple in his cheek.
‘Now we’ve cleared that up,’ he said, ‘why don’t you sit back down and finish your wine?’
Wine was probably the last thing she needed, but doing what he suggested seemed easier than getting into a debate about what a complete twit she’d made of herself.
She perched on the edge of the sofa and lifted the glass to her lips, another even more dismal thought occurring to her. He really had been planning to kiss her. But there was no chance he’d want to kiss her now.
Nice one, Cass.
He picked up his bottle and saluted her. ‘So let’s talk about that massive crush.’
She sucked in a surprised breath at the bold statement, inhaled wine instead of air and choked.
CHAPTER THREE
JACE rose and stepped over the coffee table as his guest coughed and sputtered. Settling beside her, he gave her a hefty pat on the back. ‘Take a breath.’
The coughing stopped as Cassie drew air into her lungs and cast a wary look over her shoulder. She shuddered as he ran his palm up her back, exploring the delicate bumps of her spine beneath the skimpy dress.
Either she was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met or she was totally nuts, but either way she was proving to be one hell of a diversion. And her little temper tantrum had only intrigued him more.
He’d never met anyone before whose every emotion was so plainly written on their face.
He’d been accused of worse things in his time … most of which he had actually done, so, rather than feeling aggrieved at her accusations, he was oddly flattered that moment on the stairwell had mattered to her so much. And quietly astonished to discover at least one incident from his teenage years when he’d actually done the right thing. Given that his schooldays had sped past in a maelstrom of bad behaviour and even worse choices, that was no small feat.
‘The wine went down the wrong way,’ she said, straightening away from his touch.
He plucked a tissue out of the dispenser on the coffee table, and handed it to her. ‘Now about that massive crush?’
She sent him a quelling look, but the pretty little flags of colour that appeared in her cheeks contradicted it. ‘I don’t think your ego needs that kind of validation,’ she said so cautiously, his lips twitched.
‘Probably not.’ He settled back, stretched his arms across the sofa cushions, and noted that she was now perched so precariously on the edge of her seat it was a wonder she hadn’t toppled onto the floor. He was used to women throwing themselves at him, so the fact that he found her wariness refreshing was probably a bit perverse. ‘But I’ve got to admit I’m fascinated. Weren’t you a little young to have a massive crush on me?’
‘I was thirteen,’ she said, the tantalising sparkle of annoyance returning to her eyes.
‘Oh, right. Thirteen. An old woman, then,’ he teased.
‘I was in love.’ She frowned slightly, reconsidering the implications of the statement. ‘Or at least I thought I was. At the time.’
‘Is that a cryptic way of saying you haven’t got a massive crush on me any more?’
Her stern expression cracked a little. ‘You covered me in dirty water, then tried to deny it. Do I look like a masochist?’
Leaning forward, he skimmed a knuckle down her cheek. ‘For the record, it was an accident. And I did eventually see the error of my ways.’
Her gaze skittered away, but this time she didn’t shift out of reach. ‘Tell me something,’ she said softly. ‘Do you try to kiss every woman you meet?’
He smiled. Nuts or not, her candour was captivating. ‘The answer is no.’ Sitting up, he nudged the riotous curls of chestnut hair over her shoulder. ‘Not every woman.’
Her gaze came back to his and her throaty chuckle made reaction coil in his gut. ‘You must have kissed quite a few, though, if you can’t remember who they are.’
He stifled a groan. Busted. ‘What can I say? I had a misspent youth.’
He’d been reckless and easily bored as a teenager and had found it far too convenient to seduce women and then forget about them. Not something he was all that proud of now. But he’d eventually realised, like most hormonally charged boys when they became men, that quality was much more rewarding than quantity. And that women deserved to be savoured. And Cassie Fitzgerald was fast becoming a woman he definitely planned to savour. The only problem was, he didn’t want to rush her and risk scaring her off.
‘If it’s any consolation …’ he looped his finger in one of her curls, watched the silky hair spring back against her cheek ‘ … I can guarantee you, I pay a lot more attention now.’
Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips and he felt the jolt right down to his toes.
‘We could always give it another go,’ she said, a tentative smile lifting one corner of that lush mouth. ‘If you want.’
‘That sounds like a plan,’ he murmured.
Caressing her nape, he threaded his fingers through the tendrils of hair then slanted his lips across hers. He wasn’t going to wait for a second invitation.
Cassie braced her palms against his chest as his mouth captured hers. His lips were firm, hot, demanding. His pectoral muscles flexed beneath his shirt as he angled his head to deepen the kiss.
Heat scalded the pit of her stomach and radiated out, sizzling and tingling across her skin. He raised his other hand, massaged her scalp to hold her in place. She gasped as reaction raced through her, and his tongue thrust into her mouth, exploring in intimate strokes.
She clung on, poised over him as they sank into the sofa cushions—and desire spiralled and twisted inside her. It had been so long since she’d had a chance to feel a man’s heat, his mouth on hers, the hardness of his chest pressing into her breasts. And she certainly didn’t remember a kiss ever feeling this incredible.
He lifted her head, nipped her bottom lip as he stared into her eyes. His hands cradled her cheeks, his quick smile making the pulse of desire settle lower.
‘Thanks, I enjoyed that,’ he said, his voice husky. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘For me too,’ she said, although she didn’t believe him. Anyone who kissed as well as he did had to practise regularly. ‘I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw you kiss Jenny.’
He stroked her cheek, pressed his thumb into her bottom lip. ‘Have you really?’
She sat up. Why had she told him that? Talk about sad.
He skimmed his palm up her bare leg. ‘So did I live up to expectations?’
She nodded, not wanting to divulge exactly how strongly the simple kiss had affected her. It would only make her look more sad and pathetic.
‘Unfortunately I have an engagement …’ He lifted his hand to glance at his wristwatch. ‘In about half an hour. Otherwise we could take this further.’
‘That’s okay.’ She should have been relieved. He was letting her down gently. But she didn’t feel relieved, she felt disappointed. What had he meant by ‘take this further’? How much further?
He shifted, his hand resting back on her thigh, stroking lazily. ‘You could wait here until I get back,’ he said, the heavy-lidded gaze as arousing as the feel of his rough palm on her skin. ‘Although you might get bored.’ His fingers slipped under the hem of her tunic, and she shuddered. He laughed. ‘And I wouldn’t want that.’
Bored? How could she be bored when her body felt as if it were about to explode? ‘I don’t underst—’
‘Or you could come with me,’ he interrupted.
Her breath gushed out. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying but it was next to impossible as the tips of his fingers drew lazy circles on her leg. Her sex throbbed, ached, begging for him to move higher still and stroke her there.
‘Where to?’ she heard herself ask as she tried to keep up her end of the conversation.
‘The Blue Tower Restaurant,’ he murmured, mentioning London’s newest hot spot. His thumb traced the edge of her panties, then dipped underneath and her breath sawed out in a ragged pant.
Her hands fell to his shoulders, and she dug her fingers into the ridge of muscle, scared she was going to fall off the sofa. His green eyes watched her, the lids at half mast.
‘I don’t …’ She swayed towards him. What was happening? What were they talking about? Her skin flushed hot, then cold, then hot again.
His tongue licked at her lips, then he cupped her head, his mouth taking hers in another mind-numbing kiss. Her heavy breasts flattened against the solid wall of his chest, the nipples squeezing into rigid, arching peaks.
‘Say yes, Cassie,’ he murmured as his fingers eased under the gusset of her panties and plunged.
‘Yes.’ The single word burst out of her mouth.
‘God, you’re so wet.’ He circled and rubbed her swollen flesh, pushed inside her, his thumb pressing against her clitoris. ‘You feel incredible.’
She straddled him, her knees digging into the sofa, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as his fingers continued to drive her into a frenzy. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. All thought, all feeling concentrated on the nub of pleasure between her legs. The rigid length of him, confined by his clothing, nudged the inside of her thigh—and she rubbed herself against him, yearning to have him deep inside her.
Her head dropped back and she moaned, heat soaring up her body. ‘Please, don’t stop.’
His strained laugh brushed against her cheek. ‘I’m not going to stop.’
And he didn’t, as the spasms of an unstoppable climax eddied up from her toes, coursed through her body and collided in her sex.
‘Let go, Cassie. Come for me.’
The orgasm roared through her, exploding into a billion glittering sparks like a firework display on Bonfire Night. She heard someone cry out as the wave of pleasure crashed over her. Someone who sounded a lot like her but was thousands of miles away.
Then she buried her face in his neck, dazed and delirious, and whispered, ‘Candy man.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘WHAT did you call me?’ At Jace’s gruff chuckle, Cassie stiffened and rose to see the teasing grin on his face.
Had she just said that out loud?
‘It sounded like candy man,’ he added.
‘Did it?’ She hedged, pressing her palms to the heat in her cheeks.
He laughed. ‘Interesting,’ he murmured, the smile more than a little smug. ‘What does it mean?’
She climbed off his lap, adjusted her clothing, struggling to think straight while noticing the impressive bulge in his trousers. She smoothed the tunic down. ‘It means, that was …’ She halted, her face flushing. How did you thank a guy for giving you the most incredible orgasm of your life? She’d never come that quickly before, or with such intensity. And certainly not with a man she hadn’t been in a relationship with. ‘It means, that was amazing. So thanks,’ she said, opting for honesty while her endorphins were still high on the afterglow.
He stretched out his arms across the back of the sofa. ‘The pleasure’s all mine.’
‘I’m sorry, you didn’t …’ Her gaze snagged on his obvious state of arousal, and she wondered if she should offer to do something for him in return. It seemed only fair. ‘Would you like me …?’
He tucked a finger under her chin, lifted her gaze to his. ‘It’s okay, Cassie. I’m not fifteen any more. I can wait.’ He placed a quick kiss on her nose, before standing up. ‘In fact, unfortunately, we’re both going to have to wait, we’re already fashionably late.’
‘Late? Late for what?’
Instead of answering, he took her hands in his, and hauled her off the sofa. ‘If you want to go do whatever it is girls do while they hog the bathroom, go ahead.’ He placed his hand on her bottom and gave her a proprietary pat. ‘It’s that way.’
‘Yes, but … where are we going?’ she asked, trying to maintain a little sanity. Why had the invitation turned the afterglow into a giddy rush of pleasure?
He settled his hands on her shoulders, swept her hair back and kissed her neck. ‘The Blue Tower. With me. This evening.’
When had she agreed to that? ‘But I …’ She trailed off, unable to concentrate on anything but his lips nuzzling the sensitive skin under her ear—and the darts of sensation shivering down her spine.
The doorbell buzzed and he nipped her ear lobe. ‘That’ll be your clothes. Don’t take too long—we don’t want to be too fashionable.’ So saying, he strode out of the room.
Locating her bag under the coffee table, Cassie dashed off to the bathroom he’d indicated. She knew when she was being railroaded. But right now she didn’t care. She needed time to think.
Once inside the lavish marble bathroom, she flung her bag on the vanity and studied herself in the mirror that covered one wall.
She hardly recognised herself.
Her hair sprung out in all directions, the unruly curls spilling out of the topknot she’d swept it up in that morning. Her cheeks were flushed a vivid red, her lips puffy and swollen, and her pupils so dilated her blue eyes were almost black. She touched her fingertips to the raw spot beneath her bottom lip. And she had whisker burn on her chin.
She looked like a woman who had been well and truly satisfied. She huffed out a breath. Probably because she had been. But she needed to take stock and think clearly now.
Or at least try to think clearly with her brain still addled from the endorphin rush and her core still throbbing from Jace Ryan’s exceptionally skilled caresses.
Unwrapping a bar of the fragrant vanilla soap in a basket on the vanity, she washed her hands and face, then doused her cheeks in cold water. After patting herself dry with one of the hotel’s monogrammed towels and finger-combing her hair, she examined her face again. She still looked dazed and dishevelled, but at least the colour in her cheeks had subsided from a vivid magenta to a pale rose. And her pupils had shrunk enough so she didn’t look as if she were on crack.
Okay, so what had happened out there? She simply wasn’t that into sex. Not that she was frigid or anything. She liked sex well enough. The sensible, comforting, predictable kind with a man she knew well and cared about and respected. Even if it later turned out he didn’t deserve it. A line formed on her brow in the mirror. However, she did not do the hot, wild, knock-you-for-six kind of sex with a man who was a virtual stranger.
But there was no denying she’d done just that with Jace Ryan.
One minute they’d been talking, then they’d been kissing and then she’d been begging him to bring her to the most earth-shattering orgasm of her life. Another line appeared on her brow. And he had.
How had he known just how to touch her, and where? How had he known so instinctively just what she needed when she didn’t know herself? She’d only had two serious boyfriends in her life. Two men whom she’d become sexually intimate with before she’d leapt into Jace Ryan’s car this afternoon. She’d known both of them for weeks, months even, before she’d ever considered taking things to the next stage. But even after forming proper committed relationships with them, even after convincing herself she was in love with them, neither of them had ever been able to make her lose her mind as Jace had with a simple touch. In fact, Lance and David, her college boyfriend, had both complained at one time or another that she thought too much during sex, that she wasn’t spontaneous enough.
She swallowed heavily, her throat dry. She hadn’t merely been spontaneous on Jace’s sofa. She’d come close to spontaneously combusting.
And she hadn’t been thinking either. In fact, she’d been doing the opposite. Jace had offered to get her coat cleaned, and, less than an hour after walking into his hotel suite, she’d been straddling his thighs and writhing under his touch like a woman possessed. What had happened to her smart, safe, sensible, measured approach to sex and intimacy?
Opening her bag on the vanity, she rummaged for her phone. Unlocking the keypad, she scrolled down to Nessa’s name.
What she needed now was some expert advice. Until Nessa had finally admitted that their old school friend Terrence was the love of her life, she’d had an enviably straightforward attitude to men and sex. Nessa knew how to handle a candy man, because, to hear Nessa tell it, she’d had more than her fair share of them.
There was little doubt that Jace Ryan was a candy man. But now she’d identified him, Cassie didn’t have a clue what to do with him. Should she do what her hormones were begging her to do? Go out with him this evening so they could finish what they’d started later tonight? Or should she do what her head was telling her and run a mile? Not just from him but from the wild woman who had inhabited her body?
Nessa owed her, she thought as she pressed Dial and listened to the phone ring. It was Nessa’s fault she was in this ridiculous situation. If she had kept her advice to herself, Cassie would never have had that moment of recklessness and accepted Jace’s invitation in the first place—and ended up having an out-of-body experience on his sofa.
‘It’s Ness. What’s up?’ Her friend’s familiar greeting had the tension in Cassie’s shoulders easing.
‘Ness, it’s me,’ she whispered into the phone. ‘I’m in trouble.’
‘What kind of trouble?’ Nessa replied, her voice instantly direct and focused, reminding Cassie why Nessa was the perfect person to turn to in a crisis.
‘Do you remember Jacob Ryan? From school?’
There was a slight pause on the line, then Nessa gave an appreciative purr. ‘Oh, yeah. Jace the Ace. That boy’s tight white buns looked so fine in black jeans, they occupy a real special place in my school memories. Why?’
‘I met him. Tonight. I’m in his bathroom at The Chesterton. And we just had … well, not exactly sex, but nearly sex on his sofa.’
‘Define nearly sex?’ Nessa said, apparently completely unfazed by Cassie’s confession.
‘I had an orgasm. A really amazing orgasm,’ Cassie blurted out, not quite comfortable discussing the mechanics. ‘But he didn’t.’
‘That’s not nearly sex, honey.’ Nessa’s deep, satisfied laugh echoed down the phone line. ‘So little Cassie finally found herself a candy man. I always knew that boy looked fine for a reason.’
‘Don’t you dare mention that stupid candy-man thing again. I’m in trouble. And you’ve got to get me out of it.’
‘Sounds like good trouble to me.’
‘He’s asked me to go out with him. Tonight,’ Cassie continued, deciding to ignore Nessa’s observation. ‘To some do at the Blue Tower.’ Her lips pursed. Some do that she knew nothing about, because he’d been deliberately cagey with details. ‘On the understanding that when we get back, we’ll take this further.’ She swallowed as her stomach did a back flip. ‘A lot further.’
‘And you don’t want to go further?’ Nessa asked.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to.’ She did want to—the warm, liquid pull in the pit of her tummy was pretty incriminating on that score. ‘I just don’t know if I should. I’ve never had a one-night stand before. And what if he wants more than a one-night stand? I’m not ready for another relationship. Especially not with a guy who—’
‘Cass, stop right there. You’re overthinking this thing. The question is, did he give you a good time?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘But nothing,’ Nessa interrupted. ‘You had a good time. Next question. Is he pressuring you to do the same for him? ’Cos you shouldn’t feel beholden.’
Did she feel pressured? Beholden? He’d bulldozed her into agreeing to go to the trendy restaurant, but he’d seemed remarkably relaxed about the sex part of the equation. Even though he’d been fully erect, he hadn’t insisted she do anything about it. Her stomach somersaulted at the thought of that long, thick ridge stretching the loose pleats in his trousers. The truth was, if he had insisted, he wouldn’t have had to insist very hard.