Her Enemy With Benefits: Her Deal with the Devil / My Boyfriend and Other Enemies / Blind Date Rivals
‘You think Ruby would have any stocked in the bathroom?’
Sapphire frowned. ‘Nope. She cleaned all her stuff out.’
For the first time in a long time he was at a loss for words. This was awkward. Rampaging lust was fine in the heat of the moment, but now…
‘Though I guess we could double check?’
Her tone held a hint of devilry. He liked it. It meant she hadn’t retreated or gone brusque on him. It also meant she might be up for other stuff if latex couldn’t be found.
She snagged his hand and tugged him into the bathroom—surprisingly large compared with the rest of the apartment.
It had a glass-enclosed shower, a marble tub big enough for two and a floor-to-ceiling mirror with distinct possibilities.
She released his hand long enough to rummage through three drawers and a cabinet under the sink. He would have laughed at her frantic search if he weren’t practically crippled from wanting her so badly.
When she straightened the disappointment in her eyes vindicated what he was about to do.
‘Doesn’t matter.’
Her mouth down-turned. ‘Yeah, it does. I don’t do unprotected sex.’
‘Neither do I.’ He reached out and touched her collarbone, then let his fingertip trail downward, around one breast, then the other, in slow concentric circles, until she sagged against the vanity. ‘But there’s loads we can do without the grand finale.’
Her eyes lit up as she registered the meaning behind his words and before he could say anything she’d whipped off her tee-shirt, giving him an eyeful of demi-cup black satin and pushed-up cleavage.
‘Well, I guess that answers my next question—whether you’d be up for it or not.’
In response she reached for his zipper, tugged it down and slid her hand inside.
He gritted his teeth as she stroked him through the cotton of his boxers, until she reached the tip and he damn near exploded.
‘Turn around.’
Her hand stilled at his command and her eyes widened, but he didn’t see fear. He saw excitement and heat and yearning. Major turn on.
He missed her touch when she eased her hand out of his pants and swivelled towards the mirror but this would be worth the wait.
He wanted to watch her come.
He wanted to watch her watch him.
With surprisingly steady hands he popped the snap on her jeans, unzipped her and slid the denim down to mid-thigh-level.
Man, she was wearing a thong. Black satin. Same as the bra. He liked black. Some would say it matched his soul, but he didn’t agree.
Right about now his soul was red. Fire-engine red. Crimson. The colour of passion and sin and debauchery. Maybe he’d buy her red lingerie for next time.
Her gaze was riveted to his hands as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic riding low on her hips and tugged, revealing her to him.
That expletive spilled from his lips again as he pressed against her—a gentle pressure that had her head falling back to rest on his shoulder.
But she didn’t stop staring at his hand as he slid a finger between her slick folds, circling her, her wet heat driving him slowly but surely insane.
‘Do you trust me?’
‘I’m watching you pleasure me. What do you think?’
He grinned. Even now she was feisty. He liked it.
‘Okay, then.’
He made quick work of tugging down his pants and boxers, biting back another curse when his hard-on made contact with her butt.
‘Spread your legs a fraction,’ he said, and slid between them when she did. The exquisite contact of his shaft with her moist heat almost undid him.
Amazingly, she didn’t stop him or ask questions. She trusted him not to enter her and that knowledge, after all he’d been through over the last year, turned him on more than anything she could have said or done.
‘Watch.’
He pushed forward, his erection fully between her legs, and she gasped as she saw him appear just beneath his hand.
‘Keep watching.’
And she did, as he slid in and out between her legs, mimicking what he’d give anything to be doing deep inside her now.
As his finger picked up the tempo she started moving, her hips pushing back against him, urging him to go faster.
So he did. The torturous friction was building. Peaking. Crescendoing.
She arched a second before she screamed, riding his hand as he’d have liked to be riding her.
He eased away, shocked by the intensity of her orgasm, and even more suprised when she dropped to her knees.
‘What are you doing—?’
‘If you have to ask, you’re not as good at all this as I thought.’
He would have laughed if she hadn’t taken him into her mouth. All the way.
It was his turn to watch, but he didn’t know where to look. At his fantasy come to life or in the mirror, where what she was doing was reflected back to him in eye-popping erotic detail.
He settled for watching her—the golden sheen of her hair beneath the bathroom lights, her lips surrounding him.
Then she started using her tongue and he lost it. He’d been close when she came, and all it took was three sweeps of her tongue around the tip.
His orgasm ripped through him with the force of an explosion and he swore loudly.
As residual shudders of pleasure rippled through him he held out his hands to help her stand.
She ignored them, pulling up her jeans as she ducked down to the sink.
Uh-oh.
He made himself decent, waiting for her to finish and look at him. The tap eased to a drip, she used a handtowel, still didn’t glance up.
‘Look at me.’
After a few moments her reluctant gaze met his.
‘Don’t go having second thoughts now.’ He snagged her hands, grateful she didn’t pull away this time. ‘What we just did blew my mind.’
Relief eased her drawn-together brows. ‘You’re inventive. I’ll say that for you.’
He laughed, and thankfully she joined in. He liked that she hadn’t clammed up on him or gone distant. He would have hated that.
‘But for the record—next time I’m bringing a box.’
‘To stand on?’
‘Of condoms.’ Buoyed by her sense of humour, he pulled her close, enveloping her in his arms with his chin resting on her head. ‘Guess I should be grateful you didn’t say there won’t be a next time.’
She nuzzled his neck in response, and if it wasn’t the damndest thing he was ready to go again. ‘There’ll be a next time. Count on it.’
He was. What he wasn’t counting on was the dazed anticipation in his eyes as he stared at his reflection.
For a guy used to being in total control, a guy who liked his sex without commitment, a guy wary of anything more, he looked like a guy in way over his head.
CHAPTER FIVE
SAPPHIE SHOWERED AND brushed her teeth the next morning without looking in the mirror.
She couldn’t. Not unless she wanted to go into meltdown.
The stupid thing was, she’d expected not to sleep last night—to be so wound up with analysing and second-guessing she couldn’t—but the oddest thing had happened.
She’d had her first full night’s sleep for months. Heck, for years.
And she owed it to Patrick.
Great, even thinking his name made her flush in remembrance.
What they’d done in this bathroom…Who would have thought having pseudo-sex could be so steamy?
She might not be super-experienced in that department—being a workaholic meant she could count the number of guys she’d thought hot enough to sleep with on one hand—but what she’d done with Patrick…
Wow. Simply wow.
And she still wanted him as badly this morning.
Her theory last night—that an orgasm might take the edge off her craziness and let her concentrate on working alongside him without the desperation to tear his clothes off—hadn’t worked. It had backfired in a big way.
Now she wanted more. So much more. Both of them naked and sweaty. Going the whole way.
Stupid theories.
She should have ordered the take-out, made small talk, and let him walk out of here.
But the way he’d been looking at her…There was only so much willpower a girl could draw on.
Thankfully, it had been okay afterwards. They’d glossed over potential awkwardness, and he’d left after she’d pleaded tiredness and a need to prep for work tomorrow. Today. When she’d be seeing him again in less than an hour. Which meant she needed to apply make-up. Now.
With a groan she dragged herself back into the bathroom, took a deep breath and stared at her reflection.
Still the same tired old face, but there was a new glint in her eyes. A glint she didn’t like. A glint that signalled a little bit of lust and a lot of crazy.
She blinked, hoping it would vanish.
Nope, still there. Lord only knew what Patrick would make of that glint.
She tried to concentrate on applying foundation, mascara, eyeshadow and lip gloss, she really did, but every time she focussed on the mirror a snippet of last night would flash into her head.
Courtesy of her shaky hands she’d gone through two applicators and a mascara wand already, and she resembled a clown.
Muttering a few choice curses under her breath, she gathered up her make-up and stalked towards the bedroom. The light might be crappy in there, and her clown face could worsen, but she’d take the risk. She’d rather apply make-up in the tiny oval mirror tacked onto the wardrobe door than use the bathroom one.
Maybe she could call a glazier today and have him remove it?
Then again, Patrick had promised to bring a box of condoms next time, and her newly discovered inner vixen really had had a lot of fun watching…
Realistically, she shouldn’t want a repeat. Sex with Patrick would be phenomenal but wrong. A giant complication just waiting to happen.
But she’d felt so good last night—alive in a way she hadn’t in a long time.
The chronic fatigue syndrome symptoms had drained her mentally, emotionally and physically, particularly the latter, and it was her need to reassert her fitness that was driving her to follow through with Patrick.
Nothing like a sex-a-thon to give a girl a workout.
Okay, so she was making light of the situation, probably making excuses to go through with it too, but Patrick had made her feel sensational last night and she wanted to feel that good again.
The post-orgasmic endorphins had lasted a long time after he’d left, and for the first time in ages she’d had the energy to unpack the rest of her cases, clean the kitchen and rearrange her DVDs and books.
She’d bounced around the apartment, humming eighties tunes and shimmying between cleaning, feeling so good she could have run a marathon.
How long since she’d felt that invincible?
Logically, sex with Patrick might be a disaster. Physically? She’d help him haul that box of condoms over pronto.
Patrick needed neutral. A neutral playing field where he could work alongside Sapphire without the constant urge to rip her clothes off.
Last night had only worsened his lust for her. A small part of him had hoped it would ease. Yeah, right.
He should have known better than to believe his delusional self-talk that a quickie with Sapphire would soothe him.
A guy didn’t do what he had done with Sapphire last night and get it out of his system. Not to mention the added tension of knowing she was up for more. A whole box-worth more.
He didn’t get it. It wasn’t as if he’d been hung up on her in the past. He’d enjoyed baiting her at school, made it his mission to get a rise out of her because he’d wanted to ruffle her uptight exterior. Sure, he’d had the odd fantasy about her—what teenage guy hadn’t?
Sapphire was an attractive woman now. It figured that he’d want to have sex with her. The part he hadn’t figured out was why it was pounding through his brain until it was all he could think about.
He couldn’t afford distractions—not with so much at stake. But the thought of using a box-worth of condoms pleasuring Sapphire Seaborn couldn’t be denied, and he’d damn well better get control of his libido before he botched this business opportunity before it had begun.
‘Hey, Rick, the models are ready.’
Patrick glanced up at his right-hand man and best bud, Serge. Though they’d ripped a path through Europe’s party scene together when Patrick had needed the distraction, while Serge continued to live the high life Patrick now opted for more sedate pursuits: like making his fashion house dreams come true.
They’d grown apart over the years but Serge was still a good manager, and it helped having someone he could trust on his side. He couldn’t say that about many people.
‘Thanks, but Sapphire’s not here yet. Give us five.’
‘No worries.’ Serge spoke into a bluetooth clipped near his right ear before slipping onto the chair next to him. ‘What’s up?’
Great. Just what he needed. Serge’s legendary interrogation. He had no intention of telling anyone about Sapphire—not when they’d be working together. But he and Serge had told tall tales over beers too many times to count, and the guy could read him like the latest bestseller.
‘Not much.’ Patrick pointed towards the stack of documents in front of him. ‘This is taking up all my time.’
‘Bull.’
Patrick sat back, folded his arms and feigned ignorance. He only succeeded in making Serge laugh.
‘Work never fazes you. You took on that spring showing in Paris and hit it out of the ballpark.’ Serge tilted his head to one side, studying him. ‘Nah, this isn’t about work. This is about a chick.’
Patrick didn’t want to discuss Sapphire with Serge but he hated dishonesty.
‘That Paris gig? What we’re doing here has to nail that a hundred times over and you know it.’
Serge smirked. ‘I also know whoever this chick is, she must be special for you to be this rattled.’
Thankfully Sapphire’s arrival put paid to any further ribbing from Serge but it disconcerted him in a whole other way.
She’d gone for masculine chic today: crisp white shirt, fitted ebony pinstripe pants suit, designer loafers, hair slicked back, dramatic make-up. It didn’t detract from her femininity. He’d seen exactly how womanly she could be last night.
What her mouth had done to him…
His gaze found its way to her lips—their sheen, their fullness—and he instantly hardened.
He heard Serge’s hissed breath of surprise as she strode towards them and he knew the feeling. When Sapphire Sea-born walked towards a man he wanted to meet her halfway.
‘She’s a stunner,’ Serge muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Patrick that probably increased his friend’s speculation.
Let Serge think what he liked. He wasn’t getting one snippet of information about Patrick’s private life here in Mel-bourne. Patrick had moved on from the carousing of the past and intended focussing on things that mattered. Namely: wowing Fashion Week. And bedding Sapphire. Not necessarily in that order.
She barely glanced at him when she reached them, focussing a dazzling smile on Serge instead. ‘Hi. Sapphire Sea-born.’
Serge grinned like the predatory male he was and snagged her hand, raising it to his lips. ‘The pleasure’s all mine, mademoiselle.’
When Serge kissed her hand, Patrick had to clench his to stop from slugging him.
‘You’re French?’
Serge nodded and, luckily for him, released her hand. ‘Oui.’
‘He’s as Anglicised as you and I,’ Patrick said, shooting him a frown. ‘Only uses the accent to win friends and influence women.’
‘It’s charming.’
Figured. What was it with females and European accents?
‘Serge was just leaving to organise the models for a quick demo if you’re ready?’
Sapphire finally looked at him, her gaze imperious, the tilt of her head snooty. ‘Sure, let’s get started.’
She made it sound as if he’d chastised her unnecessarily, when in fact he’d wanted to get rid of his leery friend pronto.
‘Au revoir, Sapphire.’ Serge gave a formal little bow and Patrick gritted his teeth. ‘We will meet again.’
‘No doubt.’
If her smile had been dazzling before, she notched it up a level now. What red-blooded guy stood a chance?
Patrick mentally counted to ten, slowly, waiting until Serge had left the room.
‘Don’t flirt with Serge. It only encourages him,’ he said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably if her inverted eyebrow and smirk were any indication.
‘I was being polite, not flirting, but thanks for the advice.’
She slid onto a seat and patted the one next to him. ‘Now, why don’t you sit so we can talk business?’
Fan-frigging-tastic. He’d been mulling over how to approach this first meeting post-bathroom and she’d waltzed in here as if nothing had happened, gaining the upper hand and commandeering the conversation.
Patrick didn’t like losing control. Bad things happened. Things he’d never risk happening again.
‘Talking business is fine,’ he said, sitting next to her and deliberately leaning into her personal space. ‘For now.’
The faintest stain of pink on her cheeks was the only indication that he’d scored a hit. She didn’t respond, taking her sweet time slipping a slimline laptop out of her satchel and setting it up, laying a blank notepad and pen next to it.
Only then did she swivel in her seat to face him, her imperious mask firmly in place. ‘Don’t you think it’s a tad unprofessional, bringing up our social activities in the workplace?’
Her directness impressed him. But the resumption of her haughtiness, not so much. Hadn’t she learned by now that the snootier she acted, the harder he worked to rile her?
‘Social activities?’ He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, his lips almost brushing her ear. ‘Why don’t we call it what it is? Good old-fashioned f—’
‘Keep that up and there won’t be any socialising of any kind,’ she said, shoving him away, her tone frosty.
‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ he said, chuckling at her rigid shoulders and ramrod spine as she determinedly stared at her laptop screen. ‘You always needed to have the last word during our Biology assignments too.’
‘I did not.’ She shot him a death glare.
‘Yeah, you did. And it’s just as cute now.’ He smiled, waiting for her to glance his way.
He didn’t have to wait long. She blew out an exasperated breath before angling her chair towards him.
‘Okay, the thing is this: I’m confident in the business arena. Invincible. But what happened last night threw me, and focussing on work is the only way I can handle this without…’
‘What?’
‘Without losing it,’ she said softly, her wide-eyed baby-blues imploring him to listen. ‘Aren’t you just the tiniest bit uncomfortable?’
He shrugged. ‘Sure, but honestly? That ice princess act you had down pat in Biology only made me want to taunt you more. And when I first rocked up in Melbourne it looked like nothing had changed. Then last night…’ He shook his head, still blown away by the erotic memories that had filtered across his consciousness ever since. ‘I got a glimpse of how hot you are beneath the ice and it’s a major turn-on. Last night was great. Stupendous, in fact. And a great prelude to going the whole way. So I’m not going to make excuses for it or apologise or act recalcitrant.’ He pinned her with a direct stare. ‘For the fact is I’d do it again right now, right here.’
Her frosty façade melted a little as her mouth curved at the corners. ‘I’ve always wanted to do it on a desk.’
‘Duly noted.’ He trailed a fingertip across the back of her hand where it rested on her lap. ‘For the record, mine’s padded.’
‘No, it’s not. It’s bevelled glass.’
He winked. ‘I’ll make sure to bring a blanket next time we meet in my office.’
She waggled her finger at him. ‘Didn’t I just say we should keep business and social stuff separate?’
‘Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I agree with it.’
She huffed out an exasperated breath—something she’d done often when they’d been studying. ‘You know we have to talk about what happened last night, right?’
They did? From where he was sitting, he’d rather be doing much more than talking. Like finishing what they’d started last night, with him deep within her this time around.
‘Talk is overrated.’
‘Spoken like a true male,’ she said drily, jabbing him in the chest. ‘We need boundaries, that sort of thing.’
‘We need a desk with our name written all over it,’ he said, sotto voce, earning a delightfully unassuming, tempting pout for his trouble.
‘You’re the same infuriating, annoying, over-confident—’
‘And you’re the same subtly sexy, smart, amazing woman,’ he said, meaning it.
He’d met some incredible women around the world, had enjoyed every moment of his bachelor life, but it hadn’t been until he’d arrived back in Melbourne and strutted into Sea-borns that he’d remembered Sapphire had a certain something that elevated her among other females.
He couldn’t explain what it was, but the hint of vulnerability underlying her usual toughness appealed on a deeper level he rarely acknowledged.
And that meant he had to focus on one thing only. Sex. No time or inclination to discover where her newfound softness had come from or to delve beyond the obvious: they were two people with a serious sexual attraction that would combust if last night’s prelude was any indication.
And he couldn’t wait for the main event.
Her mouth opened, closed. Her loss of words was cute. A rarity. He took full advantage.
‘I meant what I said.’ He snagged her hand beneath the table and she let him. ‘I had no idea you were so hot in high school—’ She pursed her lips in disapproval and he rushed on ‘—which is probably a good thing, as I would’ve made you fail Biology. But seeing how into it you were last night, us hooking up, major turn-on. Fantasy stuff.’
He must have said the right thing, because she turned her hand over and intertwined her fingers with his. ‘You drove me nuts in high school, teasing me and mucking around with your slackass attitude.’
‘Surely that kiss on graduation night redeemed me slightly?
She winced. ‘Another thing I’d rather not talk about.’
‘Yeah, I kinda got that impression when you didn’t return my calls.’
Her fingers convulsed for a second. ‘I was mortified.’
‘Why? Because your date was a drunken dumbass?’
She shook her head, dislodging a few strands from her slicked back do. Mussing the severity of that product-drenched hair added to her vulnerability.
‘No, I was embarrassed because I’d treated you badly yet you didn’t hesitate in stepping in to help me out of a rough spot.’
He saw genuine regret in the reluctant gaze that met his, and he didn’t like his answering zap of emotion.
Who cared what her motivations had been back then? He wanted her in his bed now. That was all that mattered. No room for emotions whatsoever.
‘Hey, I liked the putdowns and the cutting remarks. It spurred me on to tease you harder.’
‘That’s what the kiss was about, wasn’t it?’
She’d lost him.
‘Huh?’
‘I thought you kissed me out of pity.’
She said it so softly he strained forward to hear it.
‘What the—?’
‘I thought you felt sorry for me after Mick ditched me at the dance,’ she said, bolder this time, daring him to disagree. ‘You teased me during the drive about my lousy taste in dates, said maybe it was my dress or my hair or my corsage that drove him away, then we got home and you kissed me and I thought it was a big joke—you taking your usual taunts that one step further.’
He swore.
‘You thought I was that shallow?’
‘That’s the only side of you I ever saw,’ she said, as if that made it better.
It didn’t. There was a reason he’d acted that way, why he’d only shown the world a certain side, but he couldn’t tell her. He’d divulged enough truths for one day.