Every Girl's Secret Fantasy

Picking up where she and the best of the bad boys had left off. Come what may, she wanted to know the soul-lifting sensation of his mouth covering hers while his hands on her shoulders drew her close. Already she could feel his palms edging her straps down, his touch moulding over her breasts, slipping beneath the elastic of her panties and then scooping between the receptive join of her inner thighs. Stroking her…loving her…

Overheated, Phoebe fanned herself with her rundown, then repositioned her bag strap firmly over her shoulder. This was getting way too hard and way too hot. The constant tug of war—whether she should or whether she shouldn’t—was making her crazy. A mass of frazzled nerves.

The sooner she was out of here, away from Pace, and on her way to Tyler’s Stream the better.

They met at the bottom of the bleachers amidst the smell of spilt soda, banks of dying lights and streams of departing audience members, who veered about them like rapids around two rocks. No surprise, Pace’s smile—oblique and entrancing—held even more power now that he was within touching distance.

Kissing distance.

He settled his arms over that edible chest, which this morning was covered by a collared white shirt, sleeves rolled high enough to reveal prominent cords wreathed beneath the surface of bronzed forearms. Phoebe held back a sigh as her tummy muscles twinged and squeezed. Could this man look anything other than completely sexy?

Too late, Phoebe realised she was staring. From the satisfied slant of his smile Pace realised it too. Clearing her throat, her cheeks flushed, she dropped her gaze. But other women passing weren’t shy about checking out the darkly attractive man who, remarkably, seemed to have eyes only for her.

Phoebe had a logical explanation for that.

She was his current object of desire. The power of the pre-coital gaze was well documented and part and parcel of any genuine seduction attempt. Predators mesmerised their prey with the power of their eyes. He was supposed to make her feel this warm and wickedly bothered…this giddy and aching with want inside.

Phoebe shook herself partway back. This was so not the time. So definitely not the place.

Herding her whirling thoughts together, she curled stray hair behind an ear and, schooling her expression, asked in a blithe tone, “So, how’d you like the show?”

“Very much.” A frown creased his tanned brow. “But I’m glad it’s over.”

She blinked at him. Glad? “Really?”

He stepped closer. “It means you’re free.”

When he gifted her a smile meant to strip the clothes from her body Phoebe battled to contain any evidence that might reveal she was liquefying on the inside, and in an extremely pleasant way.

Instead she pointed out, “I won’t be free for long. I have that trip home to make today, remember?”

“Indeed I do.” He performed a flourishing wave in the general direction of the car park. “Madame, your ride awaits you.”

Understanding dawned, and a soft smile lifted her mouth. He’d brought the loaner car here rather than have her go all the way into Brodricks. Bad boy or not, he was pretty good at this white knight stuff.

“I appreciate that,” she said, her tone nothing but sincere.

“Perhaps you can do me a favour in return.”

Her heart skipped several beats and, alert again, she laced then locked her fingers behind her back. “If it has anything to do with my hands touching your chest, count me out.”

Not here anyway.

He chuckled. “Still in denial?”

She wasn’t in denial. She knew the power he potentially had over her. Knew the dangers, too. But was he honest enough to be one hundred per cent truthful about what was behind his interest in her?

“Perhaps you can help me overcome my…denial,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re so keen for us to be…to be…?”

“Lovers?” he supplied and, her heart hammering at the evocative image that word drew in her head, she nodded. He rolled back his shoulders. “All right. I will.”

She had no time to think, to dodge, to tell him that what he was about to do was highly inappropriate—as if that would have stopped him. One second she was challenging him to admit that his persistence was more about the thrill of the chase than any extraordinary quality on her part except, perhaps, resistance. The next strong hands had cupped her bare shoulders and determined arms drew her near. Her heart had no time to leap from her chest before the event she’d imagined far too often was actually happening. And the reality of the experience was a thousand times more thrilling, and devastating, than she could ever have dreamed possible.

As his mouth met hers, a steam bath of longing rose up and stole the rest of her breath away. The effect started low in her belly and sped through her veins, making her every sense heat up and her mind go blank then bright with a million colours. She felt him, smelled him, and as his mouth locked over hers tasted him too, with every famished, sighing cell in her body.

He drew her closer at the same time as his tongue pried her lips apart.

But that wasn’t true. No force was needed. She opened up for him, offering no struggle. No fight. Rather, she let the rundown slip from her grasp and, as if on autopilot, slid her palms up over the steely cage of his ribs, then higher to grip the velvet-covered rock available beneath the smooth fabric of his shirt. Her fingertips brushed and then kneaded the buttons, aching to rip the front wide open.

When all too soon his mouth gradually left hers, Phoebe’s eyes remained closed and her clinging fingers stayed glued to his chest. She could feel his heart beating all the way through to her bones. His primal heat swirled out, filling her like a flash storm filled a needy well.

A deep, assured voice filtered through her pulsing fog. “Does that answer your question?”

Her heavy eyelids dragged open.

His strong shadowed jaw was the first thing she saw, but she felt so light-headed the world seemed to be tipped on its axis. Was she still on the same planet? In the same century?

Awareness slowly filtered back and, with an ice-cold draft falling through her middle, Phoebe realised precisely where she was. Then another even more frightening reality bubbled up.

Heat scorched her face as, near rigid with shame, she carefully angled her head. Her vision arced a horrifyingly slow forty-five degrees. The room was dead quiet, but not empty…in fact very much the opposite.

Perhaps fifty people stood frozen, all eyes on them. Some folk stared with mouths wide open. Others were grinning like loons. Many women held their hearts, a look of sublime amazement mixed with envy stamped on their faces.

Phoebe withered into her shoes as a shivering, shaky sensation dropped through her middle. Just when she thought she might shrivel up and keel over with embarrassment, a voice broke the silence.

“Mummy, that lady doesn’t look so good. Maybe Daddy should give her mouth to mouth next?”

It was too much. Phoebe’s knees gave way.

As she went to stabilise her weight against the bleachers’ hand rail, Pace caught and swept her up into his arms. A unified sigh from the crowd went up around them. She was centre stage in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Certainly didn’t want. She hadn’t meant to lose herself and kiss him back. She’d surrendered her senses in one very weak moment. Surrendered completely…

And enjoyed it—as everyone had no doubt seen.

Smothering a groan, she hid her face in her hands.

She’d made a display of herself in front of her workmates—in front of her audience—with the man who’d made no bones about declaring she shouldn’t fight what compelled them together. Her cheeks felt like twin ovens, even as her body sizzled with the afterglow of the magic.

Even while she secretly wished that amazing kiss hadn’t ended quite so soon.

Her flushed face still buried in her hands, she felt Pace set off with a languid gait. Soon the resumed noises of the crew cleaning up and the audience leaving through the studio side exit faded. When she had the courage to come out from her hideyhole Pace was strolling through Goldmar’s enormous front reception area, cradling her in his arms as if she weighed no more that a bag full of feathers.

Behind her circular polished teak desk, Cheryl the receptionist sat up for a better look as Pace marched them across the crimson-carpeted expanse. From the surrounding walls the eyes of the studio’s “stars” peered down at them. Phoebe hadn’t got used to seeing her own face up there yet. When Steve Trundy heard about this incident he’d want to set a new record in ripping it down.

Pace stopped in front of her giant close-up and angled his head, analysing. “It’s a good print, but it doesn’t capture your…effervescence.”

With Cheryl’s interest still firmly upon them, Phoebe didn’t need to discuss photography. But Pace studied the shot more keenly, before dropping his gaze to search her features. “Your eyes sparkle much more than that.”

After the embarrassment he’d put her through, she sorely wanted to throw a barb and wrench this out-of-control situation back into some kind of order. But another less belligerent part of her wanted to accept his compliment graciously. This situation wasn’t ideal…

But it wasn’t all bad.

She’d never been kissed like that before. She was still quaking, every nerve-ending singing as if they’d all been zapped by some heaven-sent force. She wished their embrace hadn’t happened in such a public forum; she wasn’t certain she would ever live down her flagrant show of abandon in front of so many. But she couldn’t deny that the experience had been a huge boost to her confidence. The heat Pace conjured in her couldn’t be drawn from an ice queen, and instinct said he was capable of stoking that fire a whole lot higher.

So, hoping that her eyes were indeed sparkling, she simply smiled. He returned a dazzling smile of his own, but when he headed for the automatic glass doors—without thinking to put her down—a prickle of panic caught at the back of her throat.

“What are you doing?” The door came nearer and she pushed against his chest—for all the good it did. His stride didn’t miss a beat. “Where are you taking me?”

She’d kissed him back. Yes, had revelled in it. But she hadn’t waved a limit-free green flag. He knew kidnapping was illegal, right?

“I believe I mentioned a favour,” he said, still walking, and her thoughts wound back.

Yes, he had mentioned something about returning the favour of taking the time to deliver her car personally. She’d thought he’d meant to toy with her again and convince her to put her hands somewhere on his body. She’d ended up doing that, and more, all on her own.

Her throat closed as the exit drew nearer. A gleaming black sports car sat parked on the building’s forecourt, its spokes shining and its lines straight out of a Bond film. This was her Brodricks loaner? She could envisage Pace slipping her into the passenger side, him sliding behind the wheel and stealing her away to heaven knew where to do heaven knew what.

She let out a trembling sigh.

How certain was she that she wanted to protest?

Her toes curled as she asked, “Exactly how big is this favour?”

“Let’s just say…” he flicked her a glance and winked “…it won’t hurt.”

She swallowed.

Well, that was good to know.

“Whatever it is,” she said, “I can walk. You can put me down.”

“I could. But I’m having too much fun.”

Flattered, and taken aback, she gaped at him. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I know I’m right. Tell me you didn’t enjoy our kiss.”

She crossed her arms and looked away. Always fishing. He didn’t need her affirmation.

Outside now, Pace pulled up. When he didn’t speak or let her down she warily met his gaze. His blue eyes were hooded, but bright in the sunlight—bright and burning with intent. She held her breath as he lifted her higher in his arms and angled his head, pretending he was hard of hearing.

“I’m sorry?” he said. “Did you say something?”

As he spoke, his raspy jaw turned slightly and gently grazed her temple, carefully trailed her cheek. Her body reacted, humming with need, as if her flesh and her blood were programmed to sit up and beg whenever the promise of intimate contact with this man became anything near a possibility.

She wanted to tell him to show a little mercy and give her some breathing space. But, much more, she wanted the delicious sensation he whipped up inside her to go on. Seriously—if he could kiss like that, how would the rest of his repertoire pan out? How would it be to know Pace Davis fully unleashed and acting purely on animal instinct? If he couldn’t set her fireworks off, no one could. Surely neither of them would be disappointed?

Pace’s jaw skimmed her chin, her heart began to thump and her heavy eyes drifted closed. When his lips brushed hers, both nipples fired up beneath her filmy blouse.

He nipped her bottom lip and ran his tongue along the seam. “Say it. Say you want me to kiss you again.”

Her stomach muscles quivered, and she moaned in her throat as his mouth lingered agonisingly close.

Phoebe held herself taut, told herself to think of the consequences if things should go bad. But the urge to surrender was greater than the need to take her next breath.

Oh, what the hell?

Her arms looped around his neck and she raised herself to meet his mouth. For better or worse, she was ready to start talking.

Chapter Four

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