A Groom For The Taking

He took a step closer.

She turned her head. He stopped, the toes of his right foot clamping together as he held himself statue-still. But she only looked as far as her glass, her long hair shielding half her face like a curtain of brown silk. She dipped a finger into the glass and brought it to her lips, slowly sucking the red droplet into her mouth.

Something finally alerted her to his presence—probably the fact that his blood was pumping so hard and fast through his body people could hear it three floors down—and she turned with a fright, her hand to her chest.

‘Where did you spring from?’ she asked, breathless.

‘The bar,’ he said, sounding as if he’d swallowed a ream of sandpaper. ‘Had a coffee. They do pretty good coffee. Now I’m back.’

Bradley Knight, the great communicator.

‘What’s the time?’ She glanced at her huge watch, her eyes opening wide as she saw how long had passed since they’d parted.

‘It’s late,’ he agreed. But he didn’t give a hoot. It might as well have been ten in the morning. He felt so alert. So conscious of every sound, every movement, every shift and sway of her nubile half-naked form. ‘What’s with the hat?’

‘The—? Oh.’ Her eyes practically crossed as she looked up. ‘You wanted to know what was in my suitcase? This. And feather boas. A hot pink veil. Dozens of packets of condoms. A box of dried rose petals. A veritable traveling maid-of-honour’s just-in-case bag of tricks.’

She took off the hat, strands of her dark hair catching in the weave. She ran her fingers through the waves till they fell in messy kinks across her shoulders.

His feet moved as though driven by a deeper force.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’ he asked.

She twirled the hat around one finger and caught it before it tipped into the pool. ‘Wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to.’

She shot him a quick glance. Far too quick for him to be able to read it fully. But the fact that she was up, waiting. It would be rude not to join her.

‘Perhaps that’s because we never did get to finish that dance,’ he rumbled, hating himself even as he said it. If he was Catholic he’d be spinning Hail Marys in his head. As it was he was pretty sure he was going straight to hell.

‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘We were rudely interrupted before the big finale.’

‘It did feel like we were building up to … something.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘I was all prepared for a grand Hollywood dip. You?’

Despite the tension swirling about the room, Bradley laughed.

She laughed too, her cheeks pinkening charmingly. She pulled her knees up to her chin. Water glistened down her lean pale gold legs. Toenails painted every colour of the rainbow twinkled in the misty light reflecting back off the water. She had been busy while he was away. And he didn’t blame her. If she felt anything like he did she’d have to climb a mountain to have any chance at burning off the adrenalin rocketing through her system.

Damn, but she was something. Sexy, playful, smart, and completely unpretentious. And in his world—a world peopled by pretenders—that was a truly unique quality. All this from a woman who, somewhere in her room, had dozens of packets of just-in-case condoms. Just sitting there. Going to waste.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he slowly rolled up the legs of his jeans. She rubbed her chin on her shoulder, her eyes straying over the flecks of hair covering his mountaineer’s calves.

In two steps he was beside her, sinking down onto the cool tiles, his bare feet all but sighing in pleasure as they dipped into the glistening hot water. The temperature came close to matching the heat his body was already radiating now he was sitting within touching distance of that shoulder, that hair, those legs. That mouth.

It was all there for the taking. If only her expectations weren’t too high. Or his too low. If only they could meet somewhere …

‘I have a proposal,’ Bradley said, before he even felt the words coming.

She blinked at him. ‘Do you, now?’

‘I do. And here it is. You’re here another three days. I have nowhere else to be. And this suite is built for all the decadence and debauchery a wild weekend can muster.’

Her chest rose and fell as she breathed deep. But she didn’t for a moment look away.

‘I propose we don’t waste another minute. But here’s the clincher. Come Tuesday … whatever happens in Tasmania stays in Tasmania.’

Her hands curled over the tiled edge of the spa pool until the knuckles turned white. His did the same. He moved his finger half an inch and it connected with hers. Her head dropped back and a tremble shook through her.

And in the end that was all it took. An arrangement they could both live with and the touch of a finger.

With a moan that was half-anguish and half-relief Hannah straddled him in one deft move. Her hands were deep in his hair, her mouth on his, and she was kissing him as though her life depended on it.

That mouth. It was nothing short of divine. Bradley wrapped his arms about her oh-so-slight form, closed his eyes, and let that gorgeous mouth take him to heaven and back. Deal or no deal, that mouth was as close to heaven as he was ever likely to get.

Eons later the kisses slowed. Softened. Sweetened. His hormones continued to rage through him, looking for release. Gentle discovery was such gorgeous agony.

Hands on his shoulders, she kissed his temple. His cheek. The very corner of his mouth. He turned to take sanctuary there again, but she moved on to nibble at his earlobe.

‘Devil,’ he groaned.

Her laughter whispered across his ear, soft and sexy. Just like her.

He slid his hands straight to her backside and pulled her close, dragging the curve between her thighs across the hard peak of his denimclad erection. She gasped and clung to him, her teasing laughter nothing but a memory.

He registered a pair of underpants before his hands slipped beneath her top. His thumbs ran over her hipbones, his fingers delving into the soft, feminine flesh at her waist. His exploration continued and he found nothing but skin. Scorching hot, velvet-soft naked skin.

When his thumbs brushed the underside of her bare breasts she bucked in pleasure. His stomach clenched tight to keep himself upright. To keep him from knocking himself out on the tiles or falling into the spa.

Though the thought of Hannah slippery and wet was almost enough to blow his mind, the thought of being stuck in wet jeans and unable to shuck his way out of the blasted things kept him rooted to the spot.

He cupped her breast to find a perfect handful. Beautiful. Every inch of her was staggeringly beautiful. The way she reacted at his slightest touch overwhelmed him again and again. He knew he had skills. But Hannah made him feel like a Grand Master. It only made him want to prove her right. To prove to them both their pact would be worth it.

But before he even had the chance she’d whipped her top over her head. Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she was gone. The warm body writhing so deliciously in his arms was now nothing but a cool empty space.

It took him a moment to realise Hannah had slipped into the spa. Then she reappeared, water streaming over her face, glistening from her long dark hair. Hot, wet, slippery. And then a tiny pair of black underpants appeared on a twirling finger before she flipped them onto the tiles.

Bradley was on his feet, stripping down before he even realised what was happening. Jacket. Top. Singlet. Jeans.

Dammit. Button fly!

His fingers felt fat and numb as he struggled with what felt like a thousand buttons.

He slipped into the water, searching for her. The damn pool wasn’t any more than two metres by two metres, but the floor was a mottled midnight-blue, and lit only by the filmiest of winter moonlight.

Then he felt the slightest pressure on his inner thigh. His hipbone. His belly button. It was her lips as she kissed her way up his body.

She emerged from the water like some kind of siren. Dark slick hair, skin like cream, mouth creating the most delicious havoc with his senses.

He leaned his elbows on the tiles, relishing the cold hardness, hoping it might keep him from teetering over the edge into oblivion. It did. Barely.

She slid a slow hand up his chest. Her tongue followed, creating a burning hot path across his ribs, around his left nipple. Her soft naked flesh slid sensually against his.

And then, as her teeth sank hard into the sensitive tendon across the top of his shoulder, her other hand wrapped around his erection. One finger at a time. Till she had him in her complete thrall.

The primal growl building up inside him finally found release. It echoed against the black windows. It reverberated across the top of the water. And Hannah’s grip, both up top and below, faltered.

At the first sign of a pause in her utterly sensual seduction of him he wrested back control.

He lifted her out of the pool, spun her about, and sat her unceremoniously on the tiles.

She squeaked in shock, her limbs flailing as she tried to get purchase on the slippery floor. She sat before him completely naked, nowhere to hide.

She looked down at him. Wide pale eyes rimmed by smudged eyeliner. Pink-peaked breasts turning to dark nubs in the cooler air.

Vulnerable. Completely at his mercy. He realised with a jolt what kind of responsibility that engendered. Just what kind of line he was treading.

Then her naked foot slid up his side. He jerked beneath the heated caress. Shuddered. Then focussed. She was a grown woman. A woman who knew the boundaries. A woman who wanted this as much as he did.

Bradley placed his hands on her knees. She flinched. Good, he thought. He wanted her completely aware of what was about to happen to her.

She never looked away. When he began to press them apart slowly, oh-so-achingly slowly, she let him.

Her eyes grew dark—so unexpectedly dark, so beautifully dark. Her lips parted. Her skin grew pink. All over. How had he never noticed the sensuality that oozed from her pores?

Fine. He’d noticed. He’d just worked the both of them to the point of exhaustion every time his body reacted to her, in an effort to keep his life uncomplicated.

Fool.

He yanked her closer, her backside sliding along the tiles till her legs dangled in the water. A surprised sigh rushed from her lungs. Then he lifted her legs slowly, one by one, and draped them over his shoulders. Her heels bounced against his back, creating hot swirls of need that coiled tightly in his gut. And while a thousand conflicting emotions flittered across her face she gave in to him without a murmur. Loose as a rag doll, she slowly lay back on the tiles, her head coming to rest on his rolled-up jacket.

Trusting him completely.

Again realisation jarred him. How could she? Why would she? He’d never done anything to engender such faith from her. He was pretty hard guy most of the time, and she didn’t seem to care. She needed to toughen up. Big-time. And fast.

He’d tell her so. Later. Much later. For right then all his brain function went into demanding that his hand run down her front, graze her breasts, take its time over the sexy little rise at her belly. Her torso lifted and curled to follow the trail of his touch, as if not being touched by him was simply too much to bear.

Desire the likes of which he’d never felt roared unimpeded through him, lit by a need to please her. To show her that her trust wasn’t unfounded. And to drive every thought she’d ever had completely out of her mind.

Then he lowered his mouth to her inner thigh, the scent of her making his nostrils flare in anticipation. Her hands slammed out sideways, grabbing onto his shirt, his jeans, whatever purchase she could find.

He ran his tongue along the muscle quivering in her thigh. God, she was temptation incarnate. So responsive, so lush. How he managed to keep from hauling her back into the water and having his way with her he had no idea.

He pressed her legs further apart again. Her heels dug into his back, tugging him closer. Her desire for him was so bold he ached. A gorgeous, pleading little whimper escaped that beautiful mouth, and he lowered his own mouth to the warm waiting juncture.

He took her to the very edge of madness, and himself right along with her. She endured and endured and endured the pleasure with rabid delight—until she finally hit a height of pleasure even she could no longer maintain and completely fell apart.

He kept his hands on her, feeding off her luxuriation as a series of aftershocks trembled through her. The way she responded was so gratifying he could have done the same again and again. All night long if she’d let him.

When the trembles abated, he slid his thumbs up her thighs till her hands clamped down on his.

It seemed she had other ideas.

She pulled herself upright, clearly having been sapped of a good deal of her strength. He’d done that. It gave him a hell of a buzz to know he’d turned her to jelly.

She slid slowly back into the water. He held her by the waist and helped her. As her feet touched the bottom, she held his face in both hands and looked deep into his eyes. All he could do was breathe and look right back.

No fear. No reticence. No holding back. No regret.

Rules or no rules, boundaries or no boundaries, somewhere inside him a portal opened, so that he felt her serenity, her surety, her blissed-out satisfaction infiltrating him. It was as if he was physically experiencing her afterglow.

Then she smiled. A smile fuelled by pure sin.

Wham! All sense of serenity fled as he was slapped across the face with the triple threat of that inner light. That natural impudence. That glorious mouth.

The portal snapped shut. His erection ached.

His turn had come.

The condoms.

Hell. Hadn’t she said they were in her suitcase?

Bradley was so far gone he couldn’t even remember which direction her room was. The idea of a mad dash to her room and back was about as appealing as eating fried worms.

But she was on the pill. That little pearl had come up in conversation at some point. Could he let that be enough? God, he wished he could let that be enough—

Hannah reached over, and from next to her discarded wine glass appeared a square foil packet. She had been waiting for him. With intent. His divine little siren. He wondered how many of the dozens of packets she’d strewn around the suit, just in case. Then again he didn’t give a damn. Right now he only needed one.

She peeled the packet from around the latex disk with her teeth. Then slid slowly back into the water, dark, dark eyes looking right into his. She moved up to him, rolled the sheath into place, slowly wrapped her legs around his hips, and lowered herself onto him. He pressed deep, perfectly deep, into her ready flesh, as though he’d been waiting his whole life for that moment.

Twenty-four hours, a small voice reminded him. Somewhere between twenty-four hours and twelve months. And he had no more than three days in which to fully satisfy himself.

With that divine mouth gently tugging at his, that heavenly tongue sliding along his, those clever teeth creating havoc with his earlobes, she rode him.

Slowly. Achingly slowly. Then faster. And harder.

He took over, losing himself inside her until the pressure became too much. Too wild. Too heavy. Too powerful. And he came as he’d never come before.

He could feel her playing with the back of his hair. Her chin rested lightly on his shoulder, her outward breaths puffed against his earlobe.

All that heat and release and temptation and response, from the light, lean creature bobbing in his arms.

Compared with the intensity of what they’d just experienced she felt so slight. So small. So breakable. He felt an immense urge to hold her close. To keep her safe from all harm.

It was a crazy thought. Random. And impossible. Especially considering he was the biggest threat she had in her line of sight right then.

He slowly uncurled her from around him, hoping physical distance might make the floor of the spa not feel as if it was about to give way at any moment.

Only the second she lifted her head and smiled up at him, all lethargy and loose limbs, his gaze went straight to her mouth. To her moist pink lips. Between one breath and the next his body revved up like a hot-rod car, waiting for the green light. And all he could think was, More.

Apprehension flashed inside his head. If that hadn’t sated him, at least for the moment, what on earth would it take? Well, whatever it took, it had to be done by the end of the long weekend.

It was already after four in the morning on day two. They had hours of daylight in which to sleep. It certainly wouldn’t hurt him taking until sunrise to find out just what it might take to get Hannah Gillespie out of his system for good.

With a caveman grunt, he hauled her over his shoulder and walked them out of the pool.

‘Where do you think you’re taking me?’ she yelled, laughing, pounding useless hands on his back.

‘Bed.’

She lifted her head and tried to angle it around to see his face. Her backside wriggled against his cheek. He literally began to shake with arousal. Sunrise was an arbitrary end point, surely?

‘Bed?’ she cried. ‘But we’re sopping wet!’

‘That’s why I’m going to yours,’ he added.

She laughed. Easy, free, gorgeous. Ready for more. Ready for anything.

He kicked open her bedroom door. This was going to be some night.

Waves of gold and pink blurred across the backs of Hannah’s eyelids. Keeping her eyes closed, she stretched, her naked limbs sliding unhindered across her massive bed.

She creaked her eyes open to find sunlight pouring through the windows. It was morning. Make that late morning. And muscles she hadn’t even known existed twinged in protest.

Then, in a rush of bright and beautiful heat, it all came back to her.

Bradley. The slow dance. The kiss. The rebuff. The resolution not to take it lying down, so to speak. The spa. Oh, my—the spa! And lastly, but certainly not least of all, hours and hours of the most intense feats of sexual prowess in the bed in which she now lay.

Taking a sheet with her, she curled luxuriously onto her side. And grinned.

‘Wow,’ she whispered, her voice rough and husky.

Wow, indeed. If anyone had asked how she’d hoped the first day of her long-awaited holiday might turn out, she’d never, even in her wildest dreams, have imagined she’d end up in bed with the boss.

A whisper of cool air tickled at her feet. And at her conscience. She curled up tighter and rubbed them together.

Everything was fine. Gorgeous, even. Had been from the moment Bradley had opened his beautiful mouth and said the magic words, ‘Whatever happens in Tasmania stays in Tasmania.’

The second he’d uttered those words the fantasies that had niggled at the corner of her mind since she’d known him had been given free rein. Within limits. Limits that meant she had no choice but to put a stop to any hope this might become more. Limits that gave her the comfort that in the aftermath Bradley wanted things to go back to normal too.

And once they got back to town—to real life, to work—they could both count on the fact that everything that had happened that weekend would be over. Niggling desires satisfied. Blissfully, beautifully, erotically satisfied.

Bradley could go back to being aloof and cool and stubborn and untouchable.

And she could happily continue …

What? Not dating? Ignoring the sensual side of herself so as to concentrate on her serious side? While hoping to one day magically find herself a man who could give her the love and loyalty and romance and openness that she refused to settle without? A man who would somehow manage to live up to what had happened to her last night. Who could make her feel wanton and cherished and beautiful and sexual, as she did when Bradley’s lips were on hers. When his teeth scraped over her hipbone. When his tongue slid around her breast. So far, in the first twenty-five years of her life, she’d never even come close to feeling that way with any other man.

Hell.

The crackle of oil popping on a frying pan sizzled through the ajar door. Breakfast! The desire to stick her head under the pillow and stay there for ever had to wait. It turned out she was beyond hungry. Stomach-rumblingly, mind-numbingly famished. And the man of the moment had ordered Room Service.

She wrapped a massive king-sized sheet around herself, and made a quick stop to check herself in the bathroom mirror.

‘Wow,’ she said again.

Her eyes were huge wells of liquid green, surrounded by smudges of leftover make-up. Her lips were puffy. Her cheeks pink and warm. She looked ruffled, tousled, and well-ravaged.

She glanced towards the door. Well, he was the one who’d done that too her. And brilliantly too. What was the point of pretending nothing had happened when it most certainly had? Without fixing a hair on her head, she swept up her makeshift toga and headed towards the delicious smell.

Halfway to the über-modern, stainless steel and Caesar stone kitchenette, Hannah pulled up short.

Bradley was cooking. And he was cooking what looked and smelled a heck of a lot like eggs Benedict with extra bacon. Her favourite meal on the entire planet. She was ninety-nine percent sure she’d told him as much. A few dozen times.

He’d remembered. Just as he’d remembered her favourite drink. While seeming intent on nothing more than working her to the bone, he’d paid attention. Her stomach felt as if it had been inhabited by a chorus line doing fan kicks.

He looked up, his quicksilver eyes grazing her naked shoulders before moving down the massive expanse of white sheet trailing behind her. It felt as if his hands had followed the same path.

‘Good morning,’ he said.

‘Oh, so it is still morning?’

‘Just.’

‘How long have you been up?’

‘A while.’ He glanced at the empty coffee cup and open newspaper on the glass-topped breakfast table.

With a yawn, and an inelegant hitch of her sheet, she said, ‘You should have woken me.’

His mouth hooked into the kind of half-smile that made the chorus line in her stomach start bumping into one another in blissful confusion.

‘I could have,’ he said. ‘But I thought you might need the rest.’ He didn’t need to add, After last night’s marathon efforts.

‘I’m fine,’ she said. Unfortunately another yawn cut off her declaration halfway through.

Bradley laughed softly, then turned away as a pair of English muffin-halves popped up from a toaster.

Hannah and her sheet managed to curl up on a gilded, beautifully adorned, wrought-iron dining chair. ‘This place does have Room Service, you know.’

‘Where do you think I got the eggs and muffins?’

‘Good point. So, it appears as if the man can cook.’ And sing. And dance. And create amazing television that changes people’s lives. And make love like no man I’ve ever known.

A warm glow began to fill her. A glow the likes of which she’d never felt before, but her deepest feminine instincts understood all too well. She pulled her sheet tighter in an effort to suffocate it, to forcibly remind herself: what happens in Tassie stays in Tassie.

That’s your only lifeline here, hon. Hang on tight!

Bradley said, ‘A person can’t survive on café food and Chinese takeaway alone.’

Hannah flicked the newspaper before closing it. She could beg to differ.

‘I am a single man,’ Bradley continued, ‘living alone. It was learn to cook or starve. You don’t cook?’