Risk of a Lifetime (Mills & Boon Medical) (8 page)

‘Well, you’re not lying, then, are you?’ he murmured, and twisted the cork out with a soft pop. Vapour poured like smoke out of the open neck of the bottle, and he poured the wine carefully into the glasses, put the bottle back on ice and then handed her a glass.

‘To us,’ he said softly, and she met his smouldering eyes and felt the heat in them spread through her body like wildfire.

‘To us,’ she repeated, and then she didn’t quite know what to say, so she dragged her eyes away from his before she drowned in their midnight depths.

He snagged a handful of nuts and sat down, sprawling back in the chair and crunching them up with those almost perfect, even teeth, and she reached for an olive and bit into it for something to do.

The tension was palpable, and she took a sip of the Prosecco. Bubbles tickled her nose and she wrinkled it, and he smiled. ‘Tickles, doesn’t it?’ he murmured, and she nodded.

His eyes searched hers, and he smiled ruefully.

‘Annie, relax. We’re having a drink. That’s all.’

That was all? She felt the tension drain out of her like a punctured balloon, and then a wash of something that felt curiously like disappointment.

‘OK.’

He chuckled and leant forward. ‘It doesn’t have to be all,’ he clarified. ‘It could be more.’ And his eyes trapped hers and dragged her in.

More? Oh, Lord, she wanted more...

‘Why don’t we start with the drink?’ she said, almost managing to keep the squeak out of her voice, and his mouth kicked up at the side.

‘Good idea. How are the kids?’

‘Fine,’ she said, not wanting to think about the fact that she was a mother. Not now, not in this situation. It seemed—inappropriate, somehow, as if that was another person. ‘How’s your grandfather?’

‘Rubbish.’ His smile died, and he looked away. ‘He’s going downhill. I don’t know how long he’s got, but I hope it’s not much longer. It’s just so painful to watch, and it’s tearing my grandmother apart.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah.’ He was silent for a moment, then he took a breath and turned back to her. ‘I meant to tell you, there’s a little wooden playhouse in their garden. They had it for my brother’s children, but they’ve outgrown it. I wasn’t sure if you’d got room for it or if you’d want it, but you’re welcome to it if it’s any use.’

‘Oh, Ed, thank you. The girls would love a playhouse! Does it come to pieces?’

‘I’m sure it will. I’m not sure how. It might be bolted together. I’ll have a look. It needs new felt on the roof, but otherwise it’s fine.’

‘Don’t they mind?’

He smiled sadly. ‘Grumps is past caring and Marnie would love it to go to a good home. I was talking about you yesterday, and she mentioned it.’

That surprised her. ‘You were talking about me?’

‘Well—yeah. She has a way of getting things out of me,’ he admitted ruefully.

Annie gave a hollow laugh. ‘Sounds like my mother. We’ll have to make sure they never meet. We wouldn’t have a secret left.’

He chuckled and topped up her glass. She hadn’t even realised it was empty. She was obviously drinking faster than she’d realised. Nerves? Probably. She was terrified this was going to be a disaster, terrified he’d take one look at her and run, terrified he’d break her heart if she gave him the chance. What was she
doing
? She grabbed a couple of olive breadsticks to blot up the alcohol. ‘These are really nice.’

‘They are.’ He took one, too, then reached for another one at the same time as her and their fingers brushed. Heat shot up her arm like lightning, and she gave a little involuntary gasp and pulled her hand back.

Their eyes clashed—and held.

Her heart started to race, her lips parted, her mouth dried. She swallowed, and slid the tip of her tongue over her dry lips, and he sucked in a breath. Audibly.

For what seemed like minutes but was probably only a few seconds, they sat there, eyes locked, unmoving, and then he got slowly, deliberately, to his feet.

Without breaking the silence he put the breadstick down with exaggerated care and held out his hand to her. Her breadstick fell to the floor, unheeded, and she took his hand and let him pull her up. Gently, inch by inch, he eased her up against him, bent his head and touched his lips to hers, and her body went up in flames.

‘Ed...’

She breathed his name against his lips, and he lifted his head, staring down into her eyes as if looking for an answer, and clearly he found it.

‘Not here,’ he growled softly, and, threading his fingers through hers, he towed her in through the conservatory, through the open kitchen dining space, up the stairs and into the front bedroom.

It was white.

Pure white. All of it, the whole house.

Like a sanctuary, she thought, cool and calm and safe.

And then he cupped her face in his strong, long-fingered hands, bent his head and kissed her, and her brain emptied of everything except sensation.

His mouth was hot.

Hot, firm, his lips slightly damp so they clung to hers, tugging them as he nipped and suckled. She felt his tongue stroke the crease between her lips, and her mouth opened, parting for him, his tongue following, delving, probing.

She delved back, duelling with him, dragging a groan up from deep inside his chest.

She felt her legs buckle, but he grabbed her, hauling her hard up against him so she felt the heat pouring off him, the pressure of his erection, the pounding of his heart against her breasts.

And the need. Oh, God, the need. She felt it too, felt the wanting, the desperation, the compulsion to tear off their clothes and feel his skin against hers.

She pushed him away, and he dropped his hands, stepped sharply back and met her eyes. He was fighting for control, struggling for breath, and his eyes were wild.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asked, his voice ragged, and she gave a fractured laugh, her nerves driven out by something far greater.

‘Only if you want me to kill you.’

His eyes shut briefly, and when he opened them she was smiling. ‘Hell’s teeth, Annie. Come here, woman.’

He pulled her back gently into his reach, his fingers shaking as he undid her blouse one infuriating little pearly button at a time. Why the hell hadn’t she worn the jersey dress? One move and it would have been off, and he’d be touching her, holding her, burying himself inside her—

Hanging on to his control by a thread, he peeled the blouse back over her shoulders, trapping her arms, and then he let his eyes rake her breasts.

Pretty, delicate lace encased them, coffee and cream. He wondered idly if it was the same bra he’d soaked in coffee the other day. Hell, if he’d only known this was underneath those scrubs...

He swore under his breath, lowered his head and trailed his tongue slowly, so slowly around the edge of the lace, blowing lightly over the damp skin. She whimpered, but he didn’t stop. Instead he slid one hand up her back, fisted it in her hair and pulled her head back gently, his mouth trailing upwards, over her throat, pausing in the hollow where her pulse was pounding.

He could feel it under his tongue, the heavy throb of her need. Good. He wanted her with him every step of the way.

She whimpered again, writhing against him. ‘Kiss me...’

‘I am.’

Not like that. More
...

His lips moved along her jaw, up to her ear, his tongue brushing the lobe and sending arrows stabbing through her core.

‘Ed,
please
...’

He lifted his head and stared down at her. ‘Tell me what you want.’

Oh, mercy
.

‘You,’ she said bluntly. ‘Right now. I’ve been thinking about this for days and— Oh!’

She landed in the middle of the bed, arms still trapped behind her by her sleeves, and he unzipped her jeans.

‘Lift up,’ he ordered, and she dug her heels in, lifted her bottom and he stripped the jeans off her legs and threw them on the floor. One finger hooked into the top of her tiny lace shorts, and he gave a little tug. She lifted again, and he eased them down, down, over her knees, past her calves, over her ankles, his eyes following them every inch of the way.

They fell to the floor, and she lay there staring up at him, propped on her elbows and feeling desperately vulnerable, while his eyes raked her body dispassionately.

No. That was wrong. He looked up at last, and there was nothing dispassionate about the fire that burned in those eyes. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him, and she squirmed with frustration.

‘Please...’

The word came out jagged and broken, and his mouth kicked up in a teasing, wicked smile.

‘Since you ask so nicely.’

He didn’t hang about. He pulled his shirt off over his head, shucked his jeans and boxers in one movement, and then reached for a foil packet.

‘Let me.’

She struggled up, freeing her arms at last from the wretched blouse, and took it from him, rolling the condom slowly, firmly down the silken shaft of his erection.

He sucked in his breath, held it for a second then tipped her backwards, coming down on top of her, every muscle taut with control. Her legs wrapped around him, drawing him closer as he surged into her, filling her and bringing tears of relief to her eyes, and she clung to his shoulders, her fingers digging in, gripping him as he drove into her again.

‘Oh, that’s so good,’ he ground out, and then he rolled over, taking her with him, lying flat on his back as he looked up at her.

‘And that’s even better,’ he murmured, his hands reaching up and cupping her breasts, still in the confines of her bra. ‘Take it off for me. I want to see you.’

She hesitated for a second, swamped by doubts again. Her breasts were no longer pert and firm. She’d fed twins, for heaven’s sake! But he arched a brow in mock impatience, so she sucked in a breath and reached behind her back, arching a little to do it, and he lifted his hips and she gasped. ‘Ed—’

‘Nice?’

‘
Nice
isn’t really the word,’ she gritted, and he gave a slow, warm laugh that vibrated deep inside her.

The bra dropped away, freeing her breasts, and for a moment she held her breath. She needn’t have worried. He lifted his hands, cradled them gently and sighed.

‘Oh, that’s better,’ he murmured, his thumbs grazing gently over her nipples, dragging out every last ounce of sensation until she cried out and writhed against him. And then he smiled that wicked smile again and started moving, and she felt the tension grip her tighter, felt it spiral up until at last he flipped her beneath him, pinning her down as he drove into her again and again and took her with him over the edge into freefall.

* * *

Wow.

Just—wow.

He hadn’t really expected this. He’d been half joking when he’d asked her. Not that he hadn’t meant it, but he’d never for a moment imagined she’d take him seriously, far less say yes.

And she’d blown him away, with her openness, her courage, her astonishing responsiveness. He still couldn’t quite believe it had happened.

He touched her face gently with his fingertips, and she tilted her head towards him and smiled shyly. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi, yourself. OK?’

Her smile widened, and she nodded. ‘Very OK.’

‘Good. I’ll be back in a moment,’ he murmured. He eased his arm out from under her, snagged his jeans off the floor and headed for the bathroom, then went downstairs, locked the back gate, brought the Prosecco and nibbles back in on the tray and carried them up to the bedroom.

‘Interval refreshments,’ he said with a wicked grin, and got back into bed beside her, propping himself up against the pillows and holding out her glass.

She sat up cross-legged in the bed, tucked the quilt around her and took the glass from him. ‘Thanks. I wondered where you’d gone.’

His grin was wry. ‘I thought a little security might be in order. We left the back gate unlocked and the doors hanging open.’

‘Ah.’

‘And the Prosecco downstairs.’

‘Bad move. That would have been a waste.’ She sipped, then frowned, and he could see reality starting to intrude. ‘What time is it? I forgot to put my watch on after my shower.’

‘Ten past ten.’

Her shoulders dropped. ‘Oh. That’s good. I thought it must be later.’

‘What time is your mother expecting you home?’

She shrugged, lifting her shoulders and causing the quilt to slip enticingly. ‘I told her it would probably be elevenish.’

His smile was slow and lazy, and full of promise.

‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘That gives us lots more time. Drink up.’

* * *

He walked her home.

‘You don’t need to,’ she told him, but he just arched a brow.

‘Yes, I do,’ he said, his voice implacable, and he walked her right to the door.

She turned to him, unsure what to say.
Thank you for the best sex of my life?
That didn’t seem quite appropriate, but it was the truth.

In the end she just looked up at him, and he smiled knowingly. ‘We should do that again some time,’ he said innocently, and she nearly laughed out loud.

‘That would be lovely.’

She went up on tiptoe and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’

This time there was no mistaking the meaning in his eyes, and she swallowed and took a step back. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Annie. Sweet dreams.’

He didn’t kiss her goodnight. He’d already done that very thoroughly before they’d left the house, but he stayed there until she was safely inside.

She closed the door quietly and leant against it, centring herself, listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps. The television was still on in the sitting room, and she went in, wondering if she looked as thoroughly loved as she had been, and smiled brightly at her mother.

‘Hi. Want a cup of tea?’

‘No, thanks, darling. I’m just watching the last five minutes of this and I’m off to bed. Good time?’

‘Yes, thanks. Very nice.’

Hardly the word, but there you go. But it had been nice in many ways. Very nice. Nice to have time to herself, nice to be the focus of someone’s undivided attention, nice to be so thoroughly and spectacularly loved.