Mr One-Night Stand Page 10

  Memories he didn’t want pushed to the surface, telling him of happier times—of Christmases, birthdays, eisteddfods, picnics in the park; all three of them happy and content. And then...

  ‘Everything changed when I was eight. My mother got sick, and by the time they detected the cancer it was too late. She was gone within a year.’

  He felt Jennifer’s touch before he sensed her move—felt her hand curving over his thigh and soothing the chill directly beneath.

  ‘Oh, Marcus, I’m so sorry.’

  He gave a forced shrug. ‘Dad never recovered. He hit the bottle hard and never came back from it.’

  ‘And he beat you?’

  She sounded dazed, and her fingers were starting to move over him in a gentle caress. He looked to her hand and then to her face. Was she even aware she was doing it?

  ‘He was angry,’ he said simply.

  ‘But still...’

  Her eyes watered and he snapped his own away, fixating on the ceiling.

  ‘It was hell for a while,’ he admitted after a pause. ‘But when I turned twelve my grandparents took me in. I was a scrawny misfit who’d borne enough bruises to make people aware of what was happening and they couldn’t sit by any longer.’

  ‘Did you live with them for a while?’

  ‘A few years,’ he said. ‘Long enough for my gran to teach me how to play the piano.’

  His head rocked to one side, his eyes resting on the piano and bringing to him the evocative memory of Jennifer playing. She had been so beautiful, lost in the music—and, fuck, it had hurt like hell. Memories of his mother doing the same were thrusting his past in his face, pulling him apart with love and loss.

  This was why he didn’t let people in. This was why he shouldn’t be letting her in now.

  ‘How sweet.’

  ‘Sweet?’ Christ, he actually smiled, her choice of words sucking him out of the darkness descending. ‘I’m not sure Gran would agree. Teaching a grumpy teen something as uncool as the piano came with its own challenges.’

  She gave a small laugh, and her amusement lifted him further.

  ‘I bet!’

  ‘But what can I say? She knew what she was doing. I was so full of angst and in need of an outlet for it. When sport simply ended in fist fights she opted to give me a more solitary hobby—even if I wasn’t so keen in the beginning.’

  ‘She sounds like a brave woman.’

  ‘Or simply stubborn,’ he said. ‘When she puts her mind to something there’s no stopping her, and she was determined that I should have something of my mother in me.’

  ‘And so you should.’ The emotion caught in her voice as she squeezed his leg. ‘It’s a lovely thing she did. I’m sure your mum would have been very proud.’

  Lovely. Proud. He needed to get a grip on the situation. There was so much sentiment flying around he was starting to wonder where the real him had gone.

  ‘Are your grandparents still around?’

  He nodded, his gut knotting as thoughts of them in the present brought a new kind of pain.

  ‘Do they still live in your home town?’

  ‘Not the same house,’ he said distractedly. ‘I helped them secure a little cottage a few years back—close enough to the amenities but away from the hustle and bustle.’

  ‘Do you see them often?’

  ‘As often as work permits.’ Liar. The knot in his gut twisted and turned with rising guilt. But going back—it was so fucking hard. ‘Not as much as I should, I guess.’

  ‘And your father—where’s he?’

  Dad. Christ!

  His nails pierced the backs of his hands and his breath left him on a rush.

  Her fingers above his leg froze. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t—’

  ‘He’s dead,’ he cut in over her. ‘He died not long after I left home.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not,’ he said, sending her a look and seeing nothing but shock reflected back at him.

  Hell, what did she expect? But then, what could she know about it? She’d been lucky enough to grow up safely ensconced in the love of her family, whilst he...

  He quit the thought. His sudden anger was irrational—especially when it was directed at her, and especially when she’d been through her own kind of hell, losing her father and now her mother’s sickness.

  Fuck, he was a mess. In a pent-up state of hurt and need. And that was her fault.

  He needed this over with now—before he did something stupid...desperate, even. His earlier battle came back to haunt him as his eyes flitted to those parted lips and he thought about what he’d threatened do. Before she’d coaxed the tale of his past out.

  Don’t do it. Sex is sex. You can get it anywhere.

  You can’t get another her.

  As much as the last thought came as a warning—keep the business safe—it also rang true for his bed. He wanted no one else.

  ‘It’s getting late,’ he said tightly, aware of her fingers still upon his thigh and no longer finding her touch soothing or comforting. Far from it. They were urging on the part of him that still felt cheated and aroused by her earlier ploy.

  But she deserves better than you... She pushed you away... Take the not-so-subtle hint.

  Leaning forward, he reached inside his pocket for his phone. ‘I’ll give Colin a call and get him to take you home.’

  ‘Home?’

  It wasn’t the first time she’d said that to him in that almost indignant tone, but what was she after this time? Did she want more misery out of him? Or was she after something else far more appealing, far more on his wavelength?

  Don’t be an idiot. Only fools make the same mistake twice.

  ‘I think it’s time we called it a night.’

  He stood and took their wine glasses to the drinks cabinet while his mind refused to play ball. It was teasing him with a multitude of possibilities, all of which heated up as he heard her move, closing the distance between them.

  His back prickled with rising awareness but he refused to turn. He set the glasses down, purposefully avoiding her as he looked at his phone and unlocked it.

  Just a few minutes. He just had to hold out long enough to get Colin.

  ‘Wait,’ she said, her voice so close, so coaxing.

  Don’t wait. Just do it.

  ‘I’ll just—’ He broke off as she reached around him, his body coming alive as her hand smoothed over his, and then he felt the phone shift, slipping out of his hold as she took it from him and set it down next to the glasses.

  ‘Don’t, Jennifer.’ He tried to step away but there was nowhere to go. Between her and the cabinet he was locked in.

  ‘I’m really sorry.’

  Sorry? She was sorry?

  He twisted his head in surprise, getting her in his peripheral vision but not daring to focus. ‘You have nothing to apologise for.’

  ‘I do if I’ve upset you.’

  ‘Don’t be crazy.’

  He turned to her with the ardent need to reassure and realised his mistake too late, the brush of her body against his front sending all hell breaking loose inside.

  He breathed through it, thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘I’m the arse in all of this.’

  ‘As much as I want to agree...’ Her smile was small and wavering, and her eyes lit on his mouth a moment too long before returning to his. ‘I can see I’ve upset you enough to want me gone, and I’m sorry for that.’

  ‘Christ, Jennifer, this isn’t about you upsetting me.’

  Her eyes searched his. ‘It isn’t?’

  She was so close. It would be so easy.

  He let go of a ragged breath, his eyes lost in the intense green of hers, and he spied the moment it dawned on her, her breath catching, her teeth dragging in her bottom lip. The gesture was nervous a
nd endearing and sexier than it had a right to be.

  ‘Do I really need to spell it out for you?’ he asked as she stayed quiet, and she nodded, all innocent and curious and purposely teasing.

  He shoved his hands in deeper, imprisoning them. ‘Don’t do this, Jennifer. Don’t let me go back on my word.’

  ‘Your word...?’ she pressed softly, releasing her bottom lip and leaving it distractingly slick.

  He forced his eyes away. ‘I told you I’d keep myself in check.’

  ‘You told me you’d try your hardest.’

  Fuck, show some mercy.

  ‘I did, and that’s why you should go.’

  ‘I know what I should do...but...’ She looked at him, eyes wide with desire, and his body reacted in kind.

  Shit.

  He took hold of her hips, intending to turn her away, but the delicious heat permeating through her skirt killed his intent. ‘Please, Jennifer, you need to help me.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said, and for a second he saw her own uncertainty, her own confusion. ‘I don’t know what it is... Maybe it’s the fact I’ve shared more with you tonight than I ever would normally.’ She shrugged. Her eyes, bright with honesty, flitted to his lips and back again as her hand closed around the base of her throat. ‘I just feel so open, exposed...raw, almost...’

  ‘You and me both,’ he said, realising the truth of it, knowing it should bother him and not caring all the same.

  ‘Maybe it’s that you’re forbidden territory now...’ She cocked her head to the side and studied him, a kind of confidence coming over her as she seemed to shift gear. ‘Or maybe it’s simply the fact I feel cheated—that you fucked me knowing exactly who I was, whilst I...’

  Her words trailed off, her eyes burning into his and sucking him in completely.

  Do it. You know you want to. Screw sense.

  ‘And if we do this,’ he said, ‘then what? We just act like it never happened afterwards?’

  Her hands slid up his chest, brushing over his pecs, curving over his shoulders. A trail of crazed sensitivity erupted in their wake as she nodded.

  ‘Exactly.’

  His fingers flexed against her hips. The desire to lift her, carry her to the sofa and do all manner of things raged through his brain. But he needed to hear her say it. He wanted there to be no risk of misunderstanding, no risk to their business relationship.

  ‘So, what are you saying?’

  ‘That I need a chance to get you out of my system,’ she said, holding his eyes, ‘to have sex with no lies. You can see it as an IOU, if you like.’

  * * *

  An IOU? Christ, had she really just said that?

  ‘One night?’ he pressed, bowing his head.

  She hooked her fingers around his neck, loving how his heat permeated her fingers, how the scent of his recent shower engulfed her.

  Yes, an IOU—a night to burn him out of her. But would it work?

  Doubt nagged, but she didn’t care—not with this crazy need building that only he could slake.

  She raised herself on tiptoes and felt his breath catch as she paused, lips hovering a hair’s breadth from his.

  ‘Just...’ she tugged on his lower lip ‘...one...’ she flicked her tongue out to tease his upper lip ‘...more...’ she pressed her bottom lip against his parted mouth ‘...night.’

  ‘Fuck, Jennifer,’ he growled, thrusting his hands into her hair and crushing her mouth with his, his possession wild and feverish and everything she craved.

  ‘Yes...’ she moaned into his mouth, her fingers biting into his neck as she sought to keep them together, fearing he would back away, would change his mind, return to his earlier plan and get Colin.

  Fuck Colin—there was no way she was leaving. Not yet.

  Desperately she dropped her hands to the hem of his sweatshirt, wanting it gone, needing him bare to her touch. She scrabbled it up his chest, felt his hands manoeuvre to do the same to her blouse, to pull it out of her skirt. She heard the faintest sound of tearing—his top, her blouse? She had no idea. She didn’t care.

  ‘That was Armani, you know.’ He chuckled against her, breaking his mouth free only long enough to deliver the words.

  She ripped her own mouth away. ‘I couldn’t give a fuck.’

  ‘You will soon.’

  He claimed her mouth again, his fingers working at the buttons of her blouse, and a frustrated sound gave way at the back of his throat.

  He pressed her away, glaring down her front. ‘I hate buttons.’

  And then his hands were on the parted fabric and he yanked at it hard, the buttons flying free as she gasped, his impatience flooding her belly with an excited rush as the fabric fell loosely around her shoulders.

  His eyes burned into her exposed body. ‘I’ll buy you another.’

  She shook her head. ‘I think it makes us even.’

  She tugged his sweatshirt over his head and he took advantage of the move, bowing his head to her upper body as she pulled the sleeves from his arms, administering kisses, nips and sucks. His hands kneaded her above her bra, his attention urgent and driving her crazy. She tossed his top aside and forked her fingers through his hair, holding him against her.

  ‘Yes—God, yes!’ she cried, and he spun her, twisting away from the cabinet and bringing her up hard against the wall. She threw her head back into the hardness, her eyes closed as tension built like wildfire.

  His fingers slipped around her back, finding the fastening to her skirt and doing away with it, shoving it down her legs. His head lowered with the move, down to the valley between her breasts, to her undulating belly, until his heated breath was sweeping her panties.

  She felt his fingers flick open each suspender, his touch gently coaxing as he circled her thighs with each move. Her legs quivered with the thrill. And then his mouth was back, tracing a path down one leg as he slipped off one shoe and stocking and repeated the move with the other.

  He was sending her clit into a frenzied state of need. Her wetness was slipping between her thighs, her whimpers heedless, her words nonsensical as she heard herself pleading with him to do something...anything.

  And then his mouth answered, his tongue probing above her knickers, and she bucked into it, shamelessly riding his face in desperation. His hands slid up her hips, hooking beneath the lace of her thong and tugging it down.

  It dropped to her ankles and he cupped one thigh, coaxing it over his shoulder, forcing her to use him and the wall for balance and part before him. And then his mouth was upon her, his tongue hitting the nested nerve-endings that were so desperate for him, and she lost sight of everything except the tension coiling through her limbs.

  ‘You taste so good,’ he rumbled against her, his fingers slipping up to tease against her opening. ‘So wet.’ He sucked on her clit and she bucked wildly. ‘So ready for me.’

  He slid his fingers inside and the need to have him fill her, to have him inside her when she came, had her fingers clawing into his shoulders.

  ‘Marcus, fuck me.’

  ‘We have the whole night for that.’

  ‘But I want you in me,’ she rushed out. ‘Please, Marcus, now.’

  He groaned, unhooking her leg as he shot to his feet, his hands moving roughly to her hair as he pulled her head back and locked their gazes together.

  ‘You have no idea what those words do to me, coming from your lips.’

  She hooked her leg around him and pressed herself against his hardness. ‘I can feel what it does.’

  He gave a jagged breath and she felt the rough seam of his jeans biting into her sensitive clit as she wriggled into him, finding her spot, finding a rhythm that soothed and built.

  He released her head, his hands falling to curve around her hips, his eyes lowering to watch as she rode against him, and then he rasped, ‘Condom.’r />
  She gestured to the sofa. ‘My coat, my purse...’

  It took a moment for her meaning to hit and then he swept away, back in seconds, her coat in his hand. She took it from him, shaking with pent-up need as she forced her hands to do her bidding, locating her purse, extracting the packet and tossing the rest away.

  He was back with her, his body pressing her against the wall, his hands lifting her thighs around him, his mouth hot and urgent as he devoured her lips, her neck, the heated flesh above her bra. She didn’t need more teasing...she needed him filling her—now.

  ‘Marcus,’ she pleaded, pressing against his chest, feeling his skin burn into her fingers. ‘Now.’

  He raised his head, eyes ablaze as he straightened and lowered her legs. He moved to take the condom and she lifted it, holding his eyes as she locked her teeth around the perforated edge, freeing her hands to undo the button fly of his jeans.

  His cock sprang free against her, and his bareness was both surprising and exhilarating as she slipped her hands around him. ‘Commando?’

  ‘I was in a hu—’

  His words died on a hiss as she pumped him, the slickness over his tip telling her he was close, and she smiled up at him.

  ‘Don’t,’ he groaned, his hands flying to the wall either side of her, muscles flexing, jaw clamping shut, the pulse working furiously in his neck.

  So close.

  Her thighs clenched, the ache painfully acute as she tore the packet open and took out the condom, one hand holding him tight at his base, the other rolling it down, taking her time, enjoying the way his jeans hugged tight over his hips, his cock protruding above, so big, so hard for her.

  Her eyes shot to his face in fascination. His hands weren’t even on her and the tension still built. Her body was getting off on his visible fight to keep contained, his eyes glazed with need, every muscle rippling with tension. Fuck, he was beautiful, in every which way, and she wanted him with every ounce of her being.

  It should scare her.

  It would scare her.

  But not now.

  Reaching his base, she squeezed, and he reacted instantly, his hands flying to her wrists, drawing them up and away, pinning them above her head as he pressed her back against the wall.