Australia: Wicked Mistresses(69)

With one arm supporting her back, he slid the other hand under the sweater, needing the silky slide of her skin. Always when he touched her, some part of his mind registered the softness of her skin. Never had he felt such soft skin; his fingers rejoiced in it. He palmed her torso; she felt hot, so hot. She swayed, her hands clutching at the backs of his arms. Nick slid his hand up, climbing the taut slope of her breast. He heard her breath catch, felt his, when she twisted and pushed her nipple, tight and hard, into his palm. He held her like this, almost horizontal, one arm supporting her back, the other playing with her breasts, exulting in the response he knew he could elicit in her.

But then she sucked in air and shrank away, her mouth stilling under his. When she opened her eyes he could see the battle she waged, need versus denial. Self-denial.

Jordan swallowed audibly. “Not here.”

“Are you sure, Jordan?” He ran his thumb over her nipple again, loving it’s proud texture.

Jordan closed her eyes and her mouth fell open on a gush of air. “You can’t…” She arched her back to press against his hand once more.

Nick bent his head and sucked at the pebbled peak through her sweater, hearing her whimper. He doubled his efforts when he felt her knee nudge in between his legs, stop, and rub again.

“I can,” he whispered, raising his head. Still supporting her, he took his hand from under her sweater and placed it between her thighs.

She tensed and squeezed, her body stiffening.

Nick cupped her, feeling her damp heat. “We both know I can.”

He took her mouth again, recognized her capitulation in the way she strained against him, the insistent push of her knee into his aching groin. He’d held this woman in his arms, practiced his seduction on her enough times to know she was fast reaching the point of no return.

To know he was, too.

But even as her arms came around his neck, as she sagged back onto the arm of the couch, her weight dragging him down with her, his brain kicked into a higher gear, sending messages he didn’t want to hear right now. He tensed, listening to her breath come in gasps, feeling her fingers tugging at his shirt buttons.

Yes, he could take her right now, right here. He’d proved it. But that made it just another coupling that underlined the shallowness of this affair. He needed her to believe he felt more for her than just a quickie once a week, to wonder if he had real feelings for her. If that was his goal, he had to stop.

Now.

Groaning, Nick pulled back, tearing his mouth away. She stilled, clutching a handful of shirt and confusion and desire smoking up her eyes. He pulled her upright and removed his hand from between her legs. “You’re right.” His thought processes might be on target but his hands were unsteady and awkward as he tugged the hem of her top down. “Not here. Not now.”

Jordan sank back onto the arm of the sofa, her breathing still labored. As she fussed with her clothes and hair, a deep blush crawled up her throat and face.

Nick sighed. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. “I didn’t come here tonight to take you to bed.”

Her eyes slid over him briefly, then she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, studying her feet. Her hair gleamed, a sparkling curtain in the dim light. Nick reached out and stroked it, feeling ridiculously tender.

“Come out for a drink with me.” He tugged on a long lock of silky hair. “Who cares what anyone thinks?”

She shook her head, not looking at him. “I can’t go out for a drink with you.”

“Because of our fathers? How long are we going to let two old men dictate our lives?”

“It’s just not worth the hassle, Nick.” For a moment there, he almost thought she sounded sad.

“I think it is,” he argued, surprised at how stubborn he felt.

“Let’s just stick to Fridays for now.” She reached out and covered his hand with hers, looking at him beseechingly.

If she didn’t care a little, wasn’t secure in the knowledge that he cared a little, she wouldn’t have looked at him like that.

Mission accomplished. At least, he’d given her something to think about. He couldn’t afford to push too hard or force her to choose between family loyalty or him until he was assured of success.

His breath returned, along with the blood to the rest of his body. He checked his buttons—often an occupational hazard with Jordan’s impatient fingers. “Next Friday?”

Jordan rose to show him out. “Shouldn’t we at least change the time or place?”

She was obviously still wary about the photos she’d received but Nick wasn’t worried. “It’s just some eagle-eyed reporter sniffing around. If he’d meant business, there would be a photo of me leaving the hotel, too, or a blackmail note.”

Besides, he paid the hotel handsomely for their discretion. Why improve the odds of discovery by going somewhere else? “Make it earlier, then. Two p.m.”





Five


To heck with chocolate! Jordan took her mug into the kitchen and tipped the cold contents down the sink, then poured herself a glass of pinot noir. Frustration, confusion—she paced the floor restlessly, going over every minute of the last half hour.

The whole episode was an embarrassment, starting with him catching her in a stupid avocado, cucumber and milk-powder face mask—oh, very elegant! Her humiliation was complete once he touched her, kissed her. He’d said she was like a drug, but he’d lit her up so quickly.

Thank goodness he’d had the sense to stop. Nick Thorne was already commanding way too much of her mind lately. Not that she’d ever tell him, but she thought about him plenty outside the hotel room. Several times a week at least, and always with a shiver of erotic anticipation. And when she did, suddenly the days of the week until Friday were an interminable bore.

The last thing she needed was the memory of him here in her lounge, naked, making love to her.

She flicked through the TV channels in an attempt to banish that enticing vision. Although—Jordan turned off the TV—thinking about sex with him was safer than thinking about anything else with him. Confident she could hold him enthralled in the bedroom for a while longer, she determinedly crushed the hope that, someday, Nick might see her as more. Starting a relationship with sex gave her no room to maneuver. He would never take her seriously—no one did. Even her father, her biggest fan, considered her an ornament. Despite her best efforts to change her lifestyle and prove everyone wrong, it really was easier to accept the cynicism and get on with the job. But she had the right to protect her heart along the way.

Even so, she hugged the memory of his jealous face tightly to her all night long.

On Tuesday, she was nearly involved in an accident when a car pulled out behind her into the path of an oncoming car. Jordan thought little of it until she noticed the same gray car behind her ten minutes later. It followed her to the supermarket and then to her parents house. Bemused, she drove around the block a couple of times. The car followed. Jordan pulled up and opened her door. The gray car slowed and then sped up and turned the corner. As it streaked past, she saw a bullet-shaped dark head in dark glasses atop a pair of burly shoulders.

She tried to shrug it off. Like Nick said, probably just a nosy photographer.

But the strange feeling stayed with her. The next day, as she waited for the lift in her building, a giant of a man stepped out. He wore a black suit and dark glasses. His head was close-shaven. She couldn’t see his eyes but something about his expression, the look he gave her, made her shiver. He turned as she passed him and did not take his eyes off her until the doors closed.

The hairs rose on the back of her neck at the intensity of the look he gave her. Even once inside her apartment, she couldn’t shake the feeling. She drew the drapes, poured herself a soda, started on dinner, all the while berating her vivid imagination.

She was being silly. Was it the photos, or her fear that if she and Nick were found out, she’d have to give him up?

She’d always felt perfectly safe here. There was no designated doorman manning the entrance, although there was a building supervisor. The residents used a swipe card to get in, which, as Nick had proved with his unannounced visit on the weekend, wasn’t foolproof.

On her way to the court next morning, she asked the building super if he’d noticed a big man in the building yesterday.

“Big man, suit, dark glasses?” Robert said, and she nodded, her stomach doing a weird slide.

“Not in the building but there was a bloke across the street for most of yesterday, either sitting in his car or leaning against it. Seemed like he was watching the building. I thought it might be a cop.”

“What kind of car?”

“Mercedes. Silver.”

Jordan had no idea what type of car had followed her yesterday but the difference between gray and silver was open to interpretation.

Grow up in a fishbowl and you get suspicious.

But later, she thought she spied the same car following her home. Quickly pulling into a space on the street, she went into the nearest coffee bar and ordered a drink. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, the big man in the glasses entered. He ordered from the counter and sat down by the door, facing her. She stared over the rim of her cup, her heart thudding, watching as he opened the newspaper he’d brought with him and raised it to conceal his face.