Bad Boys of London(18)

I feel my belly contract. How different this laughing man is from the one who shared a flame with me outside the barn. ‘Oh, you are disgusting.’

He holds me at arm’s length and lets his eyes travel down, deliberately lingering on my breasts before coming to a stop at my bare belly.

‘Will you freaking stop staring at me like that?’

He grins and a dimple pops up in his chin. It makes him look edible. ‘If you don’t want men to look at you like that, why do you dress like that?’

‘You’re an asshole, you know?’ I huff.

‘And you’re seriously fuckin’ hot.’

My eyes widen. ‘Are you fucking serious?’ I gasp.

‘My balls are already aching.’

‘I don’t believe this.’

‘What sounds do you make when you come?’

‘What?’ I sputter. This is too much. It’s outrageous. He’s flirting with me and he has a woman waiting for him upstairs. What an arrogant bastard. ‘How dare you?’

He smiles slowly. The slowest smile I’ve seen in my entire life. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna assume you want me to find out for myself.’

My palm swings upwards furiously, but his hand shoots out and catches it. Bending my fingers inwards he lifts my knuckles up to his lips. I try to jerk my wrist away, but it doesn’t move at all. My breathing is erratic and my lips are trembling.

He smiles down at me, his eyes black and frighteningly unknowable.

‘You want to expend some energy, wildcat? Give me your address and I’ll come around later.’

My chest puffs out. My blood is pounding with fury and lust. I feel as if I am about to explode in his face. I don’t know why this man can get me in this state with just the lift of an eyebrow. I shake my head. ‘I can’t decide if you are thick or just plain stupid. Read my lips. I. Don’t. Want. You.’

‘My, my, what a little liar you are. That’s not at all what your delectable body is telling mine.’ He runs a callused finger along the bare skin of my arm. It is not a particularly intimate or sexy move, but the way he does it makes me shiver. I freeze and hold my breath. When he reaches my wrist, he catches it and brings it up to his nose.

‘You’ve never changed your perfume, have you?’ His voice is quiet, reflective, but there are black fires burning in his eyes.

My breath comes out in a whoosh. He noticed! I don’t tell him that this perfume was the last gift from my father. I had come back from a day of horse riding and my father had given me the box and said, ‘A flower shouldn’t smell like a donkey.’

‘It suits you,’ he says, looking at me as if he is drinking me in. I stare up at him stupidly. I am very tall but even in my high-heeled boots he still makes me feel tiny.

The music changes. Chris Isaak’s sex anthem, Wicked Game, comes on.

‘They’re playing our song, Layla,’ he says in a smoky drawl.

‘We don’t have a song,’ I tell him, but my voice is weak

His eyes gleam with amusement. He bends his head and I jerk back. ‘Who told you that?’ he whispers, so close to my ear I feel his breath hot and smelling of mints.

Deftly, he whirls me around twice so I am suddenly thrust onto the edge of the dance floor. Isaak’s yearning vocals fill the air and I feel something melt inside me. The pulsating bodies around us melt away and we are inside the sexy black-and-white Herb Ritts video. A dreamy place where everything happens in slow motion and I am frolicking with the most gorgeous man on earth.

When Isaak’s voice slithers, ‘What a wicked game you played to make me feel this way.’ I feel as if BJ is singing it to me. His arms envelop my body tightly, we fit together perfectly. We stare into each other’s eyes. Lost in the dream world he has created, I lace my fingers around the back of BJ’s powerful neck. The thick muscles contract under my hands. My fingers sweep and tangle in his hair.

‘I’d never dreamed I’d love somebody like you’.

I rest my cheek on his chest and listen to the swaggering, strut-worthy tempo of his heart. Everything about him is so macho. Even his heartbeat has attitude. I close my eyes. His intentions are delicious and unapologetically impolite. I don’t want to admit it, but some part of me aches for him.

‘No IIIIIII don’t want to fall in love… with you.’

He lifts me by my waist. I don’t scream or yelp. My brothers have been doing it to me for years. When my throat is at his mouth level, he kisses it and I throw my head back and shudder at the warmth. He carries me higher still. I place my palms on his massive shoulders and look down on him. He stares at me, his eyes black and voracious. Slowly he twirls me. Round and round. Our eyes lock on each other. Then he moves his head forward and licks my belly button, like an animal. The carnality of the gesture makes me gasp.