‘How long have you been there?’ Her eyes were glittering now, with anger and embarrassment. ‘How long have you been watching me?’
Zavier laughed, but there was no warmth in it. ‘Don’t worry—I don’t need to get my kicks peering through a keyhole. Why would I?’ He crossed the bathroom slowly and she shrank back against the sink. ‘When we both know I can have you any time I want.’
‘How dare you?’
‘It’s a bit late for false modesty.’ He put a hand up to her burning cheek, running his finger along its length and down her neck, halting teasingly as he came to the soft naked mounds of her breasts. ‘My, you have caught the sun, haven’t you? Perhaps you should have let me oil your front.’
Angrily brushing past him, she fled for the safety of her room. But there was no haven to be found there: the bed seemed to mock her, forcing an instant recall of another place, another time, their tumbling bodies replaying in her mind like some erotic foreign movie stumbled upon by accident, their limbs locked in tremulous unison more erotic than any fantasy.
‘Only business, huh?’ He strode over to her, one finger flicking her nipple, giving a knowing, mocking smile as it swelled at the merest touch. His other hand was expertly untangling the tie of her bikini bottom. ‘All just an act, huh?’
She should have run—slapped him, kicked him—but she stood there rigid, every muscle, every taut nerve shivering with shameful desire.
‘I can have you any time I want,’ he repeated.
He was poisonous, arrogant and loathsome; but he was right, damn him. He was so right, and there was nothing she could say otherwise.
‘You want me, Tabitha.’ He spat her name.
‘I don’t.’ Her voice was a mere croak. He had freed one strap and now ran a teasing finger through the damp Titian mound of down as he plied the other strap, his breath hot and hard on her warm oiled body. The towel slinked around his hips slithered down without a sound, and she started in excitement at the angry swelling that baited her, that summoned her body just by its presence. ‘I don’t.’
She was naked now, exposed. He threw the saffron garment aside, parting her legs with his hand. He slid his fingers into her warmth as her throat constricted against a gasp of protest.
‘I don’t remember oiling you here.’
Her breathing matched his now, gasping, uneven, and she felt herself contract around his fingers, felt her body arching towards his.
‘Tell me to stop and I will.’ His thumb was massaging her swollen nub as his fingers snaked inside her slippery warmth. ‘Tell me to stop,’ he ordered, pushing her back onto the bed, parting her legs further with his muscular thigh.
His erection teased her at the entrance to her Nirvana, a tiny thrust that took her to the edge. She was pushing against him now, urging him to come deeper, but still he held back, the swell of him awaiting the formal invitation that she was loath yet desperate to give.#p#分页标题#e#
‘Tell me to stop.’
She shook her head, Titian curls splaying over the pillows. ‘No!’
‘No, you don’t want me, or no, don’t stop?’
His restraint was agony, his manhood swelling at her entrance as her legs wrapped like a vice around him.
‘No, don’t stop,’ she gasped.
Still he made her wait, inching his way just a fraction deeper as she writhed beneath him.
‘Say you want me,’ he ordered, and though it repulsed her to beg she was beyond reason, her need for him so urgent nothing else mattered.
‘I want you!’ She was nearly screaming, her legs coiling around him as he plunged into her, swelling the instant he entered her, their bodies exploding in unison, contracting, tightening as the world rushed around them. With a moan he collapsed on her, groaning, the last shuddering spasms of their union pulsing together as they lay in the moistened sheen of their skins. And as she lay there, listening to his breathing even out, one arm wrapped around her, the lazy hand softly cupping her bottom, his maleness filling the air she breathed, tears sprang from her eyes.
Surely she could tell him now? Surely, deep down, he must already know?
It took a second to register that the telephone was ringing, but her anger at the intrusion paled as she heard the thin, thready voice of her grandmother.
He watched her as she took the call, watched the rosy glow of her cheeks fade as she held the telephone, her knuckles white around the receiver, her lips taut as she mumbled into the phone.
‘Was that your bookie?’
His attempt at a joke didn’t even raise a smile, and with a start he watched the tears form in Tabitha’s eyes, her lashes crushing the moisture as she screwed her eyes shut and fought for control.