November Harlequin Presents 2(160)

‘Kinda sexy making love to a semi-clothed business woman,’ he murmured roughly and Francesca made a noise halfway between a laugh and a moan as his mouth continued to circle her tightened bud.

He sucked on the moistened circle, pulling it deep into his mouth, and ran his hands along her thighs and up her skirt until he could loop his fingers over the elasticated waist of her underwear, which he proceeded to pull down, allowing her to squirm her way out of them completely.

He was bare-backed but still in his work trousers and he could feel his throbbing erection pushing against the zip. Anticipation soared through him. He pulled down the zip of her neat grey skirt and watched as she stood up and completed the job of divesting herself of the last piece of clothing covering her.

‘Shall we go upstairs?’ Francesca glanced back towards the door, then looked at Angelo, comfortably sprawled on the sofa, his eyes fastened on her.

He had been right. They had been right. Right to acknowledge the power of their mutual sexual attraction, right to eliminate all the frills and fuss of possible emotional ties that would never happen. He wanted her, she wanted him, and his invitation was to indulge their joint desires until such time as they presumably became bored with one another. Of course, he would be the one to grow bored with her. That was just a reality she would have to accept and deal with because without any emotional ties whatsoever boredom followed hard on the heels of predictability and her initial allure would soon become tarnished around the edges. She would deal with that when the time came. She, too, would indulge her desires and her love which could never amount to anything, not with a man like him. It would be better than nothing—which, frankly, was what she had had for the past three long years.

‘This sofa is big enough for the both of us,’ Angelo said thickly, devouring her naked body with his eyes and restraining himself from leaping up and dragging her down to the ground like an animal on heat. ‘Unless advancing middle age has made you lose that exploring edge of yours.’

Francesca laughed, picked up the nearest cushion from one of the chairs and threw it at him. ‘Middle age indeed! I’m twenty-seven!’ She approached him, knelt down by the side of the sofa and cupped his beautiful face in her hands, sighing as he stroked her back. ‘You should be the one to be careful, Angelo. You’re an old man compared to me. No need to prove your virility by pretending that you’re still capable of making love in unusual places.’ She giggled and kissed him on the mouth, stifling his immediate protest. With one hand, she slowly fiddled with his belt, finally unhooking it and setting to work on the button of his trousers and the zip. She could feel the hard bulge that told her how much he wanted her and was fired by a wild, giddy passion.

‘Prove my virility? You realise that you’ve laid down a gauntlet and, like any self-respecting red-blooded male, I’m going to have to take it up?’

He did. On the sofa and, later on, in his massive king-sized bed. It was only when the sunlight began to mellow behind the gauze curtains that Francesca glanced at her watch and let out a little yelp.

‘It’s after five!’

‘So what?’ So what? He had missed a string of appointments. A first for him. His mobile phone had probably been going mad in the pocket of his jacket downstairs. He didn’t care. For the first time in weeks he felt liberated and in control. He had acknowledged his feelings, acknowledged that the woman lying next to him, rather making a show of getting up, was the woman who still turned him on. He had wanted her and not simply to even scores or salve the ego that had been blasted to hell three years previously. He had just wanted her.

And now he could have her. He was a free man and he could have her without any uninvited feelings getting in the way of his enjoyment. He had told her just how it was, had left it up to her to decide whether she wanted to have a relationship with a man whose only feelings towards her were ones of lust and desire, had been more than prepared to shrug and walk away if she had turned him down. No questions asked, no blinding rages, no backward glance. Those times were long gone. He was a man utterly in control and it brought a smile of satisfaction to his lips.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked lazily, dragging her back down on to the bed and propping himself up on one elbow to stare at her.

‘The day’s practically gone, Angelo! I had no idea how long we’d spent…I had stuff to do…’

‘So did I,’ Angelo pointed out. He feathered a kiss on her mouth and his satisfaction went up a couple of notches as she helplessly responded. Really, she should have stormed out on him the minute he told her that he had deliberately kept her in the dark about the broken engagement for no better reason than he had wanted to see just how much she wanted him. She should even now be at home, breathing fire at his arrogance. But here she was, proof that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. The past had blinded him to what was really a very simple truth, which was that had he still had any feelings for her he would never have forgiven her and had her back. That would have been weak and sad and he was neither weak nor sad. No, his only weakness was sex and that was entirely acceptable. He felt deliriously happy in a way he had not felt for a very long time, not even when he had been engaged to Georgina and heading down a path that had seemed entirely sensible and fitting.