One Night with Morelli(28)

                Another sat down on the floor and took off her shoes. ‘My feet hurt. Louise, why did you have to swear at him?’

                Moving back into the shadow, an expression of distaste twisting his lean, patrician features, Draco placed a supportive hand on his neck and rotated his head in an effort to relieve some of the stiffness afflicting his muscles.

                The first exercise having failed, he was rolling his shoulders when a figure appeared in the illuminated doorway—not Josie, but one he recognised. It wasn’t hard as she was still wearing the full-length bridesmaid dress, but now it was topped by a lacy shrug that had little cap sleeves that covered her bare shoulders and was buttoned up to her throat, concealing everything else.

                He watched as she glanced to right and left as though looking for someone and then began to walk towards him, only not him, she couldn’t see him, yet a man could be excused for thinking it was a sign.

                A man could also be accused of spinning the situation because of the ache in his groin. He sighed and stepped deeper into the shadows. His trouble was he had gone too long without; there had only been the one night since ending things with Rachel.

                There could have been more but he had not made the effort—not that there was much effort involved. He had the number on his phone of a young politician who was attractive, ambitious and discreet. She had a busy schedule, was opposed to cumbersome emotional baggage, and her Brussels base was an advantage, not a problem.

                ‘Here she comes. E-E-E-Evie.’ If the sniggered whisper was loud enough for him, the odds were that Evie had heard it too.

                Draco slid the phone back into his pocket as he felt a sudden rush of anger. If he had paused to think, he would have been surprised by the white-hot intensity of it, but he didn’t pause. Instead he stepped out of the shadows where two strides brought him to Eve’s side. Without a word he grabbed her by the arm and jerked her towards him.

                Soft and warm, she collided with him, her gentle curves fitting perfectly into the angles of his body.

                She was too shocked to even cry out; her eyes flew wide, her pupils dilating dramatically as she looked up into the face of the man who held her. She let out a tiny fluttery sigh, stiffening as almost casually he slid his free hand around her waist, his fingers spreading across her ribcage from her waist to just beneath her breast, possessively, as if he had the right.

                ‘What are you doing?’ The question proved her brain was working… The rest of her body she wrote off, as it was clearly reacting independently. The heat that made her skin burn was seeping into her blood, so that she felt light-headed, and the sensual fog in her brain made it hard to think—so she just stopped trying.

                Why bother when it was a fight she was going to lose? Because she really wanted to taste him, and it was all she could think about.

                He bent in closer, brushing her cheek with his lips, holding her eyes all the time. His stare was hypnotic; she couldn’t have broken eye contact even if she’d wanted to and there was a big…no, a massive question mark over that.

                ‘I’m going to kiss you—are you all right with that?’

                No…one word, how hard was that? That’s all you have to say, she told herself firmly.

                ‘Someone will see,’ she whispered instead.

                ‘They’re meant to, so shut up, cara, and don’t have another panic attack.’

                The comment roused Eve to lethargic indignation. ‘I don’t have panic attacks. Let me go!’ It was weak and way overdue, but at least she’d made a protest—she could tell herself later I tried to stop him.