The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress(38)

‘I’m beginning to understand why men—I think it’s in Finland—like having their bodies birched before sex. It sensitises the skin. Gets the blood flowing hotly.’

‘Oh, you…you…’

He laughed. ‘Lost for words, my sweet?’

‘I’m not your sweet.’

‘Oh, yes, you are! Like a very tasty lollipop. I’m going to lick you all over and make it last as long as I can. I think I’ll start with your toes. They look good enough to eat. Sexy red toenails inviting me to taste them.’

Her toes curled in instinctive defence. Or was it excitement? She had terribly sensitive toes. If he started on them…

‘On the other hand, maybe I want your mouth to surrender to me first,’ he ran on. ‘Or should I work my way up to it? Take every other bit of ground before claiming the citadel.’

‘This isn’t a battle,’ she cried, beginning to feel frantic inside at the thought of losing all control to him and what it might mean to her. ‘You’ve already won me, remember?’

‘No. I’ve only won time with you. Not the same thing at all. In fact, you made me buy time with you. That’s not a good feeling for me. I want to blot it out.’

‘Being bought doesn’t make me feel good either’ shot straight out of her mouth.

‘Got to put all that aside. Make this the real deal.’

‘What deal?’

‘You and me together. As we should have been.’

Her head was too dizzy to find a reply to smack his arrogant claim down, although it pounded around her mind that what was right for him wasn’t right for her. They were already up the stairs and he was carrying her into the master suite and being intimately together was so imminent, her nervous system was going haywire and it was probably better not to think any more, to let whatever happened happen because it was unavoidable anyway.

He dumped her on the bed and followed her down, covering her body with his, lifting her hands up above her head and pinning them there as he loomed over her, a wide, wicked grin on his face. ‘Forget about seizing the day,’ he said. ‘I’m seizing the night. You’re finally mine, Daisy Donahue.’

Not finally.

Only for a while within the time he’d stipulated.

Until he’d had enough of her.

Unless it could somehow turn out differently.

The wish…the hope…thundered through her heart.

He lowered his head and slowly ran his tongue over her lips, making them tingle with sensitivity. ‘Mmm…yummy lipstick. What’s it called?’

A hysterical little laugh gurgled up from her throat. ‘Passion Red.’

He grinned in devilish delight. ‘Reminds me of a song in the musical Les Misérables. There’s a line in it that goes—“Red…the colour of desire”. Whoever wrote it got it right.’

He kissed her with full-blooded desire, inciting Daisy to respond just as hotly. She couldn’t help herself. No matter what her head told her, her body was tuned to this man, madly eager to experience all of him again. She wanted a new deal with him, wanted the old one blotted out, wanted much more than she could ever tell him. Except with her hands.

Which he suddenly freed.

Though in a seemingly perverse action, he moved himself out of touch. His mouth broke from hers and he rolled away from her to sit on the side of the bed and lift her legs onto his lap. ‘Feet first,’ he muttered, working on unbuckling her sandals.

Daisy sucked in a quick breath. Her pulse was pounding through her temples. Her thighs were quivering. Her toes scrunched up in tense anticipation as he removed her sandals, stroking her ankles and the soles of her feet with tantalising gentleness. He started lifting one foot towards his mouth and Daisy tore it out of his hold and jackknifed forward, reaching out, seizing handfuls of his shirt.

‘Off,’ she cried in a wild frenzy—anything to avoid the toe-licking which would shoot her into uncontrollable spasms. ‘Take it off so I can touch you. You said you wanted that. You said…’

‘I wanted all of you,’ he reminded her. ‘And I do.’

It was almost a relief when he reached around her and unzipped her dress, smiling into her frantic eyes as he peeled it off her shoulders, drawing the sleeves down her arms. She hadn’t worn a bra. The tightly moulded bodice hadn’t required one. She felt her nipples stiffening into hard bullets as the silk fabric slid over them and fell to her waist.

‘You take my shirt off, Daisy,’ he commanded. ‘Go ahead. Unbutton it.’

He was filling his hands with her breasts, revelling in their softness. And their hardness, his thumbs fanning the taut peaks in a slow teasing motion. Her fingers scrabbled over his shirt buttons, working as fast as they could at releasing them. She didn’t linger over dragging the garment from his shoulders, wrenching it down, baring his chest, wanting them to be on equal terms, wanting it with a fierce intensity that poured from the depths of her soul.