Chapter 5

HE HADN'T NEEDED TO say those words. The moment their fingers connected, she knew she'd follow him anywhere. A spell was weaving around her, between them, making her completely his, just for now, and she liked that. Because even though she'd had over two years to regret how much she let Jay run her life, this was completely different.

This wasn't a relationship.

This was just sex.

A week or so of just sex.

With a guy she found totally irresistible.

Jay would never know.

But she'd know. She'd know she'd done this one small thing for herself, an act of defiance that gifted her back her independence and freedom.

Excitement spread through her. Just down the corridor, he pushed open double doors into a palatial bedroom with a king bed in the center and more stunning views of Manhattan. "Wow," she groaned as he dimmed the lights to about half brightness, then led her to the bed.

"Should I, erm, take off anything?" She asked, gesturing to her clothes.

"Definitely," he agreed, his eyes darkening, so her pulse raced. She undid her jeans first and slid them down her legs, conscious of the way his gaze hungrily followed her movements, revelling in the power she had as she caught the bottom of her sweater and lifted it over her head, dropping it to the floor with a soft swish, so it landed on top of the jeans.

"Allow me," he said, reaching behind her for the bra clasp and undoing it, his fingertips trailing over her back as he drew it away from her skin.

She shivered.

"Cold?" He asked solicitously.

She shook her head.

He smiled, then slipped his fingers into the waistband of her underpants. Adrenalin fired through her veins. The intimacy of this was bone-melting. She waited as he slid the pants down over her hips and to her ankles, where she stepped out of them.

"On the bed," he said, voice gruff.

She sat on the edge of it. His expression took her breath away; he was so commanding and so fascinating. "No, on your stomach. Lie down."

"Right, a massage," she murmured. With a little self-consciousness, she turned onto her stomach, resting her cheek on the back of her hands, which were clasped in front of her.

"Stay there."

He disappeared for a few moments, but she saw his reflection in the windows when he returned, stripped down to his boxers and carrying a pale tube.

"Moisturiser," he explained, coming to kneel over her, one leg on either side of her bottom. The moisturiser was cold on her shoulders when he squeezed it out. She made a yelping sound in response, and he laughed, but then he began to rub the cream around and he wasn't laughing anymore. And nor was she.

It felt so good.

Not just sensual, but actually good, in the way massages were supposed to. His fingers had just the right pressure on her sore muscles to really feel as though he was doing something to help her bodily aches. He leaned forward, which brought his body lower, and his arousal—heck, he was so hard—nestled between the peachy cheeks of her bottom. She couldn't help the way she writhed a little, backing up to be closer to him, needing more of that, as well as this massage.

He massaged her neck then, giving either side of it the same treatment, before returning to the top of her back, but this time, he worked right to the sides, letting his fingertips dip down and brush against the sides of her breasts, so she trembled all over. Then lower, to the small of her back and lower still, to the top of her buttocks.

Heat was building inside Skye. This was no rushed pretense of a massage to get to the sex part. It was elongated, incredible foreplay all on its own.

"Leandro," she groaned, as he rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs. "Please."

His hands stilled, then moved to her hips. "Turn over, Skye," he commanded, and he lifted himself up just enough so she could roll onto her back. Looking up at him was like being blinded by the power of the sun. She hadn't forgotten how beautiful he was but, in this moment, he looked even more so.

Her cheeks were flush from the way he'd already made her feel. She wasn't even sure she could take much more of this…but then he turned those skillful fingers to her breasts, kneading her with just the right pressure to make her whole body sing.

His arousal was between her legs now, at her sex, and he moved his hips a little, pressing harder there, then softer, stimulating what it would be like when they came together. And oh, how she wanted that. The air in the room was cool, but that didn't matter: her whole body was burning up.

"You're so—this feels—," she couldn't finish the sentence. His cock was hitting her most sensitive nerve endings and the pleasure from that combined with the feeling of his hands on her breasts was tipping her towards a crescendo already. "Leandro," she called out into the room as white hot pleasure exploded inside of her. "Oh, Leandro!"

He spoke in Italian, low and soft, then brought his mouth down to kiss her, drinking in her cries, her passion, her need and enthusiasm, removing his shorts at the same time, so now when his arousal connected with her body, it was just him and her and everything she wanted.

She was just about to cry out, to beg him to take her, when she remembered protection. But no sooner had the thought sliced through her than he pulled away, as if their minds were completely in sync, and reached for the bedside table. He removed a row of condoms, tore one open with his teeth and unfurled it over his—holy guacamole. He was huge.

Huge.

She stared at him, her heart in her throat, her whole body torn between excitement and concern. Because how could she possibly accommodate that?

But then he was kissing her again, and his kisses made everything feel so organic and natural, and made worrying seem totally irrelevant, so she wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him towards her, needing, more than anything, to feel him fill her.

He pressed his tip to her sex, but stayed just there, and said, "I'm going to go slowly, okay? You tell me if it hurts."

So, he knew he was big. He'd obviously heard it before.

She nodded. "Uh huh."

Of course she'd tell him if it hurt. But it wouldn't. Somehow, she just knew that being with Leandro would feel as sublime as everything else they'd shared to this point.

Just like he'd promised, he entered her slowly, his breath held, his eyes on her face as he eased himself into her and Skye's muscles tightened around him.

She moaned with ecstasy, and he kept going, until she felt so full, so stimulated in every cell, that she almost couldn't breathe.

"Okay?" He asked, voice deep.

She nodded, groaned again. "Better than okay. You're incredible."

The look on his face melted her bones.

And then, he started to move, pulling out of her just as gently as he'd entered, thrusting slowly at first, to give her a chance to get used to him, and then faster, like she needed, fast, and huge, and so rock hard. She thrashed her head from one side to the other, her whole body exploding, everything changing shape in the world, so there was only this. Her and him, immense pleasure.

"God, Leandro," she cried, as another orgasm built, and she felt herself tipping over the edge of an enormous chasm. "Please don't stop."

"I have no intention of it," he said between breaths. He kissed her though, his tongue echoing his movements, and his hands returned to her breasts, feeling them in his palms almost as if he couldn't believe they were natural.

"You are so beautiful," he groaned against her lips. And she didn't even mind hearing him say that, because it wasn't just words from Leandro. He made her feel beautiful. He seemed to be worshipping her and she liked it.

The next time pleasure built, wave upon wave upon wave, Skye dug her fingernails into his shoulders, sweat beading her brow, and she felt him pulse inside of her, buried as deep as he could go, and he cried out just a second after she'd tumbled off the edge of the earth, so his own pleasure wracked his body as hers was being sobbed into the room. Their voices mingled, their bodies were entwined, everything about them was in lockstep.

He collapsed back onto the bed, his absence an immediate regret for Skye, because his possession of her had been so complete and absolute.

Euphoria and pleasure flooded her body.

He'd made her feel like the sexiest, most beautiful woman on earth. He'd made her feel confident and empowered. But he'd also given her the gift of being her first lover since Jay. Of showing her that there was life after her awful, controlling, manipulative ex.

"Thank you," she said with sincerity, because this was about so much more than two people having sex. He'd helped her gain some of her freedom back. He'd never know it, but that didn't matter. Skye was aware of what he'd done for her; she'd always remember him for that.

"The thanks are unnecessary," he responded. "And mutual."

She smiled across at him then glanced towards the view.

When he'd first asked her to spend the night, she'd found it easy—and sensible—to agree to a curtailed version of his plan. But now, soporific from so much pleasure and ecstasy, in this incredibly comfortable bed, Skye would have given just about anything to fall asleep here, with him.

The thought galvanized her into action. She stood quickly, bent down to retrieve her clothes. Which reminded her—, "I left my underwear in your hotel suite," she said, cheeks flushed.

"Yes, you did."

"You found them?"

"Yes."

"Oh." A divot formed between her brows. "Shall I take them?"

"I'm not sure." He was watching her with such a look of wanton possession and need that her insides were trembling again. "I might want to keep them."

"Seriously?"

"A souvenir."

She blinked, wide-eyed. "My underpants?"

He grinned. "You know, I'm pretty sure you're the blueprint for every plastic surgeon in the country."

She laughed. "That's ridiculous."

"You are just incredible."

"Stop, seriously."

"You're embarrassed of how gorgeous you are?"

"I'm embarrassed for you to say it."

"Why? It's just a fact."

"Like me saying you're particularly well endowed?" She prompted, gesturing to his nether regions then quickly looking away again.

"I'm not embarrassed by that. It too is fact."

She laughed. "Whatever I'm feeling, it's safe to say, you're the opposite."

"Do you have time for dinner?"

She blinked.

"I presume you haven't eaten?"

"I—no, I haven't." And she was actually hungry, now that she thought about it. "But I should get home. It would take too long to order in food…"

"I've got food."

She stared at him.

"I thought we might have dinner. So, I ordered it already."

"Right," she nodded slowly. In which case, surely it wouldn't hurt to stay a little while longer? "Sure. I'll stay for a quick dinner."

She moved backto the large open plan living area, with the generously proportioned kitchen, dining table and lounges. This table sat four, but she'd have put money on there being another dining room somewhere in this fancy place, large enough to accommodate an elite who's who of New York. A room with stunning views and chandeliers and probably even a separate servants' entrance.

She pulled her phone out of her bag and quickly typed a message to her mother. "Running late, I'll be back in a bit." It was purposefully vague. She didn't want to lie to her mother but the only way this fling was going to stay out of Jay's eyeline was if she kept everyone in the dark about it, even her mother. Besides, her mom would worry. She'd been through too much with Jay, had seen Skye's life fall apart. The last thing Skye wanted was to worry her all over again. And it wasn't anyone else's business, anyway.

This was Skye's life, Skye's choice, Skye's gift to herself.

He walked into the kitchen and to her delight, wrapped his hands around her waist from behind, pulling her back against him then pressing a kiss to the sweep of her neck. She shivered, warmth curling through her.

"I'm glad you came here," he said, voice husky and low.

"I am too."

"Do you want to send me your schedule for the next week?" He asked, and even though it was a completely benign request, alarm bells rang.

"Why do you need my schedule?" Her voice was high in pitch. Memories of Jay insisting on being able to access her calendar, her emails, her work roster, turned her blood to ice. It had all happened so incrementally, she hadn't really noticed at first, but somehow, she'd given her ex the keys to her whole life—and he'd used those keys to run it for her.

"So Alec can collect you after work," he pointed out, referring to the driver.

Blood began to pump in her veins again, pushing out the ice. "Right," she nodded slowly. "That makes sense." But she was still resistant to the idea of giving him too much information. "Or I can just let you know day by day. Things change around, you know."

"That's fine too," he agreed.

No big deal.

No drama.

He wasn't Jay.

She breathed more easily.

"I wasn't sure what you'd feel like, so I got a selection of things."

With curiosity, she followed him into the kitchen.

"Sushi, Chinese, Italian, salad."

She wrinkled her nose at the last suggestion. "I'm definitely not a salad girl. Chinese okay?"

He pulled out several containers and lined them up on the bench, then gathered bowls and cutlery. "Help yourself," he offered, and she appreciated that, because Jay used to always serve her food, deciding how much she should eat depending on whether or not she'd gained weight. He weighed her too. She pushed the memories out of her mind. Or tried to, at least. But the funny thing about memories was that they were always there, even when you wanted to resist them. Jay was no longer a huge part of her life, but he had shaped her. He'd made her wary of everyone, because he'd been such a wolf in sheep's clothing. Her ability to trust—even to trust herself and her own judgement—had been permanently altered by his manipulation and controlling behaviour.

She heaped an array of meals into her bowl then sheepishly looked at Leandro. "I'm starving."

He nodded with something like approval, taking the bowl from her and placing it in the microwave before he began to assemble his own meal. His was even more generous than her own. "Also starving," he said with the hint of a grin.

The kitchen began to smell wonderful, and her stomach rolled.

He removed the dish when the microwave chimed, replaced it with his own then pushed her meal across the counter. He retrieved cutlery too.

"Have a seat."

She did so, on one of the benches, and watched as he refreshed her champagne then placed it beside her meal. She took another sip. It was really delicious too. She waited until his own meal was ready, and he came to sit beside her, their knees brushing in a way that sent funny little snakes writhing through her belly.

"So," he drawled. "No regrets?"

She shook her head. "Definitely not." She pressed her fork into some of the noodles. "You?"

"No."

The Chinese was delicious. She had a few mouthfuls before replacing her fork and reaching for her drink. "What brings you to New York?"

His features tightened almost imperceptibly. "A wedding, and work."

"Convenient."

"In what way?"

"Well, to need to be here for two different things. Two birds, one stone…"

"The work is because of the wedding. My…brother just got married. His wife and he run a company based in New York. So while they're on their honeymoon, I said I'd hold the fort."

Was she imagining the undercurrent of tension in his words?

She pursed her lips a little, contemplated asking more, before remembering that there were things he didn't want to talk about. She wouldn't push, she wouldn't pry. That's not what they were.

"Do you like it?" She asked instead.

He exhaled, as if relieved that she'd changed the subject. "Doesn't everybody?"

"Definitely not."

"New York is a fascinating city. What's not to like?"

"Oh, you're preaching to the choir," she assured him. "I adore this city. Everything about it, even the way it can smell in summer," she laughed. "Well, maybe I don't adore that, but it doesn't tarnish the beauty for me. Then again, I haven't really travelled," she said with a lift of her shoulders. "So maybe I just love it because it's all I've ever known."

"Perhaps it's both."

She sipped her drink.

"Why haven't you travelled?"

Maybe if this was a date, if he was a normal guy, she might try to couch things in a certain way to maximise the likelihood of him falling for her. But this wasn't a date, and there was no future for them, which was actually really liberating.

"We had no money, growing up. Mom and dad worked good, honest jobs, worked hard too. They bought their own home, over in Brooklyn, but they had a huge mortgage and times were tough. Way too tough to travel."

"But you're now an adult woman, and you have a job…"

"Yeah, but life is expensive. Not that I'd expect you to know that, Moneybags," she teased, and was gratified to see another grin flicker on his lips.

"I have money, but I do understand the realities of life."

"Oh, yeah? So you know that a night in one of your fancy suites is more than some people pay for a month's rent? And that there's probably only like a thousand people on this whole entire planet that could just buy a Manhattan apartment like this on a whim?"

"Do you resent that?"

"I resent the disparity," she said, honestly. "Yeah. I think the way the world works really sucks sometimes."

"It does. Which is why we've had a long-standing relationship with several key charities. We have a foundation that is active in America, in fact."

"Yeah, I've seen that on the hotel information," she admitted. "I think it's good that your family gives back in some way."

"I think you and I are in agreement that it's a moral obligation."

"Still, you probably have a heap of wealthy friends who are happy to just pour everything they have into more private jets and yachts and fancy homes."

"That's what taxation is for. Not everyone has a social conscience."

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm more than aware of that."

He waited for her to continue and again, because this wasn't anything like a date, she said what she was thinking. "I have come up against more than enough A-listers who don't have a social conscience." She shuddered.

"In the hotel?"

"Well, definitely not in the course of my normal life," she said with another smile.

He returned it; her stomach knotted. She had two more mouthfuls of food.

"Are they rude to you?"

Was that sympathy in his voice? She hoped not. She didn't want him to pity her. But she wasn't going to lie to him.

"Sometimes I think they're just rude in general. Not all of them but a lot. So, the fact I'm in their orbit, in a service role, yeah, they can be rude to me."

He shook his head with disapproval. "I hate that."

"It's fine. Some people just think they're better than others."

"They're not."

"I know that. Which is why it doesn't really bother me. If anything, I laugh about it." Then, remembering he was essentially her boss—or her boss's boss's boss's boss, at least—she quickly clarified. "Not ever around the guests, of course. Just later, when I'm alone."

"I don't doubt your professionalism, Skye. I've come up against it myself, remember?"

She breathed out, then stood. She'd finished her dinner, and her champagne, and now had to get home. She looked around a little regretfully.

"Well," she said, reaching for her bag. "I'd better be off."

He stood. "I'll have Alec take you home."

"Oh," she frowned. "That's fine. I'll just take the subway."

His features tightened and for the briefest moment she felt something from him—something that put her in mind of his position in the business world. Easy authority. Not like Jay, who'd bullied her and forced her to submit to him because he'd needed that to feel good. Leandro seemed to radiate confident leadership now. "This won't work if you take the subway. For as long as you're seeing me, Alec will drive you."

She laughed huskily. "But I use public transport all the time."

"I don't care. I don't want your mugging on my conscience."

"I have no intention of getting mugged."

"Why not use my driver?"

"Because he must have better things to do than transport me around New York…"

"It's his job."

Her eyes glittered a little. "Now who's taking the help for granted?" She said, only half-teasing.

"Alec likes to drive and is very well remunerated. Believe me, he won't mind."

She shook her head a little. "But I would." She pressed a hand to his chest. "This isn't a big deal, is it?"

A muscle throbbed in his jaw. "If you object to Alec driving you, then I will take you home myself."

"No," she rejected even more quickly, recognizing that he wasn't going to back down. She didn't really want to back down either, but he was right. This wasn't a big deal. If it weren't for Jay and how he'd messed Skye up, she would probably have gleefully accepted the offer of a lift right from the beginning. At this time of night, it would be a pretty quick commute across the river. "That's okay. Don't go to any trouble. I'll go with your driver."

He relaxed visibly. "Bene. I'll see you tomorrow, cara. Just text me what time you need to be collected."