8. Eight

Eight

A s the Aston Martin cuts through the Surrey countryside, I do my best to relax back in the passenger seat. We're yet to discuss his kinky sexual preferences and although part of me is intrigued, the other part of me is anxious about what he's going to tell me. What if he tells me he's got a sex dungeon complete with black PVC gimp masks and the only way he will have sex with a woman is if she is tied up and subjected to a good spanking first?

Oh, God. I'm not sure I'm ready to hear this.

"What have you heard about me?"

I give him a sideways glance. "That you're a member of an exclusive S right now all I can focus on is getting some headspace. I'm aware that it won't have gone unnoticed by the other staff that I've turned up to work in the manager's car, but right now I don't care.

Lucy's head pops up from behind the desk as I walk on by. I purposefully don't look in her direction and carry on walking to my office, but it's no use. I can hear her shoes against the tiled floor, hot on my heels for gossip. I'm really not in the mood.

"So?" she cries the second we're alone.

"So," I repeat, dumping my handbag on the desk. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Shit," she replies flatly. "What are you doing turning up to work with Art?"

"He gave me a lift into work." I settle down in the chair and switch on my laptop.

"Because he spent the night at yours?" Lucy nods eagerly, waiting for me to fill her in and I know her patience is going to snap very soon if I don't.

"Yes, but nothing happened."

She scrambles to sit on the chair opposite and straightens her light-blue blouse over her ample bosom. "You expect me to believe that the extremely sexy guy, who swooped to your rescue last night, stayed over at yours and you didn't end up shagging?"

"It's the truth. Believe it or don't believe it. Nothing happened. I was so drunk I passed out. Even if I hadn't, I was too drunk to have sex with anyone. He slept on the sofa."

Lucy rests her chin on her hands and frowns. "Have you at least kissed?"

"No. Have you forgotten how drunk we were last night? My head's still spinning. I'm never drinking on a work night again," I warn, opening up my emails .

She sighs, clearly disappointed that I've no tantalising gossip to share. "So, what DID happen?"

"He took me home, carried me upstairs, then he made me breakfast this morning, and gave me a lift into work," I reply. "Sorry to disappoint."

Her eyes sparkle. "He carried you up to your flat in his arms, stayed over the night to make sure you were okay, then looked after you this morning?"

I throw her an odd look. "You're over-romanticising it."

"No, I'm not. I saw the way he looked at you last night."

I want to stop her right there. "Don't be stupid. We barely know one another. We haven't even… you know."

"All this romantic, gentlemanly stuff makes up for the kinky S I've taken the bait. Now he's reeling me in and I'm floundering on the end of the hook.

"I've been thinking about our conversation this morning and I'm torn." He tilts his head to the right, and he's watching me. Right now, I feel as if I'm the only woman in the world, and he's the only man. How does he do this? "I want your opinion."

I detect the slightest of movements from his arm draped across the back of the sofa behind my head, and then his fingers shift through my hair. A molten hot tingle shoots to my centre and fires up nerves all over my body as his fingertips stroke the back of my neck with a barely there touch. I part my lips and suck in uneven breaths as his eyes flick to my mouth, then my chest then back to my face. He knows the effect he's having on me .

"Part of me wants to take you out to dinner tonight." He carries on with the delicious strokes of his fingers and it's taking all my mental strength to concentrate on what he's saying. "But the other part of me wants to take you straight home and fuck your brains out."

I exhale sharply and my stomach twists as I scramble around for something to say in response that won't make me sound idiotic.

"In fact. I want to fuck you so much, I don't think I'd be able to make it through dinner, so it might be a bit of a waste."

Fucking hell.

He's still stroking my neck. "What do you want me to do, Sophie?"

His touch is sweeping away the red flags and silencing the alarm bells telling me to stay away from him. He's totally in control. His words throw me back to our conversation earlier.

I like to have control in all aspects of my life, and the bedroom is no exception.

The thought of him in any kind of bedroom situation is making my insides do funny things. "I didn't agree to have dinner with you this evening, so why do you think I want to fuck you?" My voice is weakening just like my resolve.

He laughs softly and I'm on the back foot, not expecting that reaction at all. "Because in the last few moments your breathing has become heavier, your sensuous lips have parted, and the pupils in those mesmerising eyes have dilated. You do want to, don't you?"

He removes his fingers and presses his palm against the nape of my neck. "Tell me, if I were to kiss you now, would you push me away?" His hushed tones lap their way across my flesh, reeling me in.

My heart rate rockets as he inches forwards towards me, and my body automatically turns towards him.

"Or would you submit to me?"

His eyes fall to my lips as we edge closer together.

I'm about to step off the edge of the precipice and plummet into the dark unknown void below, and right now all I care about is having his mouth on mine .

"Knock, knock." A female voice cuts through the silence, tearing through the moment.

I jump up like I've been electrocuted and automatically take a few steps away from the sofa and Art.

Big Steve and Tara stand in the doorway, both looking annoyed but for different reasons. Big Steve's clear, blue eyes harden as they swing from me to Art. Tara's dark-pencilled eyebrows pull into a "V" as she frowns and takes a couple of steps forward on her black sky-scraper heels. A tight baby-blue jumper strains to contain her large chest, and she's wearing equally tight faded blue denim jeans. Her green eyes narrow into a scrutinising gaze as they sweep me up and down, her red lips pursing in disapproval.

"There was no one on reception, so we came straight up." Big Steve throws Art a guilty look.

"What do we have here then?" There's a sneer to Tara's voice and I instantly don't like her. In fact, I don't much like the way Big Steve is now glaring at Art either.

He sits forward on the sofa. "Tara, this is Sophie."

She flicks her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder. "And what does Sophie do?"

Her patronising tone is pissing me off. "She's the wedding planner here," I snap.

"Oh. It speaks." Tara twirls a strand of her blonde hair around a red talon.

"Yes, it does. So, what does Tara do?"

She cuts her eyes and I fold my arms in determination. She doesn't intimidate me.

"Sophie, can you give us a minute?" Art asks.

I slowly turn on my heel and walk out of the office. I notice the weak smile Big Steve gives me as I pass him, but I don't smile back. He's probably feeling guilty for barging in, but I'm still irked by the fact he's got a problem with me. Besides, he's clearly Team Tara. I'm nearly at the door when Art calls my name and I glance back to find him watching me.

"We leave at half past four. I'll meet you by the car." He gives me a long look before I turn and leave them to it.