Chapter 16

Daisy

Ihave a lot of work to do. Emails to answer, final approvals on campaigns to be given. However, when I get back to my villa, I head straight for the shower.

I need to wash off the day.

If only memories could be as easily soaped away as the sweat clinging to my skin in this infernal humidity. But I can’t get Hart out of my head. He’s the most infuriating, boorish, moody guy I’ve ever met.

I still want him more than ever.

Flipping off a client isn’t the smartest thing to do but I was so mad on the dock I could’ve easily shoved him into the water and hoped he choked on a lungful of it.

He can be so attentive one minute and a frosty asshole the next. I’d like to say I’m done but that would make me a liar. I want more of the mind-blowing sex and his talented tongue. I just need to get my head around the fact he’s an irritable jerk and focus on the physical stuff.

I can do this.

Besides, sorbet isn’t always sweet. It can be tart and edgy but in the end it achieves the same result: leaving the palate cleansed. Hart is my sorbet, so no more shared confidences or moments of intimacy. We have sex, we enjoy it, that’s it.

Humming a song about being a woman, I towel off and slip into my PJs. Room service as I work sounds perfect tonight. Staying in has the added bonus of not running into Hart and possibly strangling him despite my vow to view him as a giant, lickable scoop in a cone.

I deal with emails first. It takes thirty minutes and I only stop towards the end to order Moreton Bay bug ravioli and a deconstructed strawberry parfait. Considering I emptied my stomach contents on the yacht, I’m hoping it doesn’t take too long.

I’m absorbed in compiling a diplomatic response to Alf’s latest demands when there’s a knock on the door. My stomach growls in anticipation and I run towards it.

However, when I open it, I’m not served with ravioli and parfait.

I get sorbet instead.

‘What are you doing here?’

Hunger makes me grouchy and Hart’s taken aback at my less than cordial greeting. What did he expect, for me to throw out the welcome mat after the way he chastised me on the dock for asking a simple question?

‘Can I come in?’ he asks, but he’s not looking at my face. He’s checking out my attire and I resist the urge to put my hands on my hips and give a shimmy for good measure.

‘I’m not dressed for company,’ I say, sounding suitably snooty.

‘Get changed.’ That kissable mouth quirks into a half-grin. ‘Or take them off.’

Heat arrows between my legs, damn him.

‘My PJs are staying on.’ I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. ‘Besides, I’m working.’

He’s still staring at my outfit. ‘Are those ice-cream cones?’

I shrug. ‘What can I say? I love the stuff.’

‘Sorbet in particular.’ His voice turns husky and I’m reminded exactly how yummy he is.

‘You really have to go—’

‘But aren’t you hungry?’

I sigh and lean against the door. ‘I’m not in the mood for word games so—’

‘I passed the waiter with your order and as we were both headed in the same direction…’ He pulls a trolley out from behind the neatly trimmed hedge shielding one villa from another. ‘I brought your dinner.’

‘Fine. In here, please,’ I say begrudgingly, because I really am starving and the thing looks like it weighs a tonne. Even with his impressive biceps he struggles with manoeuvring it over the incline into the villa.

After he positions it near the desk, he turns to me. ‘Do I get a tip?’

‘Yeah, be good to your PR whiz.’

He gives me a lopsided smile. ‘I thought the PR whiz prefers it if I’m bad.’

He leans in closer and I grit my teeth against the urge to bury my face in his neck. ‘Very, very bad.’

‘Enough.’ I put up a hand. Like that’s going to stop him if he wants to come closer. ‘I’m mad at you.’

‘I know. And I deserve it.’ He shakes his head and his mouth downturns into its signature moue. ‘I came to apologise.’

I won’t make it easy for him, despite his hangdog expression. ‘How noble of you.’

He winces. ‘I’ve been a prick because it’s who I am. I don’t like getting personal and I’ve fucked this up badly.’

Okay, so his gut-honest declaration gets to me a little.

‘Just so you know, I’m not a fan of rollercoasters. Never have been. They make me barf worse than stationary boats. So this temperamental thing you’ve got going on followed by lame-ass apologies?’ I make a slicing action across my neck. ‘I’ve had it up to here. It’s not going to cut it.’

His woeful expression makes me want to hug him. ‘Yeah, I know. Can we talk?’

I shouldn’t waver. I should abandon talk altogether when it comes to this lunatic and focus on the physical. But he’s staring at me with those big puppy eyes, practically pleading with me to hear him out, so I relent. I’m a wuss like that.

‘Fine.’ I shut the door and gesture to the comfy-cushioned cane sofa. ‘Knock yourself out.’

‘I was way out of line when I snapped at you down on the dock in relation to my work with kids.’

‘Yeah, you were.’

I wait until he sits so I can sit opposite. The last thing I need is to have him too close on the sofa.

‘What I’m about to tell you is private and can’t appear anywhere in relation to the hotels, got it?’

I refrain from rolling my eyes at him for stating the obvious and settle for a nod.

‘I do a lot of behind the scenes work for foster kids around the world, setting up outreach centres so they have a safe place to go when needed.’

He glances away but not before I glimpse pain, the kind of soul-deep agony I have no hope of understanding. ‘It’s public knowledge I was a foster kid when Pa found me. He gave me so much that I like to pay it forward with other kids.’

He taps his chest. ‘I know what they’re going through because I’ve been there, done that. And I don’t need fucking praise from anybody for it, so that’s why I prefer to keep it private.’

There’s so much more he’s not telling me. I see it in the compressed lips, in the bunched shoulders, in the rigid neck. He’s hurting and it’s more than pity for the kids he empathises with.

But I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not going to push. I’m stunned he’s shared this much with me and for now it’ll have to do.

‘I hate having to explain myself to you…’ He shakes his head, his mouth so twisted it’s like I’m torturing him with nipple clamps. Not that I know what that’s like. I’ve heard. Online. As part of research for the PR I did on a sex-toy store. ‘We both know the score. We’re fucking, that’s it. But this feels way too complicated.’

My heart sinks. ‘It doesn’t have to be.’

He waves his hand between us. ‘The fact I’m here apologising for my behaviour when I hate doing that is testament that this is more than sex.’

He’s right, damn him.

So I need to get this back onto an even keel, by doing something we both understand: focussing on our sexual attraction.

‘Don’t sweat it. We both know you coming here and sustaining a dent in your alpha armour is your warped version of foreplay.’

‘Damn it, you’re making this difficult,’ he mutters, and only then do I allow a smile.

The moment he sees my smug grin his shoulders relax and he slumps back in the sofa. ‘You’re toying with me.’

‘Just a little?’ I hold up my thumb and forefinger an inch apart and he chuckles.

‘Am I forgiven?’

‘Yeah, but only because I’m too hungry to continue this conversation.’ I pad across the room to where he’s set up the trolley. ‘You hungry?’

‘I’m good.’

‘Great, because I’m too ravenous to share. Here’s the plan. I’m going to shovel this ravioli and strawberry parfait into my mouth as fast as humanly possible, then I’m going to do some work.’

‘But what if you feel like sorbet after eating all that?’

His tone is silky smooth, rippling over me like a caress. My skin pebbles into tiny goose bumps and my nipples harden to tight peaks, immediately drawing his gaze.

‘Some of your ice-cream cones seem to have a cherry on top,’ he says, with a wicked smirk.

I laugh and he joins in. ‘Okay, you can stay.’

‘Good.’ His eyes darken as they sweep over me. ‘Because you’re not the only one with a sweet tooth and I have a sudden hankering for some ice-cream.’

Heat flushes my cheeks as I remember exactly how good he is at licking. ‘You know, we’ve never had sorbet in bed. It might be fun.’

‘That’s what I’m thinking.’

He’s thinking a lot more than that by the lascivious glint in his eyes.

I swoon a little. I’m light-headed from hunger. My excuse and I’m sticking to it.

‘Eat,’ he commands and I do as I’m told while he slouches on my sofa and flips through the magazines on the coffee table.

The ravioli is divine, succulent slivers of Moreton Bay bugs encased in handmade pasta and covered in white wine sauce. The deconstructed parfait is just as good, with strawberries, meringue, cream, lemon curd, and a berry coulis artfully arranged on a triangular white plate.

Only when I’m done do I glance up to find him watching me, his gaze riveted to my mouth.

‘What? Do I have something on my lip?’

‘Not yet, but you’re about to.’

He launches himself off the sofa and I yelp, pushing back from the trolley and skittering around the work desk. The villa isn’t small but it’s not built for chasing either and I’m soon cornered by a big, hulking, brute of a man with one thing on his mind.

Luckily it’s the same thing that’s on mine.

‘I know a good way to work off that meal,’ he says, leaning forward to brush a kiss across my cheek.

His lips are like a feather grazing my skin, barely there but making me shiver with the slightest touch. He trails butterfly kisses along my jaw towards my ear.

‘By the way, that blowjob blew my mind,’ he whispers, flicking my lobe with his tongue so his warm breath fans it and makes me bite down on my bottom lip to stop from whimpering. ‘You give great head.’

‘So do you,’ I manage to say. It comes out a high-pitched squeak as he places his hands on my waist and lightly guides me towards the bed.

I’m taking mincing steps backwards but he’s not in any hurry, every step punctuated by a kiss: on the point of my shoulder, on my collarbone, on my jaw.

It’s pure exquisite torture because I want that talented mouth on me in other, more sensitive areas.

The backs of my knees hit the bed and he steadies me when I fall backwards.

‘These really are very cute,’ he says, plucking at the hem of my pyjama top.

‘Wouldn’t you prefer sexy?’

‘What’s underneath is all the sexy I need.’ He tugs at the hem and peels the top off, his gaze zeroing in on my breasts. ‘Oh yeah, so fucking sexy.’

I don’t move because I sense he wants to take this slow, and I’m rewarded when he places his hands on my shoulders and slides them lower. Over my biceps, my elbows, my forearms. He reaches my hands and covers them with his, then guides them towards my breasts.

‘I want to see you do this.’

His thumbs and forefingers are over mine, guiding me, rolling my nipples. I’m doing it under his instruction and it’s so damn hot I feel dampness between my legs.

‘Don’t stop,’ he says as his hands slide lower, fingertips fluttering over my ribcage, dipping in at my waist, skirting my hips before delving into the elastic of my shorts.

He pushes them down and they fall, pooling at my feet. I kick them away and suck in a breath when his hands palm my ass. He kneads while watching me play with my nipples, his lips slightly parted, his breathing shallow.

I throb with wanting him but he makes me wait. Dipping a finger into the cleft of my ass while sliding the other hand around to the front.

I arch my pelvis forward and he tut-tuts. ‘Not so fast.’

‘I need you.’

‘And you’ll have me, but I want to play first.’

He slides a finger into me and I moan.

‘So fucking wet.’ His voice is rough and he stares at me in a daze as he continues to finger me. In and out. A low leisurely pace like he has all the time in the world to make me come.

I’m not that patient.

I’ve never done this before, tweaking my nipples while a guy tries to get me off and it’s super hot. But I’m naked and he has too many clothes on. I want to feel his skin against mine. I want it all.

I unbutton his shirt with fumbling fingers and he shrugs it off without stopping what he’s doing, expertly swapping hands.

‘My, my, you’re talented.’

The corner of his mouth kicks up. ‘I thought you would’ve already figured that out by now.’

‘I figure flattery will get me everywhere so the more I pile it on, the better you’ll be.’

‘High expectations. I can live with that.’ He watches me unsnap his button and unzip.

My heart pounds as I take him in hand and squeeze. He growls in response and I feel it all the way down to my toes. He lowers me onto the bed and I’m left hovering on the edge, cloying at an orgasm that’s just out of reach.

‘Patience,’ he says, reading my mind as he shucks off his boxers and pants. ‘We’re taking it slow tonight, remember?’

‘Get back here.’ I scoot backwards up the bed and pat it. He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He lowers himself over me, propping himself up on his elbows and caging me with his impressive biceps. I arch my pelvis, so needy. He chuckles and nips my neck, his bite treading a fine line between pleasure and pain.

‘I love how you smell,’ he murmurs, trailing his nose against my skin.

‘And taste.’ He swipes his tongue from my collarbone to my ear, a long lick that sends a shiver of desperation through me.

‘I need you inside me now.’

When he looks at me with an amused quirk of his brow, I add a demure, ‘Please.’

He pushes off me momentarily and that foil ripping is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. We have all night to do slow. But he’s driven me mad with his push-pull behaviour and now I want to show him exactly how good we are together—between the sheets, of course.

I watch him roll on the condom. It’s beyond erotic because I know what taking him in my hand feels like. The strength of him. The length. The breadth. Magnificent.

But he’s not done toying with me yet. He rests his hands on my thighs and gently pries them apart. My legs fall open willingly. I know what’s coming and my nerve endings zap in anticipation. He’s very, very good at this.

His stubble tickles the inside of my thighs as he kisses his way towards where I want him most. I wriggle impatiently and he murmurs something that sounds like ‘fuck me’.

‘Believe me, that’s all I want to do,’ I whisper, ending on a moan when he swirls his tongue over my clit.

He lifts his mouth. ‘Better?’

‘More,’ I demand, and give a little shimmy for emphasis.

His impish smile tells me I’m about to get exactly what I wish for, as he dips his head and devours me.

Little teasing licks, stronger swipes, nips and kisses, and then he starts sucking. I’m gone, my body winding tighter and higher until I’m flying, the power of my orgasm blinding me to everything but him.

Before I float back to my body, he’s inside me. A long, smooth thrust that’s decadent and divine.

‘You feel so good,’ I murmur, grabbing onto his shoulders, winding my legs around his waist.

‘Right back at you.’

Our gazes lock as he starts to move. Torturously slow. I never knew I had a G spot until him, as he slides his hands under my ass and lifts me slightly, so I’m locked around him with my legs in the tightest fit possible.

He’s taking his time, hitting that damn spot with every single thrust and I’m starting to go a little crazy, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

I dig my nails into his shoulders when he changes the angle again, the slightest shift making me gasp. I want to plead with him to end this exquisite torture and he must see something in my eyes because he moves faster. Pounding into me until I can’t breathe, the tension clawing at my body is that great. It builds and spirals until I’m blown apart in a detonation of pleasure so intense tears sting my eyes.

Thankfully, he doesn’t see them because he lowers his head the moment before he comes on a bellow that makes the hairs on the back of my neck snap to attention.

Neither of us speak.

There’s nothing to say.

Besides, how can I articulate the most terrifying thought?

You’ve ruined me for other men.