Every Girl's Secret Fantasy (10 page)

A feast for two.

Crossing to stand beside her, Pace looked every bit the debonair playboy in that jacket. The magnificent line he cut, so tall and suave and commanding…she couldn't help but think that he'd been born to don a dinner suit.

On a white linen tablecloth silver cutlery and crystal flutes sparkled, care of flickering patio torches. Pace shrugged out of his jacket, and as he turned to rest it over a nearby chair Phoebe's gaze sailed to the symmetry of his back. His shirt strained against the jostle of working muscles, and she imagined the smooth, hot flesh beneath the fabric, as well as the subtle smell
of sandalwood that she'd enjoyed during their ride in the lift.

She inhaled a shivery breath.

This night was bound to be one to remember.

When Pace faced her again, she gathered herself and smiled as he retrieved an impressive bottle of champagne from its ice bucket. He filled the chilled flutes and she tingled to her toes at the high-pitched ping when the crystal accidentally touched as he delivered her glass and an ice-cold flute pressed into her palm.

“I'd like to propose a toast,” he said.

A pulse fluttered in her throat as she raised her glass. “A toast?”

His hooded gaze grew intense. “To the music and to our second dance together.”

As her heart thudded, he clinked his glass to hers and sipped. He waited for her to taste the bubbles too, then took her glass, set it upon the table next to his, and folded her within the steamy circle of his arms.

Phoebe remembered again the hot thrill of his kisses, and her pulse-rate kicked up a notch. When his hot palm slid down her bare back and came to rest above the rise of her behind she bit her lip to stem a sigh. Then he began to move to the music and her body reacted instinctively, matching his step, flaming to life in response to the subtle magic of his moves.

“Are you okay with tonight being a private affair?” he asked, slow dancing her around in an intimate circle, his handsome face so confident and so close to hers.

“Depends.” She arched a brow, not wanting to give away the fact that she was melting at a rapid rate. “Do you do this often?”

His lips touched her ear and he whispered, “Never.”

She smothered a sigh. A foolish part of her wanted to believe him.

She looked into his eyes and tried not to swoon. “I thought you'd give up,” she admitted.

“Trying to see you again?” His eyes sparkled in the torchlight. “Not a chance.”

Her pulse pounded through the thousand pathways of her blood, leaving her giddy. Taking her higher. Five minutes and already things were moving quickly. She wanted everything to slow down, to savour every moment, and yet another part of her wanted to fast forward and once again know the feel of his mouth capturing hers.

His brow pinched. “Why didn't you return my calls, Phoebe?”

A shaft of guilt fell through her and she dropped her gaze. “I told you. I was busy last week.”

“Too busy for this?” He brushed his mouth over her brow and instantly her breasts grew hot and heavy…full and tender.

Searching his eyes, she took the plunge. “I'm not too busy tonight.”

Before picking up the phone and calling him Phoebe had made a deal with herself. If he was so determined to see her again she would meet with him, even
sleep
with him, but she wouldn't let herself get hung up on “what comes next”. She'd vowed to keep a tab on her feelings and, subsequently, keep them in line. She could only guess how many women had thought themselves in love with the delectable Pace Davis over the years. He
would be any woman's catch… But he was still single, wasn't he?

Clearly he wasn't looking for anything serious. Nothing permanent. But right now, the way her head was spinning and her heart was drumming, she too was happy to enjoy whatever lay ahead in the very immediate, intimate future.

His gaze roaming her face, he took in her reply and then, with a slow smile, pressed her closer, moving them both to the music.

“Do you have to go to work in the morning?”

She knew what he was asking—that she stay the night—and the thought flooded her belly with a hot pool of desire. She tried to mask her excitement with a light laugh and a flippant remark.

“You don't muck around, do you?”

“Where you're concerned?” With a knuckle, he tipped up her chin and skimmed his lips over hers. “Not any more.”

She drew in a shaky breath. Her thoughts were whirling, but she wouldn't let him know how deeply his seductive voice, his skilled moves, were affecting her. She didn't want to dissolve into a quivering mass of hopeless want.

At least not yet.

“Good thing we have four elderly chaperons inside,” she teased, and a wicked gleam shone in his eyes.

“You feel unsafe with me?”

“Unsafe isn't the word.”

“Vulnerable, then?”

She thought about lying, but said instead, “Yes. A little.”

His hot fingertips trailed her bare back, and as his other hand squeezed hers his smile widened.

Phoebe paused at a thought. “Pace, you're not thinking of borrowing my trick and tying me up, are you?”

“You know I prefer your hands free.”

An image seeped into her mind…her hands on his hips, her mouth busy and in love with its task. Her core contracted, and her eyes drifted closed as she quivered with deepest longing, inside and out.

His husky voice brushed her hair. “Perhaps we should skip dinner.”

She forced open her eyes and found his smouldering gaze fastened on her lips. Her heart clamouring, she tried to keep up her bravado, pretend she was as confident as he was. She was nowhere near. But that didn't mean she wanted to stop.

“You're not hungry?” she asked.

“Not hungry.” He tucked her pelvis against his. “Ravenous.”

“Well, then,” she said, sounding breathy but unable to do anything about it, “what's for entrée?”

His eyes darkened.

“You.”

She laughed softly, but inside she was shaking. The things he said, the way he looked at her…he didn't have to do a whole lot more to send her spiralling out of this galaxy.

“All I've thought about these past days,” he murmured, moving to the music again, “is kissing you.”

“I didn't realise I'd made such an impression,” she jibed, and his eyes flashed with devilment.

“The hell you didn't.”

His hand climbed until his warm palm reached her nape. His fingers twined in her hair and he urged her head back at the same time as his mouth closed over hers.

All those heady feelings came rushing back—the euphoria, the weak, wonderful throb of molten want winding through her blood. But the intensity was a thousand times stronger than a week ago. Truth was, she'd been unable to think of anything other than kissing
him
again too, and as his grip tightened on her arm and his tongue delved deeper Phoebe willingly surrendered to the thrill and the incomparable power of this amazing man's kiss.

When his mouth broke from hers gently, almost tenderly, his hooded eyes were dark and filled with intent.

He inhaled, satisfied. “I liked our dance,” he murmured. “I could dance with you all night.”

She tried but failed to catch her breath. Her every sense was zinging, neon bright. If he even
touched
her down there, there was every chance she might explode.

Fighting the urge to flatten herself against him, she swallowed another breath.

“If we dance all night the food will go cold.”

He mock frowned. “We can't have that.” Her hand in his, he led her to the banquet table. “No waiters. This evening,
madame
, I will serve.”

Phoebe's mouth hooked up. Oh, she liked the sound of that.

“We have a selection for starters,” Pace pointed out. “Are you a shellfish fan? Lobster? Oysters?”

Phoebe spotted a glass bowl of fruit and her tastebuds leapt to life. “I love strawberries.”

Pace took his time choosing the biggest and reddest. While Phoebe waited she guessed his next move: bringing the strawberry to her lips and inviting her to eat it from his fingers. When he found a large plate and set the fruit in the centre Phoebe's heart sank. She'd been expecting something more…erotic. As if to compensate a little, he reached for a pourer of liquid chocolate and set that on the plate, too.

Phoebe's mouth watered. Her ideal combination.

He presented the plate, and she drenched the strawberry in thick dark chocolate. When she bit it, the mix of chocolate and fruit exploded in a heavenly cocktail on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she hummed and chewed and finally swallowed. After running her tongue over her lips, she popped the rest of the strawberry into her mouth. She'd brought her fingers close to lick their tips when she noticed Pace's expression.

With a slight breeze ruffling his hair, he looked both relaxed and fascinated. His gaze was drifting lower, down from her mouth to feather over the light fabric of her bodice. Beneath the aqua silk her nipples tingled, growing hard and hot beneath his stare. As her breathing picked up again his gaze trailed higher, to fuse with hers, its ascent leaving a sizzling path in its wake.

“You like sweet things?” His voice sounded irresistible and dark, like the chocolate lingering on her tongue.

She managed a careless shrug. “It's a weakness.”

“Then you'll like this.”

He heaped a portion of a meringue creation onto a
plate. Blueberries and passionfruit toppled off a crest of whipped cream as he presented it to her.

But he was ahead of himself. “Pace, Pavlova's a dessert.”

“Yes, it is. Now…” The curve of his grin, the timbre of his voice, was mesmerising. “Close your eyes.”

Inside, the quartet began another tune, this piece more lilting and evocative. Feeling carried away, she leaned back against the dinner table, held the edge either side, and willingly did as he bade.

In the darkness, the first thing Phoebe knew was the sugary smell. She guessed he'd scooped a helping of meringue onto a spoon and held it before her mouth. Tempted, she almost flicked out her tongue for a taste, but swiftly put that impulse aside.

She didn't want to seem too eager.

“Okay,” he murmured, “open your mouth.”

The delicious ache building in her stomach contracted at the quiet power of his words, and, compelled to do precisely as she was told, she opened up.

“Wider, Phoebe. Open wider.”

A fire lit low in her stomach. Lifting her chin, she opened more.

What she guessed was a dessert spoon clicked against her teeth, then a dreamy blend of sugar and cream assailed her senses. As she tasted the confection she felt it too. The soft and slippery blended with shards of crusty meringue, which seemed to melt and disappear on contact. In her mind's eye Phoebe saw Pace holding the spoon in his big tanned hand, his eyes glowing at her pleasure, anticipating the delights yet to come, and suddenly everything but their joined breathing seemed to fade away.

The echo of her heartbeat thudding against her ribs pounded like a far-off sea in her ears. The violins sounded strangely removed, so that the melody, and the violinists themselves, seemed to be in another time and place. When his scent grew stronger and soft warm lips traced her temple Phoebe sucked in air but kept her eyes closed. His breath was an inciting furnace on her skin. She swore she heard the blood booming through his veins. She'd never felt this hot before…doubted she ever would again.

Pace's voice was raw. “Do you want more, Phoebe?”

With her heart hammering in her throat, her head light and beginning to spin, she swallowed what remained of the sugar melting on her tongue and nodded.

She waited for the cool spoon to touch her lips again. Instead she felt Pace's hands curl around her waist. Next she knew, she was lifted off her feet. She opened her eyes at the same moment he set her to sit upon the table. A sparkling waterfall of sensation cascaded through her as, locked in the heat of his eyes, she braced herself for what was to come.

His kiss shot a torrent of effervescence through her body, drew feelings of desire from her that only the gods could know about. His palms were on her shoulders, bringing her towards him, and as his hands drew down her arms the straps of her gown were peeled down too.

With her breasts fully exposed to the exhilarating chill of the night she arched towards him, ready to have him drag the rest of the clothes from her body. But then, in a gut-wrenching flash, she remembered their company. The quartet. What if one of them came out?

Pulling back from his mouth, she shimmied her bodice up to cover herself. “Shouldn't we say goodnight to our guests first?”

Unconcerned, he smoothed a spiral of loose hair from her face. “I told them to leave five minutes after we moved out here. That's a CD playing.”

Phoebe processed the information, then released a commending smile. “You always think ahead, don't you?”

“I wanted a private evening with you,” he explained. “You wanted the same.”

She filed her fingers up through his hair. It was true. She did want to be alone with him. Wanted to feel his masculine heat merging with hers. Wanted his smouldering kisses again and again. A week without Pace had seemed like two lifetimes.

Surrendering, she coiled an arm around his neck and lifted herself to meet his lips. Her nipples flared with warmth when his hand wove up her outside leg, tugging her gown all the way up before his fingers slid beneath her panties.

His touch travelled inward at the same time as he groaned against her lips, “Wider, Phoebe. Open wider.”

She complied, and with his other hand supporting her weight he laid her back upon the table. Her fingers knotting in his hair, she focused on the giddy rhythm of their mouths working together, on how the growing intensity matched the rising flood of desire drenching her body. She wanted these sensations to last and last. The pleasure was so concentrated. So absolute and vital. Just like those first times. Only this time she knew it would be better. Would
continue
to get better. And
that made her feel more confident and desirable than anything.