Every Girl's Secret Fantasy (11 page)

Arched over her, he lifted her hips and ground them against his. When she tore the shirt tails from his trousers he grasped her panties and ripped them off. A fire, furious and all-consuming, whipped through her blood as Pace unzipped, hastily protected himself, then entered her in one urgent, solid stroke.

Throwing back her head, she gasped and clenched every muscle. He filled her so completely, and yet on the end of the terrific jolt she smiled. She knew from experience there was so much more to come.

His palms cupping her head, he peered into her eyes and began to move. Giving herself over to the drugging magic, she wound her legs around his hips, and as her hands pressed up his slick sides the friction grew brighter and hotter inside. When heat flashed, catching and flying through her veins like a late-summer bushfire, he only thrust deeper—until finally his body locked above hers and her core compressed around a violent whirl of beautiful, burning sensation.

When flaming red turned white-hot, everything but feeling—everything but the need to celebrate and let go—was consumed by searing heat, as well as a feeling—an emotion—Phoebe couldn't afford to dwell on.

It felt so good she never wanted it to end.

 

Lying in the penthouse's sumptuous bed hours later, Phoebe gazed at the ceiling, still floating, one forearm resting on her brow.

After their conflagration out on the balcony, Pace had swept her up and carried her inside to this magnificent
bedroom, which boasted the softest satin quilt and an array of gilded mirrors. He'd slipped her gown down the rest of the way. Then he'd laid her here, upon the finest silk threads, and kissed and stroked her the rest of the way down from her incredible high.

When they'd made love again, although less furiously the second time, their passion had seemed even more intense—as if tonight they'd found an enchanted key that had unlocked every one of the wonders they could share.

Now they lay together in the early dawn, naked, sated, limbs loosely twined. But Phoebe still felt his mouth on her skin…his lips trailing her flesh, his tongue swirling and flicking, his expert touch stirring her desire to a point where she whimpered as he flung her over that soaring, dizzy peak.

She couldn't regret that she'd decided to reply to his invitation, to allow herself this freedom and this sizzling joy again. Last night had been worth any price. She felt good about herself in a way she never had before. And that was a curious state to be in. If she felt so good because of a man, if she could barely see straight for the way he made her feel, didn't that beg the question…?

Mustn't her mother have felt this way about her father? As if she were somehow a
part
of him? That in some inexplicable way they were one?

Phoebe didn't condone the fact that her mother had chased after a man who had not only been no longer interested, but who hadn't wanted to know about the child he'd helped create. But she understood better what it was like to be a woman who'd found the one person who made them feel…
complete
.

That was how she felt with Pace.

Her chest aching, she burrowed into Pace's chest until his arm drew her in. Did she really have to go into work today? Did he? How much time did they have before checkout?

“You okay?” he asked.

She wove her fingers up through the hair on his hard chest. “Just wondering how long we have left here.”

“As long as we want.”

She smiled to herself. She was hardly a woman of the world, but she had a good idea about how much this place would dent a credit card balance.

“I don't want you to have to pay for two nights. The roses alone…” She sighed, remembering their perfume and rich ruby colour. “They were so beautiful—and so many. You must have raided every florist in town.”

His lips nuzzled her hair. “I said before—cost doesn't matter.”

“But suites like this—with a quartet and a banquet and imported champagne… It must've cost as much as a weekend in Paris.”

He growled playfully at her ear. “I get fringe benefits with my job.”

There was nothing
fringe
about this.

A horrible idea gripped her. “I'd hate to think that you'd borrowed money—”

He rolled over and drilled her eyes. “Phoebe, quit worrying. I have enough money to do as I please.”

Feeling strangely off balance, she studied his eyes. Not only did he mean what he said, with that statement he'd put an end to her questions.

Enough money to do as he pleased? Well, he drove the best, ate the best, and it seemed wanted to
experience the best. And his financial status was none of her business. She ought to simply take his word that he could afford this kind of luxury. It wasn't as if they were planning to pay off a mortgage together.

He lay down again and pressed his lips to her crown. “We'll see each other again tonight?” he said against her hair.

She held her breath, then snuggled closer to his scent and his heat. She wouldn't let doubts interfere this time. She'd come here to relive what they'd enjoyed a week ago. She'd hold on to that…and for as long as she could.

“What do you suggest?” she asked.

“For one, next time I call, you pick up.”

When he squeezed her, she laughed softly. “I promise to make myself available.”

She watched the lifting shadows of the coming day, wondering if he'd say more or finally fall asleep. Not that she expected to hear anything as monumental as,
I love you…you've changed my world.
That kind of talk was for the movies. In fact she didn't expect anything more than his smouldering attentions.

Last night had made her realise that she was more like her mother than she'd ever have admitted, but that didn't mean she was prepared to have history repeat itself. She wouldn't make a fool of herself over a man. The day she
did
expect more from her relationship with Pace than was wise—the day she felt herself slipping in too deep—was the day it ended and she walked away.

T
HEY
saw each other every night that week, and as each day passed Phoebe looked more and more forward to seeing Pace again.

Each night at around eleven he dropped her off at her apartment—but he didn't come in, no matter how many times she asked. Maybe he didn't want to tread on Hannie's toes, but dog and date had been getting along by the end of the Tyler's Stream trip. She was certain Hannie would behave if Pace were to visit again.

So when Pace had collected her this time, she'd made a point of saying that Hannie was staying with her neighbour. She didn't want to think about how she would feel if, knowing that, Pace still didn't come in tonight.

They were electric together in the bedroom. So what was the story? Didn't he want to be with her—sleep with her again?

Tonight she chose the restaurant, an authentic Chinese place in The Rocks, with tapestries of the Great Wall and a sweet hostess who wore green beads and couldn't stop smiling. After a wonderful meal, they strolled arm in arm down the Sydney streets and windowshopped.

There were so many jewellery stores, all with spectacular diamond rings winking out at her from plump white satin cushions behind the glass. She'd never had any reason to ogle diamond rings before, other than out of normal female curiosity. But, strolling down the busy lamplit footpath, she couldn't tamp down the tiny thrill running through her as her gaze lingered and her imagination tripped out.

“Something I can help you with there?”

Feeling guilty, Phoebe looked at Pace. “Help? What do you mean?”

“I know about women and jewellery. You mentioned your birthday's coming up. Should we choose something together, or would you rather a surprise?”

He thought she was hinting? Had her fascination with the windows been that obvious?

Smiling, embarrassed, she shook her head. “You don't have to get me anything.”

“Of course I do. I want to. Something to go with your eyes.” He curled hair behind her ear. “Jade or emerald drops, perhaps. No. You're a diamond girl, aren't you?”

She sighed. “That's not fair.” Show her a girl who wasn't.

A hot fingertip drew around her neckline. His lidded gaze followed the movement. Immediately her breasts burned for his touch to drop lower. After almost a week she still craved the feel of his palm pressed against her flesh. The heat of his body slung over hers.

“A necklace,” he concluded, collecting her hand and brushing his lips over her inside wrist. “Or a bracelet.”

He twirled her so that her back was to his front.
His arms wound around her waist and his cheek rested close to hers. All those jewels in the window glittered out at them—one in particular. A beautiful solitaire, not so much large as dazzling. A thousand prisms of light shot from its centre. The beauty of its brilliance touched something in her heart. Made her eyes a little misty.

Which meant she needed to take a giant step back. He'd asked her about a birthday gift, not getting engaged. Yes, he treated her beautifully. Was attentive and fun and the perfect lover. But in real time she barely knew him, and Pace was only ever supposed to be Mr Right Now. This affair wasn't meant to last.

Was it?

She gripped his forearm holding her waist and surrendered to an overwhelming surge of longing. She was so fiercely attracted to this man, and yet what did she really know about him other than he worked for Brodricks and he had an extravagant nature? They ate at the finest restaurants. Drank the most expensive wines. What must they pay him?

When he nuzzled her neck, uncaring of the curious looks and smiles of passers-by, she held onto the moment, then asked, “How long have you been with Brodricks?”

“Seems like I've always been there.”

“So it was your first job?”

“Pretty much.”

“They must pay well.”

“Pay well?” The breeze coming in from the harbour picked up as he manoeuvred her around to face him. A playful glint sparkled in his eyes. “Are you sure you're
a television host, because you'd make a great cross-examiner.”

She would have said sorry for prying, but she was only getting to know him better. She wasn't a gold-digger, if that was what he was thinking. She had her own career. A well-paying one.

“I have connections with Brodricks that go way back,” Pace conceded, walking again, his arm linked through hers.

“Guess you hope to be promoted higher up the ladder some day?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” His brow creased and his gaze grew distant. “What I'd really like is to head a new development programme. Start from scratch—build something that could wear the Brodricks badge with pride.”

“You'd get a big bonus from your boss for that.”

His grin was lopsided. “You think? Frankly I can't see him ever releasing the funds.” He shrugged. “Maybe best.”

They arrived at his car—tonight a cherry-red Ferrari. “Could you top something like this?”

He swung open her door. “Even Enzo had to start somewhere.”

It was past eleven. Work tomorrow for them both, and she'd had little sleep the night before. When he dropped her off tonight and she invited him in would he accept? She wanted his arms around her all night. Wanted his scent on her pillow. His smile in the morning. Was he waiting for her to say please?

They drove for a while, and when he turned into a private address elegant automatic gates fanned open. Drowsy from the vibration of the engine, Phoebe
realised they were nowhere near her neighbourhood. Only the rich and or seriously famous lived here.

Sitting straighter, she peered out of the window as security lights blinked on over a lawn and gardens which were vast and professionally manicured. The house—it was more a mansion—was Mediterranean in style, two-storey, with heavy timber shutters and doors.

She swept away the hair fallen over her eyes and blinked. “I don't understand.”

“I thought it was high time I invited you back to my place,” he said, and she couldn't contain a laugh. This wasn't someone's place—it was a palace!

But then she examined his candid face and sobered. “My God. You're serious. This is
your
house?”

“It used to belong to my parents, but, yes, it's mine now. My father designed it, inspired by my mother's Latin ancestry. Spanish splendour at its finest. I bought out my brother's half when our father died.”

Phoebe held her freefalling stomach. This had to be some kind of joke. And yet now things were beginning to make sense. He might work for Brodricks, but surely this piece of real estate made him independently wealthy. What other assets did he own?

To one side was an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and change facilities big enough to house a small family. Was that a massive orchard towards the back? She couldn't count the number of garages that graced one side of the property.

Holding her throat, she blew out a shaky breath. “Did you eat caviar when you were a kid?”

“Not for breakfast.”

The gates closed behind them and he swung the car
around a spectacular circular drive, the centrepiece of which was an elaborate water feature of a warrior in a chariot, dramatically lit from beneath the pool's surface.

He killed the engine and leaned towards her, his gaze intent, his lips devastatingly inviting.

“Phoebe,” he murmured close, “stay the night.”

Her head began to swim. She felt as if she were being swept away on a colossal wave, not knowing which direction was up, unable to get enough air. Stay the night?
Here
in this incredible dream of a house that Pace
owned
? Was this real?

“Phoebe?”

She held her brow. She felt so out of her depth. This was a whole other step…an invitation to cross another boundary of his life. Was that a good or a bad thing? It was wonderful to know that he wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. But was she wanting more—
feeling
more—than was safe?

Her stomach swooped.

Yes.

No.

If she was feeling so confused, she didn't have to do anything tonight. Best she took some time to sort out her emotions—sort out her head—and make a plan of how best to go forward.

She needed an excuse, and quickly—before she changed her mind and followed him like a lamb inside.

“Hannie…he's by himself at home.”

“You said he was with your neighbour tonight.”

His lips whispered over hers and she said, less
convincingly, “I promised I'd meet Roz early for a coffee.”

“Phoebe.” His mouth grazed hers, then lingered, rubbing up and down as his lidded eyes smiled in the shadows and his musky scent warmed her blood. “What are you afraid of? It's just a house.”

She tried to shift the thickness from her throat. “If you want to know…I'm feeling a little overwhelmed.”
About so many things.
“I mean, I want to stay, of course. I'm just having a hard time believing…” Again she drank in her glamorous surrounds.
“All this.”

What came next? Anything? Nothing?

She said, half seriously, “I'm not on a hidden camera reality show, am I?” Then she searched his eyes. “You're not playing some game with me—are you, Pace?”

His hand curled around her nape. Before kissing her again, this time deeply, he said, “No, Phoebe. I'm not playing.”

After he released her lips, he let her out of the car and ushered her up the tiled steps that led to the double front doors. Once inside, he didn't give her a tour. In her dazed state, she doubted she would have taken too much in. Even in the muted light, the glittering entry and sweeping staircase was enough to leave her speechless.

A step ahead, he carefully drew her up the stairs and into a room that was as large as her apartment, with a bed as big as her kitchen. With moonlight streaming in through a giant arched window he stopped at the foot of a midnight blue duvet, slid one strap from her shoulder, then the other. His chest expanded a moment, before his hands skimmed down her waist and he dropped a soft, sensual line of kisses around her collarbone. When his
tongue trailed her jaw, her chin automatically tipped up. She was trembling so badly with want she wasn't sure her legs would hold out.

His voice was a low, persuasive murmur at her ear.

“Stay the night.”

When his mouth covered hers she dissolved against him, and her hands drove up against the warm fabric covering his chest. There was no need to reply. He knew her answer.

She couldn't say no if she tried.