Five Exotic Fantasies: Love in Reverse, Book 3 (26 page)

She went into her room and started to get dressed. She knew she should tell Felix she’d changed her mind, text him not to come around, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Eleanor was wrong, and he
was
only a distraction. But it was a nice distraction all the same.

Chapter Thirty-One

Felix rang the doorbell and waited for Coco to answer. He leaned on the doorjamb, a little tired, wondering if he was being sensible planning an intense sex session while he was so busy with the case.

He’d spent the rest of Monday and most of Tuesday talking to the partners and other lawyers in the firm about Peter Dell. Unsurprisingly, Dell’s colleagues had little criticism of the senior partner’s behaviour. No, they didn’t know anything about him making advances on Sasha De Langen, or indeed any other women at the firm. No, as far as they knew he had never had an affair. Yes, sometimes he made mildly sexual jokes, but didn’t everyone? No, they were unaware of any member of the firm being upset by anything Peter had ever said. In fact, he was the life and soul of the party, liked by everyone, including all the women.

He had no way of knowing whether the lawyers were covering for Dell, or whether they were telling the truth. But certainly, apart from Sasha’s statement, he had no evidence as yet that Dell had behaved inappropriately to anyone in the office.

Coco opened the door, and his heart immediately lifted, so much so that he knew he’d done the right thing arranging to see her again. For a moment she looked briefly distressed, although she brightened as she saw him, and giggled when she saw what he was wearing.

“How many layers?” He stepped back to let her out of the door and ran his gaze down her, taking in the pants and boots, the woolly hat, and the thick coat whose bulk indicated more clothing underneath.

“Um, seven, I think. I’m just glad it’s not a hot day or I’d look a right dork.”

He laughed and took her hand, noticing that she didn’t go back inside to say goodbye to her mother. But perhaps she’d already said goodbye.

As they walked to the car, he wondered whether Sasha’s case was playing on Coco’s mind. He hadn’t spoken to her much over the last two days and he’d had no way to gauge what she was thinking. He’d texted her a couple of times, just a small joke or a smiley face, and she’d returned it each time, so she couldn’t be that mad at him. Plus she hadn’t rung or texted to cancel their evening. Still, he noted the droop of her shoulders, the sadness in her eyes as she got into the waiting taxi, moving awkwardly with all the clothing. Perhaps it was her mother, then.

He got in and directed the taxi to the hotel, then turned to her and smiled. “Any idea what we’re up to this evening?”

For the first time, humour lit her eyes. “I have a few ideas.”

He grinned. “I meant which scenario.”

“Oh.” She giggled. “Well, I’m presuming it’s the igloo one, although I have no idea what you’ve come up with for that. I’m guessing we’re not on our way to the airport to Reykjavik though.”

“Nope. I’ve brought Reykjavik to Wellington tonight.” He smiled and took her hand again, soft in its woollen mitten. He couldn’t help himself asking, “Are you okay?”

She waved the other hand, and her eyes took on a glassy sheen. “Just family stuff. Mum’s driving me nuts. I nearly yelled at her tonight, and I’ve never done that before. I had to walk out of the room.” She bit her lip and looked out of the window.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head without turning around.

He frowned. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t even her friend really, not in the confidante sense of the word. Their relationship was purely physical, and there was absolutely no reason she should confide in him or open up to him.

And yet as his gaze caressed her profile, her straight, slightly pert nose, her pale, clear skin, her long slender neck, he felt a sweep of affection for her and an urge to comfort her, to take her in his arms and make everything right.

He cleared his throat. This wouldn’t do at all. He was growing soft in his old age.

He lifted her hand, slid off her glove and raised her hand to his lips. She looked back, watching as he planted a kiss on her knuckles, then on her fingers, then turned her hand over and kissed her palm. He lowered her hand, but continued to rub his thumb across, stroking the sensitive skin inside her wrist.

“I’m glad to see you’re well wrapped up, anyway,” he said, deciding distraction was probably the best course of action. “It’s going to be cold where we’re going.”

A hint of a smile touched her lips, and she ran her gaze down him. “You look good. If a little bulky.”

He grinned. “You can have fun peeling the layers off later.”

She met his gaze and he held it, hoping his eyes were telling her how much he was looking forward to this. Over the last two days, he’d talked and smiled and jotted down notes and puzzled over Sasha and her case, but every time he was alone, pictures of Coco had flooded his mind, and he’d had to struggle to pull himself back to reality.

The journey to his hotel took no time at all, but it was still too long, and he thrust the money into the taxi driver’s hand before leading Coco through the doors of the hotel and across the foyer.

“What’s the hurry?” she complained, smiling nevertheless. “You can’t wait to get me naked?”

He led her to the elevators and pressed the button. “Oh, getting you naked is going to take a very long time tonight. But I can’t wait to kiss you. I dreamed about it practically all night last night.”

The doors slid open, and he pulled her inside, pressed the button for his floor, and then before the doors were completely shut, he pushed her up against the wall and his lips were on hers.

He hadn’t been joking—he’d dreamed about her all night. And not just kissing—about the slide of his hand up her pale thigh, the softness of her nipples on his tongue, the sound of her sighs as she came, clenching around him. He grew hard just thinking about it, although there was no way she was going to notice through all the layers of clothing.

Her lips were soft, and he forced himself to kiss her slowly, wanting to make the evening last and to enjoy every minute with her. He pulled her hat from her head and threaded a hand into her hair, which felt like slippery silk ribbon in his fingers, and cupped her head while he moved his lips across hers and stroked his tongue into her mouth. She moaned and raised her arms around his neck, and he revelled in the blissful feeling of her in his arms, so welcoming, so yielding.

By the time the elevator doors slid open he was ready to rip off her clothes and do her right there, but he just sighed, took her hand and led her to his door, smiling at the sight of her, with her lipstick kissed off and her hair all ruffled as she jammed her hat back onto her head.

He stopped outside, holding the door handle. “Are you ready?”

“I have absolutely no idea what to expect,” she said, eyes wide.

He grinned, and opened the door. Coco stepped inside, and gasped.

He tried to look at it with fresh eyes, which was difficult as he’d spent the previous evening, some of lunch and the past two hours working on it. He’d visited the local supermarket and asked for any spare cardboard boxes they had going, flattened them and managed to smuggle them into his room, then reassembled them. He’d moved the furniture back against the walls again, covered the carpet with a white sheet, and stuck the boxes together in the shape of an igloo in the centre of the room—nowhere near as big as a real igloo, but big enough so they could get inside it. He’d covered the igloo with another white sheet and stapled it on, and he had to admit it offered a pretty good representation of the real thing. That evening, he’d plugged in his laptop and projected onto the wall a scene of a vast tundra where it was snowing heavily, and the speakers played the sound of a swirling snowstorm. He’d turned on the air conditioning to its lowest setting, and then finished the scene by adding a blue circle of paper to one side of the igloo. A large, stuffed toy seal sat solemnly staring into the fishing hole.

Coco burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Felix, you are certifiable.”

“I can’t believe the temperature. It’s taters in here.” He shut the door behind him. His breath wasn’t quite frosting before his face, but the room was decidedly icy.

“Taters?”

“Sorry. That’s an old one. Potatoes in the mould—cold.”

She gave him a wry look and walked over to the igloo and began inspecting it while he made them a drink—a glass of mulled wine made from red wine warmed with slices of orange and lemon and cinnamon sticks. He’d left it in the saucepan on the tiny stove and it was still warm enough to make his insides glow.

He gave her a glass, and she tasted some. “Yum,” she said, and licked her lips.

“Yeah, not bad. My mum’s recipe.”

“I wasn’t talking about the wine.” Her gaze raked him, and then she giggled.

Felix grinned, put an arm around her and pulled her close. “Have I cheered you up?”

“You always cheer me up.” She looked up at him, resting one hand on his chest. “I mean it.”

“Thank you.” He felt surprisingly pleased by her comment.

Holding her head, he kissed her, enjoying the warmth of the wine on her tongue, alcohol and excitement beginning to thread through his veins, the anticipation of the evening ahead almost too much to bear.

She raised her free arm around his neck and slid her fingers through his hair, and they kissed for a while, slowly and languorously. He could tell by the hungry way she responded to him, and the pure delight she took in it, that she’d been telling the truth when she’d said her ex hadn’t enjoyed it. Felix couldn’t understand it. Who didn’t enjoy kissing? For a start, it was like preparing a canvas before applying the oil paints—necessary to get the best finished product.

However, foreplay was also a task he’d never considered a burden but more of a pleasurable pastime. It had become clear to him in his teens that women took a lot longer than men did to get turned on. His mates had sometimes complained about it, expressing impatience with the laborious process of arousing a girl. Felix had never understood that approach. Hell, what wasn’t fun about kissing, licking and touching? The whole process was so enjoyable, why
wouldn’t
he want to spend as long as he could leading up to the denouement, which could easily be over in minutes, if not seconds, if the girl was really hot?

So he’d thrown himself into the task of exploring what women found satisfying as he grew in experience. He learned quickly that every girl was different. Some liked using their tongue when they kissed, others didn’t. Most liked their nipples paid attention to, but occasionally one flinched, so he learned to take it slow before launching right in. He’d yet to find a woman who didn’t like receiving oral sex, but not all liked to give it, and that was fine. He preferred it if they did, though.

That was one area Lindsey hadn’t been so keen on. Felix didn’t like to think about it because he preferred to think of her as perfect, but it was the one area on which they hadn’t quite seen eye to eye. She’d gone down on him because she loved him and she knew he enjoyed it, but he’d been able to tell that she didn’t enjoy it much. She’d licked around him as if he were a melting ice lolly, but had disliked taking him far inside her mouth with an obvious fear of gagging, and on the few occasions he’d lost control and come, she’d been careful to move back out of the way. It had puzzled him at the time, because in most other ways she was very open about sex and willing to try almost anything. He knew not to take it to heart though, because other girls before and after her had reacted in a similar way—some refusing to let him come in their mouth, others relenting but then spitting quietly into a tissue afterward. He didn’t complain, but he’d always felt strangely hurt afterward, as if he was somehow disgusting.

So he thought he knew how Coco felt about sex considering what her ex had been like, and it sounded as if Michael been a hell of a lot worse in general than Lindsey had been in just one aspect. He wanted to continue to prove to Coco that nothing she wanted to do was revolting or repulsive, and that where he was concerned, everything was on the table.

Including them, if she so desired.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Coco leaned back against the kitchen counter and let Felix kiss her senseless. Jeez, he was so good at it. How had she lived without this all her life? How was she going to live without it once he’d gone? No, she wasn’t going to think about that. Wasn’t going to think about how bereft she would be once he’d left and there were no more secret assignations to look forward to, to brighten her day.

Once the thought had entered her head, though, it was difficult to stop it, and Felix must have sensed the lapse in her passion because he lifted his head and stroked her cheek. “What’s the matter?”

She shook her head and smiled. “I’m eager to get inside. You’ve done such a wonderful job here—you’re absolutely amazing.”

She meant it—she could hardly believe it was the same room in which she’d lain on the beach and watched the ocean. For a start, it was freezing, and the snowy vista he’d projected onto the wall mysteriously added to the cold so that she really felt as if she were standing in Siberia somewhere, the wind howling the snowflakes around her. The igloo was delightful—it even had the little tunnel to protect the doorway she’d seen in photographs. And as for the stuffed toy seal…