Her Client from Hell (11 page)

‘But I command you, kitchen slave. Take off your clothes.’ She didn’t want slow. She couldn’t get enough of him, of that hard body pressing against hers, of his erection pressing into her abdomen. She wanted it pressing inside
her
. Waiting was torture. Intense pleasure and matching torture. Doubled by the trail of his tongue down her belly to the waistband of her skirt.

‘One thing at a time. Now, this is extraneous to requirements.’ He pulled her skirt down over her thighs and paused for a moment as she lay there, exposed and breathless. His eyes locked on to hers and she saw in those dark pupils a desire that matched hers. That glittered with need.

His gaze scanned her body, travelling from her face to her breasts, then lower and lower, his eyes heating with every inch. ‘You are so beautiful.’

‘Stop looking and do something before I explode.’

‘Looks like I’ve got me one bossy woman. I say hell, yes to that.’ He laughed and dipped his mouth to her hipbone, placing hot wet kisses down to her thigh, and dispensed with her panties. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he parted her legs, his breath whispering over her opening. Then his tongue tasted her, licking her, making her tremble and writhe against his mouth, at the very edge of perfection.

‘Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please—’ When she thought she could barely hold on any longer, he stopped. She fisted his hair. ‘What did you stop for?’

‘Oh, you know. I like to hear you beg. Say it again:
please, Jack
.’

‘Not on your life. Never. Not if I was desperate.’ He licked her thigh and she moaned.

‘Cassandra, you are desperate. For this.’ He licked again and hot blissful waves rippled through her.

‘Never.’ She couldn’t help the laugh; she tugged a little on his hair. ‘Two bosses are so not going to work. Come on, give in. Take your shirt off.’

He paused for a second then finally shrugged off his shirt and she saw the magnificent defined muscles underneath. Her hands went instinctively to his chest, smoothing across the skin, pulling him close, flicking her tongue against his nipples, watching him squirm with pleasure. Skin against skin, heat against heat. She rubbed against him, every inch of her body wanting contact. His mouth against her neck, his hands grasping her bottom, his hardness a tantalising desperate tease against her pulsing opening. She wanted him. Now. To fill her, to rock against her. Inside her. Deep inside her.

She couldn’t wait.

Now.

He reached for his jeans zip but she stopped him with her hand. ‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘Tut-tut. Do I detect more dissent here? This is mine.’

Before he could answer, she was on her knees, tugging down the zip and throwing his jeans to another corner of the room. She took his erection in her hand, big and hard. And all hers. She ran her fingers down the length of him, then stroked over his tip as he tipped back his head and groaned.

Then his tongue was filling her mouth and he was pushing her back on the bed. Within a second he was sheathed and inside her, stretching her, filling her. He cupped her cheek with one hand as he shifted her bottom to a better angle with the other. Deeper he plunged, harder. Faster. She felt the pressure begin to mount again, her climax just out of reach as ripples of heat shivered through her. Nearer. Faster...

* * *

Jack groaned as he felt the sweet heat of her clamp around him. He pushed further, seeking a rhythm that held his own climax at bay until she reached hers. Her eyes fluttered closed as her mouth fell open. Tiny whimpers of pleasure escaped her throat. She lifted her head, pressing against him, her fingers scraping down his back. The hot sharp pain as her nails pierced his skin fuelled his need. He was losing his grip. Losing himself in her. Losing control. And he didn’t care. All he wanted was this woman.
This
.

Finding her mouth again, he kissed her hard, rocking against her. But she twisted underneath him, slid away from him, releasing him, hard and hungry, against the cool night air. With her fists against his chest, she pushed him back on the bed, her eyes alight with lust. ‘My turn on top.’

‘Now this kind of bossy I could live with.’ He reached for her but she dodged out of reach.

‘Oh? How much do you want it?’ Her fingers trailed across his erection, stroking and squeezing in long slow movements. One more. One more. Any more and it’d be too late.

‘Oh, God. No. Cassie, don’t—’

Her mouth was near his ear, her breath hot, her nipples brushing against his arm. ‘Now I want to hear
you
beg.’

‘For heaven’s sake, woman.’ He pulled her delicious naked body down on to him. ‘I will not be responsible for what I do to you. But you have been warned.’

‘Promises, promises, Mr Brennan.’ Then she straddled his hips, positioning herself over him, her tight velvet walls closing around him, releasing him. Closing, then releasing. Up and down. Up and down. Starbursts of pleasure exploded in his gut, in his head, in his eyes, every pore sensitive to her smell, her taste, her touch. He cupped her breasts in his hands as she bucked on top of him. The rhythm sped up as her face creased into an ecstatic smile, she sank and rose over him until he was gripping on the edge. One more...one more...one more.

‘See, Jack, look what happens when I’m in control.’

He had to hold on. Had to hang on to that single thread of control. Until he felt her tighten around him, his name on her lips again and again. She fell against his chest, her breathing rapid and erratic, covering his mouth in a wet, fevered kiss that spun him sideways, upwards and spiralling out and out. Then, shaken irrevocably, he roared into the darkness, his control blown to smithereens.

TEN

‘Oh, no, not
again. Not again. What time is it?’ Cassie blinked, suddenly wide awake as fingers of bright sunshine streamed through the blinds into her bedroom. She jerked up and peered at the digital display on her mobile.

Damn
. Late o’clock. Story of her sorry life.

But—oh. Her heart stuttered and jumped, her bones aching after the unusual nocturnal activity. She had a heck of a reason this time. ‘I’m late again.’

‘No surprises there; tell me something else that’s new.’ Beside her, Jack turned over and slipped an arm round her waist. The sheet barely covered his nakedness and she allowed herself a couple of seconds to just look at him. He had all but worshipped her last night, taken his time to make love to her exactly how she wanted him to. Hot, wild and glorious memories tripped through her brain—a perfect night of fun, laughter and intimacy. Then, the last time, he’d lain opposite her, stroking her so softly, staring into her eyes, and the orgasm had taken her to a place she hadn’t known existed.

She’d discovered a lightness she hadn’t known Jack had. A lightness she liked. More’s the pity, because she did not need to find anything else to like about the man. He was the order to her crazy. The sense to her silliness. And a genuine tenderness too. Something rare in men she’d dated before. But the stark truth was—he was also out of reach and not something she had the time to be grasping for right now. A delicious distraction from what was important.

He nuzzled against her belly, hair tickling the outer edge of her ribcage. ‘What you doin’?’

Wishing that things didn’t have to end so abruptly.
But the comfort of knowing it was only one perfect night meant she didn’t have to expend any more energy on it. She was done and dusted with her Jack infatuation. He could go home and she could carry on concentrating on her business plan with a lovely memory and an unbroken heart.

He nuzzled again. The smell of them wafted through the air. The smell of him clung to her. She wanted to preserve it somehow. To preserve this moment, last night, yesterday.

So, okay, maybe the Jack infatuation was lingering a little. It had been insanely sexy. Insanely glorious.

Insane.

To even think of sleeping with him was a crazy notion, but now she had to deal with the aftermath. Head-on seemed the best way to go. ‘For the record, just so you know, it’s not my fault I’m late today. This time, you are to blame, buster. I’m getting up; I have to get my stall organised right now before someone else gets my spot.’

His head lifted from the pillow lazily. ‘Would they dare?’

‘Yes. We are given a permit and allocated a site, but everyone vies for prime spots. If I don’t get there soon I’ll miss it.’

His head hit the pillow again. ‘What time is it?’

‘Six forty-five.’

‘And it’s a bank holiday? What about the lie-in?’ Rubbing his face and yawning, he looked so right in her bed, his dark skin against the cream linen duvet cover, mussed-up hair against the headboard.

Then suddenly the full impact of what they’d done seemed to settle on him as he looked around the room at the discarded clothes and dishevelled bed. And it didn’t sit easily. He might have looked right for the room, but he’d started to look a little out of sorts with the scenario.

‘Hello? Mr Time Obsession, where have you gone? It’s a work day for me; I don’t get bank holidays or weekends. This is how it is—odd hours, odd clients.’ She dug a finger into his ribs and watched him smother a smile. ‘You can stay here while I get organised if you don’t want to get up yet, although you’ll have to leave when I do. I don’t like people being here when I’m not.’ She didn’t need to explain why.

‘Do you need me...to...er...help out again?’ The tone sounded hopeful that she’d say no and let them both off the hook.

They had to go back to their normal lives. Although now she was changed a little. Still frazzled—check. Disorganised—check. Craving his touch—that hadn’t been there before. And he could go back to being a grumpy control freak important media man. Their paths would cross at a quirky Irish wedding in a week or two’s time, and then nothing. That’s what they both wanted. They’d agreed.

But she doubted anything could be as sensual or beautiful as last night. Anything or any man. She forced a smile. ‘No, thanks, you get off home. I can manage fine on my own.’

He was halfway off the bed now, grabbing at his jeans on the floor. He couldn’t have been more obvious about his need to leave, and his regret about the night they’d shared—that was written in the shadows under his eyes and the stiff taut jaw. ‘Okay, if you’re sure. It’s just that I have work to do as well. Editing for a project. A deadline. I should probably...’

‘Relax. Don’t worry; I’m not some rabid crazy woman.’ At his raised eyebrow, she corrected herself. ‘Okay, so I am a crazy woman. But I’m not holding you to anything past last night. It was fun, though. Margaritas, dancing...and, well, you blew my socks off. It was great, but...’ Was she rabbiting? Protesting too much? Convincing herself?

But she needed to properly take control of something—really take control, not like last night, which had been a playful battle of wills and heaps of sex-tastic fun. But she got the feeling that if she left it up to him he’d be jumped up and gone and no word said at all. And she didn’t want to be waiting for him, to hold out for a phone call or some kind of meeting that would be all shades of awkward. She needed it clear-cut and finished so she could put him neatly into her mental spreadsheet of fantastic one-nighters. And nowhere near the one that said maybe...perhaps...if only. That was, after all, if she’d had any idea of how to conjure up a spreadsheet in the first place. Plus, he’d be the only one on it.

She was getting in too deep and that was the way to disaster. She couldn’t afford to stuff up again; her head couldn’t take it and her heart certainly couldn’t.

To say he looked relieved would be an understatement. ‘Yeah. Yeah, it was...’

Was what? Fun? Great? Stupid. Slinking off the bed, she pulled on a dressing gown, suddenly embarrassed about being naked in front of him. Bad enough he’d see her with no clothes on, but emotionally exposed? Never. ‘So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get a shower and then start packing things up.’

Wrestling his T-shirt over those big broad shoulders, he paused. ‘You’re sure you don’t need a hand?’

‘No, Jack. I worked out how to use showers a long time ago. I’ll manage just fine.’ Then she closed the door and prayed he’d be gone by the time she’d towelled off.

* * *

‘Okay, so we need to find a focus for the narrative here. There’s no point just showing a bunch of shots from artistic angles; we need something more meaty and meaningful.’

Three days down and Jack still wasn’t sure this editor had any idea how to actually edit. To be fair, he was new to the Zoom team and still learning the ropes, but Jack had chosen him because of his great credentials. They were getting precisely nowhere. Nothing was hanging together, and the continued success of Zoom depended on everything gelling and hitting the weekend deadline. He tried to haul some oxygen into his lungs but the cutting room was tiny and airless and the walls seemed to be closing in.

That was what lack of sleep did: played hell with his concentration. Three double shots of caffeine hadn’t done their usual trick.

He stuck his feet up on the console and tried a different approach. ‘Look, my vision here is that this is a chance to let Jono tell his own story through showing his contradictions, show he’s human. He doesn’t say what he means, but his body language is a real tell. See here, how he tells her he doesn’t want the baby?’ Jack rewound the footage, knowing he was overstepping the mark a little. Producers rarely called the shots in the editing suite, but everyone at Zoom knew he was more hands-on than most. Billy would just have to get to know his quirks. ‘Here. Look at his face when she storms out of the room. Pure devastation. Then, we later find out about his first wife’s late miscarriage. That is pure gold. If we can juxtapose those pieces together it’ll make great TV.’

‘Sure.’ Billy shot him a look that said:
get the hell out of my cutting room
. ‘Whatever you want, boss. Whatever you want.’

Yeah. Great point, mate. What did he want? That was as muddled as this documentary segment was.

The other night he’d been pretty damned clear about it. At least his libido had been. He’d wanted Cassie so much he’d actually felt a physical ache.

But now? He felt as if he’d been sucker-punched by one of the street kids he’d tried to fight off all those years ago. And just as helpless too. Cassie was beautiful, sensual, funny. Once upon a time he could have listed every one of her attributes but then countered them all with rationality: the effect on him was purely physical. He could walk away any time from that kind of attraction and not break into a sweat.

But it had been an all-out struggle to leave her on Monday morning. Until she’d all but pushed him out of bed and sent him on his way. Clearly, she had no trouble with the one-night scenario. Which bothered him more than it should.

Thoughts of her in the shower kept flickering through his mind. Half of him—most of him—seemed to be on the verge of running back to her apartment and taking up where they’d left off.

Never had a woman had that kind of effect on him before. Never had he forged a connection with someone that was so strong, so elemental that he’d wanted to stay in bed with her instead of going to work. Never had he allowed anyone to distract him so utterly from his career, his production company. His one constant. The only thing he had to be proud of, to show those non-believers that he was worth something after all.

Everything he’d worked for was at risk here—because of a woman. Because of a connection. He knew better than that, but he just couldn’t shake her out of his head. Sitting here achieving diddly-squat wasn’t helping. He needed air. ‘You know what, Billy? This isn’t happening today. Let’s give it up and start again fresh tomorrow. What do you say?’

Billy nodded and almost dashed out of the door. Had he been that much of a pain in the ass to work with? ‘Okay, man. Get some sleep, eh? Chillax.’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’ He didn’t know how, except to lose himself inside a beautiful chef. But clearly that was strictly off the menu. He needed a long cold shower. An early night. And some kind of mind-erasing drug before he set foot in work again.

An hour later, he was running up the steps to his house and discovered a small white cardboard box outside his door. His name was scrawled on the lid. Inside, he discovered a note and a sort of doughnut-shaped cake that smelt exactly like Cassie’s kitchen. Her bedroom. Her. His groin tightened instinctively at the thought—she was driving him steadily mad. Being with her. Not being with her. Either way, he was doomed and his work was shot. Either way, she hadn’t lingered long enough to see him when she’d dropped this off.

He peered at the note.

I never really said thanks for helping me out with the stall the other day, so THANK YOU. I’m playing around with the recipe for these—all the rage at the moment. I needed a guinea pig and thought of you. ;-) Let me know what you think. C.

Five minutes later, he was licking vanilla sugar from his fingers then stabbing her number into his mobile. It would be rude not to show gratitude at the very least. ‘Hey. Thanks for the cake.’

‘My pleasure. You like?’ She sounded tired but relaxed. If there was any kind of tension about talking to him she wasn’t showing it.

His heart-rate settled to the jiggly tempo it had whenever she was on his mind. Half excited, half comfortable. ‘It was perfect. Kind of like a doughnut, but like a croissant too.’

‘Ten out of ten; I’ll make a commis chef out of you yet. It’s a croissant dough shaped and deep-fried like a doughnut—and that runny stuff in the middle? Confectioners’ custard—I love that stuff. My, my, what excellent observation skills you have.’

‘All the better to devour...your cooking.’ His stomach groaned and once again he realised he’d gone a day without eating. And three days without seeing her. That he even knew that set alarms off again. He ignored them. ‘Is there anything else I can be your guinea pig for?’

He heard the laughter in her throat. Thoughts of her straddling him, head thrown back and laughing made him hard. Very hard. Her voice lowered a little. ‘Why, Jack? What do you have in mind?’

Apart from phone sex? Any kind of sex? Sex tended to be way better when the two people having it were in the same room.

Whoa. He knew the agenda. There was nothing between them except a mutual lust and he’d managed to get to twenty-eight without getting carried away by that particular boat. He could control this. ‘I haven’t had dinner yet. You?’

‘No. I’ve just finished a job so I have some leftovers to look forward to.’

‘Enough for two?’ The tension he’d missed earlier? There it was in the sharp intake of breath, the pause, the garbled answer.

‘Er...I have...well, I guess that would... You want to share?’

‘Is barbecuing corn involved? Because I can do without that.’

‘No. But there’s a couple of steaks and a chimichurri sauce, pan-fried potatoes with rosemary. Caramelised nectarines—’ her voice definitely caught a little ‘—but it’s just food, Jack. Nothing else.’

He found his keys faster than Houdini. ‘Okay, I’ll come over.’

‘No. Wait. I’ll come to you.’

‘Oh. Okay, your call.’ How many times had he done that? Gone over to a woman’s house instead of inviting them over, just so he could control how long he stayed and get out quick if things got heavy? ‘You mean, so you get to choose when to leave.’

‘
Exactement
, my friend.
Exactement
. Plus, it’s
about time I got to see how the other half live. I’ll be there in twenty.’

And that was the moment he could have said this was not a good idea, but she’d hung up before he got the chance.

* * *

Twenty minutes later she was at the door, fresh-faced and dressed in a yellow and black polka dot wide-brimmed floppy sun hat, pink strappy top and red flouncy skirt, laden down with plastic boxes and a bottle of expensive French red. Her hair hung loose round her shoulders in big looping curls and he fought the urge to nuzzle right in and inhale.