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Unless…

She couldn't suppress the hope for something more.

“Do you have far to drive?” she asked, trying to force herself to accept the inevitable.

“No. It's only a short distance to Bondi Beach.”

“Is that where you live?”

“I have an apartment there.” His mouth curved into a dry little smile. “I live in many places, Erin.”

“So do I,” tripped off her tongue.

It caused him to look at her quizzically.

She didn't want to talk about herself anymore, didn't want him to stay on out of politeness, listening to the kind of footloose life she had adopted. Besides, most people considered her odd—those who had roots they cared about. Rather than be seen as odd by this man, she laughed and said, “I can go anywhere in my mind, Peter.”

He smiled his understanding. “You must have a vivid imagination to tell stories so well. Can your mind encompass going with me tonight?”

The question was slid out so smoothly, tapping straight into her own secret desire, Erin wasn't sure if it had really been spoken. “I beg your pardon?” she rattled out, her heart thumping so hard her chest hurt.

He leaned forward, bringing the full power of his physical magnetism into play as he spread his hands out to her in open appeal across the table. His eyes engaged hers with almost hypnotic intensity as he said, “You're not committed to meeting anyone in particular at your party.”

“No.” There was no party.

“So come with me instead.” His mouth broke into a dazzling white grin. “Think about it. It's only right for the prince to sweep Cinderella off to his castle. We can't let the story end here, Erin.”

Her mouth had gone completely dry. She swallowed hard to work some moisture into it as her dazed mind came to grips with a move she'd given up believing would happen. Peter Ramsey
was
attracted to her. He wanted her to go with him, be with him.

“No. Ending it here wouldn't feel good,” she blurted out, throwing all sense of caution to the wind.

He laughed, delighted with her reply. “Click!” he said, reminding her of their earlier conversation about finding someone who was tuned in on the same wavelength. “My horse awaits,” he added, rising to his feet and holding out his hand to draw her to hers.

“Is it a white charger?” she asked giddily, her hand shooting up to meet his, her body lifting from the chair in a surge of wild happiness.

“Blue,” he replied with mock ruefulness. “But it is charged with a lot of horsepower.”

She laughed, deliriously aware of his fingers enclosing hers, forging a link that was not about to let her slip away from him. A brief separation came as they paused on their way out of the restaurant to pay for the dinner, but once that was done, Peter instantly recaptured her hand and maintained the connection while they walked along together.

It was Friday night and Oxford Street was thronged with people intent on having a good time at the end of their working week. Despite the boisterous crowd milling around them, they moved in a space of their own, as though the big man beside her generated a force-field that kept others from touching them. They occupied a magic circle, Erin thought fancifully, refusing to think about where they were going, revelling in the exhilarating sense of not knowing what might come next.

They turned a corner. “Parking stable in the next block,” Peter informed her, still enjoying the fiction she had fallen in with.

Her feet wanted to dance. She did feel like Cinderella, miraculously going to the prince's ball. “I wonder if we can stop the clock from striking twelve,” she said whimsically.

“Are you planning on running away at midnight?”

“That's when this day ends,” she reminded him, secretly hoping that the adventure they were embarking upon would keep its exciting fascination for both of them.

“I do have a glass slipper up my sleeve,” he said with arch confidence.

“You do?”

He grinned. “I know where you work so I can find you again.”

She didn't work at the preschool, but he could find her through her aunt if he really wanted to. A fountain of joy was bubbling through her as they entered the parking station. She felt no trepidation whatsoever about accompanying him anywhere at all. It seemed to her that a fairy godmother had waved her wand, ordaining their coming together, because however unlikely it was, they were meant to meet.

This lovely sense of a benign Fate was abruptly shaken when Peter led her to a royal-blue BMW Z4 sports convertible. It was too coincidental for her to be personally confronted by two such cars on the same day. Her heart quivered with shock as her mind made the obvious connection. She turned to Peter, her eyes searching for the truth in his.

“It was you at the pedestrian crossing near the preschool.”

“Yes, it was,” he acknowledged without the slightest hesitation.

“And then…then you just happened to drop in at that park?”

“No. Your smile drew me there.”

“My smile…”

Bright red danger flashes were popping in her mind. This was crazy. A man as powerful as Peter Ramsey stopping for a woman he thought was a preschool teacher? It was too far out…too…

His hand was suddenly cupping her cheek, its warmth arousing an instant pleasure in his touch. She automatically leaned into it. His fingers gently stroked her temple, somehow soothing the tumult his words had triggered.
He
smiled, making it seem perfectly reasonable that a smile could have immense drawing power. Her throat had seized up. She was speechless, staring at the unmistakable glitter of desire in his eyes—desire for her, no longer hidden—desire intent on being satisfied.

His head was bending down, coming closer.

He was going to kiss her.

A moment before his lips touched hers, one last panicky thought broke through the mesmerised state of acceptance—what kind of man would do all Peter Ramsey had done to get to this moment with her…
just from seeing her in the street?

E
RIN'S
heart was galloping. The light brush of his lips against hers caused an electric buzz. She ceased to think. The tip of her tongue darted out to sweep over the acute sensation. He sucked it into his mouth, instantly turning the kiss into a deeply intimate connection.

She felt him lift her hand to his shoulder, felt the fingers that had been stroking her face slide into her hair, felt his arm slide around her waist. Then her body was being pressed against his and it felt so good to be held there, her soft femininity revelling in his hard strength, her breasts swelling ecstatically across the hot, muscular wall of his chest, a wild excitement coursing through her stomach at the unmistakable evidence of his desire, her thighs quivering at the tension in his, the sense of melting into him spreading right through her as the kiss went on and on, erotically gathering an urgent passion that was totally beyond any experience she'd ever had of kissing.

She wasn't aware of thrusting her own hand into his hair, holding his head down to hers, wasn't aware that her other hand was clamped to his back, doing its utmost to increase the pressure of their embrace. Only when Peter's mouth broke from hers did she become conscious of her own lustful complicity in what he had started.

“I want you very badly, Erin Lavelle.” Words bursting through ragged breathing.

“Yes,” fell from her lips before she gathered wits enough to know what she was saying.

“Into the car,” came the gruff command.

Erin felt like a bundle of jelly. Peter virtually scooped her into the passenger seat of the BMW, deftly fastening her seat belt before closing her door and striding around the bonnet to the driver's side. She dazedly wondered how he could summon so much forceful purpose when her body seemed to have lost all sense of co-ordination.

He whooshed into the seat beside her, charging the air inside the car with his highly active energy. The powerful engine of the sports convertible thrummed into life. He flashed a grin at her. “Will you be worried about your hair getting blown about if I put the hood down?”

“No,” she said, thinking a cooling breeze might help glue her back together.

Peter pressed a button and the hood lifted up and disappeared behind them. Then they were off, heading out of the parking station, driving into the night. Red traffic lights stopped them at the Oxford Street intersection. Pedestrians streamed across the road in front of them. People looked at the car, just as she had earlier today, looked at the occupants to check what they were like.

Was Peter eyeing the women as they passed?

She glanced sharply at him.

He wasn't smiling at any of them. His attention was trained on the traffic lights, waiting for them to turn green. Impatient to get where they were going? He either caught her glance out of the corner of his eye or sensed her unease.

“What?” he asked, his gaze spearing to hers, the blue eyes alert to a possible problem.

The sense of taking a huge risk with him made her blurt out, “Is it a game with you, picking out a woman who's outside your social circle and—”

“No,” he broke in emphatically. His hand moved swiftly from the gear stick, reaching for one of hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You're a first, Erin. And you shine more brightly than any woman who's ever been in my social circle. My life has seemed grey for a long time and today you put colour into it.”

A first…

She liked that.

It made her feel special.

She smiled.

He smiled back.

Warmth curled around her heart and calmed the spurt of agitation in her mind.

The lights turned green. Peter released her hand and drove on. Erin relaxed into the contoured leather seat, telling herself to enjoy the ride in a sports convertible, the sense of being open to the night, air rushing past, ruffling her hair, the sights and scents of the city much sharper than from a closed car.

She wanted to be simply swept along by this man, let whatever happened with him happen, even if it was madly reckless. Yet a natural wariness in her mind kept pricking at a hardy strain of common sense. He might have lied about her being the first. He might get his kicks from taking a trip with a woman he chose out of nowhere.

He had definitely manipulated the situation today, directing her personal co-operation with his plan to defuse the traumatic scene with Dave Harper, appointing her as the person to collect Thomas from his father, giving her his business card and pressing her to contact him, motivating her to meet him again. None of it was really spontaneous. All of it spoke of a man primed to seize opportunity and turn it to his advantage.

Peter Ramsey…billionaire…ruthless in going after what he wanted and getting it?

Here she was, taking a ride straight to his bedroom, right where he wanted her, maybe where he'd decided he'd like to have her from the moment she'd smiled at him. A Latin phrase her father was fond of quoting slid into her mind, Julius Caesar's famous boast…
Veni, vidi, vici…
I came, I saw, I conquered.

In a way, billionaires were the modern day version of empire-builders, taking over whatever piece of the world fired their interest. There was no doubt in her mind now that Peter Ramsey was of that special breed of men. Hadn't she instinctively picked that up, casting him as a Viking warrior even before she'd known who he was?

Maybe she should be frightened of him but she wasn't. He excited her, more than any man she had ever met. So what if she had been his puppet today, being pulled by strings she hadn't seen! She still wanted this adventure with him, and had tried to pull strings herself to get it, deliberately sexing up her appearance. Her life had been grey for a long time, which was why she immersed herself so much in her stories. She'd used them to colour it. And her travels through other countries…looking for colour, wanting it.

Click!

She and Peter Ramsey were together on that tonight.

Her prince…his princess…more than likely a one-night fantasy, but let it be, she thought fiercely.

Let it be.

Peter had to keep cautioning himself not to exceed the speed limit as he drove. Exhilaration was pumping through him and it craved action. Fast action. He was acutely conscious of Erin's presence beside him, could still feel the imprint of her body on his…so soft and giving, stirring caveman instincts that were running rampant.

He was so caught up in his own physical excitement, it was a while before he realised she'd said nothing since the Oxford Street intersection. Most women were full of chatter. He didn't want to talk, didn't want to break the sense of being drawn into a magical tunnel that promised the fulfilment of all he wanted with a woman. Fantasy, perhaps, but the urge to give it free rein tonight was galloping through him.

Yet was her silence one of contented acquiescence to spending this night with him, or did it hide less harmonious thoughts?

She'd said yes.

But then there'd been the question about his motives for pursuing a connection with her—
a game he played.
Had she been satisfied with his reply? How was she to know he'd never done this before?

He shot a quick assessing glance at her. Her head was tilted back against the headrest, eyes closed, long strands of hair blowing into a feathering dance around her face. No troubled frown. No sign of tension. Her expression was completely serene, her body relaxed, her hands loosely linked in her lap. Was she, too, floating with the night, not letting any worry touch it?

Recalling a comment she'd made over dinner, he quietly asked, “Where have you gone in your mind, Erin?”

“I'm right here, living this moment with you,” she answered and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“It feels good?” he prompted, wanting confirmation.

“It feels…marvellous.”

The eloquent thrill in her voice relieved him of any concern about how she was reacting to his initiatives in getting to this moment.

She was with him.

Or was she with the Ramsey billions, dismissing any sense of risk in favour of riding this opportunity to get into a relationship with him and…

His jaw clenched in frustration. He didn't want to think like that with Erin. Not tonight. Just go with the flow. Don't spoil it, he told himself savagely. She was beautiful, delightful, and cynical thoughts would blunt his desire for her and tarnish the magic. Block them out, let them go, enjoy having this woman.

His castle was a penthouse apartment, set up on the hill overlooking Bondi Beach. An elevator from the basement garage took them straight to a spacious living room, which spread out to a terrace with a swimming pool. Erin caught only a glimpse of these luxurious surroundings in passing. Peter led her straight up a staircase which took them to the master bedroom where he opened a wall of curtains, revealing a view that instantly evoked the sense of being on top of the world.

There was a balcony outside. He slid glass doors apart, smiled and ushered her to the railing, staying behind her, his arms encircling her waist, his head bent close to hers, his breath warming her ear as he murmured, “This night is ours, Erin.”

“Yes,” she whispered, a huge welling of emotion sighing through her voice. It was a beautiful cloudless night, stars twinkling above the far horizon, a crescent moon shining brightly, a light breeze wafting the salty scent of the sea, the rhythmic roar of waves rushing onto the beach and withdrawing. But what made it incredibly special was the presence of the man who was holding her.

She leaned back against him, nestling her head into the curve of his neck and shoulder, loving his strong masculinity, feeling safe in his embrace, safer than she had ever felt in her life. Which was strange because she barely knew Peter Ramsey, yet her instincts said
trust him.
He was a big man, big in every way, a man who would fight for what he believed was right, a man who would protect what he held dear to the last breath in his body.

“You feel so good,” he said as though bemused by his own feelings with her.

“You do, too,” she answered, unhesitant about stating what was true for her.

“I want to feel all of you, Erin.” His hands moved to the buckle of her belt. “Mind if I undress you out here?”

“No, I don't mind.” She wanted to feel his hands on her, all over her. Her mind was sure his touch would be magic, but her body wanted him to be naked, too, naked to the night in a dark, primitive world of absolute togetherness. “As long as you don't mind me taking your clothes off, as well.”

He laughed, a deep throaty sound of pleasure that made her pulse race with excitement. She'd had sex many times before; out of curiosity, out of loneliness, out of a need to hold onto a relationship, hoping that the physical intimacy would forge a deeper bond, though it never had. Too much else always got in the way—degrees of separation becoming bigger and bigger, leaving her alone again.

Tonight was different. Her whole being was bubbling with anticipation. There was no history of before, no expectation of after. The only reality was here and now and she'd never felt so brilliantly alive.

He undid her belt, slid it away from her waist. She heard the buckle clank onto the tiled floor of the balcony. He ran featherlight fingers up her arms, over her shoulders, raising a host of goose-bumps on her skin.

“Cold?” he asked, parting the long tresses of her hair to bare the halter neck-strap.

“No. I think madly stimulated covers it.”

He laughed again—happy laughter that made her heart dance with exhilaration. “Same for me,” he said, kissing her nape as he separated the straps that had held her bodice in place.

Her scalp tingled. The heat from his mouth burned a trail right from her head to her toes. The top of her dress slid down, leaving her breasts naked to the cooling breeze from the sea. Her nipples tightened into longer, harder protrusions, sensitive to the sudden freedom and change of temperature. Then the zipper at the back of her waist was released and her skirt slithered down to her feet. Thumbs hooked into the G-string, which was the only other garment she wore. It was lowered in a quick swoop.

“Lift your feet, one at a time, Erin.”

She did as she was told, listening to the rustle of her clothes being swept out of the way. He did not remove her sandals. It was unbelievably erotic, standing in strappy high-heels while his fingers circled her fine-boned ankles, then drifted upwards, caressing her calves, gently rubbing the hollow behind her knees, stroking her thighs, hands cupping and gently squeezing the soft roundness of her buttocks, then gliding around the curve of her hips to spread across her stomach, fingers fanning back and forth over the sensitive area beneath her hip-bones.

Her heart was not dancing anymore. It was a wildly thumping drum. Her mind was so tightly focussed on his touch, she barely remembered to breathe, only releasing and scooping in air when her chest threatened to burst. Every muscle in her body was quivering from a sensory overload. Her breasts seemed to be swelling, yearning for his hands to be on them. Then they were, possessively encasing them, the hard nipples trapped between fingers that used a rolling friction to excite them into even more prominence.