One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (21 page)

The desire to feel him in the same way surged over her enthralment with his touch. She grasped his hands and pulled them down, took a deep breath to fire herself up for action and swivelled around to face him.

“You, now,” she said insistently.

He looked startled, frowning slightly, maybe not liking the abrupt interruption to his taking pleasure in
her
body. Erin's stomach contracted in nervous apprehension. Had she broken the magic spell of the night? Spoiled what could have been?

Relief poured through her as his expression cleared, his eyes lighting with amused understanding, a wide grin assuring her of acceptance. “Control is yours, Erin. Do what you want with it.”

Control?

The realisation flashed through her mind that he was remembering what she'd said over dinner…
I will not give control of my life to someone else.
But she had tonight, letting him take over, submitting to his lead,
trusting
him…

Why?

Because it felt right to be with him.

And he was proving it was right by putting himself in her hands. He might stride across his own world with all the self-assurance of a giant, but he was also a giver, and big enough for his male ego not to be threatened by anything she did. He was saying,
go for it.

An exultant joy raced through Erin. He was giving her complete freedom to do whatever she wanted with him. “Okay…” A heady sense of power beamed through her grin back at him. “Your princess commands you not to move unless she says so.”

He laughed—sparkling delight in her picking up the fantasy he had initiated.

“You are to watch the night while you feel my touch,” she went on, wanting him to experience the same sensory pleasure he had given her.

“I shall pretend I'm on guard duty,” he said, lifting his head to gaze steadily out to sea, a smile still quirking the corners of his mouth.

“Yes. Like the Beefeaters at Buckingham Palace.”

“Have you been to Buckingham Palace?”

“You mustn't talk, Peter. Just focus on feeling.”

She started unbuttoning his shirt, lightly running her fingernails down the gap of bared skin from button to button. He remained silent, except for the slight hissing sound of quickly sucked in breath. She smiled, knowing he was excited, and probably buzzing with anticipation of her next move.

Being passive could not be natural to a man like him, but it did force his mind off action and onto response, which would surely heighten every sensation she stirred with her touch. She wanted this night to be as different for him as it was for her—a wonderful memory to be cherished in the secret archives of their minds, something separate from their real lives but so intensely real it would never be forgotten.

The shirt slid easily off his shoulders and down his arms—such broad shoulders and powerfully muscled arms. And his chest was magnificently male. Satin-smooth, taut skin—marvellous to touch, feeling the strength of the man pulsing underneath it. Her hands glided over its living warmth, glorying in the freedom to roam over his splendid body. Her fingers tugged teasingly on his nipples, drawing them into hard nubs. The impulse to kiss them, suck on them, drove her straight into doing it.

She heard him growl and his hands were suddenly raking through her hair, holding her fiercely to him. A wild elation at his need for her burst through her mind, but she broke his grip, wanting to carry through what she'd set out to do.

“You're breaking the rules, Peter,” she cried.

“Erin…” It was a groan of protest.

“I haven't fully undressed you,” she pleaded.

His chest heaved as he regathered himself, his hands falling back to his sides, his body stiffening with resolve.

“It will be good,” she promised huskily.

Good…

The word bounced around the fragmented edges of Peter's completely blown mind, not finding any relevant echo to what he was feeling. His entire body was a furnace of desire. Never had he been so aroused by a woman's touch. In fact, no woman had ever touched him with such exquisite sensuality. The intensity of feeling was such that he wanted to crush her flesh to his. Waiting was hell, yet there was a compelling fascination in what she would choose to do next.

It took every ounce of his control to hold still as she undid his jeans, slid her hands under the waistband of his underpants and slowly peeled both garments down, freeing his erection, causing the muscles in his butt to clench. Normally he shoved these clothes off as fast as possible. It was strange having them removed almost ceremoniously, standing here in the night air, having his body gradually bared; thighs, knees, calves, feet.

Were the princes of old ministered to like this by their valets?

The whimsical thought amused him until the answer took his breath away. No. Not like this. Not with soft hands stroking his legs, exploring every inch of them, making his skin leap with sensitivity, his muscles rock-hard. The roar of the ocean filled his ears. Or was it the roar of his own blood, rushing through his body?

She was circling his groin now, fingers playing with his pubic hair. He stared at the stars in the night sky, trying to repress the urge to explode into action. She was building a level of excitement that went beyond his experience and he wanted to know how far it could go. Would go. He had to hold himself in check, let the erotic assault continue.

A crescent moon…should be a full one for this fantasy. Though what he was feeling was no fantasy. She slid a hand between his thighs, cupping him, fingers gently squeezing, other fingers stroking the length of his shaft, gliding over its tip. She kissed it. He closed his eyes as a tide of incredibly sweet pleasure swamped his entire body.

She kissed his navel, kisses running up his chest as she pushed herself upright, her breasts brushing over him, her stomach pressing against his erection, her hands gliding up over his shoulders, linking behind his neck.

“Was it good?” she asked, her voice lilting with her own pleasure in him.

His eyes snapped open. Her face was lifted to his, her beautiful smile tugging on his heart again, releasing him from her rules of play. “This is not the end,” he said, his hands whipping out to seize her, crush her close, his mouth crashing down on her smile, plundering it for all she would give him.

A fierce passion surged between them.

Man-woman heat sizzling, blazing.

Peter erupted into action, sweeping her off her feet, cradling her in his arms, carrying her inside to his cave…his bed.

It was a long way from the end.

E
RIN
drifted slowly from a lovely languorous sleep, a deep sense of well-being seeping into her consciousness, her body uncurling and stretching, revelling in feeling good. She lifted her arms up over her head, arched her back and opened her eyes.

Shock slammed into her heart.

Peter Ramsey was standing at the end of the bed, watching her, a satisfied little smile lurking on his lips, his hair wet, slicked back, his blue eyes taking their fill of her, his magnificent body unashamedly naked except for a white towel slung over one shoulder.

He was definitely real.

And she was in his bed, his apartment at Bondi Beach.

Memories of all they'd done together last night flooded through Erin's mind. Her vaginal muscles instantly squinched, recalling the incredible pleasure of one amazing climax after another. It had been so fantastic, but…
what happens now?

“Sleeping beauty awakes,” Peter drawled in an indulgent tone. “You could have waited for my kiss.”

Relief poured into her smile. He wasn't setting their fantasy aside yet. Maybe there would be more than one night. Lots of nights. “I haven't slept for a hundred years, have I?” she tossed back at him, wondering what time it was and if he had any plans for today—plans that included her.

“No. But it's time you were up if you want to come to the races with me.”

“Races?”

“I have a horse running at Randwick this afternoon. It's her maiden race and I said I'd be there to watch.”

Horse-racing! Erin recollected he'd met with his trainer yesterday morning. Billionaire playground, she thought. It had never been a part of her world but she was up for any new experience shared with this man. More adventure. Colourful, too.

“Do people dress up for Randwick as much as they do for the Melbourne Cup?” she asked, having watched what was always billed as “The Race That Stops A Nation” on television. It was a huge fashion scene.

“Don't worry about that,” he said, arrogantly dismissive of the clothes aspect, strolling around the bed to sit beside her, smiling as he stroked the mussed tresses of her hair away from her face. “I'll dress you like a princess.”

The connection to their fantasy didn't work for Erin this time. It was okay for Peter to invite her to go along with him. She wanted to. But dressing her…did he mean what she thought he meant?

“How do you intend to do that?” she asked warily.

He shrugged. “I'm acquainted with the top designers in Sydney. All it takes is a call to get something suitable brought here. What style of clothes appeals to you…Lisa Ho, Peter Morrisey, Colette Dinnegan…?”

He hung the celebrity names out with such a blasé air of confidence, Erin felt herself bridling against his assumption that she would fall in with his plan—be his mannequin—because he had the power and the wealth to dress her any way he pleased.

“No, thank you,” she said decisively.

“No?” The caressing hand stilled. He frowned in disbelief. “You're saying no?”

His eyes blazed into hers, determined on reigniting the intimate connection they had made last night. It had been good…great…incredibly fantastic…and her body instantly rebelled against any negative dictate that might end it right here. She wanted to be with him, wanted what they'd shared to continue, yet some gritty part of her brain would not let her be taken over or made over by anyone. If Peter thought he could buy her compliance…where was any respect for her in that?

“You don't own me, Peter,” she said quietly. “Last night I chose to be with you and I still have the right to choose what works for me.”

His frown deepened. “You can't want to end it now.”

They were fighting words. He was gearing up to battle any barrier she threw at him. Which was certainly proof that he cared about keeping her, though whether that was for the sex or driven by an attraction on a deeper level, Erin couldn't tell.

The tension emanating from him tore along her own nerves. She didn't want to be in conflict with this man. He was special. Uniquely special. But this was real life now, not an impulsive adventure, and real life had taught her that any kind of domination was bad.

She'd had too many experiences with men who expected her to fall into line with them, following wherever they led, not even considering or respecting the fact that she had a mind of her own—a mind that would not play second fiddle to anyone else's. As powerful as Peter Ramsey undoubtedly was, Erin was not about to crumble under his will.

“I'd be happy to accompany you to the races, but not as your doll,” she said determinedly.

“Doll?”

He didn't like the description, but Erin couldn't think of anything more apt. They weren't “clicking” this morning. Maybe it was only fantasy that had brought about the “click” last night. Disappointment cramped her heart. She couldn't stay in his bed if he didn't respect the person she was.

“I can dress myself, Peter. I was just checking with you what would be suitable for the occasion.”

He grimaced, annoyed at not having read the stand she was making. The laser blue eyes softened with apologetic appeal. “I only meant to smooth the way, not offend you, Erin. I didn't want you to feel out of place with the people who'll be there.”

Protecting her?

The knots in her stomach loosened. That wasn't so bad. But the means of doing it was unacceptable. And there could be another motive behind his intention to put her in designer clothes. “You think I might shame you in front of them?” she challenged, watching his eyes to see if she'd hit a chord of pride.

Cinderella was fine for the bedroom but not to be paraded out in public?

His chin lifted in dismissive scorn. “I wouldn't care if you wear jeans.” A cynical mockery glittered in his eyes. “It's the women who enjoy pecking other women apart. It didn't seem like a good idea to subject you to that, but if you can let it float over your head…”

“Fine!” A joyous relief poured into a smile so wide Peter looked as though he was completely thrown by it. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Almost nine,” he answered somewhat absently.

“And what time do we have to be at the races?”

“About noon.”

“I can do it.” She hurled off the bedclothes, leapt out of bed and headed for a door, which stood ajar and obviously led to an ensuite bathroom. “Would you call me a taxi, Peter?” she tossed over her shoulder. “I'll be showered and dressed, ready to go in fifteen minutes.”

“Go where?” He was on his feet, ready to take preventative action if he didn't like her reply.

Definitely a warrior, Erin thought, happily revelling in the secure knowledge that Peter Ramsey was not about to accept an ending to their relationship at this point and didn't care what anyone else thought of it.

“To David Jones in Elizabeth Street,” she instructed. It was the classiest department store in Sydney. A couple of hours' shopping would see her dressed to the nines, nobody's fool at Randwick Racecourse. “You can pick me up at the taxi rank outside the store at eleven-thirty.”

Peter's whole body clenched with frustration as she walked towards the bathroom, her black silky bedmussed hair tumbling over her shoulders, the sexy curve of her spine drawing his gaze down to the even sexier derriere, its voluptuous sway reminding him of how provocatively exciting it had been last night. And the supple strength in those long legs…winding around him, inviting, inciting a possession which she now denied.

You don't own me.

He'd meant to have her again this morning. The sight of her stretching so sensuously had paused him short of the bed, desire for her kicking in so strongly he was amazed by how deeply she stirred him. Then seeing her initial shock at the recollection of where she was, he'd thought a quick assurance that what they'd shared was not a one-night aberration on his part would please her. The hell of it was, he still wasn't sure he'd recovered the ground he'd lost with the clothes issue.

You don't own me.

The urge to stride into the bathroom and
make
her his again was burning through him—kiss her until passion exploded between them and she was happy for them to spend the whole day in bed together. Forget the damned horse and its maiden race! He didn't want anything getting in the way of what he'd found with Erin Lavelle.

But his rational mind warned that sex might not hold her. His wealth wouldn't hold her, either. There'd been no lure whatsoever in having designer gear freely showered on her. Quite the contrary. She hadn't liked that idea one bit. Hadn't even flirted with it for a moment. Erin Lavelle was up and running her way and that proud streak of independence in her was not about to bend.

Okay, so roll with her plan.

But no taxi.

He'd drive her to David Jones himself, talk with her on the way, make sure she wasn't running out on him. Peter frowned over that thought as he strode into his dressing room to throw on some clothes. Women invariably hung onto him as long as they could. Why was he feeling a lack of confidence in Erin's interest in him?

Because she was different.

Everything about her was different.

Which made it new to him.

And undoubtedly he was new to her, too.

Preschool teachers did not normally socialise with billionaires. If she had reservations about that this morning—seeing no real future for this relationship—he had to allay them, because one thing was certain in his mind. He didn't want her walking out of his life. Not at this point.

Erin was surprised and pleased that Peter had decided to drive her into the city centre himself—an unnecessary double journey since he'd be picking her up later. She happily thought he wanted to spend the time with her, though once they were on their way, she noticed he wasn't particularly relaxed. In fact, his hands had a knuckle tight grip on the steering wheel.

Had he changed his mind about taking her to the races, introducing her to his social circle? Was he about to excuse himself—impulse shouldn't be carried too far? Maybe he felt guilty about her spending money on dressing up for him and was about to stop it before she was out of pocket. It was okay for him to be needlessly extravagant on a whim but letting her invest in a relationship that was going nowhere…

His silence fed the churning in her mind. When he finally spoke, Erin was gearing herself up to accept
the end
with as much grace as she could muster.

“About last night…” He darted a sharp look of concern at her. “I don't usually forget about protection…”

Protection!

Not rejection.

Relief billowed over her inner turmoil. She didn't want it to end here. She really didn't.

“It's okay,” she swiftly assured him. “You won't get trapped into unplanned fatherhood with me, Peter. I'm on the pill.”

Had been since she was sixteen. Her early teens had been plagued by irregular and very severe periods and she had no wish to suffer them again. The pill provided a regular monthly cycle, giving her peace of mind from being caught out in a desperately embarrassing flooding situation, not to mention the onset of almost intolerable pain.

A horrid thought occurred to her. “That's not to say I'm madly promiscuous. In case you're wondering, you don't have to worry about health issues, either.” She took a deep breath and darted a sharp look of concern at him. “I hope
you're
not going to confess…”

“No.” He flashed a reassuring smile. “I promise you I'm clean.”

“Good!”

It certainly
was
good to have that settled. She frowned over her reckless behaviour. “I should have thought of it last night.”

“No harm done,” he tossed at her, the smile still lingering even after he'd returned his attention to the traffic ahead.

Erin sighed away the load of tension he'd just lightened. Of course, he'd want such a serious issue raised and disposed of. They'd played a dangerous game last night. Luckily they hadn't been punished for it.

“Do you want to be a mother sometime in the future?” he asked in a tone of casual interest.

Erin took heart from the question. It didn't sound as though he was working up to bidding her goodbye just yet. “I would love to have children but I don't really see it happening,” she said wryly.

“Why not?”

“Well, as I said last night, I think a solid marriage is the best environment for bringing up children and I'm not sure I'm cut out to be good wife material.”

He shot her a quizzical look. “Define that for me.”

“Oh, you know.” She couldn't stop herself from mocking his need for an explanation. “Being subordinate to a husband. Having to give up part of me to get along with him. Seems to me it's never the other way around.”