The Pleasures of Spring (13 page)

‘Hold that thought,’ he said as he slipped off the bed.

Damn, it was getting darker in here, with only the glimmer of the rising moon, but he didn’t want to switch on a light. He had noticed a candle on one of the fireplaces earlier and he prayed that there were matches to go with it. His luck held. The light from the single candle cast dark shadows around the room. The flame flared as he brought it closer to the bed.

He hadn’t been flattering her when he told her she was beautiful. Her pale thighs were an invitation to sin. An invitation he couldn’t refuse.

Protection. Some rational part of his brain was still working and he went in search of his jeans. Andy located his wallet and almost cheered. Three condoms. That should be enough, but he would have to find a pharmacy tomorrow.

Roz rolled to watch him and patted the bed in invitation. Andy set the candle down and went to join her. ‘God, you’re –’

‘If you say beautiful again, I may bite you.’

Andy laughed. ‘God, you’re vicious, aren’t you?’

Her look was blatantly challenging. ‘You have no idea.’

In a move that surprised him, she rolled on top of him and Andy found himself pinned beneath her. He resisted the urge to retaliate and waited to see what she would do next. Her small hands stroked his chest, exploring him, and she smiled in approval. She wriggled her way down his torso until she was poised over his aching shaft.

‘Condom.’ She held her hand out.

‘Only if you ask nicely.’

‘Pretty please, give me a condom.’ She smirked at his discomfort.

Witch. She was so going to pay for that, Andy decided. But first he had to concentrate on controlling himself when she touched him. She shimmied down the bed to sit on his thighs. Her cool hands stroked him lightly and Andy clenched his jaw.
Do not come. Do not come
.

As if she understood the sudden shift in power between them, Roz took her time rolling the condom onto his rigid cock. The woman was trying to kill him. He patted the bed beside him. ‘Lie down.’

‘I like being on top,’ she protested.

‘I’m sure you do, but lie down.’

Roz ignored him, and knelt over him and hovered, her sweet pussy inches from the swollen head of his shaft. She raised her arms above her head and moved in a sensuous dance, undulating and swaying, her eyes never leaving his for a moment.

His palm itched to spank her. No. He would save that pleasure for later. Instead he sat up and grasped her wrists with one hand before tumbling them both over.

Breathless, she stared up at him. Merriment lingered in her blue eyes. ‘You didn’t say please.’

Andy bent his head and nipped at her breast. ‘That’s for making me crazy.’

He gave the other breast a matching nip. ‘And that’s for almost giving me a heart attack when you jumped off the tower.’

Andy nudged her thighs apart with his knee. If he didn’t have her soon he would die. He clamped one hand around the base of his cock and rubbed the tip against her wet core. He wasn’t going to last. Not the first time anyway.

The sight of her running her tongue along her bottom lip sent him over the edge. In a single thrust into her slick, hot cleft, he drove home.

Roz forgot how to breathe. Every single atom of her body was concentrated on the cock that had invaded her.

She thought she was prepared. She had been convinced she was so ready that he could do what he liked and it would be a nice extension of what had gone before. Instead, she had to fight to breathe.

She was stuffed, impaled, overcome. And god, it was amazing. Andy McTavish was buried deep inside her, and she never wanted it to end. All her nerve endings were tingling and little sparkles of pleasure danced under her skin.

‘All right?’ he asked.

Dazed, she opened her eyes, taking him in as he rose above her like a conqueror.

She tried to unscramble her brains to answer him. Why did he want to talk? ‘Yes,’ she gasped. She wiggled, arching her body against his. ‘Now move!’

He laughed and the movement sent fresh ripples through her. Oh god, that should be illegal.

Then he flexed his hips, pulling back and thrusting forwards again. Every movement of his hips sent fire racing along her nerves. He was smooth, controlled, and not nearly fast enough. It was the most exquisite torture she had ever experienced.

‘More!’ She wrapped her legs around his hips, and dug her heels into his ass. She didn’t make a dent in the hard muscle, but he laughed.

‘Your wish is my command.’

If there was a hint of mockery there, she ignored it. All she cared about was the heat and tightness that was holding her captive. She had already climaxed twice, which was twice more than usual, but she knew that if he didn’t speed up and let her come again, she was going to kill him.

‘Now.’ She pulled him down to her and kissed him. She grabbed handfuls of his hair to keep him in place so she could tangle her tongue with his and show him exactly what she wanted him to do. The taste of her own juices on his hard lips should have turned her off. Instead it was an aphrodisiac that drove her higher.

She was reduced to begging. ‘Andy, please.’

As if the words were a trigger, his control broke, and he lunged into her, faster and harder, taking her higher until she was mindless. This was her world: his scent, the feel of his skin, the sound of their bodies against each other, and the heat of him inside her.

Just when she thought she would die if it continued much longer, a final thrust pushed her over the edge. The tension broke so hard she wondered if she could survive it, then she didn’t care, as she pulsed with endless spasms of pleasure.

Vaguely, she was aware of Andy’s yell as he followed her over.

The log in the fire crackled and Roz opened her eyes slowly. She was utterly boneless. She couldn’t remember when she had been so relaxed. The various aches and pains and scrapes on her body reinforced the lovely floating sensation.

She turned her head with an effort. Andy was there, grinning at her. So damn pleased with himself that he had turned her into mush. She would be annoyed with him about that. Later. When she had energy.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. Looking for praise.

She wanted to purr like a cat, but she wasn’t going to feed his ego. ‘I think I’ve warmed up now.’

The tower room was warm with heat blasting from the enclosed fireplace. A small forest worth of logs sat beside it, ensuring it would keep going as long as necessary. The low, wide bed they were lying on had a jewel-coloured velvet cover, probably hand-sewn. It was decadently luxurious against her sensitized flesh, but not as good as Andy’s smooth skin.

She rested her head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heart. So strong and solid. Reassuring. Hypnotic.

How had she ended up in this bed with this man? It was like a fantasy, something not real, something she could luxuriate in without having to think about consequences
and aftermath. For this moment, Andy McTavish was hers.

‘You okay, babe?’ he prompted her.

Oh yes, he wanted to know how she was feeling.

‘Not bad,’ she said, licking her lips and watching his eyes follow the movement of her tongue. ‘This is an excellent way to warm up. I must remember it next time I do a nude scene.’

She wasn’t going to let him have things all his way.

Oh yeah. That worked. Andy sat bolt upright, all masculine outrage. ‘Next time? What next time?’

‘The director was delighted with the scene, and I know Cheyenne Knight doesn’t like doing nude scenes, so there will probably be more.’ She watched, fascinated, as his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. He went from relaxed, well-fed lion to hungry predator in a heartbeat.

‘There will be no next time. You’re not doing any more nude scenes.’ He announced it as if he genuinely expected her to obey. ‘And especially not with Jack Winter.’

Now she was outraged. ‘Who do you think you are to tell me what I can or can’t do? You’re not my father.’

‘Thank god,’ he said, with a meaningful glance at the bed, which was rumpled from their frantic love-making. No, from their sex session. It had been amazing, but she had to make sure she didn’t fool herself. Whatever that had been, it wasn’t love-making.

This was Andy McTavish. He was temptation on two legs, a deliciously enticing specimen of masculine beauty. Just looking at his angular face made her heart race. His spicy scent caused heat to bloom between her thighs. His
voice, with that addictive accent, raised goose bumps on her skin. Every inch of his body begged to be licked. But she had seen the way he flirted with every woman he met in Geneva. And there had been a rumour about him and Princess Samara Shaloub Safar in Paris. This man would never be hers. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

‘I’m telling you, Roz, no more nude scenes.’

All lethargy disappeared. He was serious. ‘Are you out of your mind? What makes you think I’ll take orders from you?’

A determined expression crossed his face. ‘Doing another scene like that will create too much media interest. You have to lie low. I’m here to protect you until Interpol –’

How could she have been so stupid? Andy McTavish was a seducer. He was using sex to get her to do what he wanted. Get the girl in the sack and take her into custody. Well, there was no way she was going back there. Hall would kill her.

‘Not a chance.’

She climbed off the bed, surprised to find her legs wobbling. Roz locked her knees against the trembles which shook her, and searched for something to wear. She had to get out of here.

‘Roz, be reasonable. Come back to bed, we can talk about this in the morning.’ The charming smile was back, the hint of anger gone, but she wasn’t falling for it.

‘Reasonable? You seriously expect to sleep with a woman and get her to do whatever you say afterwards? You’re nothing but a man whore.’

Andy got up, prepared to continue the argument, so
she pulled the velvet cover off the bed and wrapped it around herself. It smelled of him and a pang shot through her. It stiffened her determination not to give in. She wasn’t going to be one in a long line of women who succumbed to his charm.

‘You’re great in bed, I’ll give you that. Practice clearly makes perfect.’ She faced him squarely. ‘Why don’t you go carve another notch on your bedpost and practise on someone else?’

She didn’t let him say anything more, but swept through the old sitting room and down the wooden stairs to the front door of the castle. She might be dressed in nothing but a bedspread, but she held her head high and refused to let him see how her heart was breaking.

She stomped back to the caravan she shared with Frankie, aware that Andy had pulled on a pair of jeans and was running after her. She risked a quick glance back to see that he was bare-chested and he hadn’t stopped to fasten his jeans.

Her mouth dried. Even after sampling that delectable body, it had the power to stop all rational thought. His shoulders were broad, with sleekly defined muscles under his tanned skin. How did an Irishman get a tan like that, she wondered, trying to distract herself. A light dusting of hair across his chest narrowed to a trail that ran down over his sculpted stomach muscles. He had a six-pack. Or was it an eight-pack? God, she wanted to trail her fingers over his abs, counting and tasting.

Bastard.

That tantalizing trail of hair disappeared into his jeans, which were loose and inviting. She could slip them down,
put her hands on that perfect ass … No, stop it. Eyes forwards.

Roz pushed open the door and almost leapt into the caravan, anything to get away from the enraged male following her.

‘Are you all right?’ Frankie looked up from the worksheets he was completing.

Roz had a moment of semi-hysterical sympathy for the poor accountant who had to decipher his appalling handwriting to work out which extras had worked for how long.

‘Cheyenne was here looking for you.’

Before she could answer, the door of the caravan was pulled open again. Instinctively, Roz took a step closer to Frankie, who rose, ready to defend her.

Andy stood there, a predator seeking his mate, ready to drag her out and finish their conversation. He looked from her to Frankie, and his eyes narrowed. ‘So this is what is going on.’

He focused his attention on her. ‘And to think …’ He didn’t finish that. Instead, that clean-cut mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘You do know he’s at least twice your age, don’t you?’

Roz gasped, shocked at his implication. Frankie was more of a father to her than her own father. How dare Andy even suggest that?

‘But I suppose that’s your favourite type. Old and obedient. Good luck with this one. Make sure he pays you up front.’

Andy slammed the door and stalked off. She watched
through the front window of the caravan as he disappeared into the dark.

Frankie put away his glasses. ‘Want to tell me what that was about?’

‘No.’

Roz was suddenly conscious that she was naked under the bedspread. It was pretty obvious what had happened. She grabbed a change of clothes and locked herself into the tiny bathroom. She was not going to cry. She didn’t cry. She never cried.

Andy zipped up his jeans as he stormed back to the castle. His head was reeling. What the fuck just happened? Even in his fury, his analytical mind pored over the events of the evening, cringing as he remembered his rampant jealousy and uncontrolled lust. He had practically kidnapped Roz from the set. What had the bloody woman done to him?

Andy Campbell McTavish didn’t do out of control. He was a player. He ran the game and he decided when it would end. He liked women. Cared for most of those he’d been with but he didn’t do messy emotional trauma. And he never touched another man’s woman – unless it was a job.

This half naked man standing in the open air on a cold spring night was not him. Roz Spring was a bloody witch. Damn her to hell.

He turned, wincing when he stood on a particularly sharp piece of gravel. He should go back there and sort it
out tonight. But he couldn’t. He needed to think. Stepping carefully, he made his way back into the castle and up the stairs to the bedroom. The fire burnt in the grate and the air was perfumed with the scent of their love-making.

Andy sat on the bed and dropped his face into his hands.
Think man. Think
.

A trickle of blood leaked from his foot and onto the wooden floor. Fuck, he had cut himself. Andy limped to the bathroom and cleaned the wound. The sight of the merkin lying sodden on the bottom of the bath made him smile wryly. The more time he spent with women, the more he realized that he knew fuck-all about them.

Until now, he had treated his dealings with women like a game of chess, move and counter-move, strategy and counter-strategy. When he was on a job, everything was carefully planned. He’d never had such a spectacular failure and if he was honest with himself, it hurt like hell.

Andy huffed out a long breath and turned off the water. Roz wasn’t a game. She was a siren and somehow she had managed to get under his skin. The texts, the flirting designed to intrigue and reel her in, had backfired spectacularly. He liked her. He found himself thinking about her all the time. Somehow, he didn’t know how, what had started as a job had turned real and for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. Andy dried his foot and limped back to the bedroom. His shirt was on the floor, along with the robe she had worn on the set.

Picking it up, he pressed it to his face and closed his eyes. ‘You’re a fucking muppet, McTavish.’

With an effort, he dragged his mind away from the
memories of their love-making and focused instead on her words.

Man whore
.

Another notch on the bedpost
.

Insults designed to push him away from her. But why? The sex had been mind blowing, no matter how much Roz had tried to play it down. She had gone off like a rocket within minutes of him touching her. What sort of useless lovers had she taken up to now that they didn’t know how to please her or make her feel beautiful? Sometimes he despaired of his own sex. Useless bunch of bastards.

The memory of Roz, breathless and trembling in the aftermath of orgasm, made him ache for her again. Andy replayed the scene in his head. God, she was magnificent. There had been no games, no artifice, she was naturally sexy. And those little breathless noises she made when he … His cock stirred again and he looked down ruefully at it. ‘You and me both.’

Andy shrugged off his jeans and crawled between the sheets. He wasn’t going back to the trailer that he shared with the other guys tonight. Besides, Fletcher would probably be waiting for him, armed with a sword to chop his nuts off.

Fletcher. Now, there was a thought. He could have sworn that the older man had a thing for Cheyenne. And what the hell was he doing sharing a caravan with Roz? He felt an urge to throttle him.

If his woman had arrived home dressed in nothing but a sheet, he would have beaten the crap out of the guy responsible. But Frankie Fletcher had done nothing and that wasn’t a normal reaction.

There was something between them, but there was no way that they were shacked up together.

He rolled out of bed and hunted for his phone. Someone at Moore HQ must be on the graveyard shift. Andy punched in the number and waited for a response.

‘Reilly? How did you get landed with working nights?’

Tara yawned. ‘One of the guys got food poisoning. What do you need at this hour?’

‘I want you to run a check on a guy called Frankie Fletcher. I don’t know what branch, but he’s definitely ex-military. He works as an adviser on movies now. He specializes in old weapons, that kind of thing.’

‘Okay. Leave it with me.’

She disconnected the call and Andy returned to bed. He needed to get some sleep before the big battle scene tomorrow. After that he would talk to Roz and find out what the hell was going on.