CUP DAY. Punters and partiers descended on the city to go to the races. Emma mentally harangued Max, who thought it would be fine to refurbish the hotel in the middle of Carnival week when they were fully booked. But the vibe from the street was invigorating, giving her a much needed energy boost. She was living on adrenalin, Jake and chocolate. The hotel was full and it was all hands to the deck. Although that didn’t mean the staff weren’t determined to enjoy it.
‘You want to go in the office sweepstake, Emma?’
Emma paused; she’d never been asked before. Becca was actually smiling at her—well, a slightly knife-like smile, but a smile nonetheless.
‘Umm, OK.’
‘I have a list of the entrants here.’
Cynically Emma noted how Becca seemed to find it difficult to get spreadsheet data for her when she requested it, yet she could whip up a complex sheet capable of figuring payouts for trifectas and quinellas in no time. But she refrained from commenting.
She heard Jake come into the reception—her sensors acute at detecting his presence. He came and stood beside her. ‘Can I play too?’
‘You’re always playing, Jake,’ Emma said blandly, before shooting him a sideways glance, encountering his to her. They swapped smirks.
He studied the sheet.
‘Oh, look, this horse is called Foxy Lady—you should definitely pick that one, Emma.’
She threw him an evil look. ‘Do they have one called Complete Clown for you?’
‘Ouch.’ He looked at Becca and winked. ‘You know, she’s gonna break my heart.’
Emma’s skin prickled, knowing it wasn’t his heart in danger.
At three p.m. they all congregated in the small bar off the lobby to watch the race.
Jake walked in and sidled up next to her. ‘You know, we could bet with something other than money.’
‘What were you thinking of?’ She forced her concentration on the big screen, not on what she wanted to do with the hunk next to her.
‘Hmm. My horse wins, you’re on top. Your horse wins, you’re on top.’
The laughter burst out of her and several staff turned to glance at them.
Jake’s horse won.
‘Lady Luck is on my side.’ He gave her a saucy glance and she felt her cheeks heat. On top. Nice idea.
‘Are you going to come out with us tonight?’ Emma supposed Becca was asking them both, but it was Jake she stared at.
Jake’s lazy gaze flickered over the blonde receptionist and in a moment of pique Emma wondered if her presence was still actually noticed. Then he looked at her and winked. ‘Sure thing, eh, Emma?’
‘Sure.’ It was the last thing she felt like. She just wanted to go home and have Jake all to herself.
Instead, once she’d logged off and Jake had returned from a meeting they joined the masses out enjoying the crazy wind and warm night. The city was alive with people everywhere dressed to the nines.
‘I’m hardly going to win best-dressed tonight, am I?’ She frowned down at her black suit and white shirt combo. It was hardly going to compete with the stylish ensembles that some of these women had planned for months in advance so they could stand in the Birdcage at the races and be judged. Even those not competing wore stunning dresses with their perfect tans and hair. Emma was so pale even with fake tan on she still looked as if she were made of milk.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve kinda got used to the sexy schoolmarm look. I like being the only one who knows the damn sexy underwear you have going on under the knee-length skirts and plain tops. Or lack of underwear,’ he teased.
He always knew the right thing to say to make her feel good. Feel attractive. No wonder he was never for long without a girlfriend. His practised charm would have them queuing up. That combined with his good looks and overflowing bank balance. Mr Popular—never single for long.
The buzz his comment had given her disappeared.
They went back to the same bar where they’d met again. Jake couldn’t believe it had been less than a fortnight ago. Couldn’t believe he had only three weeks to go. He pushed that one to the back of his mind. Instead he watched her. Watched her fight to maintain conversation with the women from the hotel. She clearly didn’t feel comfortable in these group situations. Centre stage was not her thing. She’d rather be sitting at her table at home working on her art, or talking shop with Max. He could relate. At times he found all the obligatory corporate events tiresome. Often there was nothing he’d like more than to be in his offices. Or just be home and working with some wood, as he had as a kid with his grandfather. There was something peaceful about it. Like her, he enjoyed creating—but his was nothing on the scale of hers.
Right now he couldn’t be bothered being in the bar at all. He just wanted to be in bed with Emma, making the most of it before it faded. It always did fade, this crazy rush of exhilaration—the delight of physical closeness and fulfillment. Admittedly, though, this was extreme. He felt almost desperate for her company. But they were on a time limit anyway. And given the way she distracted him from his work, this was a good thing.
She looked as eager to leave as he felt. He winked at her when she caught his eye and he saw her melt, saw her sparkle back. It made him want her even more. He’d always had the ability to make a joke, make people laugh—even if it was at his own expense. But he’d never enjoyed being able to do it as much as he did with her. He loved to make her smile, to see her soften, and most of all he loved it when she came right back at him with corny lines of her own.
She went to the bathroom and he kept a watch for her return. He met her halfway across the bar. He couldn’t keep his distance any longer.
‘Come here and kiss me.’
‘Gosh, Jake, what happened to your rules?’ Her smile was as wide as it got.
‘Screw the rules.’
‘You want to screw the rules?’ She paused. ‘Or?’
‘Or?’ He looked at her face on. Turned on as he saw she was relaxed and confident and letting her flirty self loose. ‘Are you about to start talking dirty to me?’
‘What if I am?’ She tossed her head back and raised her brows at him, hamming it up.
He reached for her, pulling her to him. ‘You just go for it, honey. Say your worst.’ He wished she would. He wanted into her mind as much as her body.
But she giggled and said nothing, inviting him to make better use of her mouth.
He heard the wolf-whistles and managed to lift his head before things got too crazy. ‘We’ve been here before, Emma—enough of a floorshow already.’ So much for not being centre stage. He waved a hand in farewell at the hotel staff and led her out of the bar. Her crimson cheeks brought relief to the unexpected knot of anxiety in his chest. He didn’t want that kiss to have only been for show.
They walked to her place, passing throngs of people intent on having a good time. He intended to have a good time too and he didn’t need them to do it. His good time was walking right beside him.
‘I’m in need of a snack—you?’
He wanted more than a snack. But he didn’t mind waiting for a bit. He liked to think it meant he did have some control over his ravenous lust for her. ‘All-day breakfast?’
He was rewarded with a kiss.
She pushed away and went to the fridge to get the eggs and bacon.
He opened the freezer to hunt out the hash browns and laughed. At least ten bars of Caramello stood in a stack smack bang in the middle of the shelf.
‘What’s with the chocolate in the freezer?’
‘It goes funny in the fridge.’
He snapped off a piece from the opened packet on the top, popping it in his mouth and slamming the door shut. He moved to steal another kiss as she stood by the pan.
‘Now you’re the one tasting of Caramello.’
‘Had some of your freezer supply. That OK?’
‘Perfect.’
The sizzle in the pan was nothing on the sizzle between them. Water on hot oil, the heat spitting in all directions.
They ate standing up, fully aware it was nothing more than a pit stop—a moment to get some fuel in before the endurance rally started. He for one was primed and he had the feeling her engine was revving too. But there was something else he wanted from this evening.
He took his opportunity when she went to shower and change—only just winning over the desire to join her there. He fobbed off her look of surprise by saying he’d do the dishes while she was in the bathroom.
He wanted to check out the room again. He’d ensured he’d charged his phone enough to be able to take a few pictures and maybe even a video. He could email it through in the morning. She might say she didn’t want anyone to know, but he didn’t buy that. Why was she producing pieces for a possible publication if she didn’t want people to see her work and know it was hers? He could help her. He had contacts. And he, as always, had a game plan.
The curtains were drawn so he flipped on the light. He figured he had a good fifteen minutes. If he knew anything, he knew women took their time in the shower—even ones as lacking in vanity as Emma.
He ruffled through the manuscript, made a mental note of a few of the flowers and their definitions. Then he took some footage of his favourite paintings.
He heard her footsteps and put his phone in his pocket.
‘I thought I told you not to come in here.’ She wore a robe, her hair damp around her face, her eyes challenging him. ‘Don’t you know the story of Bluebeard? Curiosity? Cats? You’ll get in trouble.’
From the look on her face he had the feeling the trouble might not be that bad. ‘What are you going to do? Punish me?’ He grinned wickedly. What would his sweet siren do about that challenge?
She picked it up and ran with it in a way he’d hardly dreamed of. ‘Absolutely.’ She turned and closed the door behind her. Then he heard the sound of a key turning. She spun round to face him. ‘You’re locked in here now. This is my room, my secret, my fantasy. You want to be a part of it? Then you have to do as I say.’
His mouth went dry. Her fantasy? ‘Sure.’ He choked the word out.
For a second she hesitated. Then she crossed the room to stand right in front of him. He itched to pull her that inch closer. ‘Go and sit by the window.’
He did as she said, no question. Sitting down, he watched as she rearranged things to her liking. She took the drop cloths and spread them, piling them on top of each other to create a large cushioned area.
His body signalled its approval of her actions. Of her robe as it gaped slightly as she bent to her task. But this was her room, her idea and he wasn’t going to interrupt. She was opening up to him fully at last.
She picked up the vase of flowers, taking each stem out carefully one by one and placing them around the pillowy sheets. Gently shaking each flower as she lifted it, spreading the scent. He watched, rapt, as she moved with gentle grace, and precision—just as she moved with him. As her picture unfolded he felt himself falling deeper and deeper. And the lust kept the panic at bay.
Emma stood and with a degree of nerves turned to look at Jake. She’d been so engrossed in creating her tableau she’d forgotten that he was here in the flesh, and not just in her dreams. Reality intruded and embarrassment rose. He must think she was an idiot. He sat silently, his eyes huge blue pools, and his focus travelled down her, taking in the scene she’d set and her in the heart of it. Then he spoke, his voice soft but slightly raspy as it broke into the silence of the room. ‘Your fantasy.’
She had lost her tongue and just nodded.
Carefully, without breaking the eye contact, he rose and walked across to where she stood at the edge of the floral bed she’d created.
‘What do you want me to do?’
Her mouth was dry, making speech seem impossible.
His intent look didn’t lift.
She’d totally lost her nerve.
‘You started this, you have to say what you want. Tell me.’ He leant forward and whispered in her ear. ‘If you don’t ask, you don’t get.’
Her eyes half closed. ‘Take your clothes off.’
His tee shirt flew over his head and was tossed into the corner in a second. He stood and looked at her.
She looked back and as she took in his broad chest her confidence picked up. ‘All of them.’
He scuffed his sneakers and socks off, kicking them into the corner after the shirt. His hands went to his belt. His jeans were under so much strain it was almost impossible to get the zipper down. She couldn’t take her eyes from them and felt the ripening as he yanked them down to reveal his boxers. He slipped them down too and his body sprang upwards, freed from the tight material.
She stared. He really was magnificent. She walked around him marvelling at the perfection of his body. Feeling bold enough to reach out a finger and trace the indents of muscles on his back, his skin warm and smooth.
She came to stand in front of him again. Stared up at his motionless face, the intensity in his blue eyes trapping her.
She lost her tongue again—aching for him to touch her. Why couldn’t he? He knew exactly how to touch her—what was he waiting for?
He grinned, seemingly able to read her mind. ‘How am I to know what to do for you unless you tell me?’
‘You already know; you’ve already done it.’
His smile broadened. ‘You don’t need to be shy around me any more, Emma. There isn’t a part of your body I don’t know. Let me into your mind as well. I want to know your fantasies. I want to be your fantasy.’
He already was.
‘Will it help if I tell you what I want?’ Her stomach tightened at the sound of his voice dropping to that low whisper. ‘I want to touch you here.’ He gestured to her belly. ‘I want to taste you here.’ He gestured lower. ‘I want to play with your nipples; I want to see them harden even more as you get excited. And I want to hear your cry when I move into you.’
The fire of embarrassment in her cheeks flamed anew with desire. She let her robe drop to the floor.
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he saw her reaction. He was encouraging her to be bold, and he was succeeding. ‘Fun, Emma. Tell me. It’ll be fun.’
He was right. After all, the whole thing was a game. It didn’t really matter. She could do anything, ask anything. ‘I want you underneath me.’ She wanted to feel his strength between her legs. Wanted to be on top of all that power. She wanted to master his body as he had mastered hers.
He lay down on the makeshift mattress. She knelt, one leg either side of his muscular thighs, and took in the view spread before her. His hard, flat stomach, his golden tanned chest fanning out to broad shoulders. She lifted her gaze to his face; he was looking as serious as she felt.
She picked up one of the violets and shook it over his chest, sprinkling scent and dewy droplets on to it. She traced her finger where the water had landed, tossing the flower in favour of him and him alone.
‘Do you want me to move or do you want to set the pace?’ His body was taut and anticipation glowed in his eyes.
‘Let me.’ She inched higher to sit at the apex of his thighs.
He smiled and she played, pressing her body against his. Enjoying the freedom to feel his harnessed strength. She knew his potency, knew that if he let it loose she would be sunk, an unthinking mass only capable of feeling. This time she was enjoying the conscious experimentation. Wanted to see how far she could push him, could push herself.
The energy of restraint rolled off him. She moved closer, kissing him with her mouth, then with her most intimate part—gently rubbing, half sliding onto him before slipping away again. His hands rested on her bottom, not guiding, not trying to control the direction she took, but squeezing slightly, just letting her know he was there and that he was letting her take the lead.
For a few moments.
Then they squeezed harder, became more authoritative, wanting her to take him. She wiggled away and shook her head. He sighed. ‘Emma, I can’t handle much more.’ Tension furrowed his brow, sweat beaded on his chest.
She smiled, the vixen in her finding her power, and she relentlessly continued.
He expelled a harsh gust of air. ‘You’re playing with me.’
‘Yes.’
A grunt of laughter and he conceded defeat. ‘OK, I’m happy for you to play with me.’
She continued working, her hips teasing as she slid home, her hands toying with his nipples, then toying with her own, and she watched with satisfaction as he almost lost it.
‘Emma.’ His head was back on the sheets, his eyebrows pulled together and his eyes shut tight as he so obviously fought to keep control.
It was then she tossed her head back and laughed delightedly. Awareness of her own power dawned on her.
His eyes shot open. ‘Oh, I am so going to get you for this.’
‘I do hope so,’ she answered playfully.
He smiled at her then. And she smiled back, a smile that reflected her realisation of just how much fun this was. How good this felt. He was right—it was fun. She’d shared one of her deepest desires and he’d made it happen for her.
And then he surprised her by swiftly sitting up. The shift brought him even deeper into her. She gasped. He looped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him so their chests were sealed. Their warm bodies combining to create a blazing heat. And in a split-second he reduced her to that shaking mass again, only able to enjoy the sensations he created as he rocked against her. The friction it caused at her nub was unbearably arousing and her head fell back as she moved with him to get closer, ever closer. He kissed the length of her neck, muttering half-sentences she hardly heard.
After, he carefully lifted her off, cradling her beside him. And then he picked up one of the violets, trailing it across her body, the petals cool on her hot skin, beautifully scented. And with a smile he took her fantasy and extended it, making it better than she’d ever imagined. The ecstasy he gave to her was the most addictive drug and she didn’t know how she was ever going to give it up.
When she woke she found he’d won the race back to consciousness. He’d pulled back the curtains and the early-morning light flooded the room. It was her favourite time to paint—the quietness of the street, the freshness of the sun’s glow. He stood, unashamedly naked, surveying her paintings. She surveyed him.
After last night there were no secrets any more. She knew she could tell him anything. Ask him anything.
She could trust him.
And, oh, boy was her heart going to get mangled when he went back north. But it was far, far too late to pull back. She couldn’t say no to him. Couldn’t say no to herself.
‘These really are fantastic, Emma.’
‘I’m glad you like them.’ The only person she’d shared her body with and the only person she’d shared her art with. And she’d never regret it.