Innocent in the Ivory Tower. Lucy Ellis
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put the words into her mouth. He’d put the thoughts into her head. Maisy was clearly no more promiscuous than he was. Yet … images he’d never be free of flashed like a viewfinder through his mind. His mother’s clients—sordid, terrifying for the child he had been. He let them flicker, then shut them off with abrupt practised closure, glancing back at the car. He could see her head bent, the gleam of all those fiery ringlets. He took a breath. This was Maisy—this was different. There was nothing more natural than his desire to take her to bed.
Maisy sat drowning in the sudden silence. She watched him in the rear-vision mirror as he walked slowly away from the car. Even through her shot nerves she registered his back view was every bit as scrumptious as the front, and he had an amazing taut behind.
She buried her hot face in her hands. Me and my mouth, she cursed. What was I thinking? What am I doing? It was a joke—a silly joke. But of course he doesn’t do jokes. This is all getting completely out of hand.
She heard a click and felt the shift of weight in the car, dragging her hands away too late to find him beside her, watching her with the oddest expression. It was too late to hide her embarrassment.
Unsophisticated, foot-in-mouth Maisy.
‘That didn’t take long,’ she blurted out, sounding uncomfortably breathless.
He was watching her and there was real, undisguised heat in his eyes. Maisy’s breathing hitched and sped up. The buzzing atmosphere she recognised from her room was in the car. She had never felt anything like it, and with it came the memory of the feel of his mouth sliding over hers, the sheer force of his lust. You couldn’t dress it up as anything else—they barely knew one another, and she had been with him all the way. Why wouldn’t he think she would do it again?
‘I decided I didn’t need to make the call.’ A smile sat tight on his lips as he turned over the quiet engine. ‘Maybe you should reconsider all the men in Ravello, Maisy. I have a feeling you’re going to be pretty busy.’
‘With Kostya?’ said Maisy by rote, her mouth dry, her throat closed.
‘No.’ He swung the sports car fluidly back onto the highway and accelerated ever so slightly, so that the breath leapt from her body. ‘That would be with me.’
CHAPTER FOUR
BY THE time they drew into the courtyard she was a mass of nerves, but Alexei, in contrast, seemed completely energised. He already had Kostya out of his child’s seat and was carrying him and the pushchair inside with the casual assurance that he would keep the boy with him for the rest of the afternoon—leaving Maisy to fumble with her shopping bag, feeling utterly swamped.
So much for looking after him. She was left with the shopping.
She could hardly credit what had happened. He had to be joking. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting. She chased his words around her head as she went through the motions of decanting her purchases onto her bed and taking a shower in the modest en suite bathroom to freshen up. She was so distracted she almost doused her brand-new hair, just dodging the water stream in time.
This whole sexual attraction thing was inappropriate and dangerous. Alexei was like that car of his—high-powered. Things could veer out of control if she didn’t handle him properly. She needed to tone it down, deflect him in some way. The problem was deep down she liked his approval—she liked that spark he got in his eyes. The woman in her did a slow burn every time he so much as looked in her direction.
Pulling on yoga pants and a long T-shirt, she told herself these clothes would firmly put the kybosh on any inclinations he had in her direction. Except, lingering in front of the mirror, she knew she was kidding herself. Deep down she wanted what she’d had in her room in London. She wanted him to look at her and lose control again. At the same time the idea terrified her, because it would involve tipping into a level of sexual intimacy she didn’t know if she was ready for. A solitary horrible experience had not encouraged her in any way to repeat it, even if she had the opportunity. But for a week now in her darkest thoughts he had been there, lifting her, his mouth on her, the heat of his body being accepted into hers.
Her reflection in the mirror taunted her. Her skin felt tight, hot and her eyes as dark as she’d ever seen them, the pupils enlarged. Her body was giving her messages she was finding difficult to ignore.
Frustrated with herself, Maisy stripped and pulled on a soft knit top and her favourite jeans instead. They weren’t obvious but they clung in all the right places. She told herself there was nothing wrong with enjoying a little male attention. She just needed to keep everything within bounds.
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