The Price of Fame. Anne Oliver
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you you’re considerate.’ She liked the way he smelled: warm and slightly sweaty but not unpleasant. A primal masculine smell that beckoned and aroused her feminine instincts. ‘I want it—I want you—as you are. I want to feel your sweat on my skin. Now.’
He smiled back. ‘First move’s all yours.’
‘Mine?’ Her trembling fingers tightened a little on the soft terry lapels. She knew how to initiate sex … but with a man like Nic? Except she didn’t know Nic, not really. So what did she mean: ‘a man like Nic’? What did Nic-who-she-didn’t-know want or expect?
‘You could start by taking off that robe,’ he suggested after a few seconds of silence ticked by. ‘Or you could come over here and let me do the honours.’ Still he didn’t move. ‘I’ll leave that decision to you.’
Eyes fastened on him, she pushed up off the chair. The few steps she took seemed like miles while her blood drained to her legs. She was glad of the background music because it covered the sound of her heart thumping its way out of her chest. Not with fear but with the illicit, dizzying prospect of having sex with a man who was, by anyone’s standards, a stranger.
She was the one in control—because Nic had given it to her. She was the one with the choice. And she wanted this night with this man.
Coming to a stop in front of him, she loosened the looped tie just enough so that the robe’s front edges parted slightly. As she was standing, his head was tilted back a little, eyes focused on hers, and it was her first chance to look down at him. She reached out and smoothed a strand of his hair off his brow. ‘Decisions, decisions …’
He slid his fingers behind the loop in her belt and drew her closer, between hot, hard thighs, and she had to drop her hands onto the chair’s metal arms either side of him to keep her balance and stop herself from collapsing onto him.
His breath, his scent and his heat mingled with hers as they continued to stare at each other. ‘You like being on top, then.’
She started to laugh but her throat was dry and it came out husky and low and slightly desperate. ‘I like being any way.’
Oh, my God. Had she really said that? And was that smoky, seductive voice hers?
‘So …’ he untied her belt and slipped his hands inside to lightly circle her waist, surprise in his eyes when he found bare flesh ‘… swinging naked from the chandelier’s a possibility?’
Her breath hitched at the feather-light brush of skin on skin and she arched forward, her breasts aching to be teased and stroked. ‘No chandelier here …’ Only recessed lighting and a desk lamp …
‘Pity.’
‘But whatever we get up to, do you have protection?’ Her mind was hazy, but not that hazy.
‘We’ll get to that. Eventually. Or are you in a rush?’
‘I thought you were. Didn’t you just say—?’
‘I’ll survive a little longer.’
She wondered if she would. Spot-fires were breaking out all over her body; it was a miracle she wasn’t glowing. Or perhaps she was but right now she was too distracted watching Nic. His expression: part pain, part pleasure and all for her. ‘Nic …’
‘Charlotte.’ he teased back and his tone left her in no doubt he was as turned on as she. But he withdrew his hands from her waist, put them behind his head. ‘What are you hiding under all that towelling?’
She pushed up off the chair’s support and straightened, then, with a boldness she’d never felt, she shrugged off the robe. Its coarse texture tickled her bare skin on the way down.
Nic watched, his breath snagging on a growl of approval. Who’d have thought? Conservative Charlotte liked sexy underwear. Skimpy shimmery panties and bra, spattered with starbursts of silver rhinestones and so sheer she might as well have been naked. But so much more erotic with her dark, peaked nipples pushed up against the fabric, her breasts spilling over the top like an offering of abundance. The strand of pearls still luminescent at her neck.
‘Aren’t you full of surprises,’ he murmured in absolute appreciation. ‘Gorgeous.’
But not too voluptuous. Not too slim either; just long, strong, clean lines and curves. Perfect. Exquisite. It was a crime against mankind to hide such beauty.
But she wasn’t hiding it from him.
She resumed her earlier position, hands on the armrests, leaning over him. Her breasts were at eye-level and with any other woman that was where he’d be—mouth busy right there on that creamy skin, teasing the fabric aside with his teeth, tongue exploring.
But, as delectable as they were, it was her eyes that captured him most. Wide and aware with smoke and secrets shifting like shadows. Her fragrance, the cool, light signature perfume, drifted over him like evening mist. And in his mind’s eye he saw that calm lake at sunset. If he believed in enchantment, he imagined it would be like this.
Behind his head, his fists tightened. He put them on his thighs to stop himself from reaching up and pulling her mouth down to his and plundering. He sensed her willingness but this wasn’t the moment for fast. Rather a moment for reflection.
She hadn’t admitted it, but Nic knew this wasn’t something Charlotte did casually and often. He didn’t linger on the reasons why she’d made an exception for him. ‘You’re not used to this, are you?’ he murmured, and heard her quick exhalation, felt the tension thrum through her body.
‘What do you mean? Sex?’
‘One-night sex.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘No, no.’ He kept his voice low and slow and soothing. ‘I mean that in a good way. Keep doing what you’re doing—you’re fantastic.’
He shook away the unsettling thoughts and concentrated on what he knew well. How to enjoy no-strings, uncomplicated sex. And the easy pleasure of having a woman initiate it.
Smiling, she lowered her lips to his, a slow sultry kiss that soothed and smoothed and seduced. Her hair was a curtain of silk around them and the bluesy pulse of the music beat a lazy syrupy rhythm. He thought of languid afternoons by a pool and hot skin and cold, creamy sunscreen.
He lifted his arms then, fingers spread to mould around her slender shoulders and draw her closer. Her fingers stroked through his hair, then cupped the back of his head. Still watching his eyes. There was a glide of silk as she parted her long, long legs and slid them over his thighs to twine herself around him. She hooked her feet behind the back of the chair, the sultry heat of her feminine core snug against his burning erection.
Still holding his head, she leaned forward and kissed him again, her sparkly bra snagging his T-shirt as she settled closer. A groan erupted from deep in his gut. Her smile was smug as she found the worn jersey’s hem and tugged upwards. Suddenly his T-shirt was gone, flung somewhere over his shoulder.
Her fingers danced over his chest, twirled around his nipples, then slowed to a gliding waltz and headed south, dead centre. To the waistband of his shorts. Hands diving beneath, she rocked once against him, her fingers tightening on their captured prize. ‘Nic …’
‘Okay, now you’re playing dirty.’ He reached behind her, snapped the catch on her bra and peeled it away. Creamy flesh, dark, ripe peaks. Greed hazed his vision but she didn’t give him time to feast, surging forward to rub the hard little nubs against his chest as she watched him.
‘I like playing dirty, don’t you?’ Her laugh was low and sexy as she massaged and squeezed. ‘Fast and dirty even better.’
He tried to laugh too, but it snagged in his throat. His control was fraying, his whole body one throbbing ache. ‘You’re a wicked woman.’
‘Too wicked for you?’
‘Not possible.’ He cupped her