Happily Ever After...: His Reluctant Cinderella / His Very Convenient Bride / A Deal to Mend Their Marriage. Sophie Pembroke
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Talking of which, she had been a long time getting changed. ‘Are you okay in there?’
‘Ah...’ she sounded embarrassed ‘...is Susannah there?’
‘No, why?’
‘Can you find her?’ Embarrassment was replaced with curt impatience.
Raff’s mouth quirked. ‘Are you in need of help? Maybe I can assist? I am fully trained, remember?’
‘Raff Rafferty, please find Susannah right now.’
Grinning, Raff sauntered to the door and looked around. No sign. ‘I can’t see her,’ he called. ‘I can page her but she might be at the other end of the building, or I can help. Your choice.’
He could almost hear the wheels turning as Clara deliberated her choices.
‘Okay. But not one quip, and no looking.’
Interesting.
‘I’m a professional,’ he assured her. But he didn’t feel professional as he walked over; he felt more like an over-eager schoolboy who’d been promised an over-the-bra fumble. Inappropriate, he scolded himself.
And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about creamy, bare shoulders and those three little freckles.
Deep breath. Focus on the job at hand. Raff pulled the curtain a little to one side and stepped into the changing room.
Where he stopped still. He didn’t want to stare, he knew it was wrong and yet, and yet...
‘Well, don’t just stand there.’ Clara gestured to her side. ‘Help me. It’s stuck and have you seen the price tag? I can’t exactly yank it.’
She was wearing a floor-length strapless dress in a shade of blue so dark it almost looked black.
Revealing both her shoulders and a generous amount of cleavage, the dress clung as tightly as a second skin, emphasising the dip at her waist, the curve of her bottom, the length of her legs. Raff swallowed.
‘The zip,’ she said with killing emphasis as he remained static. ‘It’s stuck.’
Trying, with little success, to get some air into his suddenly oxygen-deprived lungs, Raff walked over. It seemed to take an eternity. He was a fool, to think he could walk in here, to the intimacy of a room where clothes were discarded, a room of lingerie and limbs and clinging silks. A fool to think he could step so close to naked arms, inhale the light floral scent she wore, watch one curl tumble down onto a bare shoulder. To touch her.
‘Just here.’ Hadn’t she noticed the effect she was having on him? ‘Can you see?’
Raff put one hand onto her ribs, holding her still as with utter concentration his other hand worked at the tiny zip, trying to free it from the thread that held it prisoner. Her skin was hot, burning him through the silk; he wasn’t sure whether he could really hear her heart hammering or whether it was his imagination.
Or if it was his heart he heard, deafening him with its beat.
‘I think I’ve got it.’ His voice was gruff. ‘There!’
As he freed the thread the zip shot down with alarming ease, his hand skimming her waist, her hip, and as it did so the top of the dress collapsed into graceful folds.
It all happened so fast, Clara didn’t manage to grab at the dress or shield herself, and he, God help him, he didn’t look away.
I’m sorry, he wanted to say, wanting to turn, to walk away, allow her a chance to get herself together but he was glued to the spot, desire hot, sweet and dark burning through him. She was perfect, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the faint silvery marks on her lower belly a badge of motherhood.
She should pull the dress up, turn away, slap his face, scream, at least, at the very least she should cover herself up. She didn’t even sunbathe topless and here she was, standing like a glamour model, exposed.
Only she was paralysed by the heat in his eyes, warming her through from head to toe, settling in the pit of her stomach, awakening a sweet, insistent ache she hadn’t felt for so long. The naked desire in his face provoking pride, need, want.
And she wanted him too. She’d wanted him since the moment he had sauntered into her office, arrogant and demanding, making her think and making her do and making her feel. Not just because he looked so good, was so tall and so broad and so solid, not just because he had eyes that caressed and a mouth that made her knees tremble, but because he was a man who cared, hide it as he might.
But he was a man who was leaving. A man with itchy feet, who lived his life on the edge of civilisation, risking his life every day.
Right now it was hard to remember why that was a problem.
For all the strength apparent in him, held tightly coiled in that strong, muscled body, Clara knew she had all the control here. One look, one word and he would walk away with a sincere apology.
But one move forward and... Anticipation shivered through her.
She had spent the last ten years playing it safe, hiding from any experience that might test her, pouring all her emotions into motherhood. But the moment she had swung off that platform yesterday, the moment she had agreed to Raff Rafferty’s offer, a new world had opened up. Not safe, not cosy, unplanned, a world that made her pulse beat and her blood hum and desire swirl sweetly inside her like honey.
And, oh, how she wanted.
Without thinking, without planning, she took another step forward, allowing the dress to fall to the ground as she did so. A wanton part of Clara, long locked away, smiled; the rest of her shivered in anticipation as she took in the expression on his face as Raff drank every inch of her in: fierce, hot need.
She felt utterly desirable.
Another step and she was close, so close. Millimetres separated them. Clara was trembling, tiny, anticipatory shivers running through her every nerve and sinew, her veins humming with excitement. She looked up at him boldly, allowing her want to shine out, and with a muffled growl Raff moved forward, closing the infinitesimal gap, pulling her hard against him. Clara found herself on her tiptoes, straining towards him.
It could only have been a second, two at the most before his lips touched hers but it felt like an eternity and Clara was sure she would explode if he didn’t kiss her right there and then. And then his mouth was on hers sure and sweet, his hands were holding her close, one on the small of her back, holding her tight, the other in the nape of her neck and Clara wanted to climb onto him, into him and never let go. The lazy circles his fingers were making on her back, each one teasing hot, sensitised skin to the point of insanity, the way his hand cupped her tender neck, fingers buried in her hair, the way his mouth claimed her, demanding, expecting, giving.
Nothing had ever felt so right.
And when he let her go, staggered back with a look of total disbelief on his face, she was utterly bereft. ‘The door’s unlocked.’ He was breathing hard, his voice ragged.
It took a moment for his words to penetrate her overheated brain. ‘Oh.’ Anyone could have come in, seen her practically naked, draped all over him. She should feel shamed. But she wasn’t; she just wanted to be back in his arms, fused into him.
‘I could lock it...’
Her eyes fastened on him, on the question implicit in eyes darkened by desire.
‘You could, you probably should.’ It wasn’t the most eloquent response but it was all he needed. Powerful long strides across the room and the key was turned firmly, the outside world shut away.
Raff turned, eyes glittering dangerously. ‘Clara?’
This was it, this was her chance to turn back, to get this relationship back on a professional footing. There was nothing she wanted less. ‘I’m standing here in my underwear,’ she said as calmly as she could, allowing a purr to enter