The Royal House of Karedes: One Family: Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress / The Desert King's Housekeeper Bride / Wedlocked: Banished Sheikh, Untouched Queen. Carol Marinelli
Читать онлайн книгу.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LISS stood no chance. Her mind was spinning. James Black on flirt offensive? With his playful side unleashed, he was far more dangerous than when in lecturing-boss-man mode. He’d made his decision and now was embarking on a slow, deliberate assault. And she was about to cave. It was too exciting not to, too much of a temptation not to, too much of a need not to.
Under the blanket his fingers touched her breast. She shivered as her nipple tightened even harder.
‘Damn air-conditioning,’ he murmured and pulled the blankets higher—to their necks. Then his fingers went to play some more.
‘James,’ she warned.
‘What? All I’m trying to do is warm you up a little, princess. You’ve gone all taut and goose bumpy.’
She was only going to go even more taut the way he was working her. ‘James. I will retaliate.’
His hot laughter on her neck only turned her on more. ‘I’d like to see you try.’
‘You don’t know who you’re playing with.’ Bravado all the way—and how she was aching for him to take her all the way.
‘Go on, then. Try me.’
She turned more towards him, got as close as the damn airline seats would allow, and slid her fingers under his tee—just as she’d dreamed of doing in the departure lounge. She smoothed palms across his chest, exploring the breadth and warmth. Then, impatient as always, she slid them lower, tracking down the arrow of hair that felt slightly rough beneath her fingertips. To the belt of his jeans. It was surprisingly easy to push the tongue of the belt through the loop one-handed, without being able to see it under the blanket.
His breathing deepened.
But there was no way she could get the fly of his jeans undone—it was pulled too taut by the straining ridge beneath. She had to be content with stroking the length of it—up and down through the material. Quite desperately she wanted to feel him bare in her hand. She’d take him in her mouth if she thought she could get away with it, if they could somehow be discreet.
He must have read her mind because he looked into her eyes, his own slightly glassy. And his hand moved under the blanket, covering hers, not gripping harshly but firm enough to stop her from her task.
‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘Why not?’ she muttered, excited by the feel of him, the thick length. She wanted him free, right up against his stomach, and she really wished she could take a good look because it felt fantastic—big and hard.
‘You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?’
‘I think so.’ She smiled.
And then he smiled back at her—a smile of warmth and want and no hint of mockery or sarcasm. And while she was melting he stole the advantage back.
He easily gripped both her hands in one of his, dragging her half across the seat and almost into his own. He angled her so her shoulder and upper back rested on his chest, so they were both looking towards the windows. Then, under cover of the blankets, he slipped his fingers under her top, pushed aside the lace of her bra and teased her nipple. He nuzzled her neck and she closed her eyes—wanting, wanting, wanting more.
He knew. He moved, worked his hand down the front of her pants, easily slipping between fabric and skin. They didn’t kiss again, not wanting to draw attention from other passengers—not wanting the intensity broken. Instead his hand moved, with almost imperceptible movements—tiny rubbing ones, which she matched with tiny rocking. And his other hand held both of hers and she felt bound to him, to the sensual spell he had her under. He was leading the dance and she seemed to have no option but to follow. There was no escape; she could only ride on the storm he was brewing.
Suddenly the inevitability of it oppressed her and she filled with the need to fight, to gain some control over her raging desires, some control over him.
She clamped her upper thighs together. ‘I’m not going to have an orgasm on an aeroplane surrounded by passengers.’ She choked the words out.
‘No?’ His voice was rough. ‘But you’re close.’ Statement not question.
His breath stirred her ear and she closed her eyes, pressing her lips tighter together, trying to stop the moans, trying to stop the sensations from overwhelming her. How could she want him so badly?
‘You really are built for pleasure, aren’t you?’
Something in the way he said it made her freeze completely. What was she doing having a grope in public? This was a cheap and easy thrill—was that all he thought she was? What about him?
‘James. Stop.’
He did immediately. Got the ice in her tone and got his hand out of her pants. She turned. His frown was almost imperceptible but it was there.
‘And here was me thinking you were a wild child,’ he said. ‘A hedonist. Someone who’d take pleasure any chance she could get it.’
She moved, going to the far side of her own seat—putting what little distance she could between them. ‘I’m not everything you think me, James.’ She smiled and bluffed. ‘It has to be the right place, the right time.’ She paused. ‘The right person.’
‘The right person, for the right moment.’
Momentary. She rebelled against his automatic assumption that this would be short-lived. Why did everyone think anything she was involved in would be transient?
But his attention was still on her body. ‘What will you be like? Will you close your eyes or will you let me see you raw in your ecstasy?’
‘You’re wondering what kind of performance you’ll get?’ Her frustration moved to anger.
His eyes lifted, trapping hers, and it was all serious intensity. ‘I’m not interested in performance. I’m not interested in the princess thing or anything of the trappings. I’m interested in what’s underneath.’
She knew he didn’t mean her clothes. ‘What if there’s nothing?’
That stopped him. Their eyes met—stripped of desire, forced to reveal painful honesty.
He spoke, the words ground out slowly as he frowned. ‘I don’t want to believe that.’ He reached his hand across the seats and spread his fingers slightly to the left of her breastbone. The palm of his hand pressed against her heart. His hand was big and strong and she knew he could hold her heart in that one hand alone. The thought was scary.
He pushed, fingers digging a little into her breast as he emphasised his words. ‘I’d like to think there might be things in there that you don’t let anyone see.’
‘Why, James.’ She laughed, wanting to push him back, not wanting him to feel how much faster her heart beat when he touched her, when he pried too close. ‘You’re a romantic.’
The momentary openness in his gaze was shuttered. His hand withdrew. ‘I’m not, princess. I’ve already told you the way I play it. So don’t delude yourself about me. You do enough of that in other areas of your life already.’
It was OK for him to challenge her, but not for her to question him? All she wanted was the same as what he wanted from her—to find out what was underneath. Yes, he was charming and witty and urbane, but not very far under the surface was this layer of steel that hid a depth to his personality. She wanted to understand why he kept it so reserved. But he wasn’t going to let her. So why should she grant him things that he wasn’t about to give her?
She knew he wanted her. But she also knew he didn’t want to. And while she knew the reasons why an affair with him was a bad idea for her, she didn’t know his reasons. Couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to want her so badly. She didn’t quite know how to respond