Unfinished Business: Bought: One Night, One Marriage / Always the Bridesmaid / Confessions of a Millionaire's Mistress. Robyn Grady
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hours that she knew she couldn’t take any more—not physically. Certainly not emotionally. She tiptoed to the bathroom, leaving Blake sleeping soundly in the big bed, only partly covered by the white cotton sheet. She wasn’t going to look at him to be tempted either—much.
She was utterly exhausted. Everything seemed to be tilted topsy-turvy and she had to get away—now, or she never would. At least not still in one piece.
She splashed cold water on her face and assessed the situation. She had to concede she was in the presence of a master. Yesterday he’d started it slow, kept it almost like a date, getting her to relax by talking about her business. Then he’d got her warmed up—progressively warmer until she’d been the one to blow on the crackling embers to burst them into flame.
All they’d done since was have sex and then sleep together. Have sex some more and then sleep. Repeat again. Conversation had been minimal. Only sharing the words needed to convey pleasure and desire, need and want.
In the light of day awkwardness had barrelled into the room and was holding her up. Words now were required. And they’d build the barriers she so desperately needed. Because she was vulnerable and raw and weakly just wanted to return to the haven that was his embrace. But it was a false haven. This was meaningless for him—he’d said it from the start: just some fun with no future, no trust necessary. She didn’t like him for that.
But she’d said it too. Just sex?
All too late she realised she couldn’t play that kind of game. So, tempting as it was not to, she had to finish with him here and now.
He was sitting up in bed when she stepped back out of the bathroom. She was glad to see his perfect features bore signs of their night. His jaw was darkened by stubble, his eyes also shadowed—by fatigue.
She attempted breeziness. ‘I need to get going.’
He said nothing, just watched her with eyes that burned.
‘I have to … um …’
He slid from the bed and pulled on jeans—didn’t bother with undies or tee shirt. She lost her train of thought.
‘You want some breakfast?’ He fastened the buttons on his fly.
Had he even heard her?
‘Before you head home?’
He’d heard her all right. And he wasn’t about to argue.
‘I’ll just get my things.’
She walked out the doors—still open—to the deck by the pool. She tugged on her crumpled jeans—not bothering with the scrappy knickers or the bra hanging on the arm of the chair. She yanked on the tee, stuffed the underwear into her back pocket and hoped she wouldn’t see anyone on the street.
She turned. He was standing across the deck, leaning against the doorway with a mug in his hands, watching her every move. He sipped from the steaming liquid.
She looked around for her shoes and found them under the table.
‘You don’t even want a coffee?’
What was with his host-with-the-most act? Couldn’t he see she was desperate to escape? Before she showed how desperately she wanted back in his arms. Desperately begging for more than he could give—would ever want to give. She had pride to maintain here.
Blake had no idea how to settle her. But he didn’t want her to go yet. And he vainly searched for ways to make her stay a little longer.
‘What about brunch?’ It was way past breakfast and frankly he could do with some food. He was getting light-headed. ‘I’m good with eggs.’
He saw her nose wrinkle in distaste. ‘No, thanks. I really do need to get going. I’ve got some work I need to do.’
He watched as she looked anywhere but at him. Back to that again—denial.
‘Cally—’
‘Thanks for everything.’ She flashed the brittle smile he hated. He had another sip of coffee and let the black, lethally strong liquid fire down to his belly. Hopefully it would get his brain working. Because right now he had serious Neanderthal Man urges to overcome.
‘Cally, I think we need to talk.’ He’d rather they didn’t; he’d rather they just go back to his bed. Contact, physical contact, would sort everything if they had enough of it. And they hadn’t had enough of it yet.
The brittle smile became even more brittle. ‘Let’s not, Blake.’
‘Why not?’ Hell, what woman didn’t want to talk?
‘There’s nothing to say, is there? This was a deal. You won. I paid. Now we’re done.’
He blinked. She was referring to that stupid bet? If this was a game, he was fast forgetting the rules.
‘Our business is finished.’
‘You think?’
‘You know it is.’
Blake knew nothing of the sort. All he knew was that his perfect weekend was coming to a close and he didn’t want it to. He wanted a repeat—next weekend, please. No, that was too far away. Maybe Wednesday. Or Tuesday. Or, hell, why not tomorrow? But she’d gone all finishing school on him. Back to the frigidly polite woman who determinedly avoided his eyes so he couldn’t see the fire they both knew was still there.
She turned quickly and headed to the door.
He hastened after her. ‘I’ll walk you to your car.’
‘That’s not nec—’
‘Cally.’
She stopped her verbal protest but her body still oozed battle.
With every step towards her car he felt the energy in his body return. Tension rising until he was as pent up as he’d been all week. So much for one night being enough to get rid of it. She pressed the button on her keyring so the car beeped and its lights flashed. It was unlocked, but she’d gone as impenetrable as the Rock of Gibraltar. The need to conquer flared through him.
She reached for the handle, but he reached for her first. His eyes narrowed as he took in her frozen expression. He liked his chocolate warm and melting, not cold and hard.
He sandwiched her between the car and his body. He slid his hand around her neck and worked his fingers into the silky mass that was her hair. It looked so perfect yet felt so soft. He curled strands round his fingers and tugged, so she tilted her head up to his. Then he kissed her.
He kissed her and kissed her. Long and deep, until he felt her arms around him, felt her holding on tight and stroking him, pulling him closer. A final dig of his hips into hers gave him the moan from her that he’d been seeking—total surrender.
With strength he’d never known he had he lifted his hands from her, pressed them onto the car and levered his body off hers. Every cell in his body protested and he clamped down on all his muscles, stopping them from moving the way they so desperately wanted to—back into her. Leaning a millimetre away, he stared moodily into her face. Her lips were red and plump, the shadows under her eyes were pronounced and she wouldn’t look back at him. Hiding away. Running away.
OK, so they both needed some time and distance. But this wasn’t over. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t over.
‘See you ‘round.’
As a parting shot it was weak but it was the best he could come up with given his conflicting feelings—let alone those so obviously fighting within her. They’d take a day or so to regroup, reassess and then return to the table. Because this deal most definitely wasn’t done.
Cally drove the long way home. She should probably hate herself. Hadn’t she just done what she’d always vowed she’d never do? Paid for a guy? OK, it had been a bet that he’d won but it was still nothing more than a ‘transaction’, a coldly planned