The Dare Collection June 2019. Rachael Stewart
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with her. The whole situation was screwed up. I had no room in my life to battle this compulsion.
Not when I had Gideon to deal with and the shattered remains of a life to be salvaged in London.
But before leaving Manhattan I’d sent the board members my request to return to the board and they’d responded. The formal vote would be at the monthly board meeting. One Gideon would attend.
The three-year anguish that’d lived in my chest since that fateful night Penny had shattered Gideon’s and my life wrenched at me again.
But the simple truth was that I was ready to get on with my life.
Four hours later, I stood and stretched. Beyond the balcony and landscaped gardens, the setting sun was casting an impressive glow over the lake. The scene was truly breathtaking, perfect for romantic strolls and stolen quickies between hedgerows...if you were into that sort of thing.
Was Neve into that sort of thing?
I rescued my phone, grimacing at the eagerness with which my mind raced back to her. To that sizzling half-hour on her sofa last night. To her slick, tight heat and the incredible taste of her. My hard-on was still raging when I stepped into the shower fifteen minutes later. I knew jacking off would only bring ridiculously temporary and empty relief so I didn’t bother.
Which meant my mood wasn’t much improved when I entered the dining room in the evening to be informed I would be dining alone. Neve was otherwise engaged and would see me later, her manager added.
Swallowing my irritation at the brush-off, I ordered a steak, grudgingly conceding its excellence. I was finishing the meal off with an espresso when a member of her staff approached.
‘Mr Mortimer, Miss Nolan has asked me to escort you to the refurbished suite.’
We exited the main hub of the hotel and travelled a series of well-lit stone pathways to the east wing of the sprawling hotel. The suite was on the fifth floor, down a beautifully decorated hallway.
But the decor was the last thing on my mind when we arrived.
Neve was talking with Tyler outside the door.
In the most casual way I’d seen her dressed, in black denim that moulded to her hips and firm arse, and a scoop-necked fire-red T-shirt that clung to her breasts, with her blonde hair piled carelessly high on her head, she was every inch a delectable and fuckable sight.
A short sharp bite of acrid jealousy threw itself into the volatile cocktail swirling inside me as Tyler raised his hand to make a point and left it hovering near her cheek. Whatever he said made her laugh, the sound beautiful and sexy, just like the woman.
My stomach knotted uncomfortably. ‘Tyler, I think I saw your sister heading to the restaurant. Are you supposed to join her?’
He started, looking a little flustered as he glanced my way. ‘Uh...yeah.’
‘Best not keep her and the chef waiting.’
Tyler grimaced. ‘Sam’s intolerable when she’s hungry. But I’m used to it because she’s always hungry. I was just telling Neve—’
I interrupted. ‘Nothing that can’t wait. I have other business matters to attend to, so if you don’t mind?’
Tyler tensed. ‘You don’t want one of us around when you inspect the room?’ he asked Neve.
With one dismissive glance at me, she shook her head. ‘I’ll come find you in the morning to give you feedback. Go and enjoy your dinner.’
He summoned a smile. ‘Okay. Sure, no problem. We’ll...catch up tomorrow.’
I gave a tight nod and he left.
Neve turned to me, her face pinched and her eyes glaring. Somehow that eased the knot inside me. I was shallow enough to accept that was because her attention was on me.
Jesus. You’re bordering on pathetic, Mortimer.
‘Shall we?’ I suggested when she remained frozen in front of the suite.
‘Was that really necessary?’
I wasn’t going to pretend I didn’t know what she was talking about. ‘Good evening to you too. And yes. It was.’
Her mouth dropped open.
I reached behind her and nudged the door open. ‘Close your mouth, darling. You’ll catch flies. Besides, I think I made my stance pretty clear last night.’
She stumbled backwards into the room, her gaze fixed on mine.
‘You didn’t exactly say the words.’
‘Well, I’m saying it now. I intend to be the guy who takes care of that ache between your legs. Is that bloody clear enough for you?’
‘I think—’
The rest of her response never came. Her gaze shifted away from mine, widened, and I lost her again. This time to the splendour of a suite transformed into a nineteenth-century masterpiece.
‘Oh, my God.’ Her voice was hushed. Reverent. Filled with the kind of pleasure that had filled my ears one long night two years ago and not for long enough last night.
I stepped inside, kicked the door shut and reluctantly dragged my gaze from her face to the room.
It was impressive. The attention to detail alone was exceptional.
‘Indeed. Not what I expected,’ I conceded.
She turned to face me. ‘Let me guess, you anticipated a French boudoir to be a clichéd blood red and black silk?’
I shrugged. ‘Isn’t that what our clients will expect?’
‘They’ll be required to fill in a questionnaire on their wants and desires but if they’re open to suggestions, why give them a tired old truism when they can have a fresh original?’
As she talked she wandered away from me, trailing her fingers over the heavy-silk-draped walls and gold brocade curtains. The mint-green and gold bedspread complemented the furniture right down to the gold bows holding back the filmy gold muslin material draping the four posts of the bed. When she fingered the fringe of an embroidered pillow, something hot and heavy thudded in my groin.
‘You like it, I take it.’
She glanced over her shoulder, unabashed pleasure in her eyes. ‘From the first glance it looks great, don’t you think?’
I nodded. ‘It’s impressive.’
Her gaze roved contemplatively around the room. ‘They’ve done a fantastic job, but...’ She paused, her gaze locking on mine. Slate-blue eyes fell to an alluring half mast, her lips parting to suck in a delicate breath.
‘But?’
‘But... I think to fully appreciate it, it needs to be truly experienced,’ she murmured sultrily.
Me. Pick me.
My hand itched to shoot up into the air like an eager schoolboy intent on impressing his hot teacher. I curbed the urge by shoving both hands into my pockets. ‘What exactly do you have in mind?’
She held up a long manicured index finger, strolled over to the bedside table and picked up the phone. ‘Whitney, can you reschedule my meeting with the spa managers for Monday? Great, thanks. And can you get catering to send a bottle of Dom Perignon to the Willow Suite, please? And canapés. I want everything in here in one hour. And I’m not to be disturbed. Thanks.’
She put the phone down, eyed me for a minute, then walked to an antique closet and pulled it open.
‘What are you doing?
She wistfully caressed the period costume hanging in the closet. ‘Right now, I’m heading back to my place to take a long bath, then I’m going to return to this room, and make full and, hopefully, rewarding