8 Brand-New Romance Authors. Avril Tremayne
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to where the man was again, confident that he wouldn’t see her now. But she could see him and he was still looking at her. Orla’s pulse raced. She’d never experienced this before. It felt earthy, wicked, sexy.
Against the silk of her dress, her bare breasts peaked, making tremors of awareness shoot up and down her body. She’d only realised when she’d unpacked that she hadn’t brought the bra she had to wear with this dress. And she’d had to wear the dress as she didn’t want to look too conspicuous in the bar in the trouser suit she’d brought for the meeting tomorrow.
She’d figured that the loose material would hide the fact that she was braless as she was lucky enough, or unlucky enough, that her breasts were on the small side. But now, she felt as if she might as well be naked and was acutely aware of the gap in the material which usually showed only a discreet glimpse of the bra but which would now show skin if someone looked hard enough. Like the man. He’d been looking hard enough. Instant heat moistened between Orla’s legs and she squirmed.
She resolutely diverted her gaze from the man and looked down, hunching her shoulders slightly for fear of giving anyone else the slightest bit of encouragement.
On top of all of the awareness coursing through her body which she couldn’t seem to dampen down was the disbelief that she had even attracted the gaze of such a man. From what she’d seen he looked like the type who would go for the far more busty lady who was now practically sitting in her partner’s lap. Any minute now they would leave and Orla felt a twinge of something like envy for a second before squashing it with disgust.
OK, so it had been a while since she’d had sex. More than a year to be precise. And it had been a good while before that, if ever, that she’d had any kind of sex to write home about. And maybe she had never had a relationship that lasted longer than a few weeks. But the men she met didn’t seem so enamoured when they found out that her passion for her family business came first.
Orla had contented herself that her career was her bedfellow. And up till right now it had been perfectly satisfactory. If a little lonely and frustrating when she saw amorous couples come into her hotel for romantic weekends and then leave a couple of days later looking sated and dreamy-eyed. So why was she thinking of this all of a sudden and feeling hot and unsatisfied inside?
Because of a stranger’s blatantly interested gaze. God. What was wrong with her? He was probably the type of guy to hook up with anything with a—
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
Orla’s head snapped up so fast she heard a bone crack in her neck. For a second it was as if someone had just hit her. Everything receded and then rushed back. The man was standing there. In a dark suit and white open-necked shirt. He was astonishingly gorgeous up close, and he was enormous. All over. Ridiculously tall...six foot three? Six foot four?
Orla was so stunned that she couldn’t speak. He clearly took that as encouragement and sat down opposite her, in the velvet upholstered bar chair. She could only gape at him. His sheer nerve. The fact that he was right there in front of her.
He put his drink on the small table and that seemed to jolt Orla back to some kind of reality. She looked to the left and right and then hissed in his direction, ‘I did not say you could sit down.’
Her heart was beating so fast she was breathless. Giddy with a rush of something that felt disturbingly like excitement. Disgusted at herself for this rampant reaction, she went to stand up but the man just said urgently in a deep and mesmerising voice, ‘Please don’t leave.’
His voice tugged at her nerve endings, making them tingle. Orla stopped and looked at him. She felt breathless all over again. He really was huge. Broad and powerful. Even more arrestingly masculine up close, his features defined and stamped with virility. And then she realised his accent wasn’t foreign. She frowned. ‘You’re from here?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘You just...’ Orla went hot in the dim light when she realised she was giving away the fact that she’d thought about him for more than a fleeting moment. ‘You look foreign.’
His mouth tipped up on one side, drawing Orla’s eyes to it.
‘I’m half Italian, half English.’
‘Oh...’
‘And you?’
Almost slightly stupefied, Orla answered, ‘Irish...born there but brought up here.’
‘That would explain your red hair.’
Orla looked into his eyes and wondered what colour they were. They appeared black in this light and she shivered slightly, suddenly aware of a hardness to this man she’d not noticed before. A latent sense of danger.
And then she remembered where she was and stiffened again. ‘Would you please leave? I did not ask you to join me.’
There was a taut silence between them and he didn’t move. Huffing, Orla made to move again. ‘Fine, well, if you can’t have the courtesy to move, then I will.’
But his hand snaked out and wrapped around her wrist and Orla felt as if a lightning bolt of heat went straight to her groin.
‘Please...you’ll be doing me a huge favour if you can just pretend that we know each other for a minute.’
Orla looked at him. Speechless and not just because of his hand on her wrist that felt hot and big. She pulled free and held her arm to her chest in an unconsciously defensive gesture. She narrowed her eyes on him. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘See that woman at the bar?’
Orla glanced over to where he had inclined his head slightly and saw the woman who had been wrapped around the other man like a vine. He was gone and she was alone again.
‘Yes, I see her,’ Orla supplied somewhat reluctantly.
‘Well, I’m afraid that I was going to be next on her hit list.’
Orla looked at the man and her eyes widened. He had a look on his face that was downright...pathetic. Big eyes, all innocence. Orla felt a very scary falling sensation inside her chest. He was flirting with her. Outrageously. Her nipples tightened into hard tight buds and Orla crossed her arms for fear they’d stand out like beacons against the thin silk of her dress. She put on her most severe expression. The one that usually had staff scurrying in all directions.
‘And you’re trying to make me believe that you’re not strong enough to stand up to a little bitty woman?’
He lifted a brow and that elevated his face from gorgeous to downright sexy. ‘Not working, no?’
Orla shook her head and couldn’t stop her own mouth twitching ever so slightly. She saw movement behind the man and observed dryly, ‘I think you’re safe now—her current victim looks like he was just on a toilet break.’
The man didn’t look behind him, but Orla realised when he looked up that he could see through the reflection of the venetian glass over the banquette seat as it was tilted slightly down towards the seating area. He looked back at her and smiled. ‘There goes my cunning ruse to have an excuse to talk to you.’
Butterflies exploded in Orla’s belly. She could insist on getting up to go, but right now she was curiously loath to. This man was a smooth charmer, but he also had an intriguing rough edge too, and there was no doubt about it, but something deeply feminine within her felt like it was blossoming in the heat of his regard. Coming back to life.
As if sensing her weakening, he said, ‘Can I buy you a drink for disturbing your peace?’
Orla hesitated. She had the funny sense that her peace was about to be disturbed in a very profound way. And that if she pushed for him to leave again he’d go. There was something innately proud about him.
But what harm was a drink? Feeling sensitised and more alive than she could remember feeling in a long time—if ever—she uncrossed her arms and shrugged minutely and took a mental step over a line.