CHAPTER EIGHT
BELLA stayed in her room until well after nine the next morning, sure that by then Owen would be downstairs overseeing his group of geeks, coming up with some program to bring about world peace or something. Last night had been the most frustrating night of her life—even more frustrating than after he’d left her bed on Waiheke, and she hadn’t thought anything could top that.
After his outrageous comments, he’d gone. With a smile that had promised everything and threatened nothing he’d walked downstairs—presumably to his room. The door had been closed when she’d summoned the courage to leave the roof. What had she been supposed to do—follow him?
She’d badly, badly wanted to. But she didn’t, of course, because her legs had lost all strength again—just with his words.
Now, as she moved quietly across the warehouse, she saw his bedroom door was closed. She knocked gently, just to be certain. When there was no reply she opened it and walked on in. Halfway to the bathroom door on the other side she realised that the big lump of bedding on the edge of his bed was moving; it actually had a lump in it—him. He sat up—all brown chest on white sheets, hair sticking up in all directions and wide sleepy grin. ‘Good morning.’
She froze, halfway across the floor. ‘I thought you’d be at work already.’
‘No.’ He yawned. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
She felt the colour flood into her face.
‘I had a call from New York that went on for a while.’
Her colour continued to heighten. She started to back out of the room. At least she was wearing trackies now under the tee shirt. After the embarrassment of yesterday she wasn’t running the risk of encountering all those people when she was half starkers again.
‘No, don’t worry,’ he said, swinging his legs out of the bed and reaching for a shirt on the floor. ‘Use the bathroom. I’m going for a run.’
She stopped in the doorway. He’d stood up from the bed. Naked except for the shirt he was holding to his lower belly. He was magnificent. Rippling muscles and indents and abs you wouldn’t see anywhere other than the Olympic arena. He yawned again, stretched his free arm, showing his body off to complete perfection.
He was doing it deliberately. He had to be. She swallowed—once. Took a breath. Blinked. Swallowed again. Still couldn’t seem to move her legs.
‘Bella?’
She turned and walked then, straight back to her bedroom. Where she threw herself down and buried her burning face in the cool of the sheets.
Damn it, Owen. If you’re going to do it, do it.
Half an hour later she figured he’d gone and be out for another hour at least. So she headed to the kitchen—she needed a long, very cold drink. As she downed the icy water she heard the door slam.
She turned, and there he was wearing loose shorts and a light tee. He was puffing, sweating a little. He stalked towards her. Straight towards her and he didn’t seem to be stopping.
‘You’re back already,’ she blurted.
‘Yeah,’ he muttered. To her acute disappointment he veered off course, halting and reaching into the fridge. ‘It was short but intense.’
She held onto her glass, leaned back against the sink and stared.
‘I ran up and down the stairs for twenty minutes.’
She quickly lowered her glass to the bench. He stood facing her, strong and fit, and she was breathing harder than he. It was early morning, broad daylight, she was stone-cold sober, and she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything.
He leaned back, resting on the bench opposite her. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘N-nothing.’
There was a silence where he looked at her with such amused disbelief and she wanted to squirm away from the knowledge in his eyes.
‘Come here.’
She hesitated.
‘Here.’
She walked, one whole step, aiming for nonchalant, before stopping, stupidly wishing she weren’t still wearing her loose, ugly trackies and old tee shirt.
‘Come right here.’
‘What?’ she asked as she moved fractionally closer, her mind tickled with an alternative meaning to his words, and a delicious mix of anticipation and alarm rose when he straightened. She took another tiny step.
‘Why don’t you do the “nothing” you’ve been thinking about for the last five minutes?’ He smiled then, took a step to meet her when she stopped short. ‘Or is it longer that you’ve been thinking about “nothing”?’
Her mouth opened but nothing came out.
His gaze dropped to it; she could almost feel him roving over the curves and contours of her lips. She desperately wanted him to. His eyes flicked, coming back to snare hers. There was that warmth in them, the glow was back—the light that had seduced her so completely on Waiheke. And she couldn’t walk away from it.
She knew he was waiting. But she was frozen. And then it seemed that words might not be necessary.
His breathing was more rapid now too—faster than when he’d first got back from his run. And the glow in his gaze had become a burn that was steadily gaining in intensity.
A shrill, tuneless series of beeps shattered the silence.
He didn’t step away. ‘Someone’s trying to call you.’
She shook her head, unable to tear her gaze from his. ‘It’s just my phone telling me it’s almost out of battery.’
‘Recharge it.’
‘I can’t,’ she confessed. ‘I left the power cord at my flat.’
A smile stole into his eyes. The phone whistled the ugly tune again.
He reached forward, slipping his hand into her pocket and pulling out the phone. She thought, hoped, he was going to throw it away. But then he looked away from her, flipped it open and stared at it. Frowned. Pushed a couple of buttons.
‘What’s wrong? Is it not working?’
His head jerked in negation. ‘I have a cord that should work with this,’ he muttered, but his mind had clearly moved to something else. Suddenly she wanted her phone back. She reached, but he held it up high, still pressing buttons.
‘What are you looking for?’ she asked.
‘Tony’s Lawn Mowing Service.’
‘What?’
‘That was the number you gave me.’ He gave her a hard look. ‘That was why I couldn’t get through to you. The phone number you gave me was completely wrong.’
Oh. Hell. ‘Was it?’ Her voice sounded weak, even to her.
He shot an even harder look. ‘Accidentally on purpose.’
Her face fired up. The tension between them burst through her defences. ‘You were in such a hurry to leave. I didn’t want to be sitting around half hoping for you to call. Better to knock it out there and then.’
He moved, tossing the phone to the side, taking the last step forward so he was smack in front of her, blocking her exit. ‘Only half hoping?’ His smile teased but his eyes were laser sharp.
Her blush deepened and inside she wanted to beat her head against a wall—so he had tried. Now she felt more defensive than ever. ‘Well, you didn’t bother to give me your number,’ she said miserably. ‘Or even tell the truth about where you were staying.’
‘That was irrelevant. At the time I was focused on making sure I could contact you. I knew there was no point giving you my number. You never would have called me. Would you?’
Her blush deepened. No. She never would. She’d been too mortified at the way he’d slunk off into the night. ‘You just up and left me.’ Even she heard it—how much her words betrayed her.
His smile twitched. ‘I can see I have some work to do.’
‘What sort of work?’
‘Convincing you how much I want you. How much I wanted to stay that night.’
‘If you’d wanted to stay, you could have.’ A little petulant, still unforgiving.
He shook his head. ‘Responsibilities, Bella. People were relying on me.’
‘Priorities. Choices.’ She’d been relying on him. Unfair of her perhaps, but she’d fallen—just like that. And she’d wanted him by her side. She’d enjoyed having him as a buffer between her and her family. But even more, she’d just wanted him at her side again—inside.
‘I had every intention of calling you. I tried to call you.’ He paused. ‘You were the one who made the choice to stop that from happening.’
Humiliation at her exposure rose. Yes, she’d deliberately sabotaged any chance he might make contact because she’d been so sure he wouldn’t and she didn’t want to keep on hoping for ever that he would. Because she would have hoped—hoped and hoped and gone on hoping for evermore. And at the same time she’d been so sure he wouldn’t. She didn’t want to be that much of a loser any more.
His fingers were gentle but quite firm on her jaw as he turned her face back to him. He spoke very clearly. ‘What you have yet to learn, Bella, is that I let very little stand in the way of what I want.’
‘And what do you want?’
‘You.’
She was melting inside, every bone liquefying.
‘And the thing is …’ he inched closer ‘… I get the distinct impression that you want me too.’
She was about to puddle at his feet. ‘Owen—’
‘Now why don’t you do what you’ve been thinking about? Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
Her breathing skittered as he stepped closer again.
‘I’m going to touch you and kiss you and feel you and watch you.’
She’d forgotten to blink and her eyes felt huge and dry.
‘I want to watch you, Bella.’ He was so close now. If she moved less than a millimetre, she’d be touching him.
‘Do you know how expressive you are? How wide your eyes go when you want something? How pink your cheeks and your lips go?’ His voice dropped as he whispered in her ear. ‘How wet you get?’
She sucked in a breath. Shaken and very, very stirred. Did he know how wet she was now?
‘Do it, Bella,’ he urged in that low, sexy whisper. ‘Do it.’
Her hand lifted and she spoke without thinking. A whisper, softer than his. ‘Take your shirt off.’
For a moment their eyes met and she trembled at the flare of passion in the blue of his.
His hands moved to his top and with a fast movement he whipped it off, tossing it in a direction similar to her phone. He glanced down. The sweat had tracked down, slightly matting the fine layer of hair.
‘I should shower.’ The first hint of self-consciousness she’d ever seen in him.
‘Not yet.’ She placed the hand she’d raised on his chest, spreading her fingers on the heat, liking the dampness. She leant forward, licking the hollow at the base of his throat, tasting the salt. She liked him like this—raw, his body already primed for action. The run had just been the warm-up.
His breath hissed out.
Glancing down, she saw just how much he did want this—how much he wanted her. She looked back up and saw he’d seen her checking him out, and his smile had gone sinful.
His hands slipped down, pushing the old tracksuit pants from her waist and down. She kicked them off as he unclasped her bra, then he pulled each strap down her arms so it fell from her. Underneath the tee shirt her breasts were now free.
‘Tell me, the other day when you barged in on my meeting wearing this gorgeous old tee shirt, were you wearing panties beneath it?’
Bella hesitated. A smile slowly curving her mouth. ‘What do you think?’
His smile grew too. ‘I’m thinking no.’
‘I think you might be right.’
‘We’d better get them off, then.’
He dropped to his haunches, slipped his fingers to her hips and found the elastic of her undies. He tugged and she wiggled—just a fraction—so they slid down. As she stepped out of them she stepped closer to him. He stayed down, looking back up at her.
‘Perfect.’
His fingers moved slowly over her thighs, his broad palms warm and smooth as they stroked.
He stood. ‘I’ve been dreaming of you in this shirt ever since ten twenty-five yesterday morning.’ Then he kissed her—his mouth moving over hers, his tongue invading with hungry surges, until she was breathless and giddy and he groaned.
‘I am having that shower,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her to his bedroom. ‘Stay there, I’ll be two minutes.’ He kissed her again. ‘Make that one.’
But now that Bella had taken the step, she wasn’t letting him get away. She followed him into the bathroom, laughing as he grabbed the shower gel. Sobering as she watched him lather it in his hands, slap it onto his body, and seeing again how truly magnificent he was.
‘Bella, if you keep looking at me like that I—’
‘I haven’t showered either.’ She cut him off. Tee shirt and all, she followed him into the steam.
The water ran over her, making the cotton of the tee shirt thick and heavy. It clung to her. He cupped her breast through the sodden fabric, thumb stroking the taut nipple. She rubbed the soapy bubbles over his skin, starting with his shoulders, his chest and then lower.
‘Bella …’ There was definite warning in his tone. And then he growled, yanked her into his arms and kissed her hard, his hands keeping her close.
The elation ran through her as she tasted his desire, thrilled with the knowledge that it matched her own.
He kissed her until her knees went weak and standing was becoming a major issue. She clung to his shoulders, not wanting to break the bliss of the kiss.
Slowly he peeled the wet tee shirt up and off her body. It landed on the bathroom floor with a loud smack. He flipped the lever and shut off the water. The sudden silence was broken by the occasional drip. But the steam kept rising.
He took a step towards her, and with an impish smile, she took a step back. His eyes lit up so she took another, and another, and then with a giggle she turned and ran, exhilarated as she sensed his speed behind her. It was only a second or two and he’d caught her, dragging them both the last half-metre to the bed, and there they tumbled and rolled.
He rose above her, on all fours, trapping her between his legs, her hands in his. For a moment they paused, both enthralled and excited by the chase—and her surrender.
She deliberately relaxed, parted her legs, and sent him the invitation. He didn’t need it. He was already taking—mastering her body by using the magic of his. His hands caressed, his lips kissed and his eyes promised. And within moments she was arching, her hips up high, the tension ready to burst. He kissed her again, so intimately, his mouth fastening onto her *oris while his fingers played deep within.
Her hands clenched in the thickness of his hair as, oh, so quickly she was there, on the brink and over, her body shaking, twisting beneath his.
‘Again,’ he demanded, slipping up her body fast, his hand still between her legs. ‘Again.’ He kissed her hard while his fingers were unrelenting. Slipping and sliding and teasing as he kissed her she felt the sensation inside bridge. His tongue thrust into her mouth and she shook with the need to have that other part of him deep inside her, plunging hard and fast—stirring her to an even greater ecstasy.
She broke free of his kiss as the breath expelled harshly from her lungs and her hips bucked. ‘Yes!’ she cried, incredulous as one orgasm moved into another, longer, more intense one. And he watched, a fiendishly satisfied grin lighting him as she shuddered beneath him.
And then, instead of that weightless, warm, replete feeling that usually came after ecstasy, she was filled with a ravenous void, the need for completion. It was an overpowering hunger. An intense ache that angered her and drove her to take in a way she’d never done before.
She spoke to him. Short, harsh words while her hands reached out, greedily touching him, and then her mouth too. And the look of smug arrogance and amusement left his features. Concentration took over, and suddenly he was as exposed as she, his hunger revealed as her words stripped him of his control.
She watched as his breathing became laboured, revelled in his haste to sheath himself with the condom. He swore when it took too long. Swore louder when she took over and teased it down on him cruelly slow, all the while whispering in a way that was clearly driving him to distraction, pausing now and then to press passionate, open kisses across his chest. Her hands worked over his body, pulling him to her. She wriggled beneath him, rocking against him, rotating, telling him not just with her words but with her body how hot she was for him. How badly she wanted him and was wanting him more with every passing moment.
‘Now, now, now!’ she cried, desperate for the fullness that only he could give. And with a raw growl he responded, thrusting deep.
‘Har— Oh, yes! Like that. Like that.’ She didn’t need to say it. He was already doing it exactly how she wanted. Hard and fast, surging into her, and she worked to meet him, stroke for stroke, her fingers curling into his strong hips.
She was transported into a magical realm where her wickedest, wildest fantasy became raw reality and much, much better—and she told him. What he was doing to her, how he was doing it so incredibly and how much more she wanted.
Until the words would no longer come because her mind could no longer think and it was squeals and sighs and moans that escaped—she couldn’t control anything any more. Her hunger, her desire, her response to the pleasure his body brought her. The tension mounted—nothing before had ever been so extreme as this. Until it snapped and spasms ravaged through her, the sensations heightened by his fierce growl and the power he plunged into her.
He rolled to the side, pulling her over so her head rested on his rapidly rising chest. He chuckled then. A warm, contented sound. ‘I have never been so turned on in all my life as when you were beneath me begging like that.’
Embarrassment curled into her. She’d behaved like some sex-starved animal. She’d used words she never thought, let alone voiced. Bella instantly felt the need to retain even some sense of the upper hand. ‘I wasn’t begging.’
‘No?’
‘I was ordering,’ she declared. ‘Demanding, in fact.’
He yanked gently on her hair, tipping her face up so she could see his smile.
‘Do it any time. I don’t mind.’ It was a light, teasing smile. ‘I didn’t think sex could get better than that night on Waiheke. Now I know different. That was fantastic.’ He kissed her then. A slow, sweet kiss. One kiss turned into another. When his hand brushed between her thighs, she flinched.
He broke the kiss immediately, a concerned look in his eyes. ‘You OK?’
‘Just a bit sensitive.’ She flushed. So much pleasure had brought her body to the point of pain.
He kissed her again. Gentle, relaxing kisses that soothed the intense over-sensitivity in her body—changing it to warm softness.
‘We’ll go slow this time.’
Bella had the feeling it was too late to be going slow at anything.