The Playboy in Pursuit Page 6

  ‘Had a one-night stand. Or an affair. Or any kind of sex at all. Not since I left my husband.’

  ‘And when was that?’

  ‘Almost two years ago now.’

  ‘Good God.’

  ‘I know. It’s unnatural.’

  ‘Unusual, perhaps, but there’s nothing unnatural about you, Lucille. You’re all woman. Still, under the circumstances, you certainly don’t want a quickie in a lift. I think we should adjourn to the privacy of your place, don’t you?’

  It was a rhetorical question because he immediately let go the button, took her elbow and ushered her out through the rapidly opening doors. ‘Which door is yours?’

  ‘Number three,’ she croaked, now truly petrified. ‘Over there.’

  He still had her keys, and had her inside before she could say Jack Robinson. Inside and being drawn into his arms, then being kissed as no man had ever kissed her before.

  Lucille had imagined Val would be a passionate lover, with his Latin genes. But being on the end of such passion was way beyond her imagination.

  He didn’t kiss with just his lips and tongue. It was a full body experience. His hands were simply everywhere, caressing and pressing, moulding her soft curves around his steely self, forcing her to feel every inch of his instantly formidable erection.

  For a few blinding, blistering seconds she just wallowed in his ardour, moaning under his deeply darting tongue and revelling in the feeling of being so wanted. But then that smouldering fire of hers he’d talked about ignited in full, and being a submissive partner was simply not enough.

  Her purse slipped from her fingers to clatter at their feet and she lifted her arms to wind them around his neck, pressing herself closer to him, if that was possible. He groaned and spun her round, pushing her back against the wall. One of her legs lifted instinctively to rub along his outer thigh, her hips undulating against him. His mouth burst from hers on an expletive, then buried into her hair, just above an ear.

  ‘Slow down, baby,’ he muttered, his breathing hot and heavy. ‘Slow down.’

  ‘No,’ she cried, desperate in her desire. ‘No, I don’t want to slow down. I want you. Oh, please, Val. Please…’

  ‘Sorry, honey,’ he groaned.

  He wrenched himself right away from her, and her arms dropped back to her sides like lost souls with no place to go. She was a lost soul, somewhere out there in limbo. No, not limbo. Hell. She was in hell.

  She stared up at him through pained eyes. ‘Why did you stop?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ he grated out, raking his hands back through his hair.

  ‘I don’t want to think,’ she moaned.

  ‘I can see that. Hell, I can see a whole lot of things now. You need a man badly, honey. A lot of men would have already taken complete advantage of that fact. But I’m not that much of a bastard.’

  ‘No,’ she choked out, shaking her head. ‘No. You don’t understand. I don’t want just any man, Val. I want you. Only you.’

  He sucked in sharply. ‘Only me?’

  She nodded, her tongue thick in her mouth. ‘No man has ever made me feel what you made me feel today,’ she said huskily.

  ‘You certainly didn’t show it,’ he said, half-admiring, half-accusing.

  ‘Why do you think I agreed to come out with you tonight, despite knowing your reputation with women?’

  ‘Is my reputation with women all that bad?’

  ‘It is in my eyes. You’re a playboy, Val. And playboys are not my favourite species of male. You treat women like toys. When you get bored with one you simply go get yourself a new one.’

  ‘That’s a very cynical view, Lucille.’

  ‘I’m a very cynical woman.’

  ‘Yes, I’m beginning to see that too. That ex of yours must have done a right number on you. But that’s no excuse for you lumping all men together and distrusting every single one of them.’

  ‘I don’t. Just a certain type of man.’

  ‘And I’m that certain type of man?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You think I treat women like toys?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I beg to differ. I treat women very well. Hell, I love women. I think they leave men for dead in every regard. They’re nicer, and more honest. They’re better company, better conversationalists, better damned everything, in my opinion. I’d rather spend an evening with a woman than a man any day.’

  Lucille’s smile was wry. ‘I don’t doubt it, Val. But any attractive woman would do. We’re not really individuals to you. Just temporary and very dispensable playmates.’

  ‘Which suits you just fine on this occasion, doesn’t it?’

  She stiffened under his merciless black gaze, struggling again with her pride and her conscience. But to no avail. She was too far gone for a change of mind now.

  ‘Yes,’ she bit out. ‘All I want is for you to make love to me.’

  He shook his head. ‘Oh, no, honey. Love hasn’t anything to do with what you want me to do to you.’

  She squirmed under his brutal honesty till resentment took over. Who was he to judge her, this man who’d probably had more tacky one-night stands than she’d had doughnuts?

  ‘Okay,’ she said, and used words he couldn’t possibly mock. Or misunderstand.

  But, having expressed herself so crudely, she totally spoilt everything by blushing.

  He stared at her with glittering black eyes. ‘Well, that shouldn’t be too hard, honey. I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you at Erica’s place. But we do have one problem. I actually don’t carry protection with me on just dinner dates. What do you suggest we do about that?’

  Her chin lifted in defiance of his ongoing attempts to embarrass or intimidate her. ‘I do have some condoms.’

  His eyebrows arched. ‘I thought you said you’d never done this before.’

  She gritted her teeth. ‘I bought a box when I was going to paint the town red after my divorce. They’re still intact in the bathroom drawer.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘I don’t know. Half a dozen, I think.’

  ‘That’ll have to do, I guess,’ he said, his hands lifting to begin undoing the buttons on his shirt.

  Lucille stared at him, then at the strip of darkly tanned skin which was rapidly unfolding.

  She swallowed when he ripped the shirt off and tossed it aside.

  ‘Like what you see, honey?’ he drawled, his fingers already on his belt.

  He had a lovely shape: broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and equally narrow hips. He looked very fit, his stomach flat and hard, well-defined muscles rippling over his ribs and up his arms. Dark curls matted the middle of his chest but didn’t hide his small male nipples, which were startlingly erect. She stared at them, then up at his glittering black eyes. She didn’t know if he was aroused. Or angry. Or both.

  Frankly, she didn’t care, as long as he did what she wanted. Suddenly she was without shame, compelled by the fiercely urgent desire to put her hands on his naked flesh and to feel his on hers.

  ‘Yes,’ she rasped. ‘Yes, I like what I see.’

  ‘Then go get the condoms, honey,’ he ordered. ‘We only have all night.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘I’M SO glad you could get off early this afternoon to come shopping with me,’ Michele trilled as she searched one of the size eight racks in the boutique. ‘You’re usually too busy on a Friday. Come on. Help me look, Lucille. Don’t just stand there, daydreaming. I simply have to have a new dress. Tyler’s parents are throwing a pre-wedding party for his sister and her fiancé tomorrow night and they’ve already seen me in every party dress I own.’

  Lucille suppressed a sigh and tried to put her mind to helping Michele find something. But her heart wasn’t in it. Her heart hadn’t been in anything all week. Not since…

  Oh, God, she couldn’t bear to think about it again. The humiliation on that Tuesday morning when she had woken up and found Val Seymour’s head
on the pillow next to her. Then the shame of remembering everything she’d done with him into the wee small hours of the morning. Was there any position he hadn’t coerced her into trying? Though coercion was probably the wrong word. She’d been more than willing. Only sheer exhaustion on both their parts had eventually stopped the sexual marathon.

  She’d wanted to flee before he woke up, but how could she? It had been her place. Her bed. And her decision to go to bed with him.

  In the end she’d brazened it out, waking him with a mug of steaming coffee and asking him politely if he could possibly get up and go home as she had to shortly leave for work. Before he could say a single word, she had thanked him for his understanding in giving her some privacy and not contacting her ever again.

  She would never forget the way he’d looked at her at that moment. The shock in his eyes. And then the anger.

  He’d tried arguing with her, insisting he wanted to see her again. But she’d stayed firm, knowing that to see him again would put her on the rocky road to ruin. She was not about to become addicted to having sex with an incorrigible womaniser, no matter how worthy of addiction his brand of sex was. In the end he’d done what she’d asked and left, banging the door loudly behind him.

  But his being out of sight had not put him out of her mind. How could it when so many places and things around her apartment reminded her of him—not just the bed? He’d been a very imaginative lover, not confining their sexual activities to the bedroom. The kitchen counter had been the site of a very interesting encounter. And, naturally, the shower. Still, it had been the empty box of condoms sitting on the bedside chest that was the most brutal reminder. Lucille hadn’t known a man could make love so many times in one night.

  But he had. Oh, yes…he had.

  And she’d wallowed in every glorious time.

  ‘What do you think of this one? Do you think this colour suits me?’

  Lucille dragged her thoughts away from that night and back to her friend, who was holding out a slinky lolly-pink little number which would show off her slender figure and look great against her dark brown hair.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said, forming an O with her finger and thumb. ‘But go try it on,’ she added sensibly. ‘Make sure it fits.’

  It did. Just.

  ‘You look wicked,’ Lucille complimented her, and her friend smiled, brown eyes sparkling.

  ‘Do you think Tyler will like it?’

  ‘He won’t be able to wait to get it off. That is…if he can get it off. It looks like it’s glued on.’

  Michele laughed. ‘Not to worry. Tyler will peel it off with his teeth if he has to. He’s a master at undressing me.’

  Lucille wished she hadn’t said that. Val had been more than a master at undressing her, turning the procedure into the longest and most exquisite erotic torture she’d ever known. During the time it had taken him to strip her properly she’d actually come, a sharply frantic little release he’d brought about with knowing fingers but which hadn’t satisfied her in the slightest, just left her panting for more.

  It was the more she was having trouble forgetting. Especially that first powerful penetration, which had catapulted her straight away into another, far more shattering climax from which she hadn’t really recovered. Val had kept her turned on with his hands and his mouth, never letting her come down from that highly sensitised state where every nerve-ending balanced on a razor’s edge. Whilst his flesh rested between times, hers stayed on red alert, hot and wet, screaming to be filled once more. And she had screamed once: the last time, when her ecstasy had been mixed with agony.

  Even after all that she hadn’t found any real physical peace. Her nipples had stayed painfully erect the following day. As for the rest of her…that had ached and throbbed for a good two days, another reason why she hadn’t been able to put the wretched man out of her mind.

  Once or twice yesterday she’d been tempted to ring him, actually looking up his number in her files and jotting it down in her notebook. But she hadn’t. Her pride wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t bear him looking at her with real contempt in his eyes.

  With a bit of luck, the restlessness and frustration which had started escalating again on Wednesday would go away soon. Not that it showed any signs of abating. She hadn’t slept well the last couple of nights and was beginning to feel distracted at work, her mind drifting to things sexual without any reason.

  Thankfully, this wasn’t a busy time of the year for relocating people. Not many firms would send valued employees and their families to the other side of the world in the months leading up to Christmas.

  Which was why she’d been able to get time off this afternoon. A definite lull had hit Move Smooth.

  ‘That dress over there would look fantastic on you, Lucille.’

  ‘What? Which one?’

  ‘The one on the mannequin in the corner.’

  Lucille looked. It was red. A full-length crêpe sheath with short sleeves and a wide off-the-shoulder neckline, edged in gold guipure lace. Already an eye-catching colour and style, it had an even more eye-catching slit up one side, right to the top of the thigh.

  Maybe it was the way her mind was working at that moment, or the long flowing black wig worn by the mannequin, but she immediately thought of Flame in that dress. It had the tango written all over it.

  ‘I think it’s a bit flashy for me,’ Lucille said, wishing she hadn’t thought of Flame. Or Angela. Or whatever the stupid woman was called. Any female who wanted Max Seymour over his son had to be insane!

  ‘Rubbish,’ Michele pooh-poohed. ‘You have exactly the right figure to bring that dress to life. And just think of the shoes you could wear with it,’ she added with a wicked little laugh.

  Lucille did indeed have a sinfully strappy gold pair which would be perfect.

  ‘But where on earth would I wear it?’ she sighed.

  ‘What about your boss’s Christmas bash? Everyone will be done up to the nines in that crowd. And what better colour for a Christmas party than red? Oh, go on, Lucille. Try it on.’

  Lucille glanced at the price tag first. ‘It’s an Orsini,’ she stated drily. ‘And far too expensive.’

  ‘No, it’s not. I’m buying it for you.’

  ‘You are not!’

  ‘Yes, I am. You gave me an Orsini dress not all that long ago.’

  ‘Yes, but I bought it on sale and it didn’t fit me any more.’

  ‘That’s irrelevant. You gave it to me without a second thought, and I’m going to give you this one in return. Now, don’t argue, Lucille. I have the money. Tyler gives me a monthly allowance that I couldn’t spend if I tried.’ Without further ado she called the salesgirl over and had her hang the dress in one of the changing rooms.

  Lucille gave in gracefully and went to try it on.

  She had to confess the red dress looked pretty spectacular, though it wouldn’t have wanted to be any tighter. Lucille frowned as she twisted and turned to inspect the back as well as the front.

  The front wasn’t too bad. Her D-cup breasts weren’t too disgracefully exposed. But she groaned at the lower back view. There, the dress hugged her backside like a plaster mould, making it look like a ripe peach, a very large ripe peach. She really would have to stop devouring custard cream doughnuts at every turn. Somehow, since Monday night, the compulsion to continuously satisfy her sweet tooth had become savage, resulting in an extra inch at least on her hips. Soon it would be goodbye size ten and hello size twelve!

  Not that Val would mind, came the sudden and sneakily corrupting thought. He had simply adored her womanly body. Hadn’t been able to get enough of it. Lavished compliments over the lushness of her breasts, the softness of her stomach and the well-rounded globes of her bottom.

  ‘I’m getting fat,’ she’d moaned when he’d first finally got her naked and she had caught a glimpse of herself in the cheval mirror standing in the corner of her bedroom.

  ‘Honey, you’re nowhere near fat,’ he’d reassured her. �
�Your figure’s fantastic. Most women these days are too thin. Men like a bit of flesh to get hold of. Did you know it’s a measure of status for men in some of the poorer countries to have plump wives? It proves they’ve got the money to feed them. Lush curves are considered very sexy. And they’re sooo right…’

  As he’d said all this he’d turned her to face the cheval mirror, and had held her there while he ran his knowing hands all over her body, kneading her breasts and stroking her stomach, her thighs, the area between her thighs, making her feel beautiful and adored and so sexy it had been criminal.

  ‘Oh, Lucille!’ Michele exclaimed on opening the dressing-room door. ‘It’s just you! I knew it would be. What a pity you don’t have a man to wear it for.’

  Lucille couldn’t help thinking it was a pity too. She would have liked to wear it for Val. She would have liked to wear nothing for him again as well.

  She grimaced at this last thought. God, she was hopeless.

  ‘Still, if you go somewhere wearing that dress,’ Michele added wryly, ‘you won’t be manless for long. They’ll be jumping out of the woodwork and onto your beautiful bones.’

  The high-pitched ring of Lucille’s cellphone brought a welcome halt to that little conversation.

  ‘I hope that’s not your office,’ Michele said as Lucille fished the phone out of her handbag.

  ‘Sure to be,’ Lucille muttered before she pressed the button. Who else would be ringing her on her mobile at four o’clock on a Friday afternoon?

  ‘Lucille Jordan,’ she said in her best business voice.

  ‘Lucille. It’s Val.’

  Her stomach flipped right over. Had she conjured him up simply by thinking about him? Given him a telepathic message that she was wanting him now even more than before?

  ‘I can’t get you out of my mind,’ he ground out before she could gather herself enough to say a word, any word which Michele wouldn’t take the wrong way. She was already giving her a curious look as if to say Who is it?

  ‘Oh, yes, Mr Valentino,’ Lucille said briskly, using the first name she could think of. ‘How may I help you? Wasn’t everything to your satisfaction the other day?’