Mr One-Night Stand. Rachael Stewart

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      ‘I was meeting someone...’ She was barely aware of the words coming out of her mouth.

      ‘Was?’

      ‘They cancelled.’ She lifted her empty stick and nibbled at its end, needing to do something—anything to keep herself busy. ‘What about you?’

      He eyed the stick, a pulse working steadily in his jaw as he took up his drink once more. ‘Business.’

      She could hear it then, in that one simple word, an edge to his voice. A barely contained need that matched her own.

      Her attack on the stick ceased, and her breath was shallow as she struggled to say, ‘Are you finished for the evening?’

      ‘Never even started,’ he said, that same husky edge to his voice teasing beneath her panties. ‘Lucky for me, they cancelled too.’

      ‘Lucky?’

      He nodded, his lips quirking over his drink as he took a sip.

      ‘And why’s that?’ she said, dropping the stick to caress away the strain building in her throat.

      ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

      ‘Maybe—but I’d like to hear you say it.’

      He placed his drink on the bar, his eyes coming back to her, ever closer. ‘Do you always get your way?’

      ‘Most of the time.’

      ‘Why is it I can believe that?’

      He reached up to brush her hair behind her ear, his delicate touch sending an excited ripple through her, and then he trailed it down, the ripples multiplying exponentially.

      ‘What makes you say that?’ she asked, barely audible.

      He studied her, his eyes dropping to her lips, their depths flashing darkly as she swept her tongue out to ease their sudden dryness.

      ‘I get the impression you can be quite persuasive.’

      She knew what she wanted to say, knew it was brash, knew it was out of character, but... ‘Does that mean I can persuade you into an evening of pleasure?’

      His brow flickered, the only show of surprise at her proposition, and then he grinned: a slow, heart-stopping smile that unveiled a dimple in his right cheek, the boyish feature at odds with the virile masculinity emanating from the rest of him.

      ‘Is that what you’re offering me?’

      ‘Would you accept if it was?’

      He leant closer still, his breath teasing at the delicate channel of her ear. ‘Why don’t you try me?’

      Heat flooded her breasts, her belly, her blood, and the world around her evaporated as she twisted into him, her lips instinctively seeking his...

      ‘Your drink.’

       What?

      Her disorientated gaze swept to the bar, to Darren sliding her drink before her.

       Oh, God!

      ‘Thank you,’ she blurted, hurrying to mask the swamping disappointment. But he spotted it anyway, his smile apologetic as he picked up her empty glass and moved away.

      ‘How about we take this conversation to my table?’ came the appealing proposition from alongside her.

      She brushed her fingertips across her lips, now thrumming with their near encounter, and flicked her eyes back to his. ‘I’d love to.’

      * * *

      He’d had to work hard to stop himself from saying place instead of table. And still he wondered—would she have said I’d love to in that soft, balmy tone if he had?

      She gazed up at him with those green come-to-bed eyes and he wished he’d found out.

      ‘After you,’ he said, gesturing to her.

      He made to pick up their drinks and then stilled, his concentration broken by the sight of her slipping from the stool.

      Between the uncrossing of those seriously long legs and the cleavage he was working hard not to drown in he found himself rooted. Her height impressed him once again as she met his eyeline, her scent wafting up to him.

      Not that he had any idea what herb or flower was involved in the making of it. But he liked it. A lot.

      ‘Don’t forget the drinks,’ she threw over her shoulder with a provocative smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief, desire, amusement... He hadn’t a clue.

      It was taking his all to keep the conversation flowing and his own desire in check. Trying to read every fleeting expression that crossed her face and not jump to the conclusion that she was on the same desire-driven wave as he was nigh on impossible.

      Grabbing the drinks, he followed her to the table, his eyes fixed on the sway of her hips, the fall of her hair as it brushed along the gentle flare of her bum.

      What it would be like to have that same hair flung across his bedspread? Or wrapped around his fist as he drove himself into her—? Fuck, he was getting hard just thinking about it.

      And there she went again, staring up at him as if he was seconds away from being devoured.

      Now, perched on the end of the low-slung seat that had remained vacant at his table, her head came cock-high and heat rushed to his groin in greeting.

      Adding to his pain, she crossed her legs, the action forcing her dress to ride high and reveal the top of a stocking, he was sure, before she righted it.

      Too late. The damage was done. And she knew it. She’d watched the entire thing play out in his face. And, hell, he wasn’t even convinced the low lighting was enough to conceal the bulge down there.

      He held out her drink. ‘For you.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, her delicate feline fingers slipping over his own to take it from him.

      The contact was soft and brief, but total dynamite to his over-active imagination as the image of her taking hold of something else ransacked his mind.

      He watched as she lifted the glass to her glossy full mouth and tilted it, the clear liquid flowing into her as the olive bobbed at the base of the drink. And then she closed her lips and swallowed, her tongue emerging subtly to take away the remnants. The sight was sweet perfection to behold, utter torture to his straining cock.

      ‘Are you going to sit?’ she said up to him, her raised expression making it clear she had caught him staring, good and proper.

      Did he care?

       Did he fuck!

      ‘Apologies,’ he said, dipping his head in mock regret, his grin telling her he wasn’t sorry at СКАЧАТЬ