Bedroom Bargains of Revenge: Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure / Bedded and Wedded for Revenge / The Italian Boss's Mistress of Revenge. Trish Morey

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ held on to her hand. Sally’s feet wanted to dance all the way inside to the restaurant. She could barely keep a lid on the coiled springs in her legs. He liked the person she was. He wanted her in his life. Her mind bubbled with a wild happiness. She wanted him in her life, too. It felt right.

      They ordered a meal and ate it, washing it down with a glass of fine chardonnay. Everything tasted delicious. Jack talked about life on his stepfather’s ranch, competing in rodeos when he was a teenager. Sally hung on every word, fascinated that horses had played such a big part of his younger years, loving the fact that he’d been so attuned to her riding in the show ring today.

      She should have been revelling in the pleasure of being with him on the drive home to Yarramalong, but somewhere along the way she drifted off to sleep, the huge energy drain of the day catching up with her. Consciousness returned with a jolt—an arm sliding under her knees, words murmured in her ear.

      “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Lift your arms around my neck and I’ll carry you in to your room.”

      “What …?”

      “We’re home.”

      While still befuddled, she was hoisted up out of the passenger seat of the car, her arms instinctively flinging themselves over his shoulders for extra support. “Jack …I can walk.” It was a half-hearted, foggy protest. Her body didn’t want to cooperate with it at all and did nothing to assert its independence, perfectly content to be cradled against his warm chest.

      “Just relax, Sally,” he instructed, and it was so nice simply to do as she was told, dropping her head onto his shoulder, her face pressing close to the strong column of his neck, breathing in the heady male scent of him—cologne, shampoo … she didn’t know what but he smelled good.

      Home, she thought dizzily, until a practicality struck her. “Door key.”

      “Got it in my hand,” he assured her.

      She sighed, happy that he’d thought of everything. The house was undoubtedly empty by now, but Jeanette would have left lights on in the foyer and hall before heading off to her cottage with Graham. No problem for Jack to negotiate his way inside. He wasn’t even breathing heavily from carrying her. So strong.

      She supposed Tim had passed on the news that she’d be coming home later with Jack. One of the guest suites would have been made ready for him. That was no problem, either. Except she wanted to keep holding on to him. Her nerves were humming with the pleasure of being this close.

      The front door was opened and shut behind them.

      Across the foyer.

      Down the hall.

      Sally’s heart drummed harder with each step Jack took towards her bedroom. The drowsy languor was gone. She was wide-awake and acutely aware of fast approaching the moment of parting, wantonly wishing it didn’t have to be so.

      He opened her door.

      Left it open.

      She felt his muscles tense as he moved towards the bed, which was visible from the light in the hall. He was going to lay her down and leave. She knew it and inwardly screamed at his gentlemanly restraint.

      Put her down and go, Jack savagely told himself. Sally was trusting him to do just that. He’d brought this raging desire upon himself, gratifying some caveman instinct by carrying her—his woman. It wasn’t her fault that the softness of her breasts against his chest was making his heart pound harder, that her breath against his throat was an almost unbearable tease. He wanted the heat of her mouth pressed to his skin, but she hadn’t done it. Any other woman he’d been with would have, showing her own desire for the sexual connection he craved. But Sally.

       Just put her down and let her go to sleep on a happy day.

      He forced himself to lean over and lay her gently on the bed. Her arms did not slide away. They remained locked around his neck. He looked down at her face, seductively framed by the spill of red-gold curls on the white pillow. Her eyes weren’t closed. They were wide-open, mutely appealing, striking straight at the heart of the desire he’d been trying to contain, rendering it impossible to resist.

      It wasn’t a light kiss. It wasn’t a “sweet-dreams, good-night” kiss. His mouth fell upon hers with ravaging passion, the pent-up urges of many weeks driving him to take all she was willing to give. And her response was equally wild and fierce, hands raking through his hair, holding his head to hers as her mouth accepted and returned his plunder, deeply intimate, intensely exciting.

      He wasn’t even conscious of moving onto the bed with her. He felt her body straining against his, the whole gorgeous length of her femininity seeking the feel of him. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging tightly. She hooked a leg over his. They kissed with a feverish madness that consumed any rational thought. There was only need answering need, revelling in the mutual hunger for each other.

      “Clothes off,” he rasped as he broke from her mouth to draw breath, his hand already under her T-shirt, un-clipping her bra.

      “You, too,” she demanded, levering herself up, tearing at his shirt.

      They dragged off everything, hurling each unwanted garment out of the way, the need to be free of any barriers between them driving a haste that allowed no sense of inhibitions. They came together again, skin against skin, soft flesh moulding itself to his hardness, generating more heat, more hunger.

      His mind was awash in sensation. His body knew only intense urgency. She was ready for him, hot, moist, welcoming, and he plunged inside her, revelling in feeling her convulse around him. He kissed her again, his tongue driving deeply into her mouth. Hers pushed into his, passionately repeating his invasion. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her body lifting, arching, wanting him to pump himself into her.

      He was completely out of control, his heart thundering with the rhythm of their bodies thrusting for the ultimate peak of pleasure, exulting in the excitement as they raced towards it. He felt her tension break into quivering, heard her cry out, and his own explosive release gushed from him in violent spasms, and a deep, guttural cry burst from his throat.

      He held her to him with a fierce possessiveness, and they lay together, still intimately joined, their legs entwined, slowly getting their breath back, pulse rates calming down, luxuriating in the sense of intense togetherness. Her head was tucked under his chin. His fingers savoured the silk of her hair. He smelled it, kissed it, tasted it, loved it. Her skin was like silk, too. He felt intoxicated by the glorious sensuality of her lovely curvy body. Another time he would kiss her all over, but right now he just wanted to hold her.

      She fell asleep on him.

      He didn’t mind.

      It showed she wasn’t worried about what they’d done.

      Or was happy about the possibility of getting pregnant.

      A wave of cold sanity washed through him.

      He’d lost his head in a blaze of lust.

      He hadn’t used protection.

      CHAPTER NINE

      SALLY awoke to the steadily insistent buzz of the telephone. The memory of last night with Jack crashed straight СКАЧАТЬ