The Dare Collection November 2019. Anne Marsh

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       CHAPTER FIVE

      Orla

      I DON’T RECOGNISE the hotel suite, although I’ve only been away for a morning, on the second day of meetings at my Zurich office. The bed is covered with shopping bags and parcels, the floor littered with stacks of shoeboxes, and there’s a clothing rack filled with garment bags. I shake off the fatigue I felt when I found Cam absent and open one, my curiosity burning out of control; I find a beaded ballgown the colour of peacock feathers, the iridescent hues catching the light and changing colour before my eyes.

      My first instinct, to roll my eyes at Cam’s extravagance, fades, replaced by awe. My fingers trail along the exquisite fabric. It’s exactly what I would pick out for myself, and I can’t believe his thoughtfulness. He hasn’t just mindlessly bought a year’s worth of clothes. He’s personally selected these, and I know because yesterday he told me how pretty I looked in my favourite green silk blouse.

      With jittery fingers I open one of the parcels on the bed, the delicate tissue paper parting to reveal a filmy wisp of lingerie—sexy but comfortable and the right size. With the shoes—my one weakness—I’m a little less restrained, flipping off the lids to reveal pair after pair of exquisite, barely practical heels from all the biggest fashion houses. Just how I like them.

      I catch my wide smile in the mirror, Cam’s gifts, no matter how excessive, forcing an ache to my cheeks. Cam never does anything by half measures, whether it’s making me come or reserving the best suite money can buy—the suite we’re currently occupying at the M Club, which has views of Lake Zurich with the Alps in the distance.

      My phone pings, drawing my attention from Cam’s gift, which is enough haute couture to make a supermodel weep. I scan the message and fire off a quick response to one of my assistants, my gaze returning to the outfits with longing. When will I even have the opportunity to wear most of these? We’ve been in town two days, and despite my assurances that I can play as hard as the next person I’ve had no time to explore.

      I sit on the bed and kick off my shoes, my tired toes protesting. I’ve promised I’ll take tomorrow off to go skiing—Cam has planned a day on the slopes. I try to recall the last time I had an entire day off. It’s been at least a year.

      I glance at the exquisite gowns with longing. Why have I allowed my life to become so…insular? And why has it taken meeting a sexy Aussie guy to bring me out of my self-imposed shell?

      I text him my thanks and let him know I’ve arrived back at the hotel.

      Thinking of Cam, I feel my pulse pick up, delicious fingers of anticipation curling around me.

      Where is he?

      I slip off my jacket and flop back on the bed, part of me wishing I’d been with Cam on his shopping spree—I rarely have time for visiting actual stores these days, preferring to purchase from my favourite designers online, but it’s not the same. I used to adore shopping, the thrill of finding something I loved, the reverence of bringing it home in a pristine bag.

      The door clicks and in he walks, casually dressed, unlike me, in worn jeans and a black T-shirt. I sit up, hit with his delicious, freshly showered scent seconds before he leans over me on the bed, his mouth finding mine, and I’m lost in his now familiar, demanding kiss.

      ‘Good morning,’ he says, pulling away, his smile wide and warm and filling me with regret.

      I laugh while I wrestle my heart-rate back under control. ‘It’s afternoon.’ I stand and wrap my arms around his neck, wanting to be closer.

      He shrugs, holding my hips to his. ‘Well, you were gone when I woke, so I missed my good-morning kiss.’

      I fight the urge to sweep the parcels from the bed and drag him back there so we can have a do-over—this morning was the only one since I met him that my day hasn’t begun with my waking to find him raising an eyebrow of enquiry before wedging himself between my thighs, coaxing my clit equally awake with his tongue.

      ‘Yes, I had a seven a.m. meeting.’ The only way I would be able to squeeze in what I needed to work on and spend tomorrow skiing the Zermatt with him before we leave the day after. ‘I see you’ve been shopping…’

      He shrugs, one corner of his mouth kicking up at my gross understatement. ‘Just a couple of things. An extension of my apology for tearing your dress.’

      ‘A dress you already replaced. This is too much, Cam.’

      His mouth twists in that sexy way of his, one usually preceding some sexy command or request. ‘I noticed that you travel light, so I thought you might need a few things, especially for the opera tonight.’

      ‘Cam, I’m a woman, a woman who loves shoes, but even I wouldn’t go this far.’ I look around the room, my financier’s brain totting up a dizzying sum.

      ‘That’s because you’re frugal. Indulge me,’ he says before I can take umbrage. ‘And remember the rules—you get to have your wicked way with me as often as you like, and I dictate the after-work itinerary and cover the costs.’

      I nod, breathless because now I want to have my way with him once more. I could use a dose of Cam’s special magic after the morning of meetings, of hustling, of living up to my reputation as one of the industry’s global trailblazers.

      A strange and unfamiliar restlessness infects me; it was there when I walked through the door. I probe the feeling so I can label it.

      I’m jealous.

      Jealous of the time he spends without me, even though I’m the one who’s leaving him to work. I’m jealous that he’s doing who knows what, while I have the same meeting over and over, only in different countries and different languages. And I’m jealous that living the high life seems to come naturally to him; wherever we are, he hunts out something fun to do. This is my sixth trip to Zurich, and I’ve never been to the opera.

      I stroke Cam’s strong arms. He’s becoming an addiction—the more I have, the more I want. An edge of panic grips my throat. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way…

      ‘So what else have you been up to while I’ve been at work?’ I hadn’t thought about how he keeps himself busy when I’m not around—I guess I assumed he works out at the club gym or goes for a swim.

      His expression turns shifty, pricking my curiosity. ‘You won’t approve.’

      ‘Why? Did you elbow СКАЧАТЬ