The Price of Fame. Anne Oliver
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Название: The Price of Fame
Автор: Anne Oliver
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
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He felt entirely too relaxed to worry about the curious little niggle that it had never been quite like this with anyone before. That connection he’d so casually mentioned to entice her? It had been … well … more than he’d expected.
He shifted onto an elbow for a better look at her bathed in the gold of dawn. His fingers itched to stroke the side of her face, her lips, her hair. He wanted her again. Wanted to feel her tight, hot wetness clench around him as she cam … Wanted to look into those haunting eyes she had and—He frowned. Maybe he wasn’t as relaxed as he’d thought. But it would pass, he assured himself. Of course it would. And she’d made it clear enough: one night. He’d been happy with the arrangement. More than happy.
Okay, he decided on a slow breath of relief, sanity still intact after all. They’d shared a fantastic few hours but it was time to make a move towards getting out of here.
Careful not to disturb her, he rose and went to the bathroom, checked his mobile for updates to flight schedules, then showered and left her sleeping while he went in search of breakfast.
Charlotte woke to the hum of air conditioning and the sound of water running in the bathroom. She didn’t move for a long moment, reliving the night and all she and Nic had done together. She’d lost count of how many times he’d made her come.
But his side of the bed was empty now, the sheets barely warm to the touch. She felt a vague disappointment that he’d not woken her earlier, then stretched. Aah … She’d expended more energy than she’d realised, she thought as her eyes slid open on a clear dawn sky, steadily lightening with gold and aqua. She should include sex in her exercise regime.
‘Rise and shine.’ Nic appeared freshly shaved and dressed. ‘The ash cloud’s shifted. Flights resume in an hour or so. We need to get moving.’
‘What time is it?’ she murmured, without moving. She was way too naked beneath the sheet, and her underwear—she had no idea where it was.
‘Six-thirty.’
She groaned into the pillow.
He had a way too cheery wide-awake voice. Obviously he was raring to get to Hawaii and begin his surfing vacation, that basic sexual drive they’d talked about last night satisfied for now.
And he’d satisfied her too but it was finished.
In one way she mourned the fact, in another, she was so, so relieved. Because last night Charlotte Dumont’s body had been invaded by a nymphomaniac. In fact, now she was almost too embarrassed to look him in the eye, and a warm blush suffused her entire body.
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