The Scandal Behind the Wedding. Bella Frances

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СКАЧАТЬ and knew he was losing control. She nestled herself hard against him, snaked her arms up and gripped the back of his neck. And, oh, that let him feel those breasts against him. He put his hands on them. Right on them. Filled his hands. Felt firm, hot flesh and hard buds through the fabric. Felt as if he’d never get enough.

      He stared at her dress, tugged the V apart and slid his hands inside, pulling the cup of her bra out of the way, exposing a bare white breast.

      ‘Danny—stop!’

      She pulled away and he was stunned. His head thick. An uppercut of lust to the brain. Literally reeling with what had just happened.

      ‘I heard a noise,’ she whispered, fixing her bra, closing up her dress.

      He stared at her stupidly. She couldn’t really want to stop this now—could she?

      ‘It’s all right. It’s the penthouse. No one can come in.’

      She stared—huge dark eyes.

      ‘Trust me. You’re safe in here.’

      There was a knock at the door.

      She stepped further away, looked from him to the door and back again. ‘It’s the police. It must be.’

      ‘Georgia, calm down—it’s fine. I told you.’

      But she was panicked. The knock came again. He shook his head, walked to the door. Unlocked it and opened it. In the wide landing in front of the elevator stood two cops. No one and nothing else. They passed on the information that the place had been cleared. Sarwar had been as good as his word.

      Just so long as the paps weren’t hovering.

      He nodded at the guys and went back inside.

      ‘What’s happening? Is it all right? Am I able to go home now?’ She was smoothing down her dress, patting her hair.

      ‘All sorted. If that’s what you want to do you can go—any time you like.’

      She looked at him. ‘Oh …’

      He faced her, still semi-aroused. But she was elsewhere now—her mind was in a different place. Spooked.

      He pulled out his phone, fumbled with the screen, irritated.

      ‘All right.’

      ‘All right? I’d like to finish our “discussion”.’

      She swallowed, looked at her shoes. He looked at her shoes. Red, pointed … perfect Friday night shoes.

      ‘I … I think I should just go. I’d rather put all this behind me.’

      She thought she should go? She could think what she wanted for now. He’d make his mind up in a little while.

      ‘You need a lift somewhere?’

      She glanced at the two discarded glasses that sat on the table. Neither of them had had any more than a sip of alcohol. ‘No, thanks. My car’s parked.’

      ‘Okay.’ He stood up. ‘Let’s head down, then.’

      They left the penthouse and headed back into the elevator. The doors closed between them and the magnificent Persian Gulf. His mind was playing catch-up as he stared out at the rose-gold sun sinking fast into sapphire-blue. Diamond-white iconic buildings held shards of every other precious jewel and metal, all polished to precision and laid out for people to worship and desire. It was some town. And he was proud that his fingerprints were all over it.

      They stepped out onto the fifty-ninth floor. Better not to go straight to the lobby. He wanted to see the place cleared for himself. Passed the open door of the Jumeirah Suite. There was nobody lazing or relaxing now—only empty glasses to show that anyone had been there. A vacuum.

      Her shoes clicked as she walked. He put his hand out and grasped hers, squeezed it. They moved along the marble corridor to the internal elevators. Noise bubbled up from downstairs—the chatter of everyday hotel life. He still grasped her hand. Toyed with what he was going to do next.

      They paused when they got to the elevators. Both stared at their fuzzy outlines in the burnished gold doors. He let go of her hand and pulled her close. But she held herself back. He hadn’t expected that.

      The elevator doors opened. She tucked her head down and went in.

      He pressed the button and the doors closed.

      ‘Are you okay?’

      She nodded. ‘Thanks.’

      The elevator sped down, landed softly. She stood apart. He reached for her hand again but she shook her head.

      ‘Danny I’ve … It’s been … I’m grateful to you for helping me out but I just want to go home now and forget that this ever happened.’

      She extended her hand for a handshake and he nearly laughed. Okay—that he really hadn’t expected.

      ‘No problem, Georgia. You’re a lovely woman. I was happy to help.’

      She shook his hand. Firmly. ‘It was lovely to meet you.’

      He nearly let her go at that. Nearly. But they’d had the hottest kiss he’d ever known. Had been heading fast to what he was sure was going to be the hottest sex. He wasn’t letting her go just like that.

      He pulled her up sharply, out of sight, inside the elevator. Put his mouth right over hers and kissed her the way he knew she needed to be kissed.

      She wanted to say goodbye with a handshake?

      He kissed her just long enough to have her moan and soften against him and then he pulled back. Twisted her a smile that told her she’d had a lucky escape.

      But she eyeballed him, wiped her mouth. ‘Bye, Danny.’

      She turned on her heel. His eyes fell to her backside, swinging as she stepped away. He doubted he’d ever forget it.

      And then his eyes fell on the photographers who were sitting in the lobby, cameras trained covertly. He knew it. Oh, hell …

      He stepped forward. Grabbed her.

      ‘Georgia, come with me.’

      ‘I don’t think so, Danny. I think we’ve—’

      ‘Georgia, don’t argue. There’s paparazzi over there and if you don’t want your picture to be going global any time, come with me. Now. I need to know what they know, what other pictures they’ve got—and so do you.’

      She stared with panicked doe eyes up at him and he got that kick to his guts again. Protect her. He needed to protect her. He took her hand in his—no argument. Walked. Brisk. Together. Striding. Out past the fountain, the guests and the bellhops and into the darkening night.

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