The Dare Collection: February 2018. Anne Marsh

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СКАЧАТЬ hard, he thinned his lips. ‘Well, we’re just fucking—your word.’

      Libby glanced around to see if anyone was paying them any attention. She had given this thing a crude label, one that clearly outlined the parameters of their contact. Why, then, did hearing her words turned back on her irk so much?

      Alex continued, as if unconcerned, but his voice was low. ‘I’ve asked you on a date. A proper date. No games. You haven’t answered.’

      So he did have an ego—better hidden than most, but there just the same.

      ‘I don’t sleep around.’ Why tell him that? It made no difference to them. They barely knew each other. Their fuck-fest had a short expiry date. ‘Before you, there’d been no one for three years.’

      He didn’t register her confession. She wasn’t even sure why she’d told him herself.

      ‘So why me?’

      She lifted her chin, backpedalling. ‘Fishing?’

      He sighed, his gaze flicking away and then returning, more open. ‘Yes.’

      At last there was a hint of insecurity in the way he rubbed the knuckles of one hand down his face.

      Tempted to tease him, Libby pinched her lips together, hiding a smile. She grasped the chance to lighten the mood, steer them away from the wrong turn this conversation had taken. After all, they weren’t a couple, so why bother with disagreements? Their time was limited.

      ‘Temporary lapse of common sense.’ She smiled. ‘I blame jet lag.’

      After a couple of beats he grinned, his hand slipping to her waist and his expensive, heady scent filling her head as he dipped closer.

      ‘Want to be reckless with me tomorrow?’ His lips grazed her ear. ‘Jet skiing?’ He whispered the words as if he’d suggested an illicit sex game.

      She shuddered. The thought was not unpleasant. ‘Another day freezing on the Thames?’

      His mouth twisted, dimples flashing. ‘No, I was thinking the Med…’ His cocky disarming smile returned.

      Irresistible.

      ‘Like to get your own way, don’t you?’ Her breath gusted, her pulse fluttering in her throat. Any game with Alex was surprisingly addictive.

      ‘Absolutely.’ A slow nod.

      Clearly sensing victory, he moved closer, his hand sliding to her hip. Seductive.

      ‘And so do you.’

      He quirked an eyebrow, fingers gripping tighter, the way they did just before he came, as if he couldn’t get close enough, deep enough.

      Lust sizzled between her thighs.

      This had to stop. She needed to start weaning herself off this exhilarating ride. She wasn’t his. Couldn’t be—no matter how right her hand felt against his slightly callused palm.

      Time to rein back some control over herself. ‘And what do you want right now?’

      Hooded eyes held hers. ‘I want you to go back to your hotel tonight.’ His voice dropped. ‘I want you to stay in London tomorrow while I fly to the South of France.’ His lips touched her ear, whisper-soft, starting a chain reaction of fine tremors. ‘I want you to keep your panties on under that dress so I can’t go down on you in the back of my car.’

      Libby’s knees buckled and she wobbled on her heels.

      Bastard. He knew the effect he had on her.

      Pulling away, he twitched his decadent lips. ‘But, ladies first. What do you want, Olivia?’

      He’d become so good at her game. Too good. But why did breaking the rules with him feel better than getting her own way? And wasn’t she still getting what she wanted?

      Him.

      Still, she tried to discipline herself and her spiralling feelings. ‘I’m tired. I want an early night.’

      His face fell.

      ‘I’ll meet you in the foyer in five minutes if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride.’

      She spun on her heel, ignoring the flash of uncertainty in his eyes.

      When she emerged from the ladies’ room, her panties tucked inside her clutch bag, and rounded the corner to the main hotel foyer, Alex was waiting for her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants, an intense, heated stare following her progress.

      She couldn’t resist. She loved holding him on the brink, disarming him as much as he disarmed her. Redressing the balance so that when she walked away she’d have no regrets.

      She made it outside with the minimum of wobble, every step, every second she kept him dangling increasing the throb between her legs.

      Alex’s driver opened the door of the sleek limo and Libby ducked inside, Alex’s hand on her arm, guiding her.

      Once inside, the driver said, ‘Where to, sir?’

      From his seat opposite her Alex raised a questioning brow, a hint of challenge and a large slice of vulnerability in his eyes. How had she missed that before? It was her call—as always with him. Aside from pressing the wedding date, he’d always extended her the ultimate control. It was the main reason she was still here. Should she give in one more time? Or should she ration her encounters with him, wean herself from her addiction. He’d never know about the panties.

      She licked dry lips. ‘Where do you stay when you’re in London?’ Her throat was scratchy.

      Eyes dark, he watched her from the seat opposite. The air crackled with tension, electricity arcing between them when not even their knees brushed. Libby regretted the spaciousness of the luxury vehicle. Right now she’d give anything to be sandwiched next to him in the back of one of those charming Mini Coopers.

      He shrugged. ‘I have a place in Belgravia.’

      Of course he did. She nodded, holding his bold stare with one of her own.

      ‘Eaton Square, please, Roger,’ he said.

      The car rolled into motion, entering the central London stream of traffic, as constant as the flow in New York.

      Alex raised the privacy screen between them and the driver with the touch of a button.

      His gaze pinned her. Hot, defiant, demanding.

      ‘Show me.’

      The bite of command entranced her—hers to obey or deny. Fire raged inside her, hot enough to melt her clothes away. Placing her clutch on the leather seat with a shaky hand, Libby slowly lifted her dress, millimetre by millimetre, so the fabric bunched at the top of her thighs.

      ‘Wider.’ His nostrils flared and he spread his own thighs, as if seeking comfort for the confined bulge at his crotch.

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