One Night Before Marriage. Anne Oliver

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      A ball of heat lodged in her gut, her knees went weak, her pulse hammered. Keeping her eyes on his, she reached up, trailed unsteady hands down the unfamiliar contours of his neck.

      Sex with a stranger. Through his T-shirt she rubbed over his tight little nipples with her thumbs before moving over the plane of chest and stomach to the fabric’s hem. She crept her fingers underneath and found hot, hard flesh. Then she hooked her hands in the waistband of his jeans. And tugged.

      His stomach muscles tensed against her knuckles. His breath jerked in. He’d think her easy and experienced. She stifled an almost hysterical laugh.

      ‘Carissa, I can put you in a cab now, or we can continue this in my room. The decision’s yours.’ Restless hips shifted against her fingers. ‘But make it quick.’

      Something hot and dangerous shot through her body like a flame-tipped arrow. She only had to say, and she could be in his room. In his bed.

      In the Cove Hotel.

      She let out a frustrated breath. ‘Employees aren’t permitted in guests’ rooms.’

      ‘Is that a “no” or a problem?’

      ‘A…problem?’ She shrugged. ‘Rules are rules.’

      His eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched her. He smiled that crooked smile as he took her hands from his jeans, rubbed a thumb over her knuckles. ‘So we’ll break a few rules.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      THEY separated before they reached the door and met again at the elevator. Shocked, Carissa watched as Ben keyed his card. ‘The penthouse?’

      ‘I like space and a room with a view.’

      Seconds later the elevator doors whooshed open. She stepped into the room and stared. Low lighting didn’t dim the view of Sydney’s coat-hanger bridge, the Opera House like luminous swans on the harbour. The room was black on white. Silver glinted, marble shone. The whole scene screamed money. ‘Wow.’

      He moved to the full-length glass door, slid it open. Sheer curtains billowed in on the sultry breeze. ‘One of the best views in the world,’ he said.

      She hadn’t come for the view. She hadn’t even come for romance.

      She’d come for sex.

      And the man of the moment lounged against the balcony with wind in his hair, an intriguing blend of casual and remote as he stared over the water. Her first lover, a man she didn’t know.

      The jolt of realisation must have shown on her face because when he finally looked at her, the expression warmed. ‘Relax and come here.’

      She swallowed and stayed where she was. ‘I want you to know, I’m not in the habit—I mean…this isn’t…’ Now she was babbling and way out of her depth.

      ‘I like you pink and flustered. An interesting contrast to that cool, classical beauty at the piano.’

      Shifting into defence mode, she lifted her chin. ‘I am not flustered.’ But she did relax when she saw the glint of humour in his eyes as he came towards her.

      ‘Okay, then…’ He trailed fingers of fire up the side of her neck and into her hair under her clasp at the back of her head. ‘Sophisticated naïveté.’

      A buzzer dinged. Her eyes whipped to the elevator door.

      ‘Hey.’ He squeezed her nape. ‘I told you to relax. Admire the view a moment.’

      She turned away and waited out the brief exchange and the sound of the doors sliding shut before turning back.

      ‘Happy Valentine’s Day. Red roses for a blue lady.’ He held out the dozen perfect long-stemmed buds.

      Oh, my. Something inside her sparkled, like a snowflake under the first rays of spring sunshine. No one had ever given her flowers. ‘They’re beautiful, thank you.’ She buried her nose in their rich velvety fragrance. ‘But Valentine’s Day was yesterday.’

      ‘Somewhere in the world it still is.’

      ‘How did you manage these? It’s after midnight.’

      ‘The gift shop’s always open for the right people.’

      What did he mean by that? Who was Ben Jamieson? Someone important? Obviously someone with money to burn.

      Still, something about being here with him, surrounded by the fragrance of summer roses, made her want to weep. She’d never think of Valentine’s Day again without remembering Ben Jamieson. He’d reached deep inside her and found something she’d been determined to keep buried. Need. A need for more than simple lust.

      But with that need came vulnerability. Don’t get emotionally involved. You’re walking away tonight; you’ll never see him again. ‘You shouldn’t have,’ she said, caressing a bud.

      ‘Why not?’ He tipped her chin up. ‘You in that blue dress makes me wish I could whisk you away to the top of the Sydney Tower. Just us and the stars.’

      Clasping her hand, he led her to the balcony where said tower shone like a golden lollipop. Lights shimmered on black water. Somewhere below music drifted, the breeze sighed.

      This wasn’t supposed to happen. With gentle persuasion he was changing something simple into something romantic and complicated.

      He took the roses, laid them on the smoked-glass table and cupped her face before lowering his lips.

      Again his mouth was firm yet soft, and moved over hers in a slow, sensuous kiss that had her mind blotting out all thoughts but the mindless pleasure of it. His hands moved to her shoulders, kneading away the growing tension.

      Her world was suddenly intense, alive and filled with colour and movement. She heard the muted noise of traffic and a distant ferry’s horn as he pulled her closer. The sensation of falling, spinning, had her clutching at his chest, sleek muscle over bone.

      ‘Come with me.’ Twining their fingers together, he walked her through an arch to the adjoining room.

      The bedroom was as impressive as the rest of the suite. A single black-shaded lamp threw out a muted, seductive glow in one corner. The king-size bed had been turned down for the night and her heart leapt at its intimate invitation.

      Skilled fingers slipped inside the back of her dress and down. The zipper slid open with a whisper, the hooks of her bra loosened. Smoothing his hands over her shoulders, he skimmed down her arms until her dress and bra fell to the floor and she stood only in high-cut sapphire panties, lace-topped thigh-high blue stockings and spiky-heeled shoes.

      His eyes darkened and he stepped back. ‘Leave them on,’ he said as her fingers moved to her thighs. ‘I want to look.’

      Goosebumps chased over her body; her nipples puckered and throbbed. The whole thing was surreal; she felt like a model in a men’s magazine.

      He blew out a long breath, arms crossed over his chest. ‘You’re a living СКАЧАТЬ