One Wicked Week

One Wicked Week Nicola Marsh Wickedness by night… Multi-millionaire Brock Olsen once gave gorgeously curvy Jayda York an unforgettable, sizzling one-night stand. Now with her new business, Jayda needs his expertise by day…and mind-blowing sex at night. She starts breaking the rules as Brock seduces her into wanting all of him! USA TODAY bestselling author Nicola Marsh is back with another wickedly sexy romance! Jayda and Brock’s first taste of each other was unforgettable. The second is completely addictive... Will one wicked week ever be enough? Jayda York. His nemesis. It’s been six years since multimillionaire tech genius Brock Olsen has seen her, but one glimpse of those lush curves and he’s transported back to that steamy night. His fingers tracing her curves, worshipping her body... Now Jayda is standing right in front of him, and Brock’s reminded of the socially awkward geek he used to be—hungry with lust and a seriously overheating hard drive. Jayda has a business proposition for Brock. Six years ago, he gave her exactly what she needed—a sizzling one-night stand that emboldened her in every way. He made her feel wanted. Now Jayda is starting a new business and wants Brock’s expertise during the day...and mind-blowing sex at night. Brock is more than happy to meet her needs in every deliciously naughty way. But this deal has strict no-strings terms. One week. No emotional entanglements. Now Jayda is in deep trouble. She’s already breaking all the rules. Will Brock seduce her into wanting the one thing she can’t have—him? Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female. NICOLA MARSH is a USA TODAY bestselling and multi-award-winning author who loves nothing better than losing herself in a story. A physiotherapist in a previous life, she now divides her time between raising two dashing heroes, whipping up delish meals, cheering on her footy team and writing—her dream job. And she chats on social media. A lot. Come say hi! Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—she’s there! Also find her at nicolamarsh.com (http://www.nicolamarsh.com). One Wicked Week Nicola Marsh www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) ISBN: 978-1-474-08703-2 ONE WICKED WEEK © 2019 Nicola Marsh Published in Great Britain 2019 by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental. By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher. ® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries. www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) Note to Readers (#uf7cc7de3-eeff-515f-b549-a59608c94c11) This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings: Change of font size and line height Change of background and font colours Change of font Change justification Text to speech For my editor, Carly, who helped me push the boundaries with this one. Thanks for your insight! Contents Cover (#u1977000e-c061-59c2-8fe9-30b07dff8c94) Back Cover Text (#ueb96334e-e951-583b-9ab7-62643adec2e5) About the Author (#u79f3949a-19b6-52cf-ab6b-766c4a29e625) Title Page (#u5b93bad2-2beb-5237-ba50-a8ebf30a9f12) Copyright (#uf1f2f73f-6613-527c-b730-eed79c146ac2) Note to Readers Dedication (#u9504b4a8-c600-52c4-9921-bc6a7c2ccf5b) CHAPTER ONE (#uddabf9b1-670a-55b1-8041-f715a5ee06e7) CHAPTER TWO (#u58f86a67-fa4a-5e83-a1e9-d60f7e511fe3) CHAPTER THREE (#uffe309d4-64f5-5f78-aeac-9e9b8a9c3a88) CHAPTER FOUR (#u280b3d16-4dc2-57ce-8c10-2a8beb23ea69) CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ONE (#uf7cc7de3-eeff-515f-b549-a59608c94c11) BROCK NURSED A double-shot whisky as he stared blindly at the twinkling lights of Melbourne thirty-five storeys below. The muted chatter of fellow patrons at the Rochester Hotel’s exclusive bar mingled with the melodic tinkling of a pianist tucked into the farthest corner. White noise to him. He didn’t hear any of it because his heart was pounding so damn loud. She’d be here shortly. Jayda York. His nemesis. Stupid that even though it was six years since he’d last seen her on graduation night, he still thought of her as the enemy. Not through any fault of hers. She had no frigging idea that he couldn’t wipe the memory of what they’d done that night out of his head. She’d made his life hell for the four years of their IT degree at university: once again, not really her fault. Entitled, condescending and aloof, she’d been way out of his league. It hadn’t helped that he’d wanted to fuck her so badly he’d hardly been able to walk straight most days. Then she’d lowered her guard on grad night and he’d been the schmuck to comfort her. Comfort. Yeah, right. ‘Mr Olsen, can I get you another drink?’ He glared at the waiter before realising he’d downed his whisky while musing the power Jayda had held over him. He nodded. ‘Thanks. Make it another double.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ The waiter headed towards the sleek chrome bar that lined the opposite wall and that was when Brock saw her. His heart bucked as it had ten years earlier on the first day of uni when she’d slid into the seat next to him. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered, dragging in a breath and blowing it out, hating that laying eyes on her could elicit the kind of visceral reaction that made his gut churn and his cock thicken. She hadn’t caught sight of him yet. Good. It gave him time to calm the hell down and study her. She wore a simple black dress, long sleeves, high neck, past her knees. She’d always favoured dark colours at uni, as if she wanted to hide something. As it turned out she did; her revelation the night she’d revealed so much of herself had shocked him. Her confidence had been a sham, her superiority a ruse. He’d misjudged her for four long years. She wore her signature towering heels, adding several inches to her height. They’d been incongruous at uni, those ridiculous heels. He’d thought they were yet another designer accessory to flaunt her wealth, never imagining she wore them to elongate her legs and take the focus off the rest of her body. He’d done his best to prove to her exactly how luscious her gorgeous body was that one, fateful night. She hadn’t believed him, considering she’d bolted in the dark of night and shunned all contact since. Until now. He couldn’t wait to hear this business proposal she had for him. So he could shoot it down and walk away as he should’ve done six years earlier rather than being a sucker for her sob story and being dragged further under her spell. He’d done the right thing, relegating her to a memory after that night—albeit a scorching one that ensured he could never forget her no matter how many women he bedded—but seeing her now, her shoulders pulled back in defiance, drawing attention to those magnificent DDs he’d had the pleasure of exploring with his mouth and hands in great detail, made him wish it hadn’t been six long years since he’d last seen her. She caught sight of him at that moment and he raised a hand in a casual wave. A faint blush stained her cheeks as she strode towards him, long purposeful steps designed to show no fear. But he saw exactly how nervous she was as she approached, gnawing on that full bottom lip, a telltale sign she was rattled. He’d observed her doing it all through uni and it had driven him crazy because he’d wanted to do the same. He stood as she broached the remaining few feet between them, glad he’d worn his favourite tailored sports jacket. His head might be fine with only dredging up the occasional memory of that one sizzling night together but his body had other ideas. He’d been hard from the first moment they’d locked gazes across the bar. ‘Thanks for meeting me, Brock.’ She hesitated for a fraction before leaning in to brush a kiss on his cheek and damned if his cock didn’t throb. She smelled the same, a heady combination of jasmine and rose, a perfume made especially for her apparently. It had clung to his sheets for two days until he’d told himself to wake the hell up and washed them. It had done little to eradicate that rich fragrance from his memory and he’d avoided gardens with roses ever since. ‘No problem,’ he said, making a mockery of his hollow greeting when he pulled out her chair and she brushed against him. The contact was minimal, for the briefest of seconds, but enough to short-circuit his brain and make him want to bury his face in the cascade of blonde hair flowing halfway down her back. Her floral-scented shampoo was as addictive as her goddamn perfume and he reared back, glad she couldn’t see his reaction to her proximity. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d assumed six years apart would’ve rid him of his one-sided attraction. He’d cursed his inability to keep his hands off her on grad night, and for the simple fact he couldn’t get her out of his head for months after she’d snuck out of his grungy flat. He’d lusted after her for a long time during those interminable coding lectures in their undergrad degree, never anticipating when he finally got his hands on her that the sex would be stupendous. For those few deluded minutes when they’d cuddled afterwards, he’d actually considered letting a woman into his life for the first time. And the last, as it turned out. He didn’t need to emotionally invest in anyone. Coding, he understood; women, not so much. He’d slept with his fair share since Jayda. Initially to eradicate her memory, later because he could: validation for how far he’d come from the poor geek. Wealth certainly had its perks. Women noticed tailored clothes and handmade Italian shoes and a twenty-thousand-dollar watch. He enjoyed the spoils of his hard work, knowing with every million he made he’d done it all himself. Wishing he’d never agreed to this meeting no matter how curious, he sat opposite and gestured to the waiter. ‘What will you have to drink?’ ‘A diet soda and lime, please.’ She met his gaze and he hoped she couldn’t see the stab of annoyance. She’d always guzzled diet sodas all through uni, even at parties. He’d thought she didn’t like the taste of alcohol, not having a clue that her obsession with calories infiltrated all areas of her life. She’d revealed so much that night of their graduation, making his chest ache until he had no option but to take her into his arms and prove exactly how spectacular her body was, the body he’d coveted for years. It had been a gift taking off her clothes to finally see the lush curves he’d lusted after. Around the time he’d undressed her he’d switched from comfort mode to full-on caveman, pleasuring her, worshipping her. The sex had been more than memorable for him: but not enough to make her stay. He’d been glad initially. He didn’t do emotional entanglements. But when he couldn’t get that astounding night out of his head, he grew to resent her. Had she been slumming it? Had she only turned to him out of desperation because of what that other prick had done? Had she regretted it? ‘What did you want to see me about?’ His curt question bordered on rudeness and her eyebrows rose. ‘I need your help,’ she said, annoyingly calm when a host of uncharacteristic emotions churned in his gut. ‘I’m setting up an online business but I’ve been out of the IT game too long and my skills are rusty.’ The waiter placed her drink in front of her and she flashed a wide smile in thanks. He wanted to deck the guy. ‘You never forget what we learned at uni.’ Heat stole into her cheeks as he belatedly cursed his choice of words. They’d learned a lot more than HTML that one night they came together. ‘I’ve been working for my parents since I graduated, doing general marketing for their charities.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘I ended up being a glorified party planner and I hated it.’ ‘Why do you want to work at all?’ The snide question popped out before he could censor it and the hurt in her eyes made him feel like a bastard. It had been a bugbear of his back then, that she’d swanned through uni as if it meant little because she had the wealth of her parents to fall back on if she failed, while he’d had to work two part-time jobs to make ends meet. ‘Because I want to give something back. Because I want to help kids who need it.’ She tilted her head up, staring him down. ‘Because I’m not the rich bitch you wrongly thought I was all those years ago.’ He grimaced and swiped a hand across his face. ‘I was out of line. Sorry.’ ‘Is it wealth that annoys you per se or is it me?’ She leaned forward, indignation pursing her plum-glossed lips. ‘Because I’ve researched you and you’re a millionaire ten times over these days.’ A fact he was infinitely proud of. He’d worked his ass off to prove he was nothing like his folks. With every dollar he saved he breathed a little easier. He would never, ever, be dependent on anyone for his livelihood. ‘I’ll admit I did resent you back then,’ he said, settling for a partial truth. The rest, where he lusted after her so badly he could barely concentrate in lectures most days, he’d keep to himself. ‘You didn’t have to be there and it looked like you treated the whole thing as a joke.’ ‘I studied. I passed.’ Anger glinted in her eyes, sparking indigo flecks amid the deep blue. ‘I didn’t get a free ride.’ Brock stiffened at the jibe, glaring at her with obvious distaste, so he saw the exact moment she realised her faux pas. Crimson suffused her cheeks and she shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean it like that—’ ‘Let’s skip the trip down memory lane and focus on your needs.’ He lowered his voice deliberately, drawing emphasis to ‘your needs,’ wanting to make her as uncomfortable as she’d made him. He’d hated being a scholarship kid in high school and that feeling of worthlessness hadn’t abated through four years of a university degree. The fact Jayda would fling it in his face...he didn’t like to admit it but her opinion mattered now as much as it had back then. It shouldn’t. They didn’t know each other. They never had. Beyond an intimate knowledge of each other’s bodies that haunted him to this day. ‘You need my IT expertise on getting a new business started, correct?’ She nodded, and absent-mindedly worried that bottom lip again. Yep, he should never have agreed to meet her. ‘I want the coding on the site to be state-of-the-art. Up to date, with the latest technology, and no room for error.’ Sadness clouded her expressive eyes. ‘That last one is imperative. I want to ensure every donation is easily accounted for and properly allocated.’ Something had happened. He saw it in her look-away glance, in the sudden rigidity of her jaw. But now wasn’t the time to delve. He didn’t want to complicate their business arrangement with anything messy and that was exactly what would happen if he started asking questions regarding her motivations. ‘You want to know what happened,’ she said, her tone soft. ‘You’re pretty easy to read.’ Bullshit, because if he was she would’ve known he’d had a permanent hard-on for her all through uni. Feigning lack of interest, he shrugged. ‘You’ll tell me if you want to. Otherwise it’s not relevant to our prospective working relationship.’ She hesitated, as if contemplating the wisdom of divulging something to him, before giving a brief nod. ‘While working for my folks I discovered discrepancies in their accounting. At first I thought it was a software error but then I delved deeper.’ She dragged a hand through her hair when a thick lock tumbled across her face. ‘Turns out the only reason they wanted me working for them was because I’m a stooge, someone they can easily control and have done for longer than I care to admit.’ She took a sip of her soda. ‘So here I am. Utilising my trust fund and wanting to do some genuine charity work, making sure it’s all top notch before I launch.’ She pinned him with a piercing stare. ‘Think you can help me?’ Brock should say no. He could delegate this task to any one of the highly skilled staff he employed to run his IT empire. That way, he could be the good guy helping her out but from a much-needed distance. It was the logical thing to do and he always relied on logic. Instead, he found himself nodding. He’d once been a putz around this woman and it looked as if nothing had changed. CHAPTER TWO (#uf7cc7de3-eeff-515f-b549-a59608c94c11) JAYDA HAD ENVISAGED this meeting in her head so many times since she’d realised she’d have to approach Brock Olsen to foster her dream. She’d imagined swanning into a place of her choosing, a low-key cafe, while she appeared confident and bold and totally immune to him. Pity she’d only been able to fake one out of three. The confidence she’d achieved by wearing her favourite dress and a face full of make-up. As for being bold and immune to him, she had a long way to go. He’d picked the venue, a swanky sky-high bar in a trendy inner-city hotel. Probably to prove a point of how far he’d come from his uni days financially, but he didn’t need to. Money had never impressed her, people did, and she’d never forgotten that Brock had been there for her when she’d needed him most. Until graduation night, he’d bugged the hell out of her. He’d always looked down his nose at her, as if she was stupid or annoying or both. So she’d reacted in kind, pretending not to notice him, or feigned fun in everything she did, being an exaggerated extrovert when nothing could be further from the truth. They’d had the occasional run-in back in uni, butting heads over problem solving, but she’d liked that he didn’t defer to her because of her wealth as some did and their differing opinions often made her evaluate her own more carefully. Shame that hadn’t extended to the douche she’d sacrificed her virginity to. Brock had expressed his opinion about Deon far too late, on the night she’d broken down. The night he’d shown her exactly how beautiful sex could be with the right guy. The night that had spoiled her for other men. She’d tried to forget that night several times over the years by hooking up with guys the opposite of Brock. Rich guys who were friends of friends, guys who moved in the same social circles as her parents. Each encounter had been as lacklustre as the last. Not that she’d actually had sex with those guys but they’d fooled around, indulged in some oral, but she’d shut down each and every time it came to taking her clothes off. She didn’t have issues with sex; she had issues with her body. Though after incredible, memorable sex with Brock, deep down she’d always feared no guy would live up to it. That they wouldn’t appreciate her curves the way he had, that they wouldn’t make her feel adored and beautiful. She blamed Brock for that. He’d set the bar incredibly high. Which made this meeting awkward before it had begun. It didn’t help that Brock had improved with age. The last six years had brought creases that fanned from the corners of mesmerising eyes so dark they resembled obsidian, and the faintest groove between his brows. His olive skin glowed beneath the bar’s muted lights, the end-of-day stubble lending ruggedness to his classically handsome face. As for those lips...no, she wouldn’t go there. She couldn’t. Not without squeezing her thighs together or a stupid revealing blush staining her cheeks. And he’d know. Know that she remembered every exquisite detail of that steamy night; the night he’d worshipped her body and soothed her soul. No man had come close since and she hated him for it. Hated that even now, as he studied her with that enigmatic stare, she couldn’t forget his fingertips tracing the dip at her waist, his mouth trailing from one breast to another, his tongue on her clit... Heat surged to her cheeks. So much for not blushing. ‘Are you okay? Would you like another drink?’ He knew. The smirk playing about his mouth screamed smugness. He’d always been too smart for his own good. ‘I’m fine.’ She sounded snappish and that damn mouth eased into a grin. ‘When can you start?’ ‘When do you want me?’ ‘As soon as possible.’ It had been so long since her last date she had no idea if Brock was flirting or not. What if she’d misread his smirk? What if he was having a little fun at her expense because she’d been uptight ever since she walked into this place? ‘You’re in luck. I’m in Melbourne for the next two weeks, then I’m moving on to a job in Sydney.’ He slid his mobile out of his jacket pocket and scrolled through the calendar. ‘I can take a look tomorrow afternoon, if that suits?’ ‘Perfect.’ Some of the tension holding her spine rigid eased and she relaxed into the chair for the first time since she’d got here. She could do this. Work with him for a week or two, get her business up and running, put the past few years as her parents’ general dogsbody behind her and pay homage to Sasha the way she wanted and should have done years ago. She hated how naive she’d been, how she’d striven to be the perfect daughter, how she’d constantly sought their approval, how she’d yearned to replace Sasha in their eyes. But nothing she’d done had been good enough. Her older sister might have died eleven years ago leaving her an only child, but in her parents’ eyes she’d always be second best. ‘Is it making you uncomfortable, the fact we’ll be working together?’ Brock rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his intense scrutiny making her want to bolt. ‘Because you approached me and I’m fine with it if you are?’ Jayda didn’t want to discuss anything to do with that night they’d lost their minds together so she skirted around the issue, giving him a snippet to distract. ‘I’m mentally planning all the work we have to do to get this project off the ground and it’s intimidating.’ She flashed him a fake smile. ‘But I’m glad you’re on board because I need all the help I can get.’ He didn’t believe her. She saw the doubt in those all-seeing eyes. ‘Why is this so important to you?’ ‘I already told you. I want to help kids—’ ‘Cut the altruistic bullshit, Jayda.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I’m the last guy on earth you would’ve approached for help unless you weren’t desperate so I want to know why setting up this charity means so much to you.’ ‘Fuck you,’ hovered on her lips. She didn’t owe him any explanations. This would be a business transaction, nothing more. She’d pay him for his expertise; he’d make sure her IT services were top notch. But she knew him. He wouldn’t let this go. He’d been the same on graduation night, pushing her for answers as to why she’d been so upset, not giving up until she’d blurted the sad truth and ended up seeking comfort in his arms. No way in hell would she allow that to happen this time, so she settled for the truth. ‘My sister died eighteen months before I started university.’ Sympathy darkened his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’ ‘Nobody knew. I didn’t want what happened to Sasha to define me so I never mentioned it.’ Mainly because her parents never stopped: they’d talk about Sasha every single day, singing her praises, lamenting her loss, boosting her higher on the pedestal where they permanently revered her. Jayda adored Sasha too but not once had they comforted her or consoled her. Instead, they’d turned to each other, as insular in their grief as they were in everything else. When they’d finally acknowledged they had another child it had been to lay a guilt trip on her, ensuring she shelved her own dreams after uni and followed theirs. She’d been their yes-girl, agreeing to everything in an attempt to make up for being second best. Not that they ever labelled her as such; they didn’t have to. She saw the disappointment in their eyes every time they looked at her, no matter how much she did to please them. She’d never live up to their golden child Sasha and it had been one hell of a wake-up call to discover she didn’t have to. Her parents weren’t the good people she’d thought they were and she’d be damned if she tried to impress them any longer. They’d be lucky if she ever spoke to them again considering what she’d recently discovered within their so-called ‘charity’ work. ‘What’s Sasha got to do with your business now?’ Jayda knew once she started down this track she’d have to tell him everything. It didn’t make it any easier. ‘Sasha was amazing. Top student, excellent musician, incredible polo player.’ Her heart twanged as it always did at the memory of her sister. ‘She was one of those people who loved everyone and the feeling was mutual.’ He hesitated, before blurting, ‘You weren’t jealous?’ ‘Maybe a little.’ She shrugged, deliberately blocking that useless, insidious emotion she’d conquered a long time ago. No point being jealous of a ghost, no matter how much her folks rubbed her nose in Sasha’s perfection. ‘But I loved her too. She had a good heart and that’s what ultimately killed her.’ Sorrow clogged her throat and she swallowed it, needing to finish this now that she’d started. ‘She took a gap year after finishing high school and volunteered to teach kids English in a small Guatemalan village. It was her way of showing our folks that she wouldn’t bow down to their expectations no matter how much they wanted her to take over the business one day.’ Tears prickled her eyes and she blinked them away. ‘A landslide swept through the village during her third month there. They never recovered her body.’ ‘I’m so sorry.’ Brock reached out and clasped her icy hand between his. She didn’t need his sympathy, she’d moved on from her grief a long time ago, but it felt nice to have his solid hands rubbing hers, infusing her with his warmth. However, when his hands stilled, she became all too aware of the warmth spreading higher; up her arm, through her chest, into her belly, a languid heat that morphed from comforting into something else entirely. Quickly sliding her hand out of his, she scooted back in her chair. ‘Anyway, this charity I’m setting up is my way of honouring Sasha’s memory and continuing the work she would’ve done if she’d had the chance. I want to raise money to fund education for poorer areas in South America so that children everywhere have a chance to make something of themselves.’ Admiration lit his eyes and she hated how good it made her feel. She hadn’t told him to gain respect. She’d told him to distract, to ensure he wouldn’t keep badgering her as to the real reason behind her discomfort around him. ‘So now you know.’ ‘It’s a good thing you’re doing,’ he said, his tone low and soothing. ‘I’m proud of you.’ ‘I don’t need your praise,’ she snapped, the urge to lean in for a hug too strong, too tempting. ‘Then what do you need?’ He wasn’t talking about his IT skills and she knew it. Since when did the glowering geek morph into this intuitive charmer? It made her like him all the more. Not good. ‘I need you to focus on us working together.’ She eyeballed him, daring him to disagree. He’d always backed down in the past, not willing to spar, unlike other guys. He’d been closed-off and dour in uni, which had made her want to tease him all the more. But he’d avoided her unless it had involved assignments and she’d accepted that he didn’t like her. Something he’d proved otherwise on that fateful night she’d revealed herself to him in more ways than one. ‘What else do you need?’ He reached across the table and touched her knee, a glance of his fingertips that sent a pleasant shock through her. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Damn, could she sound any feebler? ‘The Jayda I used to know had a permanent smile on her face and a cheeky twinkle in her eyes.’ He gestured at her. ‘You look sad and I think it’s more than your sister’s death and your parents’ shoddy treatment.’ Damn, how did he do that? Home in on her hidden insecurities? Not that she’d tell him the real reason behind her moroseness. She’d shared way too much of herself already today. Besides, part of her reinvention in turning her back on her parents and striking out on her own meant she had to be bold, brash and not beholden to anyone, ever. She didn’t need to be psychoanalysed by him or anyone else. She needed to take control of this situation, starting now. Her gaze landed on the pianist, who made a smooth transition from elevator music to an upbeat jazz number. And in that moment she knew how to assert her confidence and show him how much she’d changed from that clingy, needy woman he’d known for one night six years ago. ‘Do you still like jazz?’ He blinked in surprise before nodding. ‘Yeah, I’m a tragic. How did you know?’ Great, now she’d have to reveal the most inconsequential thing she remembered about him and he’d know exactly how tragic she was. ‘You had a few playlists on your phone during uni days.’ She kept her answer deliberately vague, hoping he wouldn’t call her on it. ‘Anyway, there’s a new jazz club recently opened in this hotel. Want to check it out?’ Her invitation floored him, if his wide eyes and slightly parted lips were any indication, but he recovered quickly to stare at her with blatant speculation. ‘You’re full of surprises, Jayda York.’ Good, because as long as she held the upper hand she could keep her doubts at bay and prove how much she’d changed from their last encounter together. ‘Is that a yes, Brock Olsen?’ He nodded, his delectable mouth easing into a smile. ‘That’s a hell yes. Let’s go.’ He stood and held out his hand to her, and, swallowing every reservation she had that she’d done the dumbest thing ever, she placed her hand in his. CHAPTER THREE (#uf7cc7de3-eeff-515f-b549-a59608c94c11) ‘THE HIPSTER CAT? Seriously?’ Brock placed a hand in the small of Jayda’s back and guided her into the dimly lit club, knowing this was a dumbass idea but powerless to do anything about it now. He should’ve said no the moment she’d invited him to accompany her here but he couldn’t leave, not when she looked so morose. He couldn’t believe she’d never told him about her sister. Then again, he’d meant nothing to her and the only reason she’d reached out to him on grad night was because that dickhead Deon had done a number on her. She’d been vulnerable and he’d been convenient. That was why she’d bolted in the middle of the night, embarrassment at revealing too much of herself to a stranger. He’d been glad. Her flit had relieved him of giving her the polite brush-off the morning after. It had suited them both. But what had happened tonight...he wasn’t wrong about the sadness. It emanated off her like a goddamn aura and he didn’t like it. Her asshole parents had hurt her, she still grieved for her sister, and he hated seeing the vibrant, bubbly woman appear so fragile. So he’d manned up and done the right thing, agreeing to her invitation to this jazz club. Not that it was a hardship. She had him at jazz. He played the greats on repeat while he worked: he couldn’t get enough. What surprised him was her remembering his passion. Which begged the question: what else did she remember from back then? Did she remember him going down on her, twice? Did she remember the multiple orgasms? Did she remember taking him so deep into her mouth that he almost passed out? He was an idiot for dredging up those memories when she currently clung to his hand as they entered a darkness made for sin. ‘Can’t see a thing in here,’ he muttered, sounding like a grouch. Her soft laughter washed over him. ‘I think the candles are a nice touch.’ He bit back his first response, ‘too bloody romantic.’ Doing this was about getting her to lighten up after he’d dragged her down with his prompts to reveal what was bugging her. He’d spend thirty minutes with her max, then he was out of here. ‘There are two seats over there.’ She pointed to a secluded alcove in the darkest corner of the club. Frigging great. He quickly scanned the place for other seats and came up lacking. ‘Okay.’ Sensing his reluctance, she squeezed his hand and he slouched along beside her, his foreboding increasing when they reached the alcove and he realised exactly how sheltered they were. If this were a date, he’d love it. But sitting in the semi-darkness in a cosy booth with the woman who he’d never been able to forget wasn’t good. She released his hand and slid into the booth, then patted the space beside her. When he hesitated she grinned, her teeth startlingly white in the dimness. ‘I promise not to bite.’ Once again he ignored his first response, something along the lines of ‘I wish you would,’ and slid in next to her. ‘Drink?’ ‘I’m good for now. Maybe later.’ Great. So much for his grand plan to make an escape for the bar they’d passed on the way in. A four-piece combo strode onto the stage at that moment: double bass, trumpet, keyboard, drums. He hoped they played loud to drown out his thoughts, focussed on how badly he still wanted her after all this time. ‘What’s wrong?’ Jayda touched his thigh and he jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. ‘Jazz not doing it for you any more?’ He scooted back a fraction, dislodging her hand deliberately, before he swivelled to face her. ‘Do you really want to know what does it for me?’ He threw it out there, a blatant innuendo she couldn’t ignore. He had no idea if she’d been toying with him with her question but he couldn’t sit here in the dark with the boner to end all boners and pretend that he hadn’t once been inside this luscious woman and wouldn’t like to do it all over again. The band’s spotlight dimmed, thrusting her face into semi-darkness, but he saw her tongue dart out to moisten her bottom lip as her gaze focussed on his mouth. ‘Tell me,’ she said, barely above a whisper. ‘I want to know what does it for you.’ Her eyes glowed like polished sapphires in the low lighting, the candlelight highlighting her glossed lips. That mouth. Carnal. Made for sin. Made for him. As he studied it her lips parted and the urge to kiss her pounded through him in time with his pulse. He couldn’t bullshit, not now. He wanted her too damn badly. ‘You.’ Before he could second-guess the wisdom of his impulsiveness he grabbed her hand and pressed it against his rigid cock. ‘You do it for me.’ She gasped, her eyes widening, her excitement reflecting his in the flickering candlelight. ‘Too much?’ he asked, with a sardonic grin, but not letting go of her hand. Her touch after all this time made him imagine all the naughty things he’d like to do to her in this alcove. ‘Not nearly enough,’ she murmured, a second before she surged towards him and claimed his mouth. Her kiss took him by surprise and she took advantage of that, sweeping her tongue into his mouth, demanding he match her. He didn’t have to be asked twice, sliding his free hand behind her head so he could change the angle, deepening the kiss to the point where he couldn’t breathe. She made the same soft moaning sounds in the back of her throat that she had six years earlier and it made him hornier, if that were possible. He released her hand but she maintained the pressure over his cock, palming him through his chinos, teasing him to the point he could easily ravish her without thought of fellow patrons. A blast of trumpet made them jump and he tore his mouth away from hers, dragging in breaths to calm his addled mind. What the hell was he doing? He had to work with her for the next couple of weeks and this would only complicate matters. But did it have to? They’d had sensational sex for one unforgettable night and that hadn’t stopped her approaching him to help her business. Would taking an erotic trip down memory lane really complicate things? She’d invited him here. She’d kissed him. And by the way she practically clambered all over him, she wanted more. ‘Brock?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah?’ A flush stained her cheeks and moved down her neck, disappearing into that ridiculously high collar of her dress, shielding what he longed to see: the fullness of her breasts spilling over the top of her bra, the deep cleavage created by her sizeable breasts. As if she sensed the direction of his licentious thoughts, her hand hovered over her breastbone, drawing attention to her rigid nipples. Fuck, he wanted her. ‘I’m guessing you have some great jazz playlists at your place?’ Her voice turned husky, possibly from nerves or desire, as she squared her shoulders, bold and daring and delectable. ‘As good as anything these guys can produce?’ Yeah, she wanted this as badly as he did. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was using him as an emotional crutch again, a guy to help her lose herself in a few hours of sex to obliterate whatever was really bothering her. Why do you care? The kicker was, he did care. Even after all this time, because of how he’d felt about her all through uni, he cared. She didn’t know it, but he’d never take advantage of her. No matter how brazen her actions, no matter how seductive her words, he had to wonder: did she want this for the right reasons? Did she really want a night of raunchy sex then to face him tomorrow without a qualm when they had to work together? The fact he couldn’t get a proper read on her annoyed the shit out of him. Back then she’d been vulnerable and she’d needed him and he’d been there for her. Tonight, her newfound confidence confused him. He’d made the first move, she’d responded with that kiss, and despite her daring he couldn’t help but think it had more to do with obliterating the earlier sadness he’d glimpsed than any burning desire to fuck him. When he didn’t respond she leaned across and slanted a slow, all too brief kiss across his lips. Then she took his face between her hands, stared him dead in the eyes, and said, ‘I want you. I’ve never forgotten that incredible night and I want a repeat.’ She said all the right things, and with his cock aching to be inside her he needed to ditch the chivalry and take what she was offering. She added, ‘Please,’ and Brock was a goner. Because behind the boldness in her gaze as she eyeballed him with daring, behind the confident posture as she tilted her chin up in defiance, he heard something. The slightest tremor in her voice, a hint of vulnerability that got to him, as if she expected him to turn away from her despite their sizzling attraction. It kicked him in the fucking heart. He couldn’t say no. CHAPTER FOUR (#uf7cc7de3-eeff-515f-b549-a59608c94c11) GROWING UP, JAYDA had had a secret passion for interior design. She’d loved visiting Melbourne’s swankiest homes with her parents where she’d be goggle-eyed at plush carpets, exotic velvet settees, ancient artefacts and artwork that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the world’s top galleries. She’d developed a hankering for real estate over the years and had invested wisely thanks to her trust fund, owning two properties on the outskirts of the city currently rented to tenants, and her own luxurious town house in trendy Fitzroy. She’d bought the three-bedroom place off the plan so had carte blanche to decorate it, a project she’d loved. She’d chosen every inch, from the black marble bench tops to the glossy grey cupboards, from the polished oak floorboards to the eggshell paint scheme throughout. She’d spent an inordinate amount of time poring over online furnishing catalogues and social media accounts of the world’s top interior designers, and had gone for simplistic sophistication over look-but-don’t-touch glitz. Her place screamed understated elegance. It had nothing on Brock’s apartment. ‘Wow,’ she said, as she stepped into the foyer of his penthouse on the fiftieth floor of a towering complex in upscale Collins Street. This place was beyond wow. Way beyond. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows curved in a sweeping one hundred and eighty degrees, offering a stunning view of Melbourne by night. A balcony ran the same curvature, with sun loungers placed at strategic intervals. Fawn marble tiles covered the floor, with space-age metallic lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling. Sleek chocolate-brown suede sofas were angled to face a modernistic painting with slashes of primary colours, which would turn into a TV at the flick of a button. She had a much smaller version at her place. Overall, the penthouse exuded a subtle wealth and while her own town house had gobbled up mega bucks to channel the style and glamour she’d wanted, she knew she’d done well in enlisting his services to help get her business off the ground. To afford a place like this he must be extremely good at his job, beyond the stellar reviews she’d read online. ‘This place is gorgeous,’ she said, spinning a slow three-sixty to take it all in. ‘I like it.’ He shrugged, as if the massive apartment that covered an entire floor meant little, and gave her a gentle nudge forward. ‘Come in. Make yourself comfortable.’ Jayda slipped off her heels at the door, afraid she’d make indentation marks in his pristine marble tiled floor. Stupid, that after all these years she harboured the teensiest resentment against her body and its losing battle with carbs. Her weight fluctuated but not by much. She’d suffered the indignity of various labels from her early teens: ‘curvy’ had been one of the nice ones, ‘fatty’ at the other extreme. Brock adored her curves apparently, as he’d repeatedly told her when he’d undressed her on that one night six years ago. She hadn’t really believed him but hadn’t cared; she’d been shattered and desperately seeking comfort at the time. Then he’d proceeded to show her in exquisite, sensual detail exactly how much he liked her curves. She’d revealed her innermost doubts regarding her body image that night—and the way Deon had battered her self-esteem along with taking her virginity—and Brock had given her exactly what she’d wanted. The mind-blowing sex had been unforgettable and the moment she’d laid eyes on him tonight, she’d wanted him. She’d changed a lot since that night, had learned to live in the moment. Be spontaneous. Lighten up. A sizzling one-night stand replicating the sensational sex from years ago would be exactly what she needed. All nice in theory until she shot him a sideways glance and caught him studying her with an intensity that made her skin pebble. What was he thinking? Did he remember that night in as much detail as she did? Did he regret it? Did he want to back out now? She hadn’t exactly given him much choice in the matter tonight. She’d poured all her nervous energy into putting on a brave face and when it had looked as if he’d continue asking the hard questions about her folks, she’d come on to him. He hadn’t called her out on the distraction technique and she’d been grateful. But once he’d articulated that he wanted her, and pressed her hand to his cock, she’d forgotten about distractions and working together and every goddamn thing. In that moment, she’d known that all she wanted from tonight was him. But now that she’d set foot in his domain, a far cry from his old shabby flat, deep-seated doubts bubbled up from within. Would he still find her attractive? Would he find her lacking somehow? Would she be enough? Stupid, irrational fears considering how far she’d come since the last time they’d had sex, but there was something different about him now, an inherent aloofness that made him untouchable, that had her questioning the wisdom of sleeping with him again. When she arched a brow to query his unwavering stare, he gave a slight shake of the head. ‘Back in a minute,’ he said, striding towards what she assumed was the kitchen by the glimpse of gleaming stainless-steel counter. Lights hidden along the skirting boards flicked on with his movement, illuminating a path like a runway. But the contemporary lighting wasn’t her main focus as her gaze glued to his butt and the way it filled out his black chinos. Damn, he looked good. Better than she remembered. Felt good too, from her blatant stroking of his boner in the jazz club. It had driven her wild, knowing he had the hots for her, had emboldened and empowered her to do what she’d yearned to do from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him again: kiss him. And what a kiss: deep, sensual, erotic, Brock to a T. She’d been on the point of straddling him if the band hadn’t started up. Now, she wanted to start up in an entirely different way. No sound came from the kitchen and she hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts. She’d subdued her doubts about having sex with him, especially when they’d be working together to organise her business, and she’d assumed that the fact he’d invited her here to get down and dirty meant he wanted the same thing. Sneaking a peek over her shoulder in the direction of the now brightly lit kitchen, she scuttled towards a high-backed chair furthest from the floor-to-ceiling windows. She rucked up her skirt and wriggled out of her control panties, experiencing a moment of panic when her usual muffin top rolled out. Mentally cursing her inherent insecurities, she stuffed the panties into her handbag and smoothed her skirt down. She’d lost about five kilos since her uni days, enough to give her a semblance of a waist. The weight loss served to accentuate her bust and take some of the attention away from her hips and ass. ‘The perfect hourglass,’ Brock had said with reverence when he’d skimmed his hands over her body on grad night. But she’d never disrobed fully then, keeping on a T-shirt the entire time. Brock hadn’t pushed her to take it off and she’d loved him for it. He’d never made her feel anything but cherished during the whole experience and she wanted more of the same. What would he think if she revealed her embarrassing secret? That she hadn’t had sex since that night. Six years of celibacy by choice. It sounded crazy in her head; no way could she articulate it. He’d think she was some kind of loser, getting so hung up over that one cataclysmic night that she hadn’t screwed any guy since. Not that she hadn’t tried. She’d fooled around with a few dates, giving and receiving head. But when it had come to revealing skin she’d baulked, each and every time. She’d been labelled a prick tease several times but hadn’t cared. None of those guys she’d casually dated had been a patch on Brock. It had been serendipitous when she’d seen an article on him in a computer journal last week. She needed the best in the IT business to ensure she could honour Sasha’s memory in the right way, so it had been a no-brainer to contact him despite her qualms. Because a picture had accompanied the glowing recommendation from some journo and seeing him again—albeit on a screen—after six years had stirred up quashed memories in a big way. How he’d lavished every inch of her body with attention, exploring dips and curves with his tongue. How he’d maintained eye contact the moment he’d slid into her for the first time. How he’d caressed and kissed her skin, from her ankles to her ears, taking the time to linger where she’d needed him most. The memories had been potent and kept her up nights when she’d lain in bed, horny and alone, pleasuring herself with the memory of him inside her. She squeezed her thighs together; as if that would stop the insistent throb. If he didn’t come back soon she’d go after him but it had been six years since their last phenomenal bout, what were a few more minutes? Padding to the glass door that opened out onto a wrap-around balcony, she took in the view of Melbourne by night. She loved this vibrant city, every cosmopolitan inch. Travelling widely with her folks had ensured she’d fallen in love with cities on a regular basis: Paris, Vienna, Hamburg, London. Lake Como had been her favourite, with Vancouver a close second, but no city had a vibe like Melbourne. From her vantage point she could see the Arts Centre spire, an electric blue against the night sky, the bustling Flinders Street Station and the MCG lights on. She didn’t follow Aussie Rules football but you couldn’t live in Melbourne without knowing teams played there every winter weekend. ‘Sorry that took so long.’ She spun around to see Brock laying out a cheese platter, a fruit platter and a bottle of Shiraz on the coffee table. Sheesh, this guy was too good to be true. He gestured at the feast he’d laid out. ‘I didn’t have dinner and I’m hungry, thought you might be too?’ His bashful smile made her want to hug him, but she settled for sinking into the soft suede sofa in front of the food. ‘Thanks for this, you’re very thoughtful.’ ‘I aim to please.’ Their gazes locked and she knew in that instant he wasn’t talking about the food. Heat and electricity sizzled in the air between them, a reminder of how good they were together, anticipation of doing it again. To her mortification, her stomach gurgled at that moment, loud enough to be heard, and heat flooded her cheeks. His mouth eased into a sexy grin. ‘Let’s eat.’ He took a seat next to her, close enough that their knees touched, sending a jolt of longing arrowing straight between her legs. When she sat forward to serve herself, he laid a hand over hers. ‘Let me.’ Emotion clogged her throat so she nodded and eased away slightly so they weren’t touching. She’d expected them to tumble into bed the moment they entered his apartment. Instead, he’d done this. She didn’t know whether he’d tried to put her at ease or to show he wasn’t a sex maniac, but she appreciated the gesture. He’d made her feel more special in the last few minutes than any of her dates had over the last few years. ‘Here you go.’ He handed her a plate covered with crackers, tiny wedges of Brie, a slice of Camembert, a dob of quince paste and a small bunch of grapes. ‘Thanks.’ Her voice wobbled and she masked her insecurity by flashing a dazzling smile. ‘I’ll need sustenance for later.’ One corner of his delectable mouth quirked at her innuendo. ‘Are you planning on ravishing me all night?’ ‘Only if you’re lucky.’ Jayda winked, hoping he couldn’t read the uncertainty ricocheting through her. Now that she was at his place with the sole intention of having sex, some of her earlier chutzpah at the club had deserted her. She could blame it on her weakness for creamy cheese but knew better. He’d disarmed her with his thoughtfulness and she couldn’t let emotions enter into this. She could handle great sex with a hot guy. But having him make her feel anything...no, she couldn’t allow it. She piled Brie on a cracker, swiped it through the quince paste and stuffed the lot into her mouth before she said something she’d regret. Like goodbye. No point getting into a funk now. She wanted this. It had been too long. She needed to get laid, sooner rather than later. Sensing her reticence to talk, he nibbled on a cracker, then another, giving her time to...what? Compose herself? Stuff her face? Second-guess the wisdom of this? The fraught silence stretched between them and despite consuming most of the Brie and crackers on her plate, the hollow feeling in her stomach hadn’t abated. She needed more than food. She needed him. ‘Brock?’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘I want you...’ she murmured, unprepared for the sheer hunger with which he launched himself at her. Her plate tumbled to the floor, scattering cheese and crackers and grapes across the pristine marble. Neither of them cared. ‘I’m going nuts over here, trying to do the right thing and not fuck you senseless like I want to,’ he said, his mouth grazing her ear as his weight pressed her into the sofa, the feel of his cock pressed against her sweet spot making her whimper with need. ‘There’s no doing the right thing.’ She clasped his face in her hands so he had to look at her. ‘This is you and me. No expectations, just a night of great sex.’ She grazed his bottom lip with her thumb and he inhaled sharply. ‘We’ve been here before and our ability to not complicate this is exactly why I made a pass at you back at the club.’ His eyes darkened to ebony. ‘As I remember, I grabbed your hand and pressed it to this.’ He ground his cock against her and she couldn’t help but moan. ‘So I made the pass.’ ‘Exactly how long are we going to discuss technicalities?’ She arched her pelvis, vindicated when passion hazed his eyes. ‘Because we could be having a lot more fun right now rather than talking.’ He pinned her with a stare that bored all the way down to her soul and she blinked to dispel the inexplicable burn of tears. This guy made her happy. Correction, what he could do to her body made her happy and no way in hell would she spoil this encounter with emotion because he’d been the last guy to make her feel good about herself. ‘I want to make sure you really want this.’ He reached up to gently dislodge her hands from his face. ‘This is nothing like six years ago—’ ‘No, it’s not. Because I’m stronger now, in control and capable of choosing who I want to have phenomenal sex with, and tonight I choose you.’ When he continued to eyeball her with solemnity, she surged upwards, forcing him to sit up. Time to show him with actions how much she wanted him. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she held him in place while she swung a leg over him. His breath hissed out when she lowered herself onto his lap and gave a little wriggle for good measure. Straddling him left him under no illusions she was in charge and so hot for him she could barely breathe. ‘I want this to happen, Brock, but if you don’t—’ He kissed her, commanding and demanding, using actions to convey exactly how much he wanted this to happen too. His hands gripped her waist and she hated the momentary flare of unease that he’d feel her squishy bits. She wriggled self-consciously and his hands slid from her waist to her ass. Much better. Her booty may be larger than most but thanks to countless hours on the treadmill it had tone. ‘I love how you feel,’ he murmured, kneading her ass with his hands as he trailed his lips across her jaw before dipping lower to the nook above her collarbone. ‘And taste.’ He lapped at her, as she marvelled at how he remembered her sensitive spot. The guy truly was a genius. Her head fell back as he nipped her collarbone with his teeth, the fleeting sting of pain soothed by the return of his tongue. Man, that tongue. The thought of what was to come had her writhing against him. ‘Easy, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘Unless you want this first time to be fast?’ ‘Fast is good,’ she gritted out as he traced the cleft of her ass with the barest fingertip through her panties. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to take off the tight control ones. ‘The faster the better.’ He chuckled, the deep sound rippling over her like a caress. ‘Okay then.’ He stood so abruptly she almost fell but his hands under her ass tightened and she clung to his neck. ‘Put me down, you’ll hurt your back.’ He ignored her warning and hoisted her higher, making her squeal. He must work out these days because she weighed a freaking tonne and he carried her with minimal effort. ‘Are you nuts? You’ll get a hernia—’ ‘You have a rocking bod and I don’t want to hear any of that self-conscious shit, okay?’ He nudged open a door with his foot and entered a bedroom as big as her apartment. ‘I loved your body at uni and from what I’ve imagined beneath that hideous black dress it’s just as sexy now, so quit it.’ Yeah, he definitely had a knack for making her feel good and when he placed her gently on a king-size bed she wanted to hug him. He towered over her, his frown formidable, but nothing could detract from the lust blazing in his eyes. He was seriously into her and nothing was more empowering. Bracing on her elbows, she nudged him with her foot. ‘If this dress is so hideous, why don’t you take it off?’ ‘Oh, I intend to,’ he said, moving towards a side table. He opened the drawer and pulled out a string of condoms, five in total. Wowza, what a way to break her drought. ‘You planning on using all those tonight?’ She held her breath as a wicked grin alerted her that she’d like his answer very much indeed. ‘I’m hopeful.’ He dangled the string of condoms in front of her, swinging it side to side like a pendulum trying to hypnotise her. ‘Very, very hopeful.’ She laughed. ‘Why don’t you start by stripping for me?’ The last time they’d done this she hadn’t seen enough. She’d been too discombobulated, first by his comforting after she’d revealed too much, later by the fact he’d wanted to have sex with her. Also, she’d insisted on darkness, so had only seen his body in shadows. Tonight, she intended to rectify that travesty. ‘If I strip for you, it’s only fair you do the same for me,’ he said, dangling those damn condoms like a carrot in front of a donkey. From what she remembered he had a pretty impressive carrot and with a little luck she’d be ee-awing all night. ‘Take it all off,’ she said, relieved when he didn’t push her for an answer. No way in hell she’d be getting naked in front of him in this much light. Conquering her body issues had taken time but no matter how hard she worked to appear confident, revealing her body still made her quake inside. Silly, because this man had never made her feel anything other than gorgeous, but she couldn’t shed all her inhibitions along with her clothes. No matter how many sit-ups or planks she performed in Pilates, no matter how many carbs she sacrificed, she had a body made for comfort. The way Brock’s gaze burned her up from the inside out, he had a hankering for a whole lot of comfort. He draped the condoms across her hips like a naughty promise, a foil packet belt designed to taunt. She bucked a little in response and he grinned, tugging his shirt out of his trousers. At last, they were getting to the good stuff. She scooted up the bed until she felt a pile of pillows behind her, then linked her hands behind her head and eased back, ready to enjoy the show. The last time they’d done this had been all frantic hands and whispered promises and soft panting in the dark. This time, she intended to make every moment count. ‘You’re making me feel cheap and easy,’ he said, slipping buttons through holes at an infuriatingly slow pace. ‘Don’t forget demeaned and idolised for your body only.’ She let out a long wolf whistle. ‘Come on, Sexy, show me what you’ve got.’ Surprise widened his eyes. ‘I like your new confidence. It’s a major turn-on.’ She pointedly stared at his groin and the sizeable bulge there. ‘Like you needed a reason.’ He chuckled and shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Jayda loved trading quips with him. They hadn’t had this ease between them six years ago and it was fun to spar as foreplay. Her gaze roved over his bare chest in blatant appreciation, surprised when she spied a tattoo emblazoned across one side. ‘That’s new,’ she said, staring at the flock of seagulls in flight beneath his left breastbone, intricate and incredibly artistic. She wondered if the unusual tattoo meant something to him. ‘Who would’ve thought, a geek with tats, huh?’ She heard the vulnerability in his lowered voice and quashed the surge of protectiveness. She knew that feeling well, that soul-sapping uncertainty of being judged by appearance. It ate away at confidence and made you second-guess everything. She didn’t let the doubts creep in much these days but when they did, she hammered them into submission quick smart. ‘I love it.’ And she meant it. The contrast between the nerdy, dedicated student she remembered and his sexy counterpart now made her want him all the more. ‘Well, if you love this, wait till you see what else I have for you.’ His crooked grin made her chuckle and her heart leapt in anticipation as he unsnapped the button on his chinos. ‘Don’t tell me you tattooed that.’ He winced and pointed to his chest. ‘This hurt like the devil so that would be a resounding no.’ ‘So you were boasting in general, huh?’ One eyebrow quirked in provocation. ‘You’ve seen it. Don’t you think I have a right to boast?’ ‘Absolutely,’ she said, nodding so vigorously her neck cramped, enjoying that they’d reverted to sparring when he laughed again. ‘This is... I mean...you and me...’ He waved his hand between them and muttered, ‘Fuck. What I’m trying to say is, is sex usually this playful for you?’ A flush swept into her cheeks. She should lie. It wouldn’t bode well for him to discover he’d been her last six years ago. He’d know that she’d been a tad hung up over that night. Or, worse, think she was some kind of frigid freak. But Jayda hated lies. Ever since she’d discovered the truth about her father and why he’d misappropriated funds from the charity she’d helped run, she abhorred untruths. If her dad had trusted her she could’ve seen he’d got the help he needed. Instead, her mother had joined him in the cover-up, not telling her anything until she’d discovered their treachery. She understood the lengths to which her father had gone to deal with his unhappiness, stemming way back from Sasha’s death, but she’d been a teen at the time and she’d dealt with the mind-numbing grief of losing her sister, why couldn’t he as an adult? Why did he have to screw up so badly and affect everybody in the process? ‘Forget it, I shouldn’t have asked.’ He eyeballed her. ‘That look on your face says it all.’ Mortified that she’d let thoughts of her family problems intrude at a time like this, she shook her head. ‘Sorry, I was mulling whether to lie to you or tell the truth, and I’ve decided on the latter.’ She sighed. ‘No, sex isn’t playful for me, because I’ve only ever slept with two guys.’ She didn’t have to wait long for Brock to understand. The guy had topped their graduation class with a quick-fire intelligence that had once annoyed her when she had to study hard for every single grade. ‘You mean...’ Incredulity made him stare at her in wide-eyed shock. She nodded. ‘Yep. That dickhead Deon who took my virginity on a bet, and you.’ He gaped, a deep groove burrowing between his brows. ‘But that means... I was the last...six years ago...fuck.’ This time he shook his head as if trying to clear it but she didn’t want to give him too much time to assimilate what the information she’d revealed actually meant. ‘I’ve been with other guys since, fooled around a bit, but not everyone gets to see this.’ She swept her hands over her body with a flourish. ‘This is too good to reveal to just anybody.’ Her exaggerated self-deprecation cleared his frown as she intended but he hadn’t lost the shell-shocked expression. He wanted to ask more, she could see it in his expressive eyes, so she did the one thing guaranteed to distract him. Pushing into a sitting position, she grabbed the condoms from across her hip and tore off the first one. Placing it deliberately on the bed between them as a promise, she stood, and reached behind for her zip. Her fingers fumbled as the moment arrived to reveal her body to him, but she had to do this. To prove to herself that she wasn’t that scared, vulnerable girl she’d been six years ago and to regain control of the situation. Admitting the truth usurped some of her power and she needed to get it back, starting with disrobing for the last guy to see her semi-naked. Thankfully lust replaced confusion in Brock’s stare as she eased the zip down and pushed the sleeves down her arms, taking the top of the dress with it. Her skin pebbled in the cool air and she resisted the urge to rub her skin for warmth. Besides, the longer Brock stared at her, the more she heated from the inside out, his burning gaze creating a flush that started at her neck and swept downwards. ‘Fuck me,’ Brock muttered, as his hungry gaze zeroed in on her breasts and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. She always wore sexy lingerie because it empowered her. She might not feel attractive on the outside some days but knowing she wore risqu? underwear leant her a swagger that would otherwise be missing. With Brock staring at her with blatant appreciation, she felt vindicated in wearing a black satin bra and matching panties dotted with tiny crimson lips. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured, as she shimmied out of the dress and let it fall to the floor in a soft swoosh. She stepped out of the dress and he was on her in an instant. ‘You have amazing tits,’ he murmured, running his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, before cupping her breasts in his hands. ‘Prove it—oh.’ She gasped as her taunt had the desired effect and his mouth fastened on a nipple through the satin. She arched towards him and with a deft flick of his fingers he had the bra unhooked and his lips on her, feasting. Licking and sucking, nibbling and nipping, alternating between her nipples until her knees weakened. He must’ve felt her wobble because he raised his head, his eyes so passion-hazed she wondered if he could actually see her, before he blinked. A slow, wicked smile spread across his face as his fingers toyed with her panties. ‘You taste even better than I remember.’ Jayda tried to come up with something witty in response but her brain wouldn’t function with his fingertips repeatedly grazing the sensitive skin on the tops of her thighs. He slid a finger under the elastic of her panties, plucking at it, over and over, teasing her, driving her mad with want. ‘Brock, please...’ she whispered, gritting her teeth against the urge to shove him onto the bed and ride him until dawn. The ache between her thighs had become unbearable and her panties were drenched. She didn’t need the foreplay, not after six long years. She needed him. ‘Please what?’ He hooked his thumb into one side of her panties and she groaned in relief. ‘Please fuck me.’ Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». 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