Her Bossy Billionaire (Love in London Book 1) Page 6

  Their eyes met and a long, hot moment passed. Libby didn’t want to move. She wanted to stay locked against him in this moment of anticipation.

  “Have you had dinner?” He pressed his hips against hers.

  Sweet mercy, “dinner” felt like it might be a seven-course feast. She shook her head, heart pounding. Hell, she’d never been so turned on in her life.

  “Nor have I,” he said.

  “Is that an invitation or an observation?” she asked huskily.

  He thrust ever so slightly against her. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  “I’m not sure there’ll be anything open.” Time had flown past midnight.

  Amusement lit his eyes. “It’s London. There’s always something open. We can go to the Greek place down the road,” he murmured. “But you look tired and hungry and possibly not up for crowds.”

  That was true. She smiled suddenly. “We can always have some muesli.”

  He mock shuddered. “I can’t get past the school porridge experience.”

  “You need to widen your experience.” Testing herself as much as anything, she firmly pushed him away. To her disappointment he didn’t resist. She pulled out a couple of bowls from a cupboard and tried to calm her body. But it was too late—far too late.

  “Muesli is not an adequate meal replacement,” he said watching her ladle some into the bowls.

  “Why don’t you stop fighting it and just give it a go?” She poured some milk on top.

  His head whipped up, an amused gleam brightening his eyes. His smile widened. “You should take your own advice.” He lifted his spoon and took a giant mouthful.

  Libby gripped her bowl, trying to cool her searing lust. She could contain this, right?

  He munched and swallowed. Stopped. He looked up and gave her an accusing glare. “It’s good.”

  “You’re surprised? Don’t you trust your brother’s taste?” Smiling, she had a mouthful of muesli herself.

  “It’s been questionable in the past,” he said dryly.

  “You’ve not tried it when you have bags of it up there?”

  “Tom guards it like a goblin does his gold.” He loaded another massive mouthful.

  She laughed. “It must be interesting having an athlete like that in the family.”

  He nodded and swallowed. “It makes life interesting.”

  “Your parents would have been very proud.”

  “They would have.” He shot her a look over his bowl. “I thought you said you didn’t Google me.”

  “I didn’t.” She rolled her eyes as she chewed.

  “But you know.”

  His intensity liquefied her defenses. “Everybody knows the story of Tom Barnes,” she said honestly. “He had cancer as a child. His parents were killed in a car crash and his half-brother—you—raised him and his sister. Tom went on to train and has soared through the rowing ranks to claim champion status.”

  While Jack himself was a success story in his own right, with savvy property deals and investments that had seen his personal wealth soar.

  Jack grimaced. “They’ve used him as a PR front, but all it’s done is add more pressure at his end.”

  She could only imagine. “There was always going to be huge pressure anyway,” she pointed out. But his concern touched her. “You’re still the protective brother.”

  “It’s a hard habit to break.” He acknowledged. “I don’t want him to burn out or go off the deep end again.” He eyed her. “You know about that too?”

  She carefully washed out her bowl. “That he had his heart broken by his first serious girlfriend and went a bit wild on the party scene?”

  “Mmmm.” Jack munched as he nodded.

  Libby rinsed the other utensils and mixing bowl she’d used. “Do you think he’s vulnerable to doing that again?” Tom had seemed pretty single-minded to her.

  He thought about it. “Maybe not. He nearly lost it all, and that gave him a wake-up call.”

  “And now he has you to keep all the vixen temptresses away from him…” Her voice trailed off as he stepped behind her, slowly reaching past to put his bowl beneath the running tap. She could feel him pressing against her back—all of him.

  “Not a vixen. Just gorgeous. And that really was good,” he admitted in a soft whisper that tickled her ear—and tormented her nerves.

  “Worth giving it a shot,” she agreed, her throat so dry it was a wonder the words were audible.

  She turned off the tap and took the bowl from his hand and stacked it with the others. She’d been right about the muesli. But maybe Jack was right too. She’d only be here for a few more days until she found a commercial kitchen she could rent. She’d never have to see him again. She could walk away.

  She’d done it before—from a far more involved relationship. So why miss out? She liked sex and sex with Jack would be dynamite. The kiss alone told her that. And once done, it was done—there’d be no more wondering. No more day-dreaming. No more distraction. A safe, uncomplicated option.

  He stood still. She knew he was waiting for a word or sign. Not pushing it—understanding her dilemma and leaving it up to her. But what decision was it?

  There was no decision. He was irresistible.

  She turned and took his tee-shirt in her fist to keep him close. “Remember what I said about no kisses?”

  “Yes.” His gaze shot straight to her mouth.

  “Forget it.” She rose onto tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

  Seven

  Kisses. So many kisses—hot and wet. With every lush stroke of his tongue inside her mouth she melted. His hands cupped her face, caressed her neck. His fingers worked into her hair, freeing it from its ponytail. Libby rose higher on her toes, straining to have him closer. His lips traveled down her neck. She inclined her head, offering skin, wanting his touch so much.

  He grew bolder—sliding hands beneath her T-shirt, cupping her breasts, teasing her taut nipples, making them harden more. It wasn’t enough for her. She wanted rid of her bra—couldn’t her clothes just evaporate?

  “We can’t do this here,” he said, casting a rigid look around the steel kitchen.

  Hell, that’s right, they were in a kitchen—a bakery where people arrived at three in the morning to start on the bread.

  “I don’t normally do this,” she panted—suddenly jerked back into reality. She didn’t want complicated. She didn’t want heartbreak. But she did want him.

  “Tonight you do,” he replied. “But not here. My place. Comfort, space, privacy.” He suddenly turned away from her, flinging the rinsed dishes into the dishwasher with supersonic speed.

  Libby couldn’t help smiling. “What about Tom? I thought you didn’t want me to see him?”

  “He’s not there, he’s back at training camp for the last part of his preparations.” Jack was wiping down the counter already.

  “So how’s he getting my muesli?”

  Jack rinsed the cleaning cloth, stowed it and glanced around the sparkling kitchen with a satisfied grunt. “I’m couriering it to him.”

  Oh. They’d have his place to themselves. No interruptions, no distractions. Only privacy—perfect for sex—full on, hard, frantic, glorious sex. She could do that for one night, right? Just because she didn’t want forever, didn’t mean she couldn’t have this now.

  “Come with me.” His words dropped into her ear sending a shiver of anticipation south—excitement arrowed to her belly, her whole body squeezed in glee as she leaned into his heat. He took her hand and led her from the kitchen. Every five paces along the footpath—each moment she was about to speak—he stopped and kissed her, his tongue skillfully sweeping away any rising caution.

  Finally in his apartment, they kissed their way to his room. He fingered the hem of her T-shirt, teasing it up—she lifted her arms to help. His fingers worked at her back, and in a second her bra was undone. He slid the straps down her arms until the satin and lace fell to the floor. Standing there bare-breasted—war
m summer air whispering over her skin, she looked at him.

  “Libby.” He appeared to have frozen.

  “I have to warn you, it’s been a while,” she blurted.

  He gently bent and kissed her neck, his chuckle muffled against her skin. “You think I didn’t know that?”

  “Smart Alec.” She mock swiped him, but at the last minute softened her blow to caress his cheek. But then she added seriously. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  He pulled her close so she could feel exactly how aroused he was. “There’s no way you’d ever disappoint. Honestly? It’s been a while for me too.”

  “Now you’re the one telling tall tales,” she chided.

  “I’m not,” he answered seriously. “I’ve been very busy at work.”

  She gazed up at him, reading the hot sincerity in his eyes. And she smiled.

  She stepped back, undoing her jeans and shimmying them down—along with her knickers. She didn’t want to be shy. She didn’t want to waste a second with silly worries. She wanted to indulge, to revel and celebrate this only time she had him.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked, sounding like he’d suddenly come down with laryngitis.

  “I want to see you naked.” She’d been imagining it for days.

  He whipped his T-shirt over his head. She stared. Oh man, her imagination was officially useless—he was way more incredible than she’d dreamed. Her legs turned to goo. She sat on the bed, watching as he swiftly discarded his jeans and boxers. He was so fine, so built, with a dusting of hair arrowing to his literally outstanding hard-on, and not an ounce of fat anywhere. All muscled male.

  All mine.

  Libby’s blood flowed like quicksilver, spirited and fast along her veins. It pooled in her lower belly—the nucleus of her need and where she needed him to be.

  “You have an amazing body,” she said in frank awe. She’d never seen anyone so sculpted. And she went to the gym, she saw fit frequently. She swallowed—with difficulty. Because he was broad too—broad shouldered, big-muscled, endowed. His palms spread wide over her narrow shoulders, making her feel very feminine. She moved her fingers in feline fashion over him, skimming a nail over his defined abs, tracing the taut grooves of muscle beneath skin.

  He drew in a deep shuddering breath.

  Eyes wide, she looked up at him as she swept her hands lower still. “You okay?”

  “You’re very good,” he murmured huskily, pressing his hot body against her hands.

  “Flatterer.” She shook her head. “It’s just that I want you like crazy.”

  And it was abundantly clear he wanted her as much.

  “Thank goodness,” His fingertips traced her collarbones. “You’ve been killing me these last couple of days.”

  “You’ll have relief soon enough,” she sent him a gleaming look beneath her lashes. “And we’ll both feel better.”

  She glided her hands over his muscled arms. He let her take her exploration slow—seated in front of him, drinking in his physical beauty.

  “Did you row too?” she asked, lifting her hands to sweep them across his ridged abs and up to his broad chest.

  He nodded.

  “Not lightweight division.” She moved her sweeping circles lower again. Her temperature sizzled.

  He smiled and shook his head.

  “And you obviously use all those torture machines in the living room.” He was majestic—so built.

  “Uh huh.” He gently ran his fingers underneath her chin, stroking the vulnerable skin down her neck.

  She tilted her head to give him more freedom. She’d not known how sensual such a simple touch could be—especially from such a big guy. “You’re the one who’s good,” she sucked in a breath.

  His hands lowered, cupping her breasts and gently pushing them together. “Not that good.”

  “Prove it,” she whispered.

  He moved, pulled open a drawer from the low bedside cabinet, rummaging for protection. She laughed as he struggled to get the box free of its plastic wrapper—secretly thrilled to see his haste.

  He glanced at her. “Oh sure, you go ahead and relax while you still can.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “That in about a minute,” he paused as he tore the foil with his teeth. “You’re going to be wound tighter than a gymnast’s leotard.”

  He rolled on the rubber with a grimace and stood, feet planted wide on the floor in front of where she still sat on his bed.

  “Is this what you wanted?” He asked, a wicked look in his eye.

  “It’s the first item ticked off, yes.” Seeing him naked had been even more thrilling than she’d imagined. Would everything else surpass her fantasy too? She was certain of it.

  “And the next?”

  There was really only one other thing she could think of now. She told him. Two words—raunchy, crude and blunt in their meaning.

  He laughed as he stepped closer, bending to tease. “Going to do more than that.”

  “No, just do that now.” Now, now, now. She didn’t need foreplay, she was ready. She wanted him inside her—that huge, powerful body driving in her, rapid and relentless until she went mad.

  He put a fist either side of her and leaned forward. Instinctively she lay back, wriggling on the soft coverings, encouraging him to lie right over her—to mount her now.

  But he remained just out of reach, too far away. “You’re going to come first.”

  Why? She was almost there now and she suspected the second he entered her she’d lose it. “What about you?”

  “It’s inevitable,” he laughed, lifting a hand from the bed and sweeping firmly down her thigh. “I need to be sure you’re taken care of because this first time may not be as sustained as I’d like.”

  “No?” Her body rippled beneath that one stroke, her nipples tightening to the point of pain. “I thought you rowers were good with endurance.”

  “Eighty-odd hours of anticipation,” he said. “I’m like a loosened Champagne cork, embarrassingly ready to fire.” He drew a deep breath as he slowly looked down her length. His muscles visibly clenched. But then he smiled. “Will you let me go down on you?” he asked oh so politely.

  “Um...” She lifted her hand and pretended to study her nails. “I guess that would be okay.”

  He chuckled and rewarded her by leaning closer and kissing her mouth—letting her know exactly what he was going to do to the rest of her. She moaned as that one kiss sucked her under his spell again. His mouth was the sexiest thing. She curled both hands into his hair—holding him close, arching upwards to get closer to his heat. No, she didn’t need the oral sex actually, she just needed him. She pushed her legs wider, wanting him to thrust between them. She wanted everything now.

  He put his hands under her arms, literally hauling her into position in the middle of the bed—all while still kissing her. So the guy could be bossy but with one hell of a sweetener. He reached above her, grabbed a couple of pillows and lifted her hips to shove them beneath her. Now her hips were raised, while her torso stretched back, leaving her so exposed to him.

  “You like your women on a platter?” she teased. But she was amazed at how unselfconscious she felt. The way he looked at her, like she was the most beautiful thing, like he’d never wanted anything as much, made her feel so treasured. So sexy. And, this once, she was going with it.

  “Maximizing pleasure,” he replied, running his palm over her stomach, his gaze sweeping over the bared secrets of her body.

  Just that one stroke sent flickers of fire along her nerve endings. She arched uncontrollably, thrusting her breasts up, wanting his mouth nearer, everywhere.

  Okay so she did want the oral sex. She did want that tongue everywhere.

  He kissed and nibbled his way down her neck, over her chest to one breast, then the other. His fingers subtly teased in tandem with his lips, igniting every inch of her skin—below her belly button, then lower still.

  For a big guy, he had
a delicate—tormenting—touch. The man’s tongue teased, flicking light and quick across her entrance. His fingers strummed her—faster, faster still. But he didn’t penetrate her. Desperate for that, she groaned. Her hips pumped as he lapped. Her groan became words—blatant, hot demands. She spread her arms wide on the bed beneath her, fingers extended as the tension within her burned intolerably. He moved, lying across her thighs to stop her from curling them around him and pulling him in. His greater weight and strength rendered her captive, yet he was tender. Tender. But wicked.

  His attentions consumed her. With one hand he rubbed her, still deliciously but maddeningly licking. His other hand swept up the side of her body—cupping her breast, rubbing her nipple, sending shivers of delight back to her belly and outwards again—to her scalp and her toes and every bit in between. He took her soft flesh in his hand, owning her until she was begging for more, begging him not to stop. Spread-eagled—rigid—beneath him she cried out, her head thrashing as she neared the peak. A second of silence and then she screamed as sensation slammed, hitting her in entirety. She shuddered, convulsing. As the spasms of intense pleasure wracked her, she instinctively tried to wrench back from his continued caresses. But his strength was too great—she panted, fast and short as he kept up his quick, relentless touches. Her eyes widened, she stared at him for one moment of heightened clarity before her head fell back on the bed, her eyes closing as she rode the crest into another orgasm even more overpowering than the first.

  “You okay?” Minutes later he asked, breaking through the sound of her still-rapid breathing.

  “More than okay.” She slowly opened her eyes.

  He was on all fours above her, his arms either side of her head, his eyes warm, his smile pleased. “You’re amazing.”

  “Lucky.” She tentatively tried to flex, her body one warm mass of luscious languor. “Thank you.” She looked down his tight body and saw the fast rise and fall of his chest, the sharpness in his eyes. “I feel bad for you though.”

  “I’ll get my turn.”

  “Now,” she reached up, winding her arms round his neck and drawing him close for a kiss. She flicked her tongue into his hot mouth—mimicking the lush strokes he’d just tormented her with.