Her Bossy Billionaire (Love in London Book 1) Page 7

  Incredibly, a feeling of power surged back into her, galvanizing her muscles—the pure energy of desire. Recharged, she arched, running her hands down his back to his butt and pulling so he’d lie on her. He resisted for a second, spreading her legs further with strong hands first and then settling between her thighs. She almost purred with the pleasure of feeling his weight upon her, of feeling his hard length push at her slick entrance.

  She rocked to hurry him, loving how the pillows beneath her hips drove her core closer to his. He put his fisted hands to either side of her, pressing down into the mattress while his arms remained straight so he arched above her—his pelvis pushed against hers. She devoured the view of his magnificent bared torso, her gaze drifting lower to see how close they were to being joined.

  “Libby.”

  At his strained whisper she immediately looked back up to his face—reading the rigid restraint there—and then watched the unbearable pleasure as slowly he moved into her.

  She moaned as a sensational feeling of fullness—completion—engulfed her, inch by inch. As she’d suspected, ecstasy came instantly. She trembled, succumbing to bursts of bliss, while he continued to stoke the inferno. He pulled back and then pressed close again—harder, to the hilt—and paused. Delight locked in.

  “As amazing as that was before,” she breathed in the exquisite rush. “Nothing but nothing beats this.”

  So damn good.

  He breathed in and out harshly through his nostrils, pausing, like a reined in stallion, rearing.

  “Please,” she murmured with a small, satisfied purr. She wanted him out of control in his desire for her—as she was for him.

  He growled, a short, rough sound and then moved. She met him, slow thrust for slow thrust. Every movement sent pleasure rippling through her. His arms spread wider, the sheet caught in his fists as he sought traction. She too clung, her hands curled round his biceps, feeling the tension beneath her fingertips.

  He moved in slow, sweeping, circular motions, watching her close, a small smile on his lips. His gaze dipped to her breasts and that smile faltered—his nostrils thinned as he breathed in deeply again. His muscles tautened as he looked, dark heat flaring in his eyes, color slashing across his cheekbones as he ground deeper into her with those delicious movements. She understood the pleasure he found in having her spread before him—beneath him—accepting his invasion. She reveled in it too, feeling sexy, desirable, riding the heat, the sweat, the energy. They’d left this world and gone to another of their own—a higher, hotter, paradise.

  His hard plank of a body worked into hers, yet he was so warm and fluid in his movements and so tender in his smile. It was slow, addictive torture and she groaned as the tension caught her again, winding her tighter, ever tighter.

  His biceps bunched as he braced above her. Their rhythm increased. He was all she could see. There was nothing else in her head but him, the way he looked right now, the way he felt.

  Passion built. She shivered as the fever took hold, faltered as small slivers of ecstasy surged through her…tiny precursors to her next release. She called out in increasingly quick, breathy moans, closing her eyes as the intensity became too much. Her body clamped and locked, seeking the final hit that would send her over the edge.

  He moved to meet her moaned demands—thrusting faster. Her eyes snapped open—wide—as she watched his muscles pump as he plunged through the fierce, rigid hold of her body. The friction so intense, so pleasurable, so damn good. His face locked in the grip of determination, of fire, a growl escaping through gritted teeth. But she smiled as the sensations conquered her consciousness. Her eyes flicked shut again as she sank into ecstasy Her moan became a shout as sheer, sharp pleasure surged in spasm after spasm, blissful contractions shivering outwards from her core. In the height of the storm his fingers dug into her hips as he pushed her closer still, grinding into her with fast, wild force. His abs slammed against her stomach, his chest crushed hers as he dropped from his dominant position and simply embraced her as a deep moan was wrenched from him.

  She looped her arms around him, her hands smoothing his sweat-slicked back. She held him, uncaring of how hot she was, how she could hardly breathe, could hardly hear for his rapid, rough panting in her ear. Every so often she’d shiver again—her body locked in aftershocks. Until the tension slowly ebbed and that languorous warmth slid along her veins.

  “So,” she said breathlessly, trying to find a way back down to earth. “That wasn’t sustained?”

  His laugh was combined with a pained groan. “Must have been your performance enhancing muesli.”

  Eight

  Jack stared out the bakery window as he waited, still in a daze ten hours after she’d left his bed. Despite their intimate marathon, he’d hardly slept. Instead he’d wound his arms around her and held her until she’d woken—too early. She’d quickly kissed him and thanked him for a lovely night and left. What an idiot he’d been to make his move on a weeknight when she had to be at her local council copywriting job the next morning. He laughed—stupid—even if it had been the weekend, she’d be up early wanting to resurrect her cereal business.

  But it was the cereal that was his way back in.

  He sat at the counter when she turned up—not touching her, simply getting on with his work. She smiled, clearly determined not to let any awkwardness build between them. She thought she could be like a pal now? Like a buddy? He didn’t think so. But he said nothing. He knew the chemistry wasn’t anywhere near burned out—hell, with her flushed cheeks and her tight nipples and her restlessness, it was obvious.

  So he sat like he had the other nights and got on with his work. To his immense satisfaction every time he glanced up he caught her looking at him. So he stood and got himself some water from the fridge. Turning back he nabbed her snatching a look at his butt. Yeah, he had a number of nail marks proving how much she liked that part of him. He stood socially unacceptably near to her at the counter—watching her work. He’d see how long she could hold out for.

  “Where’s your younger sister?” She asked eventually, her voice a little shrill. Her cheeks were getting redder by the minute.

  “At university, thank goodness.” He didn’t step away, not when he saw the way she couldn’t help the downward flicker of her gaze over his body. He liked being this close—near enough to touch in a heartbeat.

  “Is she into rowing too?”

  “She wasn’t, for a long time. But now she’s a cox,” He wickedly emphasized the word, knowing from the quick touch of her tongue to her lips what she was thinking of. “It seems to be in the blood.”

  “It must have been hard for you.” She sent him another quick glance from beneath her cautious lashes.

  He bit the inside of his lip. People were curious—of course they were. Mostly he brushed it off, but with Libby he had an urge to be honest. “It wasn’t as hard as many other people have it. I was able to generate cash to get the business underway. And they were good kids. Well, as good as could be expected.” He frowned.

  Libby raised her brows. “Did they give you a hard time?”

  “Being the stand-in parent means you get the brunt of rebellion and resentment.”

  “You should’ve been out sowing your wild oats.” She sent him a look from under her lashes. “You still should be.”

  Jack tensed. Tom had said that recently, Anne too in her own way. But he’d figured that had been because the two of them wanted him off their backs. Now he wondered if they were right. He’d gotten in the habit of bearing responsibility and working so hard to make sure they had all they needed and to build the business. But stupidly, hearing it from Libby flicked his pride—his past hadn’t been completely boring.

  “I did ok,” he said. “It wasn’t all a desert in that time.”

  But none of those random hook-ups had given him the kind of experience he’d had with Libby last night.

  “No girlfriend could put up with the sullen teen sister or my work hours.” H
e couldn’t help explaining. He hadn’t had time to manage a relationship. Then he’d gotten used to the hours. Once his business interests took off, they increased more. He still didn’t have the time for anything serious. Fortunately Libby didn’t want anything long-term. They could enjoy this moment by moment—have a few laughs together over an oat-strewn counter.

  “I don’t believe you,” Libby said, measuring almonds. “There would have been girls lining up round the block to give you the kind of support you needed.”

  He laughed. “That’s a sweet thing to say but it’s not true.”

  “It’s true.”

  She was wrong. “I spent most of my time with building contractors, engineers and inspectors. It’s a sad reality that at that time most of those people were not female. It comes down to sheer opportunity.”

  “Is that what I was last night?” Her eyes glinted. “Sheer opportunity?”

  It only took a moment to get his hands around her waist. He lifted her up onto the countertop. “What you are,” he said roughly, pushing her knees apart so he could press close and kiss her everywhere. “Is temptation.”

  She shook her head, taking his hand and bringing it to her breast, sighing in surrender when he tightened his fingers around the taut nipple. “That’s what you are.”

  He kissed her, boldly invading her mouth the second their lips connected. She opened instantly—her low moan making him even harder. None of the passion had been assuaged last night. In fact it was worse, knowing how hot it would be. Damn. He lifted her off the bench and into his arms. “My place.”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing?” He asked the next night. Bags of ingredients spilled all over the counter in a mess. Where was her usual “everything just so” approach?

  “Grainstorming.”

  “What?”

  She chuckled. “I’m trying to come up with new combination ideas.”

  He looked at the counter now straining under the weight of some of the oddest looking fruit he’d seen. “There are combinations and there’s just plain weird. That’s in the weird category.” He pointed to a yellow spike-covered fruit.

  “You’re afraid to try something new?” She shook her head. “So conservative, Jack.”

  “I can try new,” he countered wickedly. “I can be very inventive.”

  She used her wooden spoon to fend him off. “You’re not distracting me. I do need to grainstorm.”

  “It might help with your creativity,” he reasoned idly. “Plus, it will help you work up an appetite for your tasting sessions.”

  “Later.” She fluttered her fingers round the handle of the wooden spoon—a thoughtful look in her eye. “This is just, you know…”

  “A fling.” He nodded. “Of course.”

  Because neither of them had the time nor need for anything more.

  He sat on a stool and watched her play with the weird ingredients. She asked him about his day and he found himself talking through the plans for his newest property. Somehow that led him to talk to her about the troubles Tom had those few years ago when he fell in love and was crushed enough over the breakup to fall into a party crowd and almost lose his place on his rowing squad. And she listened and smiled and didn’t offer any platitudes, which he was grateful for.

  “What about muesli bars?” he asked, turning the conversation to her work—finding he was more and more interested in it. He was even thinking on it during the day, turning over ideas and ways in which he might be able to help.

  “Full of sugar and fat.”

  “The health thing is that important to you?” he asked. “It’s not that you’re on a food trend or wanting to cater to such an exclusive corner of the market?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I wish it wasn’t exclusive. I wish there was a way to make it cheaper so more people could benefit from a healthier breakfast, not some sugar and salt laden cereal.”

  “You really want to make a difference?”

  “Of course,” she looked up from her contemplation of the assorted ingredients. “Don’t you? Heart health matters.”

  “Why does it matter so much to you?” It wasn’t personal, right? She didn't have any scars—he knew because he’d licked every inch of her body. But there must be a scar somewhere, because he saw her face fall.

  For a long moment he didn’t think she’d say anything, but then with a soft sigh and a very small voice, she told him.

  “My mother died of a heart condition when she was thirty-five.”

  His blood froze. “Oh Libby, I’m sorry.”

  “It gets worse,” she added, suddenly more spirited and even faking a smile. “My father died of a heart attack less than two months later.”

  She might have been trying to lightly joke it off, but failed miserably. He put his arms around her, ignoring the bowl she held. She leant forward and rested her forehead on his chest for a moment. He liked it.

  “I think it was a broken heart in some ways.” She was back to the whisper. “But in others it was simply poor health. I didn’t know at the time but his blood pressure was bad, his cholesterol, his stress…” she trailed off. “It was one of those ones you read about in the paper. Reasonably fit guy in his early forties goes for a run and doesn’t come back.”

  “Where were you?”

  “With him.”

  He swore beneath his breath.

  “I’d encouraged him,” she said. “He’d withdrawn so much after Mum died. I thought some fresh air would be good. That it would be good for him to get a little fitter.” She stopped talking.

  Horror rendered him speechless—the poor woman had to carry that with her? His heart tore.

  Even though she remained standing in his arms he could feel her withdrawing—as if she regretted what she’d told him, as if she didn’t want to delve any deeper into wounds that had left far more than skin-puckering scars.

  “Were you angry with him for leaving you?” he asked quietly.

  She was still for a long moment. And then nodded, a sharp jerk of her head. “With both of them.”

  “I was angry with my mother,” he said painfully. Usually he resisted thinking about that time in his life, and almost never talked about it. But he wanted to reach Libby now—to let her know he almost understood. “Like she could help getting cancer?” He half-mocked his own devastation. “But I was so angry.”

  “And then your father remarried.”

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t a betrayal,” he said, reassuring. “She was lovely. She was great to me. There was no wicked stepmother nightmare. She and Dad were happy and it was good to see that when he’d been so sad. But then Tom got sick. And then there was the accident.” And that had been a whole other nightmare. He breathed in, aiming to lighten the pressure in his chest. “You don’t have brothers or sisters?”

  She shook her head.

  “And there wasn’t really a circus troupe?”

  “Actually there was.” She suddenly smiled, finally looking up at him. The bruised edge in her eyes smote his heart all over again.

  “I went to boarding school after they died, and in the holidays I’d stay with my aunt in a seaside town in Devon. Every summer the circus came and I spent every day down there. I used to sit in school and dream of running away to the circus. But I never did learn to throw knives.”

  “You couldn’t live with your aunt?” he asked.

  “She was older, never had children and didn’t really want them. She felt boarding school was best. In some ways I guess it was.” She paused. “You didn’t send Anne and Tom to boarding school.”

  “We needed to be together,” he said softly. “They’d been through enough. I was paranoid about Tom having a relapse and Anne was young.”

  “I wish I’d had a brother like you.”

  “Libby,” he pulled her closer and let his hands go beyond polite boundaries. “I’m really glad I’m not your brother.”

  Laughing, she tilted her chin for his kiss.

  “You know you d
on’t have to stay here each night,” Libby said three nights later. “You still don’t trust me?”

  “It’s not safe for you to be here alone after hours.” He didn’t even look up from his infernal emailing as he spoke.

  “Why, what am I going to do?”

  “It’s a Saturday night, drunk jerks walk past every other minute—they spot you?” he shook his head. “I wouldn’t leave any woman alone in here any night of the week.”

  So it wasn’t about spending time with her? It was just for her safety? Any woman’s safety? She sucked in a small breath. Good to know. She swallowed and braced herself for his reaction to her news. “I’ve had a letter from my insurance company.”

  He looked up then. “And?”

  “Check attached.”

  “That’s great.” His whole face lit up.

  “I’ll be able to rent new premises and increase production.” Libby forced a smile. She was pleased about it. Really pleased. She’d been validated and vindicated. And she wouldn’t have to use this bakery after hours for much longer.

  “That’s fantastic news.” Jack looked at her and then back to his iPad. “You’ll be rebuilding the business in no time.”

  So there she had it. He wasn’t bothered about her time here coming to an end soon. Well, good. Because neither was she.

  She looked at where he sat opposite, still working on his damn tablet. Other than when he was inclined to play with her, he always sat fully focused on whatever it was he was checking. All of a sudden it really ticked her off. “Do you ever not work?”

  He glanced up and looked at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

  “Like when did you last have a holiday?”

  “When did you?” he countered. “I think the pot is calling the kettle here.”

  “That’s only because I’m starting up. I still know how to have fun.”

  “You’re spinning stories again.” He put the tablet on the bench. “When was the last time you went to a concert or a play or a football game? When did you last go clubbing? When did you last go to the pub on a Friday night with your workmates? When did you last have fun?”