Page 4 of Pleasure Payback

I raised my glass, wrapped my lips around the thin straw and sucked. The cold tartness went nowhere near cooling the fires his darkened gaze stoked as it landed on my mouth. Beneath the soft layer of my black wrap cocktail dress, my nipples tightened, my skin tingling under his scrutiny.

Whoever this man was, his words were saying one thing but his body was betraying him mercilessly, broadcasting his interest.

Shamelessly feeding off it, I slowly swirled my tongue over my bottom lip.

Hunger, raw and potent, blazed in his eyes then slammed mercilessly into me.

‘Did you need something else, Mr Mortimer?’ the bartender interrupted.

He blinked, then frowned at the intrusion.

Mr Mortimer?Of The Mortimer Group? Inside, the butterflies in my stomach somersaulted. Surely that wasn’t a coincidence.

Did I really just try to buy the owner of this amazing hotel a drink?

The bold and reckless demon inside me grinned wide even as the less effervescent Neve cringed.

But why the hell not? He was wildly attractive, with the kind of sexual charisma that set women’s panties alight with alarming frequency. What was wrong with wanting a piece of that?

The grim set to his jaw put paid to that wild fantasy.

I was already at my two-drink limit, a hard cap I’d set myself after witnessing countless times what alcohol did to my mother. The dark depths of despair interspersed with endless bitter rants about the world at large and me in particular whenever she’d had more than a few. Much as I’d told myself that it was the alcohol talking, the barbs she’d thrown my way had found their mark.

Thoughts of my mother dampened my mood. Tucking my purse under my arm, I turned to the bartender. ‘Put the drinks on my room, please. Suite 6799.’

I felt Mortimer move, his shadow looming closer. My insides tightened, my pussy throbbing at the thought of further tussling with him.

But as much as I wanted that thrill, my screaming instincts had other ideas. Curbing the need for one last thirst-quenching look, I turned on my heel and walked out of the bar.

Twenty minutes later, fresh from a hot shower, I shrugged into the complimentary satin robe, tying the belt loosely around my waist. Drawn to the spectacular view, I was halfway across the carpeted suite when the hard triple-rap on the door froze my steps.

For some absurd reason my pulse jumped. It could be many things. The concierge delivering my final bill before I checked out tomorrow. The complimentary turn-down service listed among the numerous guest perks.

Still, my blood thrummed with excitement as I pulled the door open.

He stood with hands rammed deep into his pockets, his hair a little dishevelled and his tie still loose, exposing the beginnings of a mouth-watering, hair-dusted chest.

For a pulse-racing stretch of time, we stared at each other, neither of us making a move.

‘You shouldn’t blurt out your room number in front of strangers,’ he rasped, his gaze climbing from my legs to clash with mine.

‘Even the stranger whose hotel I’m staying in?’

Only the fleeting gleam in his eyes said I’d correctly guessed his identity. ‘Especially him.’

‘Thanks for the tip. And thanks for installing the peephole and latch to ensure I have the choice of only opening the door to people I feel I can trust.’

A muscle ticced in his jaw, a telltale sign that he was fighting urges or demons. ‘You think you can trust me, Neve Nolan?’

It shouldn’t have made me hot and wet, the fact that a powerful man like him had taken the time to find out my name. But, boy, did it.

I shrugged, and when the robe slipped off one shoulder to reveal my upper arm and the slope of one breast, I didn’t adjust it. I stood stock-still and let his gaze caress skin I’d exposed.

He stared long and hard. Then cursed tightly. ‘Bloody hell, I shouldn’t be here,’ he muttered, his fingers clawing through his hair.

He started to turn away.

Something sharp and urgent pierced me. ‘And yet here you are.’

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