Page 47 of Pleasure Payback

Curiosity ate at me and this time it wouldn’t stay down. ‘You keep refusing my drinks. A more fragile person would have a complex by now. Care to elaborate?’

His jaw clenched once. ‘No. I prefer to get you off in some other way than satisfying personal curiosity.’

‘Even if that’s my specific fantasy right now?’

‘Your fantasy is to dissect my life?’ The question was sharp, his face drawn into lines of displeasure.

‘You could’ve answered differently if you didn’t want me to probe.’

‘You asked a question. I gave you a truthful answer. Let’s move on to your next fantasy. Preferably one that involves discovering what’s beneath that robe.’

I smiled despite the curious ache digging inside me. ‘It’s a secret I intend to keep a little while longer.’

A terse smile lifted the corner of his mouth. ‘As long as it’s my hands doing the revealing, I’ll be patient. Just about.’

Renewed heat in his eyes dissipated the little blip in our discourse. The crescendo of the music rose. I swayed towards him, swivelling my hips in a sensual dance as I savoured the champagne. When nothing but stark arousal remained in his eyes, I presented my back to him and continued to dance to the haunting tune.

When I moved, he followed. By silent command he knew not to touch me. I liked that.

As the music grew to a close, I headed for the chaise, hyperaware he tracked my every move.

One hand clutching the train of my robe and the other my champagne, I reclined against the headrest and tucked my legs to one side, careful not to reveal too much skin.

Even still, Damian made a rough sound as his eyes devoured the little skin I exposed.

Discarding the champagne, I reached for the platter of canapés. ‘You won’t drink with me. Will you at least eat something or am I wasting my breath there too?’ I plucked a grape, popped it between my lips and held it there for teasing seconds before biting into it. The juices exploded on my tongue. I held in my moan, sure it was the fierce arousal burning through me responsible for my heightened senses.

I resented Damian a little for inciting the unquenchable flames so it was a little gratifying when he stumbled forward, his movements uncharacteristically jerky as his gaze switched from my legs to my mouth to the platter and back again.

‘I see your fantasies include copious amounts of torture,’ he stated roughly.

I feigned wide-eyed innocence. ‘I’m just offering sustenance. How is that torture?’

‘You know exactly what you’re doing.’

I shrugged. ‘Are you not enjoying yourself?’

His gaze rushed over me once more. ‘The entertainment is...stimulating.’

I laughed and watched his eyes darken.

‘I like the way you laugh.’

His compliment took me by surprise. ‘Do you?’

He nodded. ‘The problem is so far I’ve been denied it.’

‘Ah.’ I smiled. ‘You don’t like things not going your way, huh?’

His mouth firmed. ‘It’s a curiously novel experience. Which I don’t want to ruin the mood with.’

‘Then try these French tarts. They’re to die for.’

I picked one and held it against his lips. He caught it with his teeth, chewed and swallowed without taking his eyes off me.

I was a thirty-one-year-old woman in control of a multimillion-dollar business, and yet having Damian Mortimer eat from the palm of my hand was a heady experience that made me as giddy as a schoolgirl.

In the background, Maria Callas wailed in guttural French. ‘I love Maria Callas. Don’t you?’ I asked, toying with my belt.

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