Page 50 of Book People

He deals with the condom and, as he does so, I feel suddenly self-conscious and weird. I’m sitting on my kitchen bench in only my knickers, while he’s still fully dressed. All he had to do was zip up his fly.

Perhaps it was terrible. Perhaps this perfection was all in my head. He probably didn’t think I was beautiful at all, and those things he said were just—

He turns back to me and all my thoughts scatter as his hands slide possessively up my bare thighs. The expression on his face is as intense as it has ever been.

‘You wanted me to come and get you,’ he says. ‘And I did. Now you need to ask me to stay.’

I swallow, searching his face. Does he really mean it or is this something he says to every woman he sleeps with? ‘Do you . . . want to?’

‘What do you think? I want a night, Miss Jones, and a night I’m going to have.’

He means it, I can see it in his eyes, and I should know that about him by now. That he’s always straight up. He always says what he means.

The band that has tightened around my heart eases. Yet his dark brows twitch and he lifts a hand to cup my jaw. ‘What is it?’

Somehow he’s picked up on my doubt, which is annoying, because I don’t want to talk about Jasper and everything he did to me, not here. Not with him. So instead I say, ‘Miss Jones? Really? Still?’

His hands stroke my sides, a tender touch that makes me want to arch my back and purr like a cat. ‘Kate, then,’ he says. ‘Miss Jones when you’re bad.’

I shiver. I like that idea very much. ‘What if I don’t want a night?’

‘If I thought you meant it, I’d walk away, and you know that.’ His fingertips gently trace the curves of my breasts. ‘But you don’t mean it.’

There’s a smug, male note in his voice and I can’t help smiling. ‘No, you’re right. I don’t.’

‘Good,’ he murmurs. ‘One night and that’s all.’

Somewhere in my heart I can feel something twist, as if part of me is disappointed. As if part of me wants more.

But that’s why it can only be one night.

He doesn’t want more and neither do I, and I’m fine with it.

I ignore my doubts, wrap my arms around his neck, and when he asks me where my bedroom is, I give him directions.

He carries me there and, even though I protest, I don’t make any effort to leave his arms. I like it there. I like it too much. Lying here against his warm chest, looking up at him and his taut profile. His Roman nose. His mouth that doesn’t smile as much as it should. That doesn’t smile at all.

I’m going to get a smile, I vow to myself silently, as he carries me through into my little bedroom. I’m going to make this man smile come hell or high water.

He doesn’t look around as he steps into my bedroom. He keeps his attention on me and me only as he deposits me on the edge of my bed. Then he falls to his knees in front of me, kissing my throat and then going down further, between my breasts and over my stomach. I sigh as he pushes me back and grips the waistband of my knickers, pulling them down and off until I’m finally naked.

He kisses his way up my thighs and between, and yet although I’m loving his mouth on me, I want to touch him. I want him as naked as I am.

‘No,’ I whisper, and push him away, sitting up and meeting his shadowed blue eyes. ‘Take off your clothes, Mr Blackwood.’

And there it is, at last. The corner of his mouth lifts. It’s not a smile so much as a smirk, but I love it. There is arrogance in it and also knowledge. He knows he’s beautiful to me and he’s going to milk this moment for all it’s worth.

Good.

I want him to.

I want to sit back and worship him in all his glory.

He stands, his blue gaze pinned to mine, and he unbuttons the shirt I’ve already clawed at, exposing his broad chest and going down further to his muscled stomach. He shrugs out of it and discards it on the floor. Shoes next, then his hands go to his belt, undoing it and the buttons of his trousers.

It’s unspeakably erotic.

He shoves his trousers down, taking his boxers with them, and steps out of the fabric. Naked.

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