Sexy to Go Volume 5 Read online

  “Can’t see why they should have all the fun,” Wilson said and dropped a kiss under her ear, gentle as a butterfly landing, then blew a soft breath past her ear.

  “Are you romancing me, Mr. Burnell?”

  “I am, Miss Rozema. Indeed I am. I find you most attractive. Quite beautiful in fact.”

  “Is this part of my prize?”

  “It can be.”

  “Because I have to tell you I am a single lady, and it is a long time since I’ve been romanced seriously. I don’t partake in idle liaisons.”

  “There is nothing idle about my intentions, Miss Rozema.”

  “Good,” she said, “Because I find you extremely attractive too.” She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder trying to ignore the gentle stroke of his fingers on the side of her breast. “This firm you work for, WPB Enterprises, what does it do? I don’t think you’ve told me.”

  “Does it really matter?”

  Before she could answer he tilted her chin toward him and covered her lips with his, delivering a soft gentle kiss; an invitation as it were, leaving the response to her.

  After a moment she opened her mouth and welcomed him. Her body responded as if she’d suddenly jumped on an express train. Her heart pounded, excitement buzzed up her spine and even her knees trembled. Feeling decidedly aroused she broke their kiss and eased back to look at him. He really was a lovely man - handsome and ultra-sexy. Why hadn’t someone snapped him up?

  He cupped her breast and stroked her nipple, under the cover of his jacket and she tried to ignore the distraction of his caresses. She shook her head and took a deep breath.

  “You should know, Wilson,” she said, “that I had an accident two years ago. I’m left with a leg that aches from being broken in several places and I still long to wear high heels.”

  An irrelevant fact but somehow it had slipped in to her statement.

  “There are a few months of my life that are missing but I’m hoping to track them down. I know the memories are there somewhere, I just can’t reach them.”

  His caresses made concentrating really hard.

  “I have this feeling I’ve met you before. Have I?”

  He didn’t answer, just smiled and her heart dissolved into a puddle in her chest, a hot puddle that moved lower and centered between her thighs.

  She had to tell him, but could she?

  Of course she could, she was a grown woman; a mother of a toddler, a professional copywriter. He could only turn her down.

  Her ego would be flattened but no one would die.

  Oh God. Here goes.

  “I don’t do a lot of socializing, for various reasons, but I’m really attracted to you. Can we meet again?”

  A deep breath.

  “Perhaps even go to bed… perhaps tonight?”

  There, she’d said it. The tingling between her thighs disturbed her train of thought.

  She watched his face, scrutinizing it for mirth or rejection. All he did was widen his smile. No sign of rejection. She hurried on, “I have a small house and a double bed. I changed the sheets this morning.”

  Now he’d think she was a hussy.

  “Not in preparation… but just because I had the time.”

  God, this was embarrassing.

  “You know I live in Cambridge because that’s where you sent your letter.” She wished he’d say something. She let go of his hand and fixed her gaze on the sea, her fingers plucking at the creases in her dress.

  Wilson stilled her hands. “Rachel, look at me.”

  Could she? After propositioning the poor man.

  Wilson again placed his finger on her jaw line to turn her face to his and kissed her once more, a soft meeting of their lips for a brief time. Was this goodbye?

  “I have a better idea. I’m booked into the hotel for the night. I have a room and a bed. We could stay here, on neutral ground.”

  Neutral ground? She wondered at that expression, but then forgot because he’d accepted her suggestion and now she really did shiver with excitement and had to stand up to stop her knees shaking.

  He rose and pulled her close, his soft lips covered hers and she could sense the passion in his breath. His body trembled under her hands as she wrapped her arms around him, digging her fingers into his back, tracing his spine through his shirt, wanting to touch his skin.

  They hurried back to the hotel. She held his jacket in place with one hand while he held her other hand as if she might run away.

  In the lift to the third floor he kissed her again, their tongues danced and he caressed her hair, then he held her against his chest, stroking her back and shoulders. The lift stopped, its doors opened and closed, then waited until he pressed the button to open them again. Even as they walked to his room he kept his arm around her, ushering her into a luxurious suite with an enormous bed. The en suite was so white the glare made her shut her eyes as she slipped out of her dress and wrapped herself in one of the hotel’s thick dressing gowns.

  In the dim lighting she found him in the bed, already naked, waiting for her. She slipped the gown off dropping it to pool on the floor and slipped under the sheets beside him. He wrapped her in his arms, pressing his chest against her breasts.

  Pity they’d sagged with Julian’s birth. At least in the dark he mightn’t notice.

  “I wanted to undress you,” he murmured. His hands unclasped her pearls and leaning over her, he placed them on the side table. She slipped her earrings off and stretched to put then with the necklace. The pearls glowed under the low light.

  He took the opportunity to caress her breasts and she giggled.

  “I couldn’t wait.”

  “Neither could I,” His voice deep and tight with desire.

  From their first kiss they seemed to fit. No bumping of noses, no missing the mark. His kisses deepened her desire. His hands worked their magic, caressing her back and buttocks, gently moving her onto her back so he could stroke her breasts and kiss her erect nipples. Then he began to use his tongue and her toes curled in delight. Small noises left her throat but she had no control over them.

  Her heat throbbed in anticipation, aching with desire and she pulled him close, whispering, “I’m ready,” but he moved down the bed. He lifted her foot and massaged the instep. The initial tickling sensation vanished as he took her smallest toe with his lips and a soft suction began before his tongue flicked over it. Why wasn’t she surprised? Had this happened before to her? Trickles of delight ran up her legs and ended between her thighs. First one toe, then the next. Her back arched. He abandoned that foot and took up the other. Now she was more than ready; she was about to burst with suppressed desire as her body absorbed and answered every pulsing caress of his tongue.

  Shock ran up her back like an electric pulse as a picture flashed into her mind. A sun-filled room, curtains covered in a William Morris design, gently wafting from the breeze blowing in through the open window. With every toe he sucked another picture flooded in, replacing the last. The memories flowed back; the sounds of city traffic in the street below, the café where they ate croissants, sated from sex, giggly with their delight in each other.

  He kissed her instep and licked around her ankles. “Oh, oh,” she could hear her exclamations as the memories pulsed, like watching a YouTube clip. He trailed his tongue up her legs and took his reward from her moist heat.

  She knew this man. All she needed was his name. Not Wilson, definitely not Wilson. He rose to nibble her nipples, and suck them gently before he parted her thighs and entered her. With slow strokes he took her to the peak. As the colors flooded her brain and the orgasm surged up her spine a name appeared in her mind, written in gold script on a white background -and she knew.

  “Patrick!” she cried. “Patrick, it’s you. I remember.”

  He sunk onto her breasts meeting her gaze, his expression soft, filled with longing. “Thank God - you remember me. “ His eyes filled and a tear dripped onto her chest. She wiped his cheeks, kissing the
end of his nose.

  “Where did you go? How did I lose you?”

  He rolled off her and wrapped her in his arms, rolling her on to her side, their breath mingling.

  “I left you to go to Australia. I had a six month’s contract. I wrote to your flat, I texted, I rang, no answer-phone and no answer. You never replied. I stayed longer, unable to face coming back and not having you to meet me.”

  “But I had an accident. I’m told I walked into the path of a taxi. I ended up in hospital for months, concussion and a shattered leg. My phone was smashed. My parents closed up my flat, paid the bills and took my stuff home.” Guilt tightened her chest. “Oh, Patrick, I was bedridden. I forgot you.” Now her tears joined his. “But I’ve remembered now.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “I remember how much I love you.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Was this dinner a hoax? Did I really win a competition?”

  He laughed. “No you didn’t, except to win my heart two years ago. Luckily you have an unusual surname. I tracked down your parents, but when I rang they were a bit frosty. Said they’d never heard of me, but did give me your address and suggested I write to you. ”

  “We did rather keep our passion a secret,” she said. “We were going to tell them when you came back. I remember. We were going to see if we could survive without each other.”

  “They said I had to approach you myself. Told me you’d had an accident and warned me that you might not remember me.”

  His story stopped while their lips met, their tears mingled and their love rushed to greet its soul-mate, melding their hearts together. They broke for a breath.

  “I don’t think your parents believed my story.” He stroked her hair. “I didn’t want to just bowl up to your door and as much as I wanted to see you I didn’t want to stalk you.” He chuckled. “Then I remembered how you loved entering contests so I came up with this plan.”

  “But what if I’d turned you down tonight?”

  “I had such high hopes, but you didn’t recognize me when I arrived; yet you wore the dress I loved and the pearls I’d bought you.”

  She remembered the look she’d seen. He had been disappointed; the poor man. “But I did find you extremely good looking.” She nibbled his ear. She instinctively knew what would please him.

  “If you’d turned me down tonight then I’d have persisted, finding an excuse to take you out again, and again, until you succumbed to my charms. I was prepared to fight for your love - to win your heart again.”

  “It’s a pity you didn’t visit my parents.”

  “Why, what difference would it have made?”

  “They’d have recognized you.”

  “Why? Do you have photos of me?”

  “Better than that, Patrick, I have your son. He’s a mini Patrick.” She laughed, joy filling her heart. “Everyone has been so polite. After three months in traction in the hospital and putting my lack of periods down to shock, suddenly I had movements and there I was pregnant with no idea who the father was. Bit embarrassing. Mum and Dad will be so glad I’ve found Julian’s father.”

  He covered her lips with his, his tongue twining with hers, his desire evident against her thigh. “Haven’t you had enough?” she teased.

  “I’ll never get enough of you. I’ve two years to make up for – and so have you, before I meet our son in the morning.”

  After that neither of them spoke for a while.

  Reflected Pleasures

  Tara Quan

  Kailee Chan heaved a sigh of relief as she escaped the hustle and bustle of Bern’s busiest shopping district and followed her husband toward a pair of gilded doors. Without appearing conspicuous, the townhouse they approached exemplified elegance. Resembling a large residence, it invoked a bygone era with an arched portico, whitewashed brick facade, brass knockers, carved cornices, and balconies laden with blossoming flowers.

  The heavy slabs of wood swung inward as they crested the steps. Though the sun hadn’t yet set, a crystal chandelier sparkled beyond the doorway, its warm light bringing out the golden floral pattern in the foyer’s oval carpet.

  When a tuxedoed server approached, Damien retrieved a flute of champagne for her, and a cold beer for himself. “Drink up.”

  Having spent several hours combing the historic center’s Lauben, a covered promenade connecting the Swiss capital’s huge array of stores, her parched throat demanded she empty the glass. She regretted the decision once her cheeks heated. Damned by an unfortunate gene common among Asians, her pale skin colored in response to the slightest amount of alcohol.

  After returning her empty flute to the tray, she raised an inquiring eyebrow at her guide. “Where are we?”

  Although most of his drink remained, he followed her example and returned his glass. “You’ll figure it out soon enough. Come on.”

  Her heels clicked on the parquet floors as they marched down the hallway, past a series of closed-off rooms. Lit up by copper sconces fitted with halogen lights, the faux marble treatment covering the walls invoked memories of a lakeside dawn. Scattered throughout were oil paintings of gorgeous women in flowing evening gowns, the depicted fashion ranging from the Renaissance to modern day.

  Old-fashioned elevator doors opened to a mahogany-paneled interior. Manned with a courteous, red-uniformed operator, the cab conveyed them to the top-most level. Handing the white-bearded man a generous tip as they reached the fourth floor, Damien ushered her into a large, open space.

  White curtains framed the array of bay windows surrounding the room. Blowing in the soft breeze, wispy panels bounced rays of sunlight onto the ivory walls. Racks of clothing crowded the area, along with wheeled display cases filled with shoes, purses, and accessories. An elevated platform occupied the space’s center, with mirrors surrounding it on three sides. An oversized leather armchair banked its front, lending the makeshift dressing area the appearance of a small, private stage.

  “Oh. More shopping.” Her shoulders slumped. Though her aching feet protested any further activity, she pasted on a smile and glanced around, expecting to find a shop attendant. “Is this a boutique?”

  “In a matter of speaking.” Spanning her lower back with one hand, her husband nudged her forward until they reached the platform. As she stepped up, she couldn’t help but scrutinize their reflections in the mirrors. No couple could appear more ill matched.

  At over six feet, Damien loomed over her despite her elevated position. A stubble covered his jaw in a dark shadow, rising to dust his sharp cheekbones and meld with his close-cropped, ebony hair. Sapphire cufflinks twinkled from the crisp sleeves of his white, open-collared shirt. Tailored, khaki trousers hugged his hips, the snug fit emphasizing his long legs and impressive muscle tone. Though he donned a cloak of luxury at great expense, the civilized accouterments failed to mute the ruthless gleam in his azure eyes.

  With him as a backdrop, she appeared short, plain, and shabby. Even compared to other women in Hong Kong, her meager height failed to impress. With narrow shoulders, a flat chest, and pasty skin, she had a physique guaranteed to disappear in a crowd. Tendrils of straight, jet-black hair escaped her high ponytail, surrounding her round face in a limp, tangled mess.

  Unhappy with the picture they painted, she darted her gaze away and fixed it on the man who’d tolerated her as his bride scant weeks ago. A marriage of convenience, conceived to thwart her cousin’s callous scheme to turn their uncle’s adoptive heir into a laughingstock, had tied her to Damien Walker. Over the past few days, she’d watched him dismantle the shackles binding them together piece by piece, using the full weight of his self-made wealth to maneuver her family into a corner.

  In possession of all the winning cards for a corporate takeover, he had little reason to keep her, and even less to want her. Yet he’d spent the afternoon playing an indulgent spouse.

  Accustomed to the scraps of affection cast her way by those whose blood she shared, she couldn’t help but bloom under her protector’s care. But part of her wait
ed for the other shoe to drop—for him to walk away or reveal an agenda she hadn’t foreseen. Growing accustomed to his support seemed a folly, doomed to end in heartbreak. “Why are we here?”

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” A light sheen of sweat coated his obsidian skin. His musky, masculine scent melded with spicy aftershave and cologne, the familiar blend one she’d forever associate with desire.

  Last night, they’d slept skin-to-skin, his large body curving around her exhausted form as his palms roamed her breasts and hips. In his bed, her shower, and even under the stars, he’d used his hands and lips to propel her to a welcome oblivion. On her knees, with her hands bound, she’d returned the favor in kind.

  Each time he stood close, their palpable sexual tension mounted. Even now, his proprietary gaze filled her with fantasies of surrender. She struggled to ignore her aching breasts and electrified skin, to suppress the clenching inner muscles between her legs. She’d already allowed him to drive her to orgasm in public once today. Modesty demanded she avoid a repeat performance.

  With great difficulty, she focused her attention on their conversation. “Desperate circumstances? I wanted to go home ages ago. You insisted I buy new clothes.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted. “That’s before I discovered how horrible you are at shopping.” He gestured at her attire. “We’ve spent three hours together, and all you’ve managed is one measly outfit.”

  When she’d emerged from a changing room wearing a red, form-fitting jersey dress and high-heeled sandals, he’d commanded the grinning sales assistant to get rid of her original clothing and shoes. Left with no choice, she’d suffered the remainder of their outing in the less comfortable ensemble.

  As a general rule, she never mixed prolonged excursions with untried footwear. She wished she’d stuck to her guns today, instead of caving under the weight of her husband’s imploring smile. Though flattering enough, the leather straps circling her tired feet qualified as instruments of torture.