Dating and Other Dangers (5 page)

‘So tell me about working for Hammond. Is it as great as they all say?’ He diverted the conversation, his whole tone lighter.

She didn’t lighten to match. Too late she realised he was following his game plan—“get them to share”. He thought by inviting her to spill her guts to him she’d actually
like
him for it? Even more wrong.

‘It’s fine. What about your work? Do you enjoy it?’ It was his turn to talk. She’d find his weakness and play on that—his rules.

‘It’s fine.’ He echoed her words dismissively.

She looked up, finding his attention intensely focused on her. She couldn’t look away from him. Once more the room receded and there was nothing but his fire-filled deep eyes.

Her senses were swimming now—from the sugar, the warmth, the wine.
Not
the company. She shook her head to clear the confusion.

He broke the intensity, smiling at the waiter and signalling for the bill. ‘Time for us to depart.’

The cab ride home passed far more quickly than the one they’d taken earlier. This time she wasn’t bothered by the seemingly small space they shared in the back, and there was far less space between them now. She still felt the way his heart had pounded against her palm and her own heart beat faster. Exhilaration, anticipation. Because in moments he’d go for the goodnight kiss and she’d do a quick step to the side. She couldn’t wait.

He sat quiet, appearing to be deep in thought. She wondered what about. Hot and half floating, she turned towards him to read his expression better.

He glanced down and smiled.

It was like being tossed into an ice-water
bath. Shocked, she blinked and looked again. But her first instinct had read it right—there was none of her desired outcome in his eyes now, none of that heat. Her dress, her wide eyes and smile were having no effect. Despite him saying earlier he thought she looked fantastic in the dress. They’d been meaningless words. Because right now he was clearly more amused by her than attracted. She leaned a little closer as the cab turned a corner, but still nothing. Just benign amusement—and withdrawal. She could
feel
him pulling away.

Why? Where was the move? Where was the “best sex” those women had talked about?

The cab pulled over and Ethan got out, paying him off. He glanced and saw her surprised expression. ‘I’ll see you to your door and then walk.’

‘I’m not inviting you in for coffee,’ she said, stupidly hurt by his impersonal politeness.

‘I’m not expecting that,’ he answered, as if he couldn’t care less.

And he couldn’t, could he? Anger surged again as she realised this guy was totally not interested. Why not? Why wasn’t he, when according to all reports he slayed any female who had the misfortune to slide across his path?

He rested his hand on her back as she
turned to walk up her path. Anger burned hotter when she felt again the electric effect that one touch had. His hand was all she could feel. Impotent emotion clogged her throat as she blindly stepped forward.

But because she felt that touch so acutely she felt the stroke of his thumb upwards across her spine—a slow, intimate sweep. The smallest of signals.

Oh, thank goodness—there it was. Satisfaction slammed into her. The man couldn’t help himself. Finally he was going to go with some of his moves. She walked slowly now, enjoying the thrill of him moving so close behind her, smiling as she imagined her refusal scene. She’d keep it polite tonight, but playful too—to give him the illusion of possible success in the next date or two.

But in reality it was impossible. For sure.

She unlocked her door and flicked the switch just inside so light spilled from the room out onto the path. Then she turned to say goodbye, her smile impossible to contain.

He really was very tall up there, still in the shadows, looking down at her. She could tell he was smiling too—but suddenly she knew it wasn’t a lust-fuelled smile. It was that amusement again. Was he laughing at her? Her certainty of success faltered.

‘Thanks for an interesting evening, Nadia.’ Loaded with irony.

He
was
laughing. She’d been wrong about that touch. He wasn’t going to do it—no move, no kiss. There was nothing. She felt piqued. And disappointed. And anger swamped her. She was
not
going to let him go without scoring a point of her own.

‘I’ll see you Sunday,’ he said in farewell.

Just before he turned she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and stood on tiptoe as high as she could.

And pressed her mouth to his.

He froze. Didn’t pull away, but didn’t respond either. So she worked a little harder, stroking his lower lip with her tongue. A faint response then—the smallest flinch of his muscles. But it was so faint she let go and stepped back, suddenly aware she’d made a massive mistake.

‘What was that for?’ he asked, somehow closer despite her retreat.

‘Curiosity,’ she flipped back at him, frantically thinking up her defence. She’d crashed out of the floating feeling now. ‘I wanted to know if you’re as amazing as they all said.’

She felt his muscles firm even more and he loomed closer still.

‘And the verdict?’

‘Not as hot as I’d been led to believe.’

‘But I thought one of your top tips on first dates was not to get too hot.’

‘You were playing by my rules?’

‘What? You thought you were playing by mine?’ He laughed. She could feel the vibrations in the scarce space between them. ‘You really have no idea.’

‘Don’t patronise me.’

‘But, darling, you don’t just lean in and stick your tongue down a guy’s throat.’

Mortification and the hated goosebumps made her skin—and soul—painfully sensitive. So she covered with mock incredulity. ‘Are you giving me kissing advice?’

He was a jerk—she hadn’t stuck her tongue down his throat and he knew it.

‘A little lesson in seduction, if you like.’ He stepped even nearer. ‘I think you need it.’

She tried to push him away, but he was a mountain in front of her now—immovable and impassable. Her hands were tiny on his chest, her fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shirt.

‘To begin, Nadia,’ he said softly, and with light sarcasm, ‘less is more.’

‘Is that right?’ she snapped, smarting, tipping her chin high to glare into his eyes, deliberately digging her nails into his skin now.

He leaned closer, resting his hands on the wall behind her as he bent, his words whispering across her face. ‘Anticipation is everything—didn’t you know?’

‘It’s only everything if the end result is a disappointment,’ she said caustically. ‘If the end result was as amazing as it’s meant to be, then the anticipation would be forgotten in the heat.’

‘Oh, you’re wrong.’ He smiled. ‘You need to live moment by moment.’ His head lowered. ‘It’s much more fun.’ He paused, his mouth a millimetre from hers, as he gently instructed, ‘You start with lots of soft, teasing touches.’

His lips brushed hers lightly, just once. But the second she went to snap back at him he did it again. Then again and again and again. Until it was lots—as he’d said. Not deep, hungry kisses, but slivers of rich sensuality that made her open her mouth for more before she’d thought to stop it. Then she couldn’t think at all—she only wanted to move closer for more.

But he kept them light, lifting back as she tilted towards him.

‘Uh-uh,’ he teased. ‘You keep it the same—don’t go deeper until she’s begging.’

With one hand he played her like an instrument, gliding one finger after the other across
her neck. Not making music but pleasure, with gentle touches. But she
knew
the strength was there.

And she wanted it.

‘You keep doing it, keep touching, until she can’t think of anything but more, more, more.’ He punctuated the words with teasing kisses—now across her jaw and her cheekbones, trailing lazily across her face, until she turned her head to put her mouth back in his path. Because she hadn’t been able to think of anything else for eons now.

Vaguely she understood the extent of his charm and experience—he hypnotised with mere words and the most restrained of touches, influencing her mood and her mind and making her want to move. At first she didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want to push him away, but something burned. She didn’t want to be his mindless plaything. And then she realised he’d told her how to captivate him right back—with soft, teasing touches.

She unfurled her fingers, pressing them lightly on his chest. She felt his flinch as she did so. Through the cotton shirt she could feel his heat. With the tips of her fingers she smoothed slightly downwards, feeling his abs tighten all the more. Then she went north, spreading until she felt his hard nipples. She
circled them and began him kissing back—nibbling at his lips, then pressing teensy, saucy smooches across his slightly stubbled jaw.

She realised he’d frozen. One hand was still pressed on the wall behind her, the other still cupped the back of her neck, but his own kisses had stopped.

Fear flashed—he was about to reject her touch again. But then she heard it. In his roughened breathing, in the rigidity of his body, she recognised the strain of holding back.

She smiled, moved her hands the tiniest bit faster, firmer, kissed more feverishly along his jaw. Little kisses, tormenting little touches. Only trouble was she was tormenting herself just as much—she wanted
more
.

He stopped her retaliation by grabbing her hands and forcing them down behind her back. The sudden manoeuvre thrust her breasts into his chest. Sensation shimmered down her body and on pure reflex she arched her spine, pressing closer against him.

His head came down, his mouth crushing hers. Nothing soft and teasing any more. Her neck stretched painfully as he forced her head back and plundered. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, deep and rhythmic. She sucked
on it and she felt the growl, felt him tighten even more. With incredible strength he lifted her, sliding her up between his body and the wall—chest to breast, pelvis to pelvis, hand to hand, mouth to mouth.

He didn’t thrust against her—just pressed his hips into hers as hard as possible, pinning her so she could feel
all
those inches. Her senses rioted—screaming with over-stimulation while demanding yet more. More skin, more heat. All her instincts were insisting she get closer. She kissed him back as hard and furiously as he kissed her. Rough and hot and reckless. The force of each other’s passion merged and grew into something even more powerful between them. Blistering and insane. She shook with the fierceness of her need, aching to cling closer to him. But he still had her hands, so she clung with what she could—her mouth and then her legs. Hooking one around his waist, angling her body so she was more open to his. For a moment it was heaven as she felt him hard against her.

But he tore his mouth away, his hot breath gusting as he groaned, his grip painfully crushing her fingers.

‘I’m not going to make it that easy for you, honey,’ he said ferociously.

It was torture. It was bliss.

With each ragged breath his chest slammed against her taut nipples.

‘I could move this on here and now. Take you to your bed and finish this off. But why the hell should I?’ He was furious. ‘In the morning you’d be blinded by regrets. You’d convince yourself you’d been used all over again. You’d label me a seducer. Whereas the reality is
you
started this. But
I’m
stopping it.’

Her whole body throbbed, and painfully she lowered her leg from its tight curl around him. She was so sensitised she could feel her blood beating everywhere. He let her go and stepped back. She slid down the wall. She couldn’t look up at him. Instead she stared at his hands—bunched into fists at his sides.

‘I’m not going to take advantage of a woman who’s had one glass of wine too many.’

‘I have
not
—’ She broke off. Actually, him thinking she was tipsy was the perfect excuse for her incredibly stupid behaviour. Hell, maybe she
was
tipsy. Her head definitely felt cloudy—and her blood was running so quickly in her veins it was dizzying. With only some cake for dinner and then that wine… Yes, that was definitely her problem.
And frankly she’d rather he thought she was a cheap drunk rather than this
easy
sober.

Oh, now the regrets poured in. The self-hate. She had been
so
close to being his latest conquest. So damn easy. And he was right, she’d been the one to start it. He hadn’t even wanted to start—only she’d pushed his buttons. Deliberately. Because she’d thought she could control it—and him. What a fool she’d been.

He was watching her too closely, knowingly. ‘You want to put it down to the wine, Nadia? Would that be convenient for you?’

Oh, it would. But she knew she couldn’t. She’d been hot for him from the moment she’d laid eyes on him tonight. And even though she knew he was a jerk she still wanted him. Stupid,
stupid
hormones. ‘I’d like you to go now.’

He shook his head. ‘You said you were honest. So be honest now and admit that you’re attracted to me as much as I am to you.’

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Yeah, here was the most terrible thing: she
was
into him. There was something about him that she really wanted. But this was nothing at all special to him. He hadn’t even wanted to kiss her, and only had because she’d started it. Hey, if
it was offered on a plate he’d oblige. It was humiliating.

But suddenly he stepped forward, slamming her back against the wall of the house with his big body.

‘You know it’s true,’ he said, low and angry in her ear. ‘And now the anticipation is even stronger, right? Because now you know what it’s like. How good we’d be.’ His head lowered, his lips intoxicatingly close to hers. ‘You’re going to lie in bed tonight and not sleep a wink because all you’ll be able to think about is how much you want me. You’ll think about everything you want me to do to you. And what you want to do to me.’

‘Yeah, I know
exactly
what I want to do to you.’ She tensed and pushed uselessly against his chest. She’d certainly sobered up now. The guy was the most conceited jerk, and she was furious with herself for falling for his façade and his skills—for being pleased that he wanted her when it was no compliment. It wasn’t
her
he wanted. It was any woman. It was just that she was the one in front of him now—who’d made it even easier than usual.