Forgotten Desires: A Short Story in Aid of the Eve Appeal (3 page)

‘Nice touch.’ he whispers, skimming a fingertip lightly across my knee. It makes my back straighten and my breathing deepen. ‘Should I assume you’re bare?’

I can’t speak, so I nod, gritting my teeth and working hard to remain still when his soft touch starts to drift up my inside thigh. ‘Alex,’ I breathe, unable to contain my surprising desperation any longer. He’s awakened these feeling so he’s obliged to give them the attention they deserve. And he’d better do it soon.

‘I have something for you, too.’ he murmurs, reaching into his pocket.

His declaration only just worms its way past the wall of lust dominating me. ‘You do?’ I ask, my forehead wrinkling.

He gives me a full-on, melt-worthy smile. Then he places something next to my knickers – the knickers that are still on full-display. My head cocks to the side as my eyes try to focus on the pile of metal. It takes a while for it to register, and when it does, my mouth drops open way too fast for me to stop it. ‘And what do you plan on doing with those?’ I ask, feigning coolness to within an inch of my life. I’m a fool if I think he’s buying it. My voice is high and squeaky, and I’m darting wary eyes around the bar again, praying no one is seeing this.

‘What am I going to do?’ he counters, pulling my eyes back to his. I’m not sure if I should be excited or scared by the conviction I see riddling his face.

‘Yes,’ I murmur, confirming that I really do want to know. I brace myself.

He slides them off the bar, the drag of metal on marble sounding loud and clear in the open bar area, then he fiddles with them, all the time keep his stare rooted on me. ‘What would you like me to do?’

‘Restrain me.’ I shock myself with my fast response that’s delivered with no hesitance and one hundred percent conviction. He can do whatever the hell he pleases with me. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. It’s bloody exhausting trying to conquer the business world every day of my life. The stress, the drain, the responsibility. I have none of those burdens right now. Alex can take the lead and I can follow. This isn’t work. This is personal. I can’t control everything, and in actual fact, I don’t want to. Let him possess me. Let him be the man. Fucking hell, it’s like the biggest dose of clarity has been rammed down my throat. It’s a revelation. One that I’m liking.

Women can rule the world, but men should rule the bedroom.

He flashes me that smile again, this time with a good dose of victory added. ‘Are you ready?’ he asks quietly.

‘For a drink?’ I ask, knowing full well that isn’t what he means. Here in front of me is a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to say it. Who am I to argue?

‘I wasn’t asking if you’re ready for a drink, Kelly.’ He drills holes into me with his hard stare. ‘You know what I’m asking.’

I nod a little, probably too little for him to detect. But he does detect it, and I’m being helped to my unstable feet before I can tell myself I’m playing this all wrong. But there are sparks. Electricity. There’s also a heap of anticipation and excitement. It’s welcomed and needed, and I’m going to grab it all with both hands and hope none of it strays again.

‘Let’s leave the barman a present,’ he whispers in my ear, placing a firm hand in the small of my back.

I gasp, horrified. ‘But I love those knickers!’ I protest, looking back as he guides me out of the bar.

‘I’m sure the barman will love them, too. And anyway, I would have ruined them when I ripped them off with my teeth.’

That soon realigns my focus, and I gulp, allowing the pleasure that’s about to consume me to settle in my poor deprived mind. We pass the reception desk as we walk through the hotel lobby toward the elevators, and I note he doesn’t ask for a room, which tells me he’s already reserved one. I hate that he predicted a victory. A little bit.

We walk on. There’s no talking now, yet the silence is screaming. My mind is about to be blown. I watch as his manly hand lifts and presses the call button for the elevator, and I try not to shift uncomfortably on my feet as we wait for what seems like forever for the lift to open.

And as soon as it does, I’m practically shoved in. I whirl around, loose strands of my hair whipping my face, my breathing now coming in shallow pants. He smacks a button with the side of his fist, then slams me against the wall, towering over me, his palm slipping around my throat to my nape, holding me firmly. Our chests are compressed, heaving together, and I lift my eyes to drown in the potent craving spilling from his sparkling eyes. I hold my breath as his lips drop to mine and brush lazily from side-to-side.

‘I’m going to kiss you.’ he tells me, not giving me a chance to agree, or maybe disagree. They’ll be no disagreeing. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. I’ve dived straight into the deep end, and I’m not even sorry. He attacks me with brute force, pushing me up the wall, his spare hand drifting up my bare thigh under my dress. I can do nothing more than accept, a million shots of happiness stabbing at my mind, my body, my heart.

‘What happened to role play?’ I ask, my own hands running riot across his broad back as I pant up at the ceiling of the elevator, savouring the feel of him biting at my neck.

‘You’re much too tempting to resist.’ He pulls back, raising a scornful eyebrow, yet I can detect the playfulness there. It’s a sight that has been absent for way too long, and I’ve only just realised. ‘And you, my beautiful wife, have no knickers on.’

I smile, close my eyes and let him take me away. ‘I love you.’ I breathe.

‘I love you, too.’ He takes my hand and kisses my ring. ‘And we’ll be doing this again
very
soon.’

THE END…ish

Read on to find out more about Jodi and her bestselling erotic romance tales.

Read the first chapter of This Man - book #1 of the This Man Trilogy, and join millions of women on Central Jesse Cloud Nine…

I RIFFLE THROUGH THE PILES
and piles of paraphernalia sprawled all over my bedroom floor. I’m going to be late. “Kate!” I yell frantically. Where the hell are they? I run out onto the landing and throw myself over the banister. “Kate!”

I hear the familiar sound of a wooden spoon bashing the edges of a ceramic bowl as Kate appears at the bottom of the stairs, her red hair piled high in a mass of curls. She looks up at me with a tired expression. It’s an expression that I’ve become used to recently.

“Keys! Have you seen my car keys?” I puff at her.

“They’re on the table under the mirror where you left them last night.” She rolls her eyes, taking herself and her cake mixture back to her workshop.

I dart across the landing in a complete fluster and find my car keys under a pile of weekly glossies. “Hiding again,” I mutter to myself, grabbing my tan belt, heels, and laptop. I make my way downstairs from the flat above Kate’s workshop, finding her spooning cake mixture into various tins.

“You need to tidy your room, Ava. It’s a fucking mess,” she complains.

Yes, my personal organization skills are pretty shocking, especially since I’m an interior designer for Rococo Union and spend all day coordinating and organizing. I scoop my phone up from the chunky table and dunk my finger in Kate’s cake mixture. “I can’t be brilliant at everything.”

“Get out!” She bats my hand away with her spoon. “Why do you need your car, anyway?” she asks, leaning down to smooth the mixture over, her tongue resting on her bottom lip in concentration.

“I have a first consultation in the Surrey Hills—some country mansion.” I feed my belt through the belt loops of my navy pencil dress, slip my feet into my tan heels, and present myself to the wall mirror.

“I thought you stuck to the city,” she says from behind me.

I ruffle my long, dark hair for a few seconds, flicking it from one side to the other but give up, piling it up with a few grips instead. My dark brown eyes look tired and lack their usual sparkle—a result, no doubt, of burning the candle at both ends. I only moved in with Kate a month ago after splitting with Matt. We’re behaving like a couple of university students. My liver is screaming for a rest.

“I do. The country sector is Patrick’s domain. I don’t know how I got stuck with this.” I sweep the wand of my gloss across my lips, smack them together, and give Kate a kiss on the cheek. “It’s going to be painful, I know it. Luv ya!”

“Ditto. See you later,” Kate laughs, without lifting her face from her workstation.

Despite my lateness, I drive my little Mini with my usual care to my office on Bruton Street, and I’m reminded why I tube it every day when I spend ten minutes driving around looking for a parking space.

I burst into the office and glance at the clock. Eight-forty. Okay, I’m ten minutes late, not as bad as I thought. I pass Tom’s and Victoria’s empty desks on the way to my own, spying Patrick in his office as I land in my chair. Unpacking my laptop, I notice a package has been left for me.

“Morning, flower.” Patrick’s low boom greets me as he perches on the edge of my desk, followed by the customary creak under his weight. “What have you got there?”

“Morning. It’s the new fabric range from Miller’s. You Like?” I stroke some of the luxurious material.

“Wonderful,” he feigns interest. “Don’t let Irene clap her eyes on it. I’ve just liquidated most of my assets to fund the new soft furnishings at home.”

“Oh.” I give him a sympathetic face. “Where is everyone?”

“Victoria has the day off and Tom’s having a nightmare with Mr. and Mrs. Baines. It’s just you, me, and Sal today, flower.” He takes his comb out of his inside pocket and runs it through his silver mop.

“I’ve got a midday appointment at The Manor,” I remind him. He can’t have forgotten. “Are you sure I’m the person you want on this, Patrick?”

I’ve worked for Rococo Union for four years, and it was made clear that I was employed to expand the business into the modern sector. With luxury apartments flying up all over London, Patrick and Tom, with their specialty of traditional design, were missing out. When it took off and the workload got too much for me, he employed Victoria.

“They asked for you, flower.” He pushes himself to his feet and my desk creaks in protest again. Patrick ignores it, but I wince. He has to lose some weight or stop sitting on my desk. It won’t take the strain for much longer.

So, they asked for me? Why? My portfolio holds nothing that will reflect traditional design—nothing at all. I can’t help but think that this is a complete waste of my time. Patrick or Tom should be going.

“Oh, Lusso launch.” Patrick tucks his comb away. “The developer is really pushing the boat out with this party in the penthouse. You’ve done an amazing job, Ava.” Patrick’s eyebrows nod with his head.

I blush. “Thank you.” I’m dead proud of myself and my work at Lusso, my greatest achievement in my short career. Based on St. Katharine Docks and with prices ranging from three million for a basic apartment to ten million for the penthouse, we’re in the super rich realm. The design specification is as the name suggests: Italian luxury. I sourced all materials, furniture and art, from Italy, and enjoyed a week there organizing the shipping schedule. Next Friday is the launch party, but I know they’ve already sold the penthouse and six other apartments, so it’s more of a showing off party.

“I’ve cleared my diary so I can do the final checks once the cleaners are out.” I flick the pages of my diary to next Friday and scribble across the page again.

“Good girl. I’ve told Victoria to be there at five. It’s her first launch so you need to give her a heads up. I’ll be there at seven with Tom.”

“Sure.”

Patrick returns to his office and I open my e-mail, sifting through to delete or respond where necessary.

At eleven o’clock I pack up my laptop and poke my head around Patrick’s office door. He’s engrossed with something on his computer.

“I’m off now,” I say, but he just waves his hand in the air in acknowledgment. I walk through the office and see Sally fighting with the photocopier. “See you later, Sal.”

“’Bye, Ava,” she replies, but she’s too busy removing the paper jam to acknowledge me with her face. The girl’s a calamity.