Seven Sexy Sins (15 page)

She only realised it had been noticed when the awards were finally presented. Although he didn’t win, Rusty got second prize for Most Enterprising Teacher, and when he went up to collect his award, the head of Social Studies—a mature, bubbly woman called Ellie—leaned across the table and winked at her as everyone clapped. “Wow,” Ellie said. “Looks good in his tux, doesn’t he?”

Faith shrugged, feeling a surge of pride as he took the award from the presenter and shook his hand. “He’s acceptable, but don’t tell him I said so.”

Ellie laughed and gave her an appraising look. “He speaks very fondly of you. You’re a lucky girl.”

Faith widened her eyes, startled. “Oh we’re not… I mean, he’s not my… We’re just friends,” she finished lamely. Her cheeks grew warm as he began to make his way back to the table.

Ellie grinned and winked again. “Yeah, right. I saw you holding hands. And I saw the way he looked at you. Like he had x-ray vision. He’s crazy about you, girl. Hang on to him tightly.”

Faith couldn’t protest because he took his seat at that moment. She gave him a hasty smile, hoping to cover her disconcertion. “Well done.” She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

He turned his head at the last moment and caught her lips with his own. “Oops,” he said, when she pulled back, flustered.

She glanced at Ellie, saw by her smile that she’d seen the kiss and lowered her eyes, her cheeks glowing. Rusty laughed. “You’re so sexy when you blush,” he murmured in her ear.

“Stop it.” Oh why did she get so embarrassed all the time? It was his fault.

To his credit, he let the blush die down for a while and chatted instead to his colleagues as the evening wore on, although he did continue to hold her hand under the table. Only later, when the band began to play and people started dancing, did he take her to one side and move closer to her.

“Someone will see us,” she protested as he rested his hands on her waist and nuzzled her neck.

“I don’t care. You smell divine.”

“Rusty…good Lord.” She’d drunk too much champagne and felt dizzy as he grazed his lips up to her ear. “Stop it—I’ll pass out.”

He chuckled, looking over his shoulder as the music changed to a slower number. He grabbed her hand. “Come on. We’re dancing.”

“You’re supposed to ask,” she protested as he marched off toward the dance floor, unable to free herself from his tight grip.

He reached the area they’d sectioned off for dancing and pulled her into his arms. “I want to hold you, and it’s a good excuse to touch your butt.” He put his right hand on the aforementioned area as he held her other hand.

She slid it up to her waist and smiled sweetly. “Not in public. The contract, remember.”

“Hmm.” He pressed her hip gently with his fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to see if you’re going commando.”

She sighed. “I’m not.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed.

She met his gaze. The room had grown warm, and his hair had rebelled against whatever product he’d used to hold it in place. It had begun to spring back into its normal style, curling around his temples and neck, shining a deep red-brown in the lights from the stage. His green eyes were affectionate, intense. Suddenly she wanted him so much it hurt.

“Wait a minute.” She moved very slightly closer, so she could whisper in his ear. “You don’t know what underwear I’m wearing.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Mm.” She slipped her hand from his shoulder to his neck and ran her fingers through the hair at the nape, not missing his answering shiver. “I’m wearing an incredibly small pair of black panties. They’re hardly panties at all, actually—more just a scrap of lace that hardly covers my pubic hair, and that’s even after I’ve trimmed it, Brazilian-style.”

He gave a short laugh and shook his head, rolling his eyes. But she hadn’t finished with him yet. She brushed his jaw with her lips, right at the point where his sideburns ended, the spot she knew made him tingle. “I’m wearing a strapless black bra that only
just
covers my nipples. And black stockings that come up my thighs, ending right at the point that my tan starts to fade. You know the point I mean?”

She saw his Adam’s apple dip as he swallowed. His tone, when he spoke, was wry. “Yes, Faith, I know
exactly
the spot you mean.”

She sighed. “It’s a shame you won’t get to see me. They’re
very
naughty panties.”

He pulled back to look at her. They studied each other for a moment.

“That would be in breach of my contract.”

She shrugged. “Not if we addressed sin four at the same time.”

“Stripping?”

“I can’t think of a better outfit to watch you take off.”

He laughed. Leading her off the dance floor, he pushed another glass of champagne into her hand. “Wait here.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Where…” But he’d gone. She sat on a chair, wondering where he’d disappeared to.

She only had to wait two minutes and he was back. His eyes were mischievous, and he winked as he grabbed her hand and headed for the exit. She put her glass down hastily on a table as she tottered after him on her high heels.

“Bye, Ellie,” he said to the older woman, who stood talking to some colleagues.

“See you tomorrow, Rusty,” she called. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

He just laughed, his hand tight on Faith’s. She could feel the energy pouring from him. He was happy, excited.

“Where are we going?”

He led her across the foyer, stopped by the elevator and pressed the button. “Room fifteen,” he said, taking a keycard out of his pocket.

“You booked a room here?”

“Yep.” He pulled her close and nuzzled her ear again. “Because if I’m not inside you in, like, double quick time, I’m going to explode.”

She inhaled sharply, lust sweeping through her, sharp and clean. “Oh my.”

“Yes, indeed.” He pressed light kisses to her neck. “I’m so hot for you, Faith Hillman. I’m wild about you, do you know that?”

She closed her eyes blissfully. “You’re certifiable, that I do know.”

The lift pinged open and he pulled her in after him. The doors slid shut, and immediately he backed her against the wall and began kissing off her lipstick as he’d promised to do earlier that evening, making her gasp with his insistent mouth and hands.

“Pre-sex sex?” he questioned, pressing his hips against her so she was in no doubt as to how turned on he was.

Trying to gather the scrambled egg of her thoughts together into one pot, she pushed him away. “No, not this time.”

He pouted. “Why?”

She met his gaze, letting the heat of her desire warm her eyes. “Because I want you hot for me.”

His lips curved, and he pulled her to him again. “I’m always hot for you.”

“I mean
really
hot. Combustible hot. Explosive hot.” She slid a hand into his hair and tightened her fingers in the red locks, letting her lips hover a millimetre above his. “I want you crazy for me. I want to drive you right to the edge, so you’re thinking about me, nothing else but me. I want you to beg me for release.”

She pulled back so she could look into his eyes. They were half-lidded with desire, the eyes of a grown man, a man desperate to have her. She felt a swirl of exultancy, thrilled to be in charge of their sexual relationship for the first time since they’d started sleeping together. She knew that when they’d had sex before, he’d somehow held himself back for her. She didn’t know why, or quite what would happen if he didn’t hold back, but she was desperate to find out. She was shocking herself, but she didn’t care. Maybe the champagne was making her crazy, maybe she was drunk on love. She didn’t know what the future held, but she had him to herself, for now. And she intended to make the most of him.

The lift pinged again, the doors opened, and they drew apart. In silence, they walked down the corridor to the room, and he swiped the card and opened the door. She went into the room, exclaiming as she saw what a beautiful view they had of the Bay, which lay spread out before them, the lights of Russell twinkling in the distance, the sea dark under the thin sliver of crescent moon.

She turned to face him. He was watching her, smiling, and he threw the keycard on the table. The room was lit only by a lamp outside somewhere in the distance. In the semi-darkness, he looked predatory, dangerous even, and she shivered at the thought of him touching her.

But it wasn’t time for that yet.

She walked over to the TV and picked up the remote. “Music,” she said at his questioning eyebrow.

“And there’s me thinking you wanted to watch
Coronation Street
.”

She laughed, turned on the screen and flicked through the channels until she found a music channel. Adverts were showing, so she left it on, turning down the sound slightly, and walked over to him.

She stood before him, looking up into his dark eyes, and licked her lips. “You first.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You really want me to do this?”

“Absolutely.” She stepped closer and brushed his lips with her own, linking their fingers down by their sides. “I know you’ve got rhythm.”

He chuckled. “I’ve never denied that.”

She kissed him properly, delving her tongue into his warm mouth as she pressed her breasts against his chest. When he started to get more passionate, she pulled back and walked over to the bed, kicked off her shoes and climbed on. Then she sat, cross-legged, facing him. The adverts had finished, so she turned up the sound. “Off you go.”

He turned to look at the screen as the first song came on. It was Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”.

He looked back at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nuh-uh.”

He folded his arms. “Faith, I am not stripping to ‘Thriller’. I have some pride.”

“It’s a very sexy song. Listen to that beat.” She started to move to the music on the bed, rolling her shoulders. “Come on, Rusty. Strut your stuff.”

He put his hands on his hips and glared at her. “I’m not doing the zombie dance, before you ask.”

She laughed. “Come on, sexy. Get your kit off.”

Slowly, sighing, he began to pull his bow tie undone.

“Oh yeah.” She felt incredibly happy.

He finished undoing the tie and removed it with a flick, in time to the music. She cheered, and he threw it at her, and gradually began to tease his jacket off his shoulders. She turned up the music, her blood surging through her body as he fixed her with a hot gaze. He turned his back to her before letting the jacket drop and caught it before it fell to the floor. He tossed it onto the nearby chair, turning back to face her. The vest he was wearing made him look so hot, she knew she was growing wetter by the minute.

He was getting in the swing of it now and had lost his self-consciousness. He undid the vest and slipped it off. Tipping back his head, he exposed his throat to her, wincing as he struggled to get the tight top button of his shirt undone, and she inhaled at the sight of his strong jawline with its five o’clock shadow. When had he turned into such a man?

Gradually, he began to undo the rest of his buttons in time to the music, keeping his eyes fixed on her. When he got to the bottom one, he parted one side of his shirt, then the other, teasing her with a view of his broad chest, tanned and with a scattering of light brown, reddish hairs, raising his eyebrows suggestively as she clapped with approval.

Leaving the shirt on, undoing his cuffs, he levered off first one shoe, then the other, moving his hips to the music as he did so. She sighed. He was so sexy, she was tempted to forget about the sin, push him onto the bed and have her wicked way with him, but she made herself sit still.

He bent and flicked off his socks, giving her a nice view of his ass as he did so, before he turned back and began undoing his pants, just as Vincent Price started talking. Rusty rolled his eyes but didn’t stop, continuing to pull down the zipper. She sighed helplessly. She would have given anything to have that view of him—white shirt just parted to show his chest, pants open to reveal his black boxers—on a poster in her room.

Finally, he let the pants fall and kicked them off, posing in his white shirt, making her laugh. Then he walked up to her and slipped his shirt off, throwing that on top of the chair. Clad just in his black, silky boxers, he stood at the side of the bed, fixed her with a hot gaze and slid his thumbs into the elastic. He lowered them, very slowly. She watched, looking back up at his face and then down again as he edged the silky material toward the ground. She could already see his erection straining against the fabric, and she held her breath as the material dipped lower, giving her a glimpse of a line of red-brown hair. He paused, waiting for her to look up, smiling again as he lowered the boxers millimetre by millimetre. Eventually, however, he must have taken pity on her, because he lifted the elastic over his erection, let the boxers drop to the floor and kicked them off.

He stood before her, butt-naked, hands on hips, and raised an eyebrow. “Happy now?”

Rusty held his breath as Faith moved forward to the edge of the bed. She paused, her mouth inches from him. He ached for her and was desperate to bury himself inside her. But he wanted to see her strip too.

She licked her lips, making sure he could see. But she didn’t kiss him. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, brushing her breasts against his erection, stroking him all the way until she faced him.

“Sit,” she said. “My turn now.”

He threw himself on the bed with a sigh. She was obviously determined to torture him. He propped the pillows against the headboard and lay with his hands behind his head, not attempting to hide the fact that he was still hard and ready for her.

She looked across at the TV screen, waiting for the next song to come on. He wondered what she’d do if it were “YMCA”. When it started, however, he just sighed. “Oh yeah, that’s fair. I get ‘Thriller’, you get ‘Heard it Through the Grapevine’.”

“Luck of the draw. Deal with it.”

He gave her a determined stare. “Get your clothes off, Faith. Five minutes. I’m warning you.”