Cross My Hart

He straightens, pulling out of me, turning away, and something like fear slices through me, that he’s done with me, with this, but it’s only so he can dispose of the condom, and then he’s back, smiling, his eyes lined at the corners in a way that makes him seem so...nice.

I swallow, not sure I want to know anything more about my one-night stand.

‘Now, I need a drink,’ he says, moving to the bar fridge and pulling it open. He lifts out an ice-cold beer. ‘You?’

‘Yeah, thanks.’

He passes it to me then pulls out another, lifting his to mine in a gesture of salute, as he did in the bar.

I’m trying not to feel self-conscious, but what we’ve just done is...unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. There was some kind of whirlwind and it consumed me and spat me out and I’m a little unsure what to make of it. I sip the beer and then put it down on the bench top.

‘Mind if I use the bathroom?’

‘Go right ahead.’ He nods towards the en suite bathroom.

I smile at him as I pass and he grabs my wrist, holding me still, his eyes searching mine.

He drops his mouth to mine, kissing me gently this time, slowly, tasting me, and I surrender to that kiss, my body arching forward, my tongue tangling with his. He groans into my mouth and his hands lift to my hair, thus explaining why it’s such a bird’s nest, as he weaves his fingers against my scalp, locking me where I am, completely imprisoned by his delicious kiss.

My hands curve around him, finding his arse and then, out of curiosity, I move one hand to his dick, feeling it like I wanted to ever since he undressed. He’s semi-hard again and I am consumed by relief. Even as I know I need to unpack what just happened and how I feel about it, I know I want him again, too. I know I need him.

And the fact he obviously feels the same is reassuring and delicious.

I run my hand along his length, higher, my fingertips brushing over his tip, and his breath snags as he sucks it in and I smile against his mouth. I am totally here for whatever this night is going to be.

One night, no strings, and we’ll never see one another again. Or a few hours, I think with a hint of regret as my eyes shift quickly to the cheap bedside clock that proclaims it to be just after nine. Like some kind of sexual Cinderella, I have my midnight curfew in mind and I must remember it. I’ve worked too hard to let anything come between me and success—and this sale means freedom! Freedom from Gareth, my parents’ doubts over my ability to succeed—and their knowing nods that they were right. That I can’t do this, after all.

Midnight’s it—I’ll go home, have a good night’s sleep, ready to face the trip to the Whitsundays fresh, ready to wow this buyer.

And yet...for now...for the next few hours, there’s this, and I want to enjoy all of it.

With that in mind, I move my hips from side to side, tempting his hands lower, and he doesn’t disappoint, moving one palm from my hair, down my body, to my butt. I pull his cock in my hands, feeling its weight and strength as it grows harder, and his hand slaps down on my arse and I jerk and moan. It’s not hard; it doesn’t hurt, but hell, it makes my nerve endings fire with a heat I didn’t know possible.

I move my hips closer to him so his cock is close to me, and he laughs into my mouth, lifting his hand and slapping my arse cheeks again. I move my hands to his back and pull him closer and he lifts his head, breaking the kiss, his eyes piercing mine but with desire and need. ‘I thought you needed the bathroom.’

‘Nope. I just wanted to take stock.’

His eyes widen a little; perhaps my honesty surprises him.

‘And now?’

‘I want to take something else,’ I say simply, pulling at him, pulling him back towards the bed. He laughs again, but doesn’t demur. I push him onto his back and look around for his wallet, grabbing it up off the bedside table. Somewhere, in the periphery of my mind, I note the way he stills as I grab it, but it’s not until I open it and see dozens of one-hundred-dollar notes in there that I understand why.

I flick past them, grabbing out another condom and unfurling it over his length, my eyes on his. ‘You ever heard of credit cards?’

‘I like cash,’ he says simply.

Fair enough. His unique ways aren’t of interest to me—it doesn’t matter if he’s some kind of conspiracy theorist who doesn’t even believe in bank accounts. None of that matters.

I lift up and take him deep inside me again and it’s quick and desperate—how can it be after what we’ve just done? I have no idea, but I feel like I’ve gone ten years without sex and this man is my dying meal. I take him deep and my muscles scream out with delight and relief. He digs his fingers into my hips and drives his own upwards, thrusting into me as I push down on his length, his possession of me absolute, and absolutely intense.

We explode together, our bodies mingled and tied, and as my nerve endings quiver with the force of this pleasure, I drop forward, onto his body, surrendering to the tidal wave of absolute release, surrendering to this and him.

I lie there, listening to the drumming of his heart, hearing its echo within my own, hot and too full of physical sensations to even think about emotions, about the fact Gareth is getting married in the morning and I’m in some cheap hotel room with a guy I don’t know from Adam.

I don’t want to think about that.

I don’t want to think about the fact the last two and a half years of my life might as well have been erased, because I’m right back where I was as a twenty-one-year-old, with no commitments, no plans, no idea who I was.

He shifts a little beneath me, tumbling me off his chest and pulling out of me; I almost groan at his desertion.

But he pushes up on one elbow so he can look at me, and I feel like he’s really looking at me. As though he’s looking deep within my soul, into my very core, as though he’s pulling me apart in a way that is...unwelcome.

I drift my eyes shut, like that might help a little, but his fingers curve around my cheek, stroking my skin gently, and I blink open reflexively. His eyes pierce me, to the depths of my soul. But he smiles and it’s casual and easy-going so I tell myself I’m being pedantic or paranoid or both.

He says nothing, but I feel a thousand and one questions swirling between us and, for lack of answers, or for lack of answers I care to frame, I smile curtly and stand up. He doesn’t stop me this time. I move to the beer I discarded a little while earlier and pick it up around the neck, drinking half of it with my eyes shut before replacing it quietly and moving into the bathroom. I click the door shut behind me and move to the sink, staring at myself in the mirror.

As I saw before, I am some kind of sexual being brought to life. I look like I exist for this and this alone. My chest is covered in a faint redness from where his stubbled face has dragged over my sensitive flesh. A quick inspection lower shows my thighs have undergone the same fate. I start the tap running and lather my hands in soap, then douse my face, washing off the relics of my make-up. It’s better to have no make-up than the trashed wasteland I was sporting. I look around for the standard issue hotel cosmetics, pulling open a cupboard and seeing, instead, a travel pack of luxurious toiletries.

With a slight frown, I skate my fingers over them, noting the brand names with mild interest and growing curiosity before reaching for the next door. The usual products have all been shoved in here. I grab out the hotel branded moisturiser and run it over my face, then return my thoughts to his toiletry bag.

I know luxury brands.

I’m in the business of knowing them, after all. We sell some of the most prestigious commercial real estate in Australia, Gareth and I. Our clients are multimillionaires, and our job is to speak their language.

I recognise that he’s carrying probably hundreds of dollars’ worth of miniature toiletries and frown, because he doesn’t strike me as vain, and he definitely doesn’t strike me as someone who’s got that kind of cash. And yet he literally does have a wallet bursting with cash, and now this?

But, no.

This room...his clothes...

Maybe they were gifts? I shrug; it’s the last thing that matters. You know how sometimes your mind throws up strange distractions to stop you from thinking about what you should really be focusing on? I think there’s an element of that going on.

Because I came here tonight wanting to erase him from my mind—Gareth. Wanting to push him out of my body, to replace him with someone else, and holy crap, did I achieve that! I don’t know at what point this became less about Gareth and more about a plain and simple desire for Jagger, but that’s what this is. I feel a surge of need and know what’s responsible.

It’s all him.

I lift my face to my reflection again, shaking my head. Smeared make-up is gone, but I still look like I’ve just done exactly what I have done. I finger-comb my hair, pulling it over one shoulder, then turn back to the door.

When I wrench it inwards I’m disappointed to see he’s pulled his jeans on. They sit low on his hips, undone.

He’s on the phone, his back to me, but when I enter he turns and his eyes lock to mine and then scan my face, as if he’s cataloguing the changes and simultaneously making sure I’m okay.

And I’m more than okay. I smile brightly because this—this one night—is exactly what I needed.

‘And a pizza. Large.’ He covers the mouthpiece. ‘Is there anything you don’t eat?’

It’s a perfectly normal question, but, given the context, heat stains my cheeks and he arches a brow, obviously understanding the direction of my thoughts. ‘Food-wise?’ he prompts again and I laugh, shaking my head.

‘And I’m starving.’

He grins, holding a hand out to me, and I walk to him without a moment’s hesitation. I put my hand in his and he squeezes it then pulls me closer to him, putting an arm around my body. ‘Some fruit, and a couple of salads. Maybe some pasta, too.’

He disconnects the call, replacing the handset, then turns to face me properly.

‘I’m so glad your friend picked me up for you,’ he says seriously, and I burst out laughing, dropping my forehead to his chest.

‘Penny’s always had great taste in men.’ I look up at him once more.

‘Better than you?’ His eyes scan my face in that intensely watchful way of his.

‘Oh, definitely,’ I agree. ‘I was looking to go home with the bartender.’ It’s a joke, a sarcastic rejoinder, and he smiles but says nothing, and the silence stretches between us so, after a moment, I say, ‘I’ve never been here before—to this hotel. It’s...nice.’

He laughs. ‘It’s three-star at best, but my secretary booked it last minute.’ He shrugs. ‘And there’s a bed, a bathroom, a good gym. What more do you need?’

‘What more, indeed?’ I lift my hand to his chest, running my fingers over his ridged muscles. ‘And you work out a lot, I’m guessing?’

His breath speeds up a little as my hands go lower. ‘I like to get my heart rate up.’

I arch a brow. ‘I can tell.’

‘I run ten miles, most mornings.’

‘I can’t even imagine running three miles,’ I say with a shake of my head, pulling away from him and moving to my beer. I sip it, then look around for my clothes. He’s picked them up and placed them neatly on the chair. It’s such a small gesture but it does something strange inside of me. I move to them but he forestalls me, handing me a white fluffy robe instead.

‘Don’t bother getting dressed,’ he says simply, but with a deep, husky promise in the words that makes my pulse quiver.

Shit.

I bite down on my lip and his eyes drop to my mouth, and desire is sparking around the room once more.

‘Running is a habit, and one that gets easier the more you practice it,’ he says, the words incongruous in the heat of our lust.

I swallow, trying to tamp down on my sexual heat, to keep my feelings at bay for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘It’s not my thing.’

‘What is your “thing”?’ he asks seriously.

My eyes skim his face, noting now that he has a slight bump in the middle of his nose, suggesting it has been broken at some point. ‘For exercise?’

‘Yeah. Or letting your hair down. Blowing off steam. You know, that kind of thing.’

I hesitate for only a moment and then speak with confidence and defiance. ‘Pole dancing.’ That defiance is hard fought for. My parents, my then boyfriend, everyone was askance when Penny and I took up the disreputable hobby. It’s amazing for your fitness, Penny cooed and, as always, she was right.

He regards me cynically, as though I might be lying.

‘Really?’

‘Yep.’

I can feel his curiosity and turned-on-ness pulsing towards me. He moves to the narrow wooden desk and props his hips against it. ‘Care to give me a demonstration?’

I eye the room and shake my head. ‘I don’t think anything in here would be strong enough.’

His disappointment is palpable. ‘You can’t pretend?’

I laugh. ‘Not easily.’ The robe is soft around me. I cinch the belt at the waist and move to sit on the edge of the bed, watching him.

‘How’d you get into it?’

‘The same way I get into most unorthodox parts of my life.’

‘Penny?’ he prompts, smiling.

I nod. ‘Oh, yeah, you betcha. I suggested we join a ballroom dancing club—I wanted a hobby, and to move my body, to feel limber and flexible.’ I smile distractedly. ‘I work really long hours and even though I get to be out and about a lot of the time, I still feel more...sedentary...than I’d like. So dancing felt like a health kick, or a kick-start to a health kick...’

‘Naturally.’ He nods, his eyes skating over my body, which must look like a fluffy duck in this robe.

‘She picked me up on the allotted night and we talked the whole way there. It was only when she pulled into some dodgy car park out in the western suburbs that I realised we weren’t at Miss Clarence’s Ballroom Blitz.’ I smile at the memory. ‘Penny said she presumed that because ballroom dancing was for senior citizens, I must have meant pole dancing and just got mixed up.’

He arches a brow. ‘You weren’t keen?’

‘I wasn’t not keen; it just hadn’t occurred to me before. But that’s me—and that’s so very Penny.’ I shake my head. ‘If I hadn’t met her, I suspect I’d be running my life on a very narrow, very straight line.’

He nods thoughtfully, and his silence encourages me to continue.

‘I guess I’m born with more than my fair share of the conservative in my blood.’ His expression flickers with something I recognise: curiosity.

‘Is that a bad thing?’

I’m confused for a moment—the curiosity or the conservative tendencies?

‘Being conservative,’ he prompts, as though he’s read my mind.

I shake my head, compressing my lips. ‘It’s almost a prerequisite in my family,’ I say simply. ‘Mum and Dad have had the same jobs all their lives—good, reliable government jobs. Civil servant salaries and pensions, guaranteed security. My brother and sister followed suit.’

‘It wasn’t for you?’

I shake my head. ‘Nope.’ I look towards the window, my eyes sweeping over the high-rises beyond the small window of his hotel room. ‘I always wanted to come down here. Growing up in a small town is—I guess I see it differently now, but, as a kid and a teenager, I hated it. I just wanted to travel and see the world, and not to have everyone I bump into know everything about me.’ I pull a face of distaste. ‘Sydney seemed like some shimmering oasis on my horizon. I couldn’t believe it when I got accepted to uni here.’

‘So you’re conservative in a different way,’ he hedges, and again I feel like he’s weighing me up, analysing me cell by cell.

‘Yes and no. My ex and I started our business from scratch. We were broke as a joke for the first six months, and my parents thought I’d lost the plot. There’s no job security when you’re running the show.’ I shrug. ‘But the rewards are also potentially so much greater.’

‘You went into business with your ex?’

‘He wasn’t my ex at the time,’ I say with a droll shake of my head. ‘My crystal ball wasn’t working the day we signed the papers.’

He opens his mouth to say something, but I shake my head, my eyes sparking when they meet his. ‘I don’t really want to think about him right now,’ I say honestly. ‘Tomorrow will be for that, him, the real world out there. Tonight’s just this...’

CHAPTER FOUR

I WAKE WITH a start.

Where am I? My phone is buzzing. And there’s a body beside me. A warm, powerful, tanned body with tattoos on his hips and chest.

I lift a hand to my forehead as the events of last night—no!—I check the time—it’s just before midnight—the last few hours—come rushing back to me.

Jagger.

I sigh his name in my mind, my eyes devouring him in this unobserved moment. For he sleeps deeply, exhausted by all the sex.

And I mean all the sex. We ate together, a mountain of food, and then one thing led to another and we were in bed again, and somewhere after that we must have drifted off to sleep. The lights are still on.

I grab my phone off the table, my eyes bleary, and squint at the screen.

Penny’s face smiles back at me.

Frowning, I push my feet out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. I push the toilet lid down gently then sit on top of it, swiping my phone to answer at the same time.

‘Penny?’ My voice is a hoarse whisper.

‘Gracie?’ She imitates it.

‘Why are you calling so late?’

‘I promised I’d get you home by midnight, didn’t I?’

I smile slowly, her dependability never in doubt. ‘That you did, lady.’

‘So? Where are you?’

My smile is self-conscious. ‘Not home yet.’

‘Oh my god,’ she squeaks. ‘You went back to his place?’

I nod, then, because it’s a phone conversation and nodding is pointless, clear my throat and say, ‘Yes.’

‘Gracie! I’m so proud of you! And? Was he everything those abs promised he would be?’

‘And more.’ A smile tickles my lips. ‘But I can’t talk now. I’m going to turn into a pumpkin unless I get out of here...’

Regret spirals inside of me. I don’t want to go. Not yet. But tomorrow is a hugely important day for me; I can’t mess it up. The whole future of my company is riding on it. This deal has the power to wrest me free of Gareth, to buy him out once and for all. Everything’s organised. I just need to show the buyer around the golf course, spend a few days showcasing the best the region has to offer, and then present the contracts...

I have to be fresh-faced and quick-witted; I’ve heard the buyer is a hard nut to crack and I am absolutely going to crack him.

Penny sighs. ‘As much as I hate to agree with you, I don’t want you working with that fuckwit Gareth for a moment longer. Away with you, Cinderella. Get thee to a taxi and texteth me when you’re home at your palace.’

‘Cinderella lives in a dungeon, I think.’

‘Fine, your dungeon.’ I can hear her epic eye-roll. ‘Just text me. Love you.’

‘You too.’

We hang up and I stare at my phone for a few moments, cradled against my naked legs.

I know I have to go, and yet I sit there for a few moments longer, bracing myself for the inevitable. This is just a sex thing, by the way. I’ve always known I’m a pretty sexual person—way more so than Gareth—but I never knew sex could be quite so...exhilarating. This went beyond sheer satisfaction. I felt like Jagger pushed me in every way possible and I abandoned myself to him, and this, in a way I wouldn’t have said was at all likely.

There’s nothing for it, though. I’ve worked too hard to potentially ruin a deal of this magnitude just because I’d really rather fall asleep next to his warm body and wake up in his arms...

With a sigh, I slip into the hotel room and dress as quietly as I can. And even though I’m barely louder than a mouse, I kind of wish he’d wake up and catch me in the act. Then I could explain in person. I could kiss him and one thing might lead to another, again.

He sleeps soundly and I stare at him for a few more self-indulgent seconds before grabbing the standard-issue hotel notepad off the desk and a pen from my bag.

Thanks...you were great. Grace.

It is short and to the point, but what else could I say? I’m never going to see this man again and soon this will be a very nice, very distant burn-me-alive memory.

* * *

Sydney is baking hot and here, on the private runway to the west of the airport, it feels like Satan’s waiting room. I stand at the base of the jet’s steps and cast an impatient glance at my watch.

She’s late.

Whoever Gareth is sending in his stead is five minutes behind schedule and it takes my mood from bad to worse.

I suck in a breath of the sultry, tarry air, reminding myself it isn’t this person’s fault that I woke up harder than rock with my erstwhile lover nowhere to be seen.

I should be grateful—I hate the ‘morning after,’ the awkwardness of extricating myself without leaving a phone number, the conversation about, ‘Thanks, I’m just not in a place where I can commit to anyone right now...’

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