Rival's Challenge

Orla shook her head and couldn’t stop her own mouth twitching ever so slightly. She saw movement behind the man and observed dryly, ‘I think you’re safe now—her current victim looks like he was just on a toilet break.’

The man didn’t look behind him, but Orla realised when he looked up that he could see through the reflection of the venetian glass over the banquette seat as it was tilted slightly down towards the seating area. He looked back at her and smiled. ‘There goes my cunning ruse to have an excuse to talk to you.’

Butterflies exploded in Orla’s belly. She could insist on getting up to go, but right now she was curiously loath to. This man was a smooth charmer, but he also had an intriguing rough edge too, and there was no doubt about it, but something deeply feminine within her felt like it was blossoming in the heat of his regard. Coming back to life.

As if sensing her weakening, he said, ‘Can I buy you a drink for disturbing your peace?’

Orla hesitated. She had the funny sense that her peace was about to be disturbed in a very profound way. And that if she pushed for him to leave again he’d go. There was something innately proud about him.

But what harm was a drink? Feeling sensitised and more alive than she could remember feeling in a long time—if ever—she uncrossed her arms and shrugged minutely and took a mental step over a line. ‘Sure, why not?’

As if like magic, to prevent her changing her mind, an immaculately clad waiter appeared to take their orders. The man didn’t take his eyes off Orla and the waiter left. She was feeling breathless again, all hot and liquid inside.

A very feminine dampness was growing between her legs and she crossed them in a moment of self-consciousness. His eye immediately went to one pale thigh and Orla cursed her choice of dress. She put her hands on her leg and he looked back up, a smile making his mouth quirk again as if he knew exactly how awkward she felt.

He sat back. ‘So … tell me, you’re here on business?’

Orla nodded. She really didn’t want to get into anything that reminded her of the reality she faced. The inevitable takeover of her family business. So she said, ‘I’m in sales …’

Which was pretty much true. Along with marketing, management, PR, entertainment, travel, diplomacy …

The man grimaced and said, ‘I’m in acquisitions. It’s a grind, isn’t it?’

Orla regarded him suspiciously. This man looked no more like a banal businessman caught up in the daily grind than Santa Claus in full flight with all the reindeer. But she sensed intoxicatingly as if they’d both tacitly agreed to pretend to be something, someone, else.

She was about to respond when something unpalatable occurred to her. She glanced at his left hand and didn’t see a ring, but that didn’t mean anything. ‘Are you married?’

He shook his head and the faintly sick expression that passed over his features assured her even more than when he said, ‘No …’

Then he frowned. ‘Are you?’

Orla shook her head quickly and repressed a shudder. No way was she ever getting married so that some man could come and take half of the business she’d worked so hard to build up with her father. She’d seen the detrimental effects a marriage had on a business. ‘No,’ she said quickly, emphatically.

‘Well, as we’ve established that we’re both free and single … where were we?’

Orla repressed a shiver of awareness, of pure physical longing, and the feeling that she wasn’t in control of what was happening at all. She forced her mind to operate. ‘We were in sales and acquisitions, I believe.’ And why did that suddenly sound so … suggestive?

‘Ah, yes …’

The waiter returned then with their drinks. Whisky for both of them.

The man lifted his glass and tipped it towards her. ‘To chance encounters.’

Orla lifted her glass too, and said, ‘To very forward men with pathetic chat-up lines.’

He smiled. And so did she. They took a drink and Orla relished the smooth feel of the liquid running down her throat. Warming her up. She felt unbearably sensual all of a sudden. Languorous.

‘Perhaps we should exchange names?’

Orla’s chest tightened. Names were real. They would root this in reality and she suddenly didn’t want that.

Far more lightly than she felt, she said, ‘I think introductions are overrated. We’ll most likely never meet again. What’s the point?’

His eyes glinted in the dim light. A tiny smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. ‘We don’t have to divulge real names if you don’t want to. But I would like to call you … something.’

Orla went hot again. So that he could call her something in the throes of passion? The wicked thought made her pulse spasm between her legs.

He held out a hand then, a mischievous look in his eye. ‘I’m Marco.’

Orla put her hand in his and for a second her mind blanked when his big one enclosed hers completely. When she felt the calluses on his skin.

‘I’m … Kate.’

‘Nice to meet you, Kate …?’

Orla smiled at his obvious query as to her second name and pulled her hand free. ‘Just Kate.’

He nodded. ‘Kate Kate, it is. And I’m Marco Marco.’

Lord. No man Orla had ever met came close to this man. He enveloped her in sexual awareness. She felt energised. Alive.

‘You have a meeting here tomorrow?’

Immediately Orla rejected another reminder of reality. She shook her head. ‘Let’s … not talk about tomorrow.’

He went still and his eyes narrowed on her face. She could see him look at her mouth and she imagined she could feel it tingle.

He said with a rough edge to his voice, ‘No real names and no tomorrow. You’re right. The present is so much more interesting.’

He leant forward, glass in his hand. ‘I was about to leave when you walked in.’

Orla’s heart hitched. ‘You were?’

He nodded. ‘But then I saw you and I stopped.’

Mesmerised by his dark gaze, Orla asked faintly, ‘Why did you stop?’

‘Because you captivated me.’

‘Oh …’ For a long moment she said nothing, could only look at his mouth as a tight wire of need seemed to link to the insistent throbbing between her legs.

‘This is where you say you noticed me too …’ Marco supplied helpfully.

Orla’s eyes rose. She felt dizzy. She was losing it. No longer herself. ‘I didn’t see you at first…. I don’t know why.’

The man’s mouth flattened for a second. ‘I was hidden. In the shadows.’

Orla nodded slowly. Something touched her—as if what he was saying had a deeper resonance. ‘You were…. That’s why I didn’t see you. At first.’

Orla couldn’t stop talking. ‘And then when I did … I couldn’t look away.’

She blushed now and clasped her drink in two hands. ‘But I didn’t want you to think I was encouraging you.’

‘Don’t worry,’ came the dry response. ‘You gave a fairly frosty signal to stay away.’

She looked up, incensed. ‘I’m not frosty!’

He got all heavy-lidded. ‘I know …’

Orla went hot all over. Her nipples ached now they were so tight. Her belly clenched with need. She’d never been this turned on in her life.

The bar space was like a dark decadent cocoon. Orla glanced around and noticed that the table of men had left. So had the amorous couple at the bar. There was only one other remaining older couple, and she hadn’t even noticed. She felt a jolt of shock.

Marco lifted his glass and downed what was left of his drink in one go. For a second Orla had the wrenching sensation that he was going to leave and the feeling of rejection of that idea stunned her. She didn’t even know this man!

He put his glass down and Orla took a quick fortifying sip of hers. He looked at her for a long intense moment and she couldn’t even break the tension because it resonated within her. She wanted this man with an urgency that was completely alien. And thrilling.

His voice was deep. ‘I wanted you from the moment you walked in. I want you so much I ache with it. And I can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman this badly.’

Orla’s mouth went dry. The sum total of their physical contact so far had been his hand on her wrist to restrain her from leaving, but she knew that if he put his mouth anywhere near hers she would go up in flames.

Something about his brutal honesty connected with her. It was so much more seductive than if he’d insisted on some meaningless patter for another half an hour when they both knew that what was happening between them was crazy. Unreal. Unprecedented.

Feeling shaky at the thought of even contemplating what she was contemplating, Orla said, ‘I … I want you too.’

His eyes flashed and the throbbing heat between her legs intensified and she had to fight to stay still when she wanted to move around and ease the ache somehow.

She blurted out, ‘But … I didn’t come down here to meet someone, for a one-night stand.’

He looked deadly serious. ‘I know.’

His eyes on hers, hypnotising her, he said, ‘I’m going to get up and pay for these drinks at the bar. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But if you don’t …’

He didn’t have to finish. If she didn’t … she would spend the night with this man. In his bed. After a long charged moment, he stood up, reminding Orla of just how powerful and tall he was, calling to that deeply feminine part of her that exulted in the sheer biology of a potentially strong and virile mate. She’d never met someone so intensely masculine who made her feel so female.

Then he turned and went to the bar with a fluid grace that made Orla stare after him helplessly. Her mind went into turmoil. She had so much to think about—papers for the meeting tomorrow that she should go over. The reality of facing the demise of her family business. And yet, right here, right now, it all seemed very far away and not that important.

Somehow she got up and grabbed her bag. She was struggling to hang on to sanity, elusive as it was. She felt hot, feverish. Excited, scared. She couldn’t just let this man take her to his room. It was crazy, ridiculous. Dangerous.

Determined not to be led by her suddenly out of control hormones, Orla intended to leave the bar so that when he finished paying she’d be gone.

But just when she drew level with the tables nearest the bar she couldn’t help looking up and her gaze clashed immediately with a dark one reflected in the mirror behind the bar. Her heart stopped. Her breath got short and choppy.

His face was unreadable, those eyes so dark that she couldn’t make out the expression, but she couldn’t look away. Much like when she’d seen him first.

She realised that he’d already paid. He’d been watching her for the past couple of minutes, waiting to see what she’d do. Giving her the chance to go if she wanted to. And suddenly, something deep inside her rebelled. Broke free. She wanted this man so badly she ached all over. So she stood there. Didn’t move. It passed between them, unspoken but there. Yes.

Slowly he turned around and the full force of his physicality hit her between the eyes. Without a word he came towards her and took her free hand in his. Then he led her out of the bar.

In a daze, Orla let him lead her to the lift. Once inside they were alone. To her surprise, he let her go and leant back against the opposite wall. In the brighter lights of the lift he was even more intimidating. His skin was a dark olive, his eyes a very dark brown. For a second sanity threatened to return and then as the lift ascended he said in a low rough voice, ‘Show me your breast.’

His voice was commanding and any remaining sanity melted away and was replaced with heat. For a second Orla couldn’t take in his words and then she followed his gaze and looked down to see where her dress was gaping open slightly, showing skin.

Infused with a heady and hot sense of something very wicked, Orla lifted her hand and slowly pulled one side of the silk dress open, revealing one pale breast. Her fingers brushed against her tingling nipple and she had to bite her lip to stop a sound of reaction coming out of her mouth.

She stared at him, her cheeks burning with a mixture of shame and intoxification. His eyes were black, smouldering, cheekbones darkening with a rush of blood. Her nipple tightened, the aureole puckered.

The lift shuddered lightly to a halt. Marco’s eyes glittered as he dragged his gaze back up. Orla dropped her hand and the dress went back into place. The doors opened and he took her hand again, tightly, leading her out. She almost had to jog to keep up with his much longer stride.

He stopped at the end of the corridor and opened the door with a key card. They went in. Orla dimly registered that the room was palatial and had an astounding view. As soon as the door closed behind them, Marco let Orla’s hand go to rip off his jacket, throwing it in the direction of a chair.

Her back was against the door. He turned to face her and she looked up at him, in awe all over again at his sheer size. He made her feel tiny, delicate. Desire pounded through her in waves.

He stopped for a second and asked tautly, ‘Are you sure you want this?’

Orla had made her decision back in the bar when she’d met that black gaze in the mirror. She swallowed and tried to inject her voice with as much insouciance as she could muster considering this was the boldest thing she’d ever done in her life.

‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

CHAPTER TWO

I’M HERE, AREN’T I? The sparky husky words washed over and through Antonio, ratcheting up the exquisite knife-edge of arousal in his body. He’d never been brought so close to the edge before, when he’d barely touched this woman!

For a split second something inside him contracted when he realised just how far out of his zone of control he already was, but he couldn’t focus on it. All he could see was this woman’s, Kate’s, mouth, plump and kissable.

He put his hands on the door over her head, caging her in slightly, angling his body forward. She was looking up at him, eyes huge. Lashes long and dark.

‘Take down your hair.’ He wanted to see it fall around her shoulders.

After a slight hesitation she lifted her hand and huffed slightly. ‘Has anyone told you you’re awfully bossy?’

Antonio’s mouth quirked when he thought of the platoons of elite soldiers he’d commanded. ‘Frequently.’

She pulled at something and then her hair was falling down in soft silken skeins around her shoulders, its colour vivid even in the dim light. Antonio dropped a hand and took some strands between his fingers. He’d never felt anything so fine, so soft. A dim and distant damaged reflex of his memory wanted to break this moment apart but he wouldn’t let it rise. He utilised the exercises that had brought him back from the brink of madness and focused on her, on her smell. Musk and roses. All at once ethereal and earthy.

Unable to resist the torture any longer, he let her hair slide through his hand and trailed his fingers across the delicate line of her jaw. He saw the pulse quicken at the base of her neck and felt his body throb in response.

Tipping her chin up with only the slightest of pressure from his fingers, he dropped his head and his mouth touched hers. Sensations exploded behind his eyes. Hers were still open too, dark blue. He’d noticed that in the lift. Like dark violets. Emitting a growl at his own restraint which was barely hanging on by a thread, he closed his eyes and deepened the kiss, feeling that lush mouth soften even more under his, opening to him, inviting a deeper intimacy.

When their tongues touched it was like an electric shock. He felt small hands reach out to grab his shirt; his chest shuddered at even that fleeting touch. Unable to hold back from what he’d wanted to do all evening, Antonio dropped his other hand and found the gap in the front of Kate’s dress. He slid his hand in and cupped her bare breast, feeling the hard nub scrape his palm, and he felt feral with need, cupping, squeezing that flesh, fingers pinching at the peak, making it harder. Her skin was like silk. Warm and soft.

Through the roaring of blood in his head, he could feel her body moving closer to his, hear her moans coming from deep within her. He caught her round the waist with his arm; she felt tiny and fragile and it called to something deeply masculine within him, a primal part that had gone long unused. The material of her dress was slippery and he pulled her into him, against where his flesh was so stiff and hard.

Orla dragged her mouth from Marco’s and gazed into glittering eyes. She was breathing hard. She was plastered against him, on tiptoe, and she could feel him, long and hard and thick, against her belly. Her mind blanked. She knew he was a big man. But he felt huge. An explosion of damp heat made her even wetter.

He was breathing harshly too, his chest moving rapidly. His hand was still on her breast.

Feeling completely wanton, Orla got out roughly, ‘I want to see you.’ She could give orders too.

Marco drew his hand out from under her dress and Orla had to bite her lip not to grab his hand and put it back on her hot flesh. Slowly he started to undo his buttons and Orla’s eyes followed their progress as his chest was slowly revealed bit by bit. Her eyes widened when he pulled his shirt off completely and it fell to the floor.

Magnificent was too banal a word for the perfection in front of her. He was a warrior. Surely descended from ancient warriors. His chest was massive. Rock-hard. Muscles clearly delineated and rippling. Dark hair dusted his pectorals and descended in a line under the belt of his trousers. Orla’s gaze dropped farther and she saw the bulge pushing against the material. She gulped.

‘Now you,’ came the throaty command.

Orla looked up again. Mouth dry, she reached behind her for the small button at the top of the back of her dress. She released it and held the dress in place for a moment before taking a deep breath and letting it fall forward and down, held in place now only by the belt.

Marco’s gaze felt hot on her skin. Her breast that he’d touched still throbbed.

‘You’re so beautiful.’ He reached out a hand and traced the aureole of her other breast with a finger. Orla bit back a groan, her eyes closing because it was sensory overload to take in both the sight of him and the feel of him. Her skin puckered tight.

And then her eyes flew open and she gasped with shock when she felt the hot sucking heat of his mouth. Orla’s hand went to his head, fingers stabbing deep into thick hair. His skull was hard and his mouth was pure wicked torture. She sagged back against the door, her legs increasingly shaky.

‘Marco …’ she panted. ‘I don’t think I can keep standing.’

Her legs were wobbling in earnest now. He lifted his mouth off her breast and she cursed her weakness. But then he straightened and scooped her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather. She put her hand to his chest, the muscles bunching and moving under her palm. For a woman who prided herself on being strong and authoritative, being held like this struck at that deep feminine chord within her.

He carried her in through the suite to the bedroom where one small lamp was on by the bed. Orla noticed stuff around the place—books, clothes—but she barely took it in; the strength and power in the body that held her was awesome. She faintly wondered if he might be an athlete.

Marco put her down on the bed and trailed his hands down her legs, slipping her shoes off so they fell on the floor with a soft thud. Then those hands came back up her legs and he pushed them apart, standing between them, at the edge of the bed.

Orla’s breath quickened. His hands were on her thighs now, huge. His thumbs climbing higher and higher to where her body would tell him just how badly she wanted him too.

She felt embarrassed by what her body was about to reveal. Impetuously she said, ‘Don’t!’

He stopped. ‘Don’t what?’

Orla turned her head away, desire thick in her body, but feeling exposed in a way she’d never felt before. No man had ever made her feel this out of control.

In a small voice she said, ‘I don’t want you to know….’

‘Know what?’

She looked back at him, the words trembling on her lips—how much I want you—but she held them back, saying instead, huskily, ‘I don’t even know you.’

Marco’s hands didn’t move. He just stared at her in the dim light and then presciently answered her unspoken words. ‘I know…. It’s the same for me.’

He took his hands off her thighs and immediately Orla wanted them back on her. Instead they were on his belt and he was opening it, sliding it through the buckle with a sibilant hiss of leather through fabric. Now he was opening his trousers, hands disappearing under the waist, pushing them down, taking his briefs with them.

All the breath in Orla’s body seemed to disappear as she took him in. Massive and aroused. Moisture beading at the tip of his erection.

‘See …’ he said with a funny tight quality to his voice, ‘how much I want you? It’s mutual.’

He came between her legs again and Orla could only lie back and let him replace his hands on her thighs. They moved upwards until they formed a V at the juncture of her thighs. She fought not to squirm against them, as if to guide him to touch her more intimately.

And then, his eyes smouldering, he pulled aside her panties and stroked his fingers along her very damp cleft. He said something in a language she didn’t understand. It sounded guttural, French. But not like any French she’d ever heard.

She closed her eyes, her entire body going as taut as a bowstring as he stroked her and then slipped a finger inside her. Her back arched off the bed; she gasped out loud, hands clenching at thin air.

He came down beside her, the bed dipping with the weight of his big frame. One finger became two inside her and his mouth found her breast and suckled roughly. Orla wanted to scream. She was spiralling faster and faster towards the peak, her hips jerking against his hand. And without warning it broke over her and inside her, the most powerful orgasm she’d ever experienced. It was so mind-altering that she wondered if what she’d experienced before had even been an orgasm.

Marco’s hand stilled against her as her pulsating body came back to earth. Orla felt disorientated; she opened her eyes and saw him like a Greek god beside her. His hands went to the belt on her dress and he undid it, far more dextrously than Orla would have managed it right now. To her mortification, she knew she was trembling with the force of what had just happened.

Then he was pulling back and tugging her dress down over her hips and off. Now she wore only her panties and he slipped them off too. Orla saw him reach for something and heard a ripping sound. A condom. He was about to smooth it onto his erection and Orla felt a burst of desire. ‘Wait.’

He stopped and looked at her and she could see what pleasuring her had cost him when she could see the sweat on his brow, the strain on his face.

A wicked inner sorceress she’d not known she even had inside her said, ‘Let me.’

Tonight she was Kate. Tonight reality didn’t exist, or it did but it was part of a fantasy she wasn’t even aware existed in her mind. Tonight she could be someone else.

She came up on her knees, thankful that they didn’t collapse because all her limbs felt like jelly. She took the condom out of his fingers and came closer to the edge of the bed. He was so tall that all she had to do was reach out and roll it over that thick length, the veins standing out in bold relief under delicate skin.

Orla bit her lip when she hit the base of his shaft, and then his hands were on her arms and he was gently pushing her back down onto the bed, her legs folding underneath her.

‘Sweetheart, if you keep touching me and looking at me like that, this will be over before we’ve even started. I can’t hold on.’