Burn Me Once / Boardroom Sins

‘The jitters?’

Oh, no. There goes my heart, flopping just like my tummy has been all night, squeezing with something a lot like affection at the sweetness of that word. Jitters. Twenty-eight, sexy as sin, and a gold medallist at pleasure-giving and he uses words like ‘jitters’. He gives me the jitters.

‘Yeah. You know. The heebie-jeebies.’

‘Stop.’ I burst out laughing and hold a hand up at the same time. ‘You need to stop using language like that.’

‘Like heebie-jeebies?’

‘Yeah. It’s too...’ Cute. Adorable. Sweet. Lovely.

‘I’m sorry, Ally, there’s no other word for it. I had medically diagnosed heebie-jeebies.’

But he grabs the hand I’ve held out and pulls it—and me—towards him. Our bodies meld together and his eyes lock to mine. Breath snags in my throat like a piece of thread that won’t give. I stare up at him, waiting, transfixed, my heart throbbing.

He kisses my forehead lightly, softly, gently, and a moan is trapped in my throat. Yes. This. All of this. The paths are back in my mind, opening up and inviting me to choose one.

There’s a sound from outside and he reaches for a towel, breaking the sense of magic that was enveloping me. ‘Hop in. I’ll join you in a minute.’

‘The bath?’

‘Why not?’

He wraps a towel around his waist, low-slung so that—if it’s possible—he looks even sexier than when he was all gloriously golden and butt-naked.

‘You got somewhere else you need to be?’

The paths look at me.

He looks at me.

I expel a long, slow sigh as I shake my head. ‘Not right now, I don’t.’

‘Good. Then you’re all mine.’ He kisses me quickly on the cheek. ‘And I’m going to make the most of it. I’ll be right back.’

He disappears from the bathroom but I move to the door and watch him. I watch him because I seem unable to help it. Because I am pulled to him like a bee to honey.

* * *

Her eyes are shut when I step back into the bathroom, bowl in hand. The water swirls around her, and her breasts are two perfect peaks floating on the surface. She’s added some of the shower lotion, and the bubbled top creates a frustrating visual barrier to the rest of her body.

A body I now yearn to see again.

To make completely my own.

It is a primal need to possess her, and I’m more surprised by that than I should be. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman. And things between Sienna and me were shit at the end. For a long time before the end, actually.

But I don’t want to think about her now.

I don’t want Sienna in my head, ruining this for me.

‘You look good enough to eat.’

Her eyes ping open, searing me with awareness. ‘You should know.’

‘Uh-huh.’

I grin as I step into the bath, relieved as all fuck when my legs brush against hers. I like touching her. I like it a lot.

Maybe it’s just the newness of this. The freshness of being with a woman I barely know.

‘Definitely something I want seconds of.’

Her cheeks flush bright pink—God, I love how she blushes, and I can’t resist teasing her more.

‘And thirds...and fourths.’

Darker pink glistens on her cheeks. I settle myself against the head of the bath and scoop some ice cream onto a spoon, holding it out to her. She keeps her eyes locked to mine as she takes a bite. A dribble of vanilla escapes down one side of her chin and I watch its progress. She makes no effort to check it, and after a moment it falls to her décolletage and slips down to where her breast meets the water.

Shit.

She’s perfection.

‘You know...’ I continue, hell-bent now on my mission to make her whole body glow red with knowledge and awareness. ‘You make the sweetest noises when you’re coming.’

Mission accomplished. She lights up like a Christmas tree, her eyes not meeting mine.

‘Why are we eating ice cream?’

It is the most goddamned clunky conversation-change I’ve ever heard—and I’m often around women who are nervous as all hell.

I laugh, the noise soft in the quietness of the bathroom, and I lift a spoonful of the confection out of the bowl. ‘I’ll show you.’

I place it in my mouth and then move through the water, finding one of her breasts, which I’m already thinking of as my breasts. I know how she loves them to be played with—how much it drives her crazy.

For the smallest moment Sienna is in my head again. And she’s pissed off as all hell at what I’m doing.

Anger briefly flares in my gut, followed by satisfaction. I’m glad she’s pissed off. She can join the club.

Sienna always was jealous. Jealous of the women who’d get backstage at my concerts. Women the band would introduce me to. Women who’d find out where I was staying and make their way to the hotel and wait outside my room. Women who emailed and Tweeted me their most obscene fantasies in the hopes I’d turn them into lyrics...or reality.

Well, no sense crying over spilled milk or unsown oats. Here, in this enormous bath with Ally, I’ve got every opportunity to make up for lost time. And I intend to use it.

She’s so hot. Like the sex gods recognised my deprivation and decided to reward me with an actual bona fide angel.

I slide the ice cream over her perfect peach nipple, my hands braced on her hips beneath the water so I feel the way she sucks in a hard breath of surprise at the ice-cold invasion. The frozen heat—such a contradiction.

She shifts underwater, dragging her breath lower. I make a ‘tsking’ sound of disapproval. ‘You don’t like it?’

‘Oh, I like it,’ she mutters, without meeting my eyes. ‘What I don’t like is how easily you can drive me crazy. It’s not fair.’

‘Not fair?’ I shake my head. ‘Believe me, I get as much out of your pleasure as you do.’

And to prove my point I nudge my dick against her, so she can feel how hard I am for her already. How no relief could erase the need I feel for her.

‘That’s reassuring,’ she murmurs.

I laugh. ‘I’m glad you’re reassured, Alicia.’

Something serious flickers in her eyes and she moves forward in the bath, making a small wave that ripples around me and crashes to the edges. She reaches for the ice cream spoon and takes a bite before bringing her mouth to mine. The kiss is hot and cold and I groan into her mouth, my hands seeking first her hair, tangling in its lengths, before dragging themselves down to her hips and squeezing her flesh, loving the feeling of her as she moves over me.

She’s so close I want to take her then and there.

Thank God she’s still got room for thought. She shakes her head, keeping herself just far enough away from me to inspire a sort of madness. ‘No condom,’ she murmurs.

I swear, if it hadn’t been for that I’d be taking her now, driving into her again.

She kisses me and I move closer and closer to bursting. She rolls her hips against my waist, teasing me, inviting me, even when we both know we can’t do this. She’s tilting her pelvis, simulating sex, and my temperature is skyrocketing. I’m harder than granite and there’s only one cure.

While I want her, I want more of this, too. More of feeling like I’m about to explode, like I’m close but far away. I wanted to get blind drunk tonight, but instead I met Ally and I’m drunk on something besides alcohol. Is this just deprivation talking? Just the fact I haven’t been able to do this for a really long time?

Flesh on flesh...her under my fingertips.

Fuuuuck.

‘What would you say about getting out of the bath?’ All I can think about is taking her again. Driving into her like she’s my new home.

‘Can we bring the ice cream?’

‘Hell, yeah, we can bring the ice cream.’

She’s so graceful. Even as she pushes up to standing and moves out of the bath it’s like a ballet performance. She’s lithe and lean and, though I’m aching to follow, I take a moment just to watch her. To watch as she pulls her wet hair over her shoulder and squeezes it into a towel, her eyes fixed straight ahead. She drops the towel to her body and pats herself dry in what is my new definition of sexiness. Then she turns back to me and she looks like Mona Lisa might have if she’d just rolled out of bed.

Enigmatic. Hot. Desirable.

‘Ready?’

‘Yeah.’ Is that my voice? So gruff and hoarse?

She reaches for the ice cream and once more spoons it into her mouth, but she holds the spoon there, her eyes holding mine. Just for a second. A beat. But it’s enough. Enough for me to imagine it’s me in her mouth.

I would be some kind of animal if I didn’t feel guilty for what I’m doing. Four months ago I thought Sienna and I would work through our shit and probably one day get married. Four months ago I wouldn’t have dreamed of being with someone else.

And now I’m fucking this beautiful, sexy Ally.

Am I doing it to hurt Sienna?

Am I doing it to fuck Sienna right out of my head?

Am I doing it because Sienna deserves that?

Hell, yeah. But I’m also doing it because Ally seems to have robbed me of any ability to walk away. She has drawn me into something I cannot fight.

And I don’t want to fight it anyway.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE SUN IS WEAK, straining to break through the sensuality that has formed a deep fog in his room. I squint and stifle a yawn, arching my back until I ram against him. A feline smile curves slowly over my lips. I reach for him on autopilot, turning at the same time as his lips seek mine, crushing against them.

I haven’t spent the night in a stranger’s bed in a long time, and whenever I have in the past there has been the inevitable dawning of awkwardness the next morning. A raising of self-consciousness along with the new day. A desire to begin the forgetting—forgetting what I’ve done and with whom.

I do not feel that now.

I lose myself in the kiss and my body seeks his, hungrily, urgently, naturally. He groans into my mouth and it is an answer to my feral needs, my wildness and abandon. For a brief second he is distant, turning away from me, and then I roll with him, straddling him even as he laughs and extends an arm to the side table. He knocks a glass of water to the carpeted floor but doesn’t react.

Nor do I. I’m already seeking him, wanting to take him deep inside again. I need him more than I can express.

He laughs. A throaty sound of agreement. And then he swears. ‘Hang on.’

I don’t want to hang on, yet I pause, just long enough to frown and follow his fumbling hand. Oh, shit. A condom—of course. Had I really almost forgotten? Colour flushes my cheeks, but embarrassment is quickly swallowed by something else. Something far more primal.

Even before he’s ripped the packet open I’m bending my head forward and my mouth is taking him in the way the rest of me wants to. I curve my lips around him until he reaches the back of my throat and he swears again. I feel the curse reverberate through his body and into mine.

I don’t stop.

His fingers push through my hair, tangling in its length, and I move my mouth upwards, then take him all the way in again, over and over.

‘Fuuuck.’

He drops his fingers to my shoulders and pushes me up. I stare past his cock, beautiful as it is, up his toned chest, to a face that really is the stuff of dreams. God, he’s hot. Seriously hot.

The kind of guy a girl could lose her mind for.

And her heart too?

Not me—not my heart. My heart is staying boxed in my chest, right where it belongs. But my mind...? Yes, I’d happily be mindless for this rock god.

‘I want you.’ He rips the condom out and slides it over his dick.

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ I laugh, and then his hands are beneath my arms, pulling me up even as I crawl higher over his body and straddle him, taking him and moaning as he thrusts into me.

I tilt backwards and stare at the ceiling as all the walls of my world implode.

I am lost.

* * *

‘You know...’ He runs a fingertip down my spine and I shiver, my body still in paroxysms of desire even now, ten minutes after we’ve both crested that glorious wave and felt the complete delight that follows absolute surrender to pleasure. ‘You’re very good for my ego.’

I smile against his chest, listening to his heart thumping solidly. ‘Shouldn’t that be the other way around? It’s not every day I get seduced by a superstar.’

He runs his finger lower, curving it over the roundness of my ass.

‘Is that what I am?’

‘Uh-huh. Apparently.’

‘I’m not sure I seduced you, though.’

I laugh. ‘Seriously?’

‘You were staring at me all night...’

‘Was not!’

I push up onto my elbows and my hair falls over his chest, tumbling across his tanned skin. I drop my lips to the ridge between his pecs and kiss him slowly, tasting the tang of his sweat and the masculinity of his body.

My insides clench. He is warm; he is hot. I could stay here all day.

The very thought is a dangerous electrical current I must immediately subdue.

I don’t do that. I won’t do that. Sex is fine, but anything more is where things get tricky. I swallow, pretty sure confusion is in my smile as I pull away from him.

‘Anyway, Mr Rock Star, I think this is where our time must end.’ I sigh dramatically, doing my best impersonation of a Shakespearean actress, and stand up.

My clothes are spread like confetti over the carpet. I feel his eyes on me as I move through the room, watching me scoop the garments off the floor.

‘Mind if I grab a quick shower?’

He doesn’t answer straight away. His expression is vague, like he’s not concentrating, or perhaps he hasn’t even heard.

‘Ethan?’

‘Sorry—yeah. Right. Go ahead.’ He nods towards the bathroom.

My body feels like it’s been stripped raw. Every nerve-ending vibrates as I rub myself with a loofah, spreading suds across my skin and rinsing them away. In the past, whenever I had one-night stands, I used to feel the after-shower was almost ceremonial. A wiping away of what I’d done.

I don’t feel that now.

Or, if I do, I feel it with regret.

I don’t want to walk away from him. And that’s a serious problem. I’ve only ever felt that one time in my life and it led to a verified disaster.

Jeremy almost broke me. Almost? I forgot how to function for months after it ended.

Following desire to the point of stupidity was almost the end of me.

I will never make that mistake again.

I flick the taps off and stand in the steamy cubicle for a moment, steadying myself for what comes next.

Goodbyes are never nice, are they?

I brace myself for the inevitable swapping of numbers as I dress. The promise to call. The certainty that neither of us will.

When I step out into the lounge area he’s dressed in a pair of low-slung jeans and nothing else. His chest is a piece of art—and I should know, given what I do!—but it’s his bare feet that I find strangely erotic. There’s something so confident about the way he stands, legs wide, arms crossed—seriously gorgeous arms—his eyes fixed on the bathroom door as though he’s been waiting for me to emerge. He’s like a caged lion, and yet there’s something inherently laid-back about him.

The second I step out heat erupts, like wildfire spreading across a desert. It burns all of me, all the way through. I smile brightly, pretending I’m fine. Pretending hard that I don’t feel it.

‘Sooo...’ I move towards him, reaching for my purse. ‘This has been fun.’

‘Fun...yeah.’ He nods, still with that same sense of distraction on his handsome face.

I lift up on tiptoes and kiss his stubbled cheek, then step back.

Goodbyes are never nice.

I fight an urge to say any of the things that people might say in this situation. I’ll call you... Or Let’s do this again sometime... Or, If you’re ever in town let me know...

‘Listen, Ally...’

He drags a hand through his hair and I catch a hint of his beautiful fragrance and almost groan.

How can I want him again?

No, it’s not that I want him again. I still want him. I want to stay curled up in bed, my body wrapped around his. I want to eat ice cream off him until I can’t eat any more.

Every thought like that is a brick against my side. I’ve been stupid before. I’ve lost my heart before. I’ve lost it in a way that taught me the most important lessons about myself and my life. My heart has been broken and I doubt it will ever fit back together again.

He’s searching for words, searching my face too. Looking for a way to tell me what he needs to say.

‘It’s okay.’ I rush the words out, my smile over-bright. ‘Seriously, Ethan, it’s okay. You don’t need to say anything.’ I reach for his hand and squeeze it. ‘I’m not looking for anything more than last night. It was...perfect. Let’s not do the whole swapping numbers thing, okay?’

Still his eyes roam my face, intuiting more from me than I want to share. My cheeks heat and I turn away, scooping up my bag and tucking it under my arm.

Props are a funny thing, aren’t they? Just the simple act of putting my purse in place gives me an added layer of confidence, tethering me to myself and my feelings, reminding me of who I was before this night reached into my soul and swished everything up.

‘Thank you,’ he says, and I acknowledge the incongruity of that polite remark.

I spin and kiss him on his cheek once more. ‘You’re welcome.’

In the end I didn’t say goodbye. I just walked away as though I was heading to the shops or out to get coffee. No biggie.

I walked away and didn’t look back.

I couldn’t. I fear one last peek might have killed my will-power.

* * *

She is everywhere I look in the room. I smell her on the pillow as I press my head into it, and when I close my eyes I see her.

Ally.

Ally naked, glorious, owning me, burning me.

Ally.

My gut twists as though I’ve cheated on my girlfriend. My ex-girlfriend, who is now the fiancée of someone else.

It doesn’t change the way something strange is shooting through me. Emotions that are hard to interpret. Anger. Jealousy. Resentment.

Relief.

And something I have to own as sinister.

Sienna would hate it that I fucked Ally.

And I think I kind of like that.

* * *

I check the details of my appointment once more, wishing my assistant Lesley would proofread her emails before sending them.

Two p.m. appuntment with Grayson Heynes. 44 West Eleventh, The Vilage. Complete renovashun. Meet at address.

Her spelling is so bad that I’ve often wondered how the hell she graduated from high school. But what she lacks in her ability with the written word she makes up for in every other way. Lesley is my organisational guru, and she works harder than anyone I’ve ever known. No matter when I email her, she writes back within minutes. She is calm and strangely unflappable.

God knows I need her stability.

More now than usual.

I have to admit that since the weekend I’ve been in a weird headspace. I went running twice—morning and night, both days. That’s not completely out of the ordinary, but it’s been a long time since I’ve pushed myself that hard.

Only I’ve found myself with an odd surplus of energy since that night with him.

I shy away from using his name.

It’s as though my blood has been supercharged and I am a different person altogether. I look the same, but I’m not. It’s really weird. And I don’t welcome the feeling—not one little bit.

Jeremy taught me everything I need to know about relationships. I will never again let a man change who I am. I will never again let a man make me doubt myself.

I shiver. I’ve been thinking of Jeremy more lately than usual. That’s Ethan’s fault too... Maybe Eliza was wrong. I’m not ready for this. What’s wrong with being celibate and alone anyway? I’m pretty sure I can get all my kicks from Game of Thrones.

Mmm... Jon Snow...

I feel nothing.

God, what kind of sexual spell has Ethan Ash cast over me that even invoking Jon Snow doesn’t dull the memories of our night together?

I turn my head, scanning the street in one direction. Nothing. Just the buzz of normal West Village life. A woman with two small children and a Golden Retriever on one side of the street and a tourist couple on the other.

Neither of those looks like my new client.

I turn in the opposite direction just in time to see a man step out of a black limousine. He wears a suit but it barely contains his strength. He’s short and broad, with close-cut blond hair, a golden tan, and he wears sunglasses despite the fact the day is bleak.

He moves towards me purposefully so I smile, glad I applied an extra layer of my favourite bright red lipstick.

‘Miss Douglas?’

‘Ally, please,’ I say, extending my hand, trying to place his accent. Australian?

He nods in answer. ‘This way.’ He gestures to the door of the townhouse behind me and I have to fight my smile.

I love these brownstones. Like every woman my age, I grew up on Friends and Sex and the City repeats, and these buildings exemplify New York to me. It’s why I love where I live, around the corner from here. Because I feel like I’ve walked onto the set of my favourite TV show and it’s every bit as amazing as I thought it would be.

But a whole townhouse—no, two? He pushes the door open and we’re right in a construction site. There are tins of paint, ladders, and yellow tape, presumably indicating ‘no-go’ areas.

‘You’re joining the two together?’

Excitement swarms through me. The cost of the real estate alone, and then these extensive renovations, indicate that Mr. Heynes has considerable finances at his disposal.

I take on many projects, for clients with varying degrees of wealth, but by far the most fun to work with are the couples or clients who are seriously loaded. Who let me go to town on assembling an art collection worthy of a world-class gallery. I suspect Mr. Heynes might just be one of them.

‘This way, please.’

I fall into step beside him, breathing in the architectural beauty of the building as we go. I note with pleasure that someone has chosen to keep all the original features. Deco ceiling roses are in a state of restoration, so too the fancy balustrade that borders the stairs. We move deeper into the townhouse and the natural light that floods in from the back garden is exquisite. A grey day it might be, but this garden is both a sun-catcher and a green oasis in the middle of New York City.

A movement in the corner catches my eye and I’m drawn to it instinctively. Another man, sitting in a folding director’s chair, stands up.

It takes my mind longer than my body to recognise who it is.

My body knows straight away, of course, as proved by the way my nipples strain against the fabric of my shirt, and the way all of me pulses with need. Memories of our night together flood my brain and desire is instantly, obviously heavy in the room.

Ethan Ash stares back at me, a sexy smile on his face, like he’s waiting for me to speak. Or to jump him.

CHAPTER SIX

‘ETHAN...?’ THE WORD is an exhalation. A query, yes, but also a soft, muted groan.

He’s wearing jeans again. The same ones he was wearing the day I left? Saturday? Four days ago? Is that all? But he’s teamed them with a simple blue and white button-down shirt, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his tanned forearms, and he’s got simple Nikes on his feet—nice shoes, but I miss his sexy bare feet instantly. His hair is in disarray, reminding me forcibly of how it looked after I’d run my fingers through it.