It Started With One Night

Maybe this weekend might be a good place to try to overcome that particular hang-up. She doubted she would ever feel as wicked, or as driven, as she did at this moment. She could not wait to get her hands on Max. The thought of washing him all over in the shower was not unattractive, just a bit daunting.

A shudder ran through her. She would think about that later. There were other things she had to do first, such as whip around and turn some lamps on.

Max loved lamp-light, and whilst it was still bright and sunny outside—the sun wouldn’t set for hours—the inside of Max’s penthouse always required some lighting. Mostly this was due to the wraparound terraces and the wide eaves. On top of that, the décor of the penthouse was very much in keeping with the décor of the hotel, which meant it wasn’t madly modern like some penthouses, with great open-plan living areas and huge plate-glass windows.

The décor was still period, with wallpapered walls and rich carpets on the floors. French doors lead out onto the balconies and heavy silk curtains draped over the windows. The furniture was all antique. Warm woods covered in velvet or brocade in rich colours. It was like an Edwardian English mansion set up in the sky. As big as a mansion too, with formal lounge and dining rooms, four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a study, a library, a billiard room, along with a large kitchen, laundry and utility rooms.

Everything was exquisite and very expensive.

Tara hadn’t realised the size or extravagance of the place on the first night she’d spent with Max. She’d been overwhelmed by the events and the experience, rather than her surroundings. But the following morning, she’d soon been confronted by the extreme wealth of the man who’d just become her first lover. Initially, she’d been dumbstruck, then totally convinced that he would only want a girl like her for a one-night stand.

But Max had reassured her for the rest of that incredible weekend that a casual encounter was not what he wanted from her at all. Tara recalled thinking at the time that she had found nothing casual in letting him take her virginity less than three hours after she’d first set eyes on him. If she hadn’t known she’d fallen instantly and deeply in love with the man, she would have been disgusted with herself.

Naturally, she’d been thrilled that he found her as special as she found him, and here she was, one year later, with her own private key, getting things ready for her man in the way that women in love had done so for centuries. If it fleetingly crossed Tara’s mind that her role in her lover’s life was more like a mistress than a real girlfriend, she dismissed it with the added thought that it wouldn’t always be like this. One day, things would change. Max would have more time for her. Till then, she aimed to enjoy the time with him she did have and that part of him which was solely hers.

At least, she hoped it was solely hers.

Yes, of course it was. Her mother was wrong about that, as she was wrong about Max all round. The man who was at this moment doing nice things for that couple downstairs was not the kind of man to be unfaithful, or a callous user. She really had to stop letting her mother undermine her faith in Max, or spoil what promised to be a very exciting night.

With a defiant toss of her head, Tara turned and hurried down the plushly carpeted corridor which led to Max’s personal quarters, fiercely aware that the last few minutes away from Max’s rousing presence hadn’t dampened her desires in the slightest. In fact, having sex with Max was all she could think about at that moment, which was not her usual priority when Max came home these days. Mostly, she just wanted to spend time with the man she loved. His lovemaking, though wonderful, was more of a bonus than the be-all and end-all.

Today, it was not only top priority, but close to becoming an emergency!

It was Max’s fault, she decided as she swept into the bedroom and starting fumbling with the tiny pearl buttons of her pink shirt. The way he’d looked at her at the airport. The things he’d said about her clothes. That kiss, and then his threat to ravage her on the back seat of the car.

Tara finally stripped off her blouse then kicked off her shoes.

‘My screw-me shoes,’ she said with a wicked little laugh as she bent to pick them up, carrying the shirt and the shoes into the adjoining dressing room, where she’d put her bag earlier on. There, she stripped off her jeans and undies, stuffing them into the bag’s side-pocket for later washing. The shirt she hung up in her section of the walk-in wardrobe. The shoes she put into the special shoe rack before running her eyes along the clothes she kept at Max’s place, looking for something more comfortable to slip into.

Her mother’s kept-woman tag flashed into her mind at the sight of so many designer evening gowns, all paid for by Max, each worn to one of the many swanky dos Max had taken her to during the first few months of their relationship. Dinner parties at the homes of top politicians. Gala openings at the opera house. Art exhibitions. Balls. The races.

You name it, she’d been there on Max’s arm.

Actually, she had objected the first time he’d suggested buying her a designer dress. But he’d swept aside her possibly feeble protest with what had seemed like acceptable reasoning.

He could well afford it, he’d pronounced. But possibly his most persuasive argument of all was that it gave him great pleasure to see his gorgeous girlfriend in clothes befitting her beauty.

How could she possibly say no?

The lingerie, Tara realised as her eyes shifted further along the rack, had been more recent gifts, brought home from Max’s more frequent trips overseas. She had negligee sets from Paris, London, Rome, New York.

These were all she seemed to wear for him these days, now that she came to think of it. Max hadn’t taken her outside the door of this penthouse for some time. No doubt he wouldn’t this evening either.

‘Good!’ she pronounced aloud with a dizzying rush of excitement, and pulled out a green satin wrap which she knew complemented her fair colouring and green eyes. The matching nightgown she left on the hanger. No point in wearing too much.

Tossing the wrap over her arm, she headed for the bathroom and was about to have a quick shower before Max arrived when she remembered she hadn’t put her pills and her mobile phone on the bedside chest as she usually did. Dashing back to the dressing room, she retrieved the items from her bag and bolted into the bedroom to do just that. Then she stopped to quickly turn the bedclothes back before glancing around to see that everything was ready for a romantic interlude.

Not that Max’s bedroom needed anything to enhance its already romantic décor. Everything about it was rich and sensual. The soft gold carpet was extra thick and the gold-embossed cream wallpaper extra rich, both perfect foils for the dark mahogany wood used in all the elegant furniture. The four-poster bed. The bedside chests. The dressing table and matching stool. The cheval mirror that stood in one corner and the wingbacked chairs that occupied the other corners.

The soft furnishings were rich and sensual-looking as well, all made in a satin-backed brocade which carried a gold fleur-de-lis design over an olive-green background. A huge crystal and brass chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling, but there were also several dainty crystal wall lights dotted around the room.

Tara loved it when it was dark and all the lights were turned off except those. The room took on a magical glow which was so romantic. Much better than the bedside lamps which she thought threw too much light onto the bed. And them.

Of course, the pièce de résistance in Max’s bedroom was the four-poster bed. Huge, it was, with great carved posts and bedhead. The canopy above was made of the same material as all the other soft furnishings, draped around the edges and trimmed with a gold fringe. There were side-curtains, which theoretically could be drawn to surround the bed, but were always kept pulled back and secured to the bedposts with gold tasselled cords.

Tara ran her fingers idly through one of the tassels and wondered what it would be like to be in bed with Max with the curtains drawn.

‘What are you thinking now?’

‘Oh!’ Tara gasped, whirling to find Max standing in the doorway of the bedroom, staring at her with coldly glittering eyes.

‘I…I didn’t hear you come in,’ she babbled, her heart pounding madly as she tried to cover herself with her hands.

With a sigh Max stalked into the room, his face now showing exasperation. ‘Don’t you think we’ve gone past that, Tara? I mean, I do know what you look like naked. Surely you must know that I’d like it if you walked around in front of me nude,’ he finished as he took off his jacket and threw it onto the nearest chair.

She just stared at him, her heartbeat almost in suspension. But her mind was racing. Yes, yes, it was saying. I’d like to do that, too. Truly. I just can’t seem to find the courage.

‘And there I was,’ he muttered as he yanked his tie off, ‘thinking today that you might have finally decided you wanted more than for me to make love to you under the covers with the lights turned down.

‘It’s all right,’ he added a bit wearily when she remained frozen and tongue-tied. ‘I understand. You’re shy. Though heaven knows why. You have the most beautiful body God ever gave to a woman. And you’re passionate enough, between the sheets.’

Turning away from her, he tossed the tie on top of the jacket then started undoing the buttons on his shirt.

‘Go and put something on,’ he bit out, not looking at her. ‘If you must.’

Tara dashed into the bathroom and shakily pulled on the green wrap, hating herself for feeling relieved. When she finally returned to the bedroom, Max was sitting on the foot of the bed, taking off his shoes and socks. His shirt was hanging open, but he hadn’t taken it off.

Tara’s heart sank. Did he think she was that modest? She loved his chest, with its broad shoulders, wonderfully toned muscles and smattering of curls.

‘Did…did you fix up things for those people?’ she asked somewhat sheepishly.

‘Naturally,’ he replied without looking up at her. ‘I had them moved into one of the honeymoon suites, on the house. And I told them they could have a free harbour-view room for their anniversary next year.’

‘Oh, Max, that was generous of you. And very smart. That man would have bad-mouthed the hotel for years, you know. To anyone who would listen. Now he’ll say nothing but good things. People love getting something for free. I know I do. I can never resist those buy-one, get one-free promotions.’

‘Really?’ He finally looked up, but his clouded eyes indicated that he was suddenly off in another world. Max did that sometimes. Tara knew better than to ask him what he was thinking about. Whenever she did, he always said ‘nothing important’.

‘So which honeymoon suite are they in?’ she asked instead. The hotel was famous for its four themed honeymoon suites, which Tara knew cost a bomb to stay in. Bookings showed that the Arabian Nights suite was the most popular, followed by the Naughty Nautical suite, the French Bordello suite and, lastly, the Tropical Paradise suite.

‘What? Oh, there was only the one available tonight. The French Bordello. Mr Travis seemed tickled pink. Can’t say the same for Mrs Travis. She seemed a little nervous. Maybe she’s on the shy side. Like you.’

‘I’m not all that shy,’ Tara dared to say at last.

Max darted her a dry look.

‘All right, I am, a bit,’ she went on, swallowing when he stood up and started undoing his trouser belt.

The prospect of watching him strip down to total nakedness before he’d even kissed her was definitely daunting. But at the same time she wanted him to, wanted him to do what she wasn’t bold enough to do, wanted him to force her to stop being so silly.

‘Don’t panic,’ he said drily and, whipping out his belt, deposited it with his other clothes. ‘I won’t take anything more off. I’m going to have a shower, and when I come out I’ll be wearing my bathrobe. Meantime, why don’t you order us something from Room Service? I don’t know about you but I’m starving. I nodded off on the plane so I didn’t get to eat anything. I’ve made us a booking for dinner at eight but that’s hours away.’

‘We’re going out to dinner?’ Tara said, taken aback.

‘I’ve only booked the restaurant here in the hotel. Is that all right with you?’

‘Oh, yes. I love going to dinner with you there. It’s just that…well, the last couple of times you’ve come home, we’ve eaten in.’

‘Yes, I know. And I’m sorry. That was selfish of me. But, as I said earlier, you’re a different girl between the sheets, so I try to keep you there as long as possible.’

She blushed. ‘Don’t make fun of me, Max.’

He groaned and walked round to draw her into his arms. ‘I’m not making fun of you, princess. I would never do that. You’re you and I love you just the way you are.’

‘Kiss me, Max,’ she said quite fiercely.

His eyes searched hers. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not yet.’

‘But I can’t wait any longer!’

‘You can’t wait. Hell, Tara, what is it with you today? Are you punishing me for neglecting you lately?’

‘I just want you to kiss me. No, I need you to kiss me.’

With a groan, he kissed her. Then he kissed her some more, till her knees went to water and she was clinging to him for dear life. When he swept her up and dropped her less than gently onto the bed, Tara made no protest. Neither did she turn her eyes away whilst he started ripping off the rest of his clothes.

She wanted to look. Wanted to see him wanting her.

Her breath caught at the extent of his desire.

He loomed over her, tugging the sash of her robe undone, throwing the sides back to bare her body to his blazing eyes.

For what felt like an eternity, he drank her in, leaving her breathless and blushing. Then, with a few more savage yanks, the satin robe joined his clothes on the floor.

There was no tender foreplay. No gentle kisses all over. Just immediate sex. Rough and raw. Maybe not quite ravagement but close to.

And oh, how she thrilled to the primitive urgency of his passion. And to her own.

She splintered apart in no time, rocked by the force of her orgasm, overwhelmed by the experience, and by a degree of emotional confusion.

As the last spasm died away, a huge wave of exhaustion flooded Tara’s body, her limbs growing as heavy as her eyelids. She could not keep them open. She could not stay awake. With a sigh, she sank into the abyss of sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

MAX stared down at her with a stunned look on his face.

Asleep! She’d fallen asleep!

He shook his head in utter bewilderment. Tara never fell asleep afterwards.

On top of that, she’d actually enjoyed his making love to her like that! Hell, no, she’d exulted in it! She’d dragged him over the edge with her in record time. And now she was out like a light, more peaceful than he’d ever seen her.

Relief swamped him at the realisation he didn’t have to feel too much remorse over losing control and being less than the careful, considerate, patient lover he’d come to believe Tara wanted, and needed. Not losing control when he was around her this past year had been a terrible battle between the lust she evoked in him, and the love.

Max thought he’d done pretty well…until today.

If only she hadn’t met him looking delicious in those skin-tight jeans and those sexy shoes. If only she hadn’t told him she wasn’t wearing a bra. If only he hadn’t kissed her then and there.

His relationship with Tara was full of ‘if only’s, the main one being if only he hadn’t stopped to look in the window of Whitmore Opals that Friday night, and spotted her inside.

It had been lust at first sight. When she’d agreed to have drinks with him less than ten minutes after his going in and introducing himself, he’d been sure he was in for a wild night with a woman of the world. With his impossible workload and repeated overseas trips, Max’s sex life had been reduced to the occasional one-nighter with women who knew the score, and Tara seemed just the ticket to ride.

But the reality had proven so different. Her telling him shakily that she was a virgin even before he’d got her bra off had certainly put the brakes on the type of activities he’d been planning. Max had been shocked, but also entranced. Who would have believed it?

Fortunately, finding out before he’d gone too far gave him the opportunity to slow things down and make sure her first experience was pleasurable and not painful. He’d taken her to bed and really taken his time with her.

Looking back, making love to her at all had probably been a mistake. He should have cut and run. But he hadn’t; that very first time had made him swiftly decide that one night with Tara would not be enough. He’d kept her in his bed all weekend, making love to her as he hadn’t made love to a female in years. Sweetly. Tenderly. And totally selflessly.

Unfortunately, this was what Tara came to expect from him every time. Max soon realised he was dealing with a girl whose appearance belied her real nature. Underneath the sexy-looking blonde surface, the long legs and fabulous boobs, lay a naively romantic girl.

In some ways, Tara could be surprisingly mature. She was well-educated, well-read and well-travelled. And she certainly had a way with people, exuding a charm and social grace far beyond her years.

But when it came to sex she was like a hothouse flower, gorgeous to look at but incredibly soft and fragile.

Or so he’d thought, up till now.

Max sat back on his haunches and stared down at her beautiful but unconscious body, lying in shameless abandonment in front of his eyes.

If only she would lie like that for him when she was awake…

Max almost laughed at this new ‘if only’.

But maybe she would in the near future, came the exciting thought. She’d said she wasn’t totally shy and maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she just lacked the confidence to do what she really wanted to do. All she needed was some masterful persuasion at the right time, and a whole new world would open for her.

Up till this moment, Max had reluctantly accepted that Tara didn’t seem the raunchy type of girl. He’d reasoned it was worth sacrificing some more exotic experiences to feel what Tara could make him feel, what she’d made him feel from their very first night together.

But tonight had shown him that maybe, they could share more erotic lovemaking together in future.

Max became aroused just thinking of the things he’d like to do with her, and her with him. Not a good idea when it looked as if she would be asleep for some time. A shower was definitely called for. A cold one.

Wincing at his discomfort, he climbed off the bed and carefully eased the bedclothes from underneath Tara’s luscious derriere, rolling her gently onto the bottom sheet before pulling the other one up to her shoulders. She stirred but didn’t wake, though the sheet did slip down to reveal one of her incredible breasts.

Max bent and pressed his lips softly to the exposed nipple before whirling away and heading straight for the bathroom.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘WHAT?’

The startled word shot from Tara’s lips as she sat bolt upright in bed. She blinked, then glanced somewhat glazedly around before realising what had woken her so abruptly.

It was the alarm on her mobile phone, telling her it was six o’clock, reminding her it was time to take her pill.

With a groan, she leant over and picked up the small pink handset, pressing the button which turned off the alarm. The sudden silence in the room highlighted Max’s absence. She wondered where he was, then wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to think about Max at that moment.

Tara retrieved her packet of pills from the bedside chest, popped today’s pill through the foil then swallowed it promptly without bothering about getting any water. The doctor had warned her that you had to take the mini Pill around the same time every day or risk getting pregnant. Tara didn’t take hers around the same time. She took it at exactly the same time every day.

That done, she threw back the sheet and—after checking that Max wasn’t lurking in the doorway watching her—Tara rose to her feet. She winced at the wetness between her legs.

Impossible to pretend any longer that she didn’t remember what had happened before she fell asleep.

Why she was even trying to forget suddenly annoyed her. She hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. Neither had Max, for that matter.

So he’d made love to her more forcefully than usual. So what? He’d delivered exactly what she’d been subconsciously wanting since he’d threatened to ravage her at the airport. And how she’d loved it!

Tara quivered all over at the memory. Had she ever experienced anything with Max quite so powerful before? She didn’t think so.

The sight of her green wrap lying tidily across the foot of the bed brought a frown to her forehead. Max must have picked it up off the floor whilst she was asleep. His own clothes as well. They were now draped over one of the chairs.

He hadn’t dressed again, she realised with a tightening of her stomach. He was somewhere in the penthouse, probably wearing nothing but his favourite bathrobe. Tara hurried into the bathroom to check, and yes, his bathrobe was missing from where it usually hung on the back of the bathroom door. And his towels were still damp. Obviously, he’d showered whilst she’d been asleep.

Swallowing, Tara hung her wrap up on the empty hook behind the door, wound her hair into a knot on top of her head, then stepped into the spacious, marble-lined shower cubicle.

She wasn’t yet sure what she was going to do after she’d showered. All she knew was that her body was already rebuilding a head of steam far hotter than the water which was currently cascading over her body.

She didn’t spend much time in the shower. Just long enough to ensure that she was freshly washed and nicely perfumed. She was careful not to wet her hair. She didn’t want to present herself to Max like some bedraggled kitten come in from a storm. Her hair was not at its best when wet. And she wanted to look her very best.

No, Tara amended mentally as she towelled herself down then slipped her arms into the silky wrap. She didn’t want to look her best, but her sexiest. She wanted to tempt Max into stopping doing whatever he was doing and take her back to bed. Right now.

For a second she almost left the wrap hanging open, but in the end decided that was tacky. So she tied it just as tightly as usual. Actually, even a bit tighter, so that her small waist was emphasised, as well as the rest of her curvy figure.

Swallowing, Tara took one final glance in the huge mirror which stretched along above the double vanity basins. On another day, at another time, she would have taken the time to make her face up all over again. There was little of her pink lipstick left, and her mascara had smudged all around her eyes. But she rather liked her slightly dishevelled look. She even liked the way her hair was up. Roughly, with some escaping strands hanging around her face. She looked like a woman who’d just come from her lover’s bed. She looked…wanton.

Spinning on her bare heels, Tara headed for the bedroom door.

The hallway that led from the master bedroom to the main body of the penthouse seemed to go on forever. By the time she reached the main living room, she wasn’t sure if she was terrified or over-excited. Her heart was going like a jack-hammer and her mouth was drier than the Simpson Desert.

But Max was not there.

Disappointment rather than relief showed her that nerves were not the most dominating force in her body at that moment. Desire was much stronger.

Whirling, she hurried down the hallway which led to Max’s den, his favourite area of the penthouse when he was up and about. It was actually two rooms, connected by concertina doors which were always kept open. The first room you entered was a study-cum-library, a very masculine room with no windows, book-lined walls, a desk in one corner and several oversized, leather-studded chairs in which to sit and read. The next room was the billiard room, which had a huge, green-felted billiard table, a pub-like bar in one corner, complete with stools, and lots of French doors which opened onto the balcony.