His Innocent Seduction

I could take a break—Duncan wouldn’t care. But I’m not sure I want to concede to this man—not yet. So I stay standing, and eye him with some of the wariness I’m feeling. ‘This won’t take long.’

I’ve piqued his interest. I search for something to say to get me out of this but draw a blank. Besides, I want this.

Life’s too short for timidity.

‘Go on.’ He reclines in the chair, his large frame relaxed, his eyes intense.

‘It’s simple,’ I say, telling myself it really is simple. He hooks up with enough women for me to know that sex means very little to him. And I want this to be meaningless. A transaction. My virginity, for his experience. A first time that is pleasurable, that means nothing. A memory, for the album I’m collecting on this trip of a lifetime.

‘What’s simple?’ he asks, leaning forward a little, so that I catch a hint of his masculine fragrance, earthy and spiced, and my insides kick in immediate response. His legs are long, his thighs muscular. His pants strain across them and I force myself to hold his gaze. If he agrees to this, I’ll have time to admire his body later.

Be brave.

Be brave.

Be brave.

‘I want to go home with you. Tonight.’

One thick brow lifts, sardonic amusement the only emotion I can detect on his handsome, rock-hard features.

‘I see.’ He runs a finger around the top of his glass, a smile flickering on his lips.

‘I’m serious,’ I say with a shake of my head, swallowing past the sense of panic, ignoring a desire to wrench the words back into my mouth.

Suddenly the itch to fast forward three weeks and leave immediately for Paris wraps around me. The mortification is intense.

Heat stains my cheeks. ‘But maybe that’s a stupid idea. Forget about it.’

I take a step towards the bar but his hand reaches out, catching my wrist. It’s the first time we’ve touched and I think the feeling will stay with me for ever. Sensation zaps under my skin, setting miniature explosions raging in every cell. I’m electrified.

‘I didn’t say no,’ he growls and my stomach squeezes. His eyes latch onto mine, and I imagine what he’s like in court—formidable, intimidating, inquiring. And whip-smart. ‘Why?’

I swallow, knowing this is kind of the point of no return. I want this. I’m actually surprised by how much I want this. Now I just have to own that.

‘Because I’m a virgin, and I want you to be my first.’

CHAPTER TWO

HER WORDS ARE drumming through my head. I wait until we’re in the car and it’s moving and then turn to face her, the screen up between my driver and us.

‘You’re a virgin.’

It’s not a question, but I feel like I have to say it again just to try to unravel it.

She nods, her eyes shuttered. Her cheeks are stained a pale pink and her long blonde hair falls disarmingly over one shoulder, half covering her face from me.

‘Yes.’ There’s strength in the response. Defiance.

‘Why?’

Her lips twist in a half-smile. ‘Does it matter?’

My pulse is hammering me from the inside out. ‘Yes.’

She blinks, even that simple gesture distracting. ‘Why?’

Great question. Why do I care? I turn away from her a little, staring out at Dublin as it passes in a brightly lit blur.

There’s uneasiness inside me. Something I can’t put my finger on. A hesitation I don’t understand, and I tell myself it’s because none of this makes sense. I’m someone who likes to comprehend people, what makes them tick, why they act the way they do. My job and life are predicated on my abilities there. But with this woman, I can’t make sense of it.

She’s surprised me. I’m not often surprised. ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-three.’ More defiance.

I barely register it though. I turn back to face her and my scepticism must show, because she regards me with a look of defensiveness.

‘A twenty-three-year-old virgin.’ I drawl the words, while my mind rushes furiously, trying to comprehend this.

‘So?’ She moves a little closer, her eyes sparking to mine, a hint of her vanilla fragrance catching my nostrils. ‘What does that matter?’

‘I’m not interested in being your first.’ That’s obviously not completely true. My dick is hard, my body’s surging with adrenaline and desire.

‘Liar.’ She calls me on it with a soft laugh and, to my surprise, unbuckles her seat belt and slides across the leather seat, right to my side. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at me.’

I fix her with a level stare; my cock throbs. ‘And how’s that?’

‘Like you’re undressing me with your eyes.’

She’s right. That’s exactly how I’ve been looking at her since she first started working at the bar. ‘Is that right?’

She nods slowly, her eyes not leaving my face. ‘I think you want to fuck me.’

She’s brazen, I’ll give her that. ‘Yeah.’ It’s a gruff admission. But then... Jesus. A virgin. ‘I don’t do relationships.’

Her brows arch and then she laughs. ‘Good. I don’t want that.’

Relief washes over me, followed quickly by uncertainty. ‘Why not?’

‘For one—’ she presses a hand to my chest, her gaze following its path ‘—I’m only in Ireland another few weeks. Second, I don’t “do” relationships either. At least, not now. I’m not looking for any kind of emotional complication.’

‘You say that now...’

She laughs then, a sound so sweet it’s unbelievably sexy. I wonder if she knows how she’s driving me crazy. ‘You think you’re so good in bed I’m going to forget my travel plans and beg to stay here with you?’

I realise how arrogant that sounds and my own husky laugh fills the limo. ‘You never know.’

She sobers, her eyes narrowing. ‘I do know.’ Steel crosses her expression. ‘I will be leaving Dublin in less than three weeks.’ The words are vice-like. ‘Nothing and no one will change that.’ Her fingers creep higher, to the button of my shirt. She flicks it, her tongue darting to the corner of her lips as she concentrates on pushing it through the shirt hole.

‘But, before I go, I want to do this.’ Her fingers creep inside my open shirt and my gut clenches. Desire pounds through me, thick and fast. ‘With you.’

Her gaze has dropped to my mouth. Her lips separate. My body rushes with need.

Fuck, I want her. I want her even more than I did when I thought she was just a hot bargirl.

But she’s a virgin. She has no idea what she’s asking of me. No idea what she might feel once we’ve slept together. It takes practice to be able to fuck someone and forget them almost instantly. I’ve acquired that skill over the years. Or maybe I always had it. Maybe that’s something to do with growing up the way I did; you learn to get good at cutting people off.

Despite what Millie’s saying, I’m not sure I believe her.

‘I don’t do virgins.’

Her eyes are slightly mocking when they lift to mine. ‘Is that a rule you’ve got, Michael?’

Her Australian accent is broader when she says my name. It’s hot. I like it. More than I want to.

‘So you don’t do relationships.’ She moves her fingers to the next button down, undoing it, her expression lightly teasing. ‘You don’t do virgins.’ She bites down on her lower lip. ‘But will you do me, Michael?’

I catch her hand at the wrist, pulling it away from my chest, moving it to her lap. It’s a mistake. At least it’s a mistake if my goal is to put some distance between us. Because her skin is so soft beneath my fingers, and our bodies are closer now. She’s warm. She’s beautiful. She wants me.

Shit.

I have never slept with a virgin—not even when I was one. The thought of being someone’s first has never really appealed to me. It’s too emotional. Too...something.

‘It wouldn’t mean anything,’ she murmurs, and that shimmers inside me, giving me hope but also pause for thought.

‘And don’t you think it should?’ Hypocrite, my cock screams, reminding me of how little sex means to me, generally.

She shrugs. ‘I think...that’s a judgement call.’

I like her. At least I like the way she thinks. ‘And your judgement’s telling you this is what you want?’

She nods slowly, and then her hand creeps away from mine, from her lap, to my dick. My breath hisses out of my mouth as she runs her fingertips over it briefly, testing its hardness, her smile just a ghost on her beautiful face.

‘And my judgement is that I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin who doesn’t want to be.’ She bites down on her pillowy lower lip and I groan. ‘Will you help me?’

What’s wrong with me? Why the hell am I not just pulling her into my arms and fucking her right here? It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t done before, I think with a grimace. Is that it? Is there some kind of bullshit part of me that feels...undeserving...to be her first? Because my attitude to sex is generally so cavalier that I don’t want her virginity?

That’s madness, and it’s not me. Is it?

I have no idea why I’m hesitating.

I shake my head, as if I can mute my doubts that way.

‘Don’t,’ she murmurs, her hand lifting back to my throat. She smiles as she slides her fingers into the fabric, running them over my chest, to my shoulder. She lifts her legs, curling them over my lap, and I realise—belatedly—that she’s not wearing a seat belt.

I reach behind her, my arm brushing her breasts. ‘Buckle in.’ The words are gruff, like an order.

She doesn’t move, so I slide the seat belt around her, hooking it into the clasp. When I lift my head, her face is right there. And she’s smiling. A knowing smile. Because, for all I’m saying ‘no,’ I think she feels my body, she feels my desire, she knows what I want. And it’s exactly what she’s suggesting.

‘Millie...’ The word is a warning. ‘You’re playing with fire.’

‘Mmm...’ A throaty noise of agreement. ‘And I badly want to get burned.’

I pull a face. ‘You’ve just got all the answers, haven’t you?’

She shrugs, her slender shoulders dragging my eyes lower, to the curve of her breasts. Desire whips me from the inside out.

‘Sometimes.’

‘So, answer me this. Why haven’t you slept with anyone?’

She shakes her head from side to side, her eyes teasing. ‘I thought we decided that didn’t matter?’

‘It matters to me.’

‘Why?’

‘I thought I was asking the questions?’

‘Indulge me.’

‘I like to understand people. So?’

She arches a single brow, studying me for a moment, and then she smiles, a dazzling smile. ‘I’ve just never had the chance.’

My eyes are locked to her smile, but my voice is pleasingly dismissive when I speak. ‘That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.’

Something shimmers in the depths of her eyes, but then she shrugs. ‘If you don’t want to do this,’ she says, bringing her head closer to mine, her lips almost brushing against my mouth; I catch a groan in my throat, ‘you can get your driver to let me out just over there.’ She points her thumb to a strip of restaurants and bars. ‘I’m sure I’ll find someone else who’ll be only too happy to be my first...’

Christ.

I’m not sure I should fuck her, but I know I absolutely don’t want anyone else to.

‘Let’s talk about it at my place.’

Her laugh is throaty. ‘I don’t need to talk about anything, least of all this.’

‘You should be sure...’

‘I’ve had weeks to make sure I’m sure.’ Her eyes run over my face, then drop to my body. ‘I want it to be you.’

Her confidence is a turn-on, so too is her professed desire for me. But she has no idea what this would be like between us. I told her she’s playing with fire; doesn’t she see that?

Without any sign of my intent, I drop my head and kiss her. I crush my lips to hers, curving my hand around the nape of her neck, tangling my fingers in her hair as I hold her there, exposed to my kiss, utterly mine.

I feel her moan and smile against her lips. There’s heat in this kiss. So much heat. At first she’s timid but, as desire takes over and instincts overrule any thinking she might be doing—any thinking I’m doing—we’re just two people who want to fuck each other, in the back of the blackened limo.

I’m not in the business of sleeping with virgins, but maybe it’s time I re-evaluated that. Maybe for Millie I can make an exception.

Maybe it’ll even be more fun than I’ve had in a long while.

‘Come up and talk,’ I breathe into her mouth, breaking the kiss with true regret. And then, bringing my hand between her legs, brushing my thumb over the seam of her jeans, ‘I promise I’ll make it worth your while.’

* * *

I was nervous in the bar but ever since I got into his limo—seriously, how rich is this guy?—I’ve been overtaken by some weird shot of power. I know what I want, and I know he’s going to give it to me. To be honest, I’m kind of glad he didn’t just acquiesce to my request. I love that he’s making me fight for this. It’s hot. Really hot.

The car pulls up in a high-rise basement. His parking space is the closest to the lifts and I know that’s not an accident—these things are always allocated by the value of apartments. This prime car parking space must mean he’s got the best apartment in the place, presumably a penthouse.

We haven’t spoken since he told me he’d make this worth my while. His hand rested between my legs, and I feel so hot and very, very wet. I feel... I’m so ready for this. It’s funny how I put all this on hold while Mum was sick, how I shelved so many parts of myself, how I gave all of myself to her, to her recovery and, when her cancer was terminal, to her comfort.

I cannot believe she’s dead. Some days I wake up sure it’s all just a bad dream. But she died, and it’s like losing her has pushed me off the ledge, dropping me into the real world. The waters are moving fast and I have to keep paddling to keep up.

I’m a sexual person. I thought I wasn’t. But the way I feel when Michael walks into the bar is... I know I want this. It’s just been stress that’s kept this part of me at bay for the last few years.

‘I want to fuck you,’ I say for good measure.

His eyes link to mine and something passes between us. A silent promise. A something that sets my pulse racing even as it relaxes me.

‘Come upstairs.’ It’s gruff. I’m glad. I like that I’m getting under his skin. I’ve only ever seen him be cool and in control, debonair and so sexy. But this is sexier still. Impatient and a little shitty.

The door opens, his driver holding it for us. I step out, shooting a cursory glance around myself. It’s all high-end vehicles, as far as the eye can see. I haven’t paid attention to where we are. I probably should have.

‘This way.’ He nods to the lifts. I walk beside him, my insides reverberating with absolute need. He presses a button for the lift. My heart is racing. I wait, watching the illuminated numbers count downwards. Waiting. Waiting. Each second drags.

Finally, the doors ping open and we step inside. When the lift shuts, I feel every single movement he makes, every exhalation, every inhalation. I turn to face him, watching him, and he’s looking at me, appraising me, wanting me, needing me. Desire flushes my body.

I need him.

‘Sex is...’

But I don’t let him finish. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I’m done talking. I launch myself at him, smiling as our lips connect because I glimpse surprise on his face before I’m too close to see anything else.

And then his hands are on my body, pushing me back onto the wood-panelled wall, his own frame so big and strong, glued to mine, imprisoning me where I am. His leg slides between mine, separating my legs, and I break the kiss only so I can moan properly, swearing into the silence of the lift.

I honestly feel, in this moment, like if he doesn’t get his cock inside me right now I might die.

‘Please,’ I groan, need making the word strangled.

‘Please, what?’

I have no idea what he means.

‘Please fuck me, Michael.’

‘Here? Now?’ he asks, and I vaguely register, in the back of my mind, that he’s teasing me.

How dare he? I tilt my head back, glaring at him, and then reach sideways, pressing the emergency stop button on the lift. Okay, it’s dramatic and—for the briefest of seconds—I hope not illegal, but hell, if he’s not going to take this seriously then I’m going to damned well make him.

And the impulsive gesture does have him straightening, his expression tightening, his eyes locking to mine.

‘Yeah. Fuck me. Here. Now.’

A muscle jerks in his jaw.

He looks around the lift, then back at me. His breath is forced, rushed, tortured. Good.

I shouldn’t be the only one struggling for air.

‘See that camera up there?’ he mutters, jerking his head over his shoulder.

Belatedly, I realise that there’s a familiar little globe in the lift. I blush. So maybe this wasn’t my best thought-out plan. Not the sex, just the stopping the lift part of it.

But then he angles my body, pushing me into the corner of the lift, his large frame concealing me from the camera’s view.

And his hand slides into my pants, his eyes watching mine as he pushes his fingers past the elastic waistband of my underwear. He touches my clit and I whimper. He drops his head, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, between his teeth. I whimper louder. His fingers move faster.

‘You’re wetter than the ocean, baby.’

I am. For him, I am. ‘Please.’ I say it again, simply but desperately.

He kisses me then, his head pinning mine to the wall of the lift as his fingers move over me. I thrust my chest forward, my nipples throbbing inside the lace of my bra, my whole body trembling. He slides a finger inside my pulsing core and I cry his name, breaking the kiss and moving my head over his shoulder. But he turns his head, catching my mouth in his, obscuring me from the camera’s view once again.

The lift beeps and then begins to move.

We’re going upwards but I don’t care. I’m flying up into the sky, like a bird or a meteor. I am on fire.

I dig my nails into his shirtfront, clinging on for dear life. I grind my hips down, needing more, needing so much more. His tongue duels with mine. The doors ping open. Neither of us makes a move to leave. He pulls his finger out of me and then runs his hand over my clit again, faster, harder, and my knees buckle. If it weren’t for his weight against me I think I’d collapse to the floor in a muddle.

I explode.

There’s no other way to explain it. I feel like my every cell has become a bolt of lightning, searing through my skin and zapping out into the world. I feel like I am a goddess. Eternal and all-powerful. I don’t realise I’m screaming his name until he grins and kisses me, swallowing the cries into his mouth and soul.

I smile against his mouth, weak now, and strong too.

‘Come inside, Millie.’ He pulls away from me, standing straighter, holding an arm out to stop the lift doors from pinging shut.

‘And you’ll fuck me?’

He laughs gruffly. ‘We’ll see.’

* * *

I have no idea what’s holding me back. It’s new terrain in that she’s a virgin but sex, at the end of the day, is sex. So why? Why am I standing in my kitchen feeling like I’m the victim of some kind of abstinence torture, aching to possess her, feeling at the same time like I can’t? Like I shouldn’t.

Because there’s some kind of vulnerability to her. I feel like...there’s something. I can’t put my finger on it but there’s an air of sadness that lies just beneath the surface.

And while I have slept with more than my fair share of women, it’s never been out of anything other than mutual desire.

I’m not someone women regret. At least I don’t want to be.

Would she regret me?

Probably.

And there it is.

The reason I’m pouring us a wine instead of carrying her over my shoulder into my room and throwing her down on the bed like she’s been begging me to do.

She’s a twenty-three-year-old virgin and that makes no sense. There has to be a reason for it. A long-term relationship gone bad? Maybe she’s run away from a cult? Or she’s a member of a religious faction? In any event, something’s changed and, whatever that is, I’m pretty sure it’s something I definitely don’t want on my conscience.

She wants me to fuck her but it’s like she’s got a lion on her heels.

Why?

Does it matter? My dick is indignant.

My brain holds tight. It matters. A bit. Enough to stall me.

I carry two wine glasses through the apartment. She’s on the deck, her arms braced on the railing, her eyes glancing across the view. There’s a huge black void—the ocean—but you can hear and smell the sea, the boats coming and going, the water lapping, to know it’s there.

The city is to the other side, all shining lights and high-rises, old wars and ancient grudges.

I hand her a wine. She turns to face me. ‘To good old-fashioned sex.’

I laugh, despite my misgivings. ‘Not too old-fashioned, I hope.’

She shakes her head and her cheeks are still stained pink from how I made her come in the lift. God, that was hot. She was hot. She’s like a livewire, ready to blow.

‘Tell me why.’

It’s a challenge now and, before she can offer a whimsical demurral, I shake my head.

‘Tell me why.’

Her teeth massage her lower lip. I drop my hand to my side, perfectly still. Watchful.

‘Why what?’

‘Why are you a virgin?’

‘I haven’t had sex,’ she replies very literally.

I respect that—the quickness of her mind. ‘Why not?’

She swallows, her eyes flicking away. My brain surges, certain that I’m onto something. This isn’t just happenstance—what happenstance could explain this, anyway? There’s a reason. A mystery. Something behind her choice not to have sex—and now, something behind her choice to sleep with me.

‘I just haven’t.’

‘I don’t buy it.’

‘Tough.’

I laugh. ‘Now, now, don’t get all defensive. Don’t you think I have a right to know?’

She shakes her head. ‘It’s just sex. That doesn’t confer on you any right except to fuck me.’

‘Another excellent point, Millie.’ I move closer, my eyes locked to hers, sipping my wine. ‘And yet...’

‘And yet?’ She has to tilt her head to look up at me.

‘I don’t want to be something you wake up and regret.’

Relief fleetingly passes across her face. ‘I won’t.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I’m in my head.’

I laugh softly. ‘And I want to be in your body.’ I push my hips forward so she can feel my rock-hard dick against her flat stomach. Her breath catches in her throat. She shivers. ‘But I’m not some teenager without a degree of self-control. If we do this, I want to take precautions.’

Her eyes spark with mine and there’s a silent challenge in her steel-blue gaze. ‘You think you’ve got self-control?’ she murmurs, ducking down and sliding out from under my arm, moving down the balcony a little way.

I watch, without following. ‘Yeah. Enough to know I have to be sure my partner in bed is there because she really wants to be.’

‘Oh, I want to be there,’ she promises, sipping her wine before placing the glass down on a table.

‘You’re beautiful,’ I say honestly.

She shrugs. ‘You don’t need to flatter me. I’m not here for compliments.’

I bite back a laugh. She is unlike any woman I’ve ever known.

‘I just mean you could surely have had your pick of guys at any time before now.’

Even in the subdued lighting of the balcony, I see her face pale. Curiosity grows—and also the certainty that I’m right. There’s more to this than just an insanely hot proposition. I’m good at reading people and there’s something about Millie that speaks of a vulnerability, something she’s working her hardest to hide from me.

I think back to every encounter we’ve had. To the way she spent the first month she came to O’Leary’s avoiding my eyes, like she wasn’t even sure how to talk to me, let alone look at me.