Pleasured in the Playboy's Penthouse

He laughed, wanting to keep the mood light. ‘Lists are such a waste of time. They’d be better off leaving it to chance and getting two coffee plungers. That way when they split up they can have one each.’

Surprise flashed on her face. ‘Oh, and you call me cynical.’

‘Marriage isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.’ He’d been witness to that one all right—hit on the head with a sledgehammer. It was all a sham.

‘You think?’

‘Come on, how many people make it to ten years these days, seven even? What’s the point?’ Because at some point, always, it ended. Owen figured it was better to walk before the boredom or the bitterness set in—and it would set in. The feelings never lasted—he’d seen that, he’d felt it himself. Now he knew it was better not to get tied into something you didn’t want—and certainly not to drag the lives of innocents into it either. He wasn’t running the risk of that happening ever again. No live-in lover, no wife, no kids.

Bella sat back and thought. She had to give him that—one of her older cousins had separated only last month, a marriage of three and a half years over already. But other marriages worked out, didn’t they? She had high hopes for Vita and Hamish. She had faint hopes for herself—if she was lucky.

She frowned at him. ‘Yes, we already know it’s not on your agenda.’ He couldn’t commit to marriage—the monogamy bit would get him. He was too buff to be limited to one woman. Smorgasbord was his style. Well, that was fine. She was hardly at a ‘settle down’ point in life. She was still working on the ‘get’ a life bit.

‘That’s right.’ He grinned. ‘But I’m not averse to helping others celebrate their folly.’

‘So you can flirt with all the bridesmaids?’ A little dig.

‘Not all of them. Just one.’

The shorter, darker-haired, dumpier one with the long straight nose? He was just being nice because he hadn’t actually seen all the others yet. When he did, it would be all over. She looked up from her cleared plate and encountered his stare again. The glint was back and notch by notch making her smoulder.

His stare didn’t waver. And the message grew stronger.

Pure want.

She curled her fingers around her chilled wine glass. She felt flushed all over and had the almost desperate thought that she needed to cool down. Her fingers tightened. Then his hand covered hers, holding the glass to the table.

‘I think you’ve had enough.’

She narrowed her eyes, unsure of his meaning.

He lifted his hands, spread his fingers as he shrugged loosely. ‘I’m not suggesting you’re drunk. Far from it.’ His smile flashed, and it was all wicked. ‘But the more you drink, the duller your senses become and I wouldn’t want you to lose any sensation. Not tonight.’

‘I’m going to need my senses?’ She was mesmerised.

‘All of them.’

OK.

He inclined his head to the large bi-folding doors that opened out to the deck. A small jazz ensemble was playing. She hadn’t even noticed them set up. Too focused on her companion—the most casual customer in the place yet the one who commanded all her attention.

‘Dance with me.’ He stood. ‘We can see how well we move together. Make sure we’ve got it right for the big day tomorrow.’

Why did she take everything he said and think he was really meaning something else?

He grinned, seeming to understand her problem exactly, and silently telling her that she was absolutely right. He held out his hand.

For a split second she looked at it. The broad palm, the long fingers, the invitation. The instant she placed her hand on top, he locked it into his. There was no going back now.

They walked out the doors together, to the part of the deck by the band where people were dancing. The waves were gently washing the beach. The evening was warm and for Bella the night seemed to exude magic.

‘I like this old music,’ he muttered, curling one arm around her waist while holding her hand to his chest with the other. ‘Made for my kind of dancing.’

‘Your kind?’

‘Where you actually touch.’ His hand was wide and firm across the small of her back as he pulled her towards him, and she went to him because she couldn’t not. Because in reality she wanted to get closer still. Her head barely reached above his shoulders, but it didn’t matter because she couldn’t focus much further than on the material right in front of her anyway, and on the inviting, warm strength beneath it.

His fingers feathered over her back, skin to skin. She trembled at the sensation, nearly stumbled with the need that rose deep within her. She masked the craziness of her response with some sarcasm. ‘I said yes to dancing, not having your hands up my shirt.’

‘I thought up your shirt might be quite good.’ His low reply in her ear made her need heighten to almost painful intensity.

Good was an understatement. He pressed her that little bit closer, so her breasts were only a millimetre from the hard wall that was his chest. Not quite close enough to touch, but she could almost, almost feel him and her nipples were tight.

She dragged in a burning breath. ‘Owen, I—’

‘Shh,’ he said. ‘Your family is watching.’

He danced her away from the others and into the farthest corner of the deck, where the darkness of night lurked, encroaching on the lights and loud conviviality of the restaurant. Gently he swayed them both to the languid music, talking to her in low tones, telling her just to dance with him. Was it one song, was it three, or five? Time seemed suspended. He muttered her name, his breath stirring her hair, then nothing. And as she moved to his lead she fell deeper into his web.

When the band took a break, she took a moment in the bathroom to try to recover her aplomb—cooling her wrists under the rush of water from the cold tap. She shouldn’t have had those shots. She’d barely drunk a drop since, but she felt giddy. And as she looked at her reflection—at her large eyes, and the heightened colour in her cheeks and lips—she knew she didn’t want to recover her aplomb at all. She wanted to follow this madness to its natural conclusion. Nothing else seemed to matter any more—nothing but being with Owen. Just for while she was on this fantasy island.

She stepped out of the bathroom and saw him straighten from where he’d been leaning against the wall, eyes trained on her door. She walked over to meet him, but her path was intercepted by Vita, her sister.

‘Bella, where have you been all night? More to the point, who is that guy you’re dancing with?’ Vita looked astounded.

‘Owen is an old friend.’

‘How old?’ The disbelief on her sister’s face was mortifying.

‘Well, not that old.’ Bella looked up to where he stood now looming large and close, right behind Vita, his eyes keen. She just kept slim control of her voice and the hysterical giggle out of it. ‘You were born what, about thirty years ago, weren’t you?’

‘Somewhere thereabouts.’ He took the last couple of steps so he stood beside her, circling his arm around her waist as naturally as if he’d done it a thousand times.

Then he smiled at her, a glowing, deeply intimate smile that had Bella blinking as much as Vita. His fingers pressed her slightly closer to him and inside she shook. He held her even more firmly.

When he turned his head to Vita, the smile lost its intimacy but was no less potent. ‘You must be Bella’s sister, the beautiful bride. Congratulations.’

Vita blinked and took more than a second to recover her manners. ‘Thank you…er…Owen. Will we be seeing you tomorrow? You’re more than welcome.’

‘Well…’ he glanced back to Bella and she saw the laughter dancing in his eyes ‘…I’d love to be there, but Bella wasn’t sure…’

‘Oh, if you’re a friend of Bella’s, of course you’re welcome.’

Bella turned sharply, narrowed her gaze on Vita. Did she stress the ‘if’?

‘Thank you.’ Owen closed off the conversation smoothly. And with a nod drew Bella back outside and threaded them through the dancing couples.

Bella went into his arms hardly thinking about what she was doing. Melancholy had struck. Vita had seemed stunned that Bella might actually have a gorgeous guy wanting to be with her. They were probably all watching agog—amazed at the development. Oh, why did she have to be here with her perfect sister and her perfect family—when she was so obviously the odd one out?

He must have read her thoughts because he pulled her close and looked right in her eyes. ‘She’s not that perfect.’

She didn’t believe him. Her little sister, by a year, had always been the one to do things how they were supposed to—the way her father wanted.

‘She didn’t wish you a happy birthday,’ he said softly.

Bella sighed. ‘She’s preoccupied.’ And she was. This wedding was a mammoth operation.

Owen frowned, clearly thinking that it wasn’t a good enough excuse. Warmth flooded her. He was so damn attractive.

‘So how many candles should you be blowing out tonight, Bella?’

‘Twenty-four.’ She hadn’t the energy for joking any more—she was too focused on her feelings for him. And all of a sudden the giddiness took over—she couldn’t slow the speed of her heartbeat; her breath was knocked from her lungs. She stumbled.

His hands tightened on her arms. ‘You’re tired.’

Tired was the last thing she was feeling.

But he stepped back, breaking their physical contact. ‘I’ll walk you to your room.’

Disappointment flooded her. She’d been having a wonderful night and she didn’t want it to come to an end. But it had—with Vita’s interruption the fantasy had been shattered. And Owen was already moving them across the deck, towards the stairs that led to the sandy beach.

She glanced up into his face, hoping for a sign of that glint, only to find it shuttered. Blandly unreadable. The sense of disappointment swelled.

As they reached the steps, Celia stepped in front of them.

‘You’re not leaving already?’ she asked, full of vivaciousness.

‘It’s a big day tomorrow. Bella needs to turn in now,’ Owen answered before she had the chance.

Celia turned her stunning gaze from him to Bella and the glance became stabbing. ‘You’d better put some cream on that sunburn or you’ll look like a zebra tomorrow.’

Oh, she just had to get that jibe in, didn’t she? Bella smarted.

Owen turned slightly. Slowly, carefully, he gave Bella such an intense once-over that she could feel the impact as if he were really touching her, a bold caress. But it was his eyes that kissed—from the tip of her nose all the way to her toes. And then he did touch her. Lifting his hand, with a firm finger, he stroked the red stripe on her chest—from the top of it near her collarbone, down the angled line to where it disappeared into her blouse. His eyes followed the path, and then went lower, seeming to be able to see everything, regardless of the material.

‘Don’t worry.’ He spoke slowly. ‘I’ll make sure she takes care of it.’

Bella stared up at him, fascinated by the flare in his eyes. The flare that had been there from that moment when she’d turned her head to his voice as she’d sat at the bar. It had flashed now and then as they’d talked and laughed their way through dinner. But now it was back and bigger than before and she couldn’t help her response. Every muscle, every fibre, every cell tightened within her. As he looked at her like that, his hunger was obvious to anyone. She’d never felt more wanted than she did in that moment and she was utterly seduced. The whole of his attention was on her and the whole of her responded. But she wasn’t just willing, she was wanting.

She dimly heard a cough, but when she finally managed to tear her gaze from his, Celia had already walked off. Bella managed a vague smile after her general direction, but then, compelled by the pull between them, she walked with Owen—barely aware of her cousin’s and her sister’s gazes following her. She no longer cared. She was too focused on the burn of her skin where his finger had touched, and the excitement burgeoning now as he held her hand and matched her step for step.

CHAPTER FOUR

DOWN on the sand the breeze lifted and the drop in temperature checked Bella.

‘Where are you staying?’ Owen asked, his voice oddly gentle.

‘One of the studios round the back.’ She wasn’t in one of the luxury villas, but a tiny unit in a building with several other tiny units. It was still nice. It didn’t quite have the view and door opening directly onto the beach that the villas did, but it didn’t have the price tag either.

‘Show me.’ Still gentle.

But her mind teased her with what it was that he wanted her to show him. It took only a minute or so to wind around the back of the building, to where the units were. At her door she stopped. She gazed at the frame of it, suddenly shy of wanting to look him in the eye. ‘Thank you for seeing me through that.’

‘No problem.’ He loomed beside her. ‘It was fun.’

Fun. Disappointment wafted over her again. Stupid, when he’d given her a victory she’d mentally relive time and time again, but there was something else she wanted now. Something she sensed would be much, much better.

He gestured towards the door. ‘Are you alone in there? Not twin sharing with your great-aunt Amelia or anyone awful?’

‘All alone. Just me.’ She chanced a look up at him then, saw the hint of the smile, the gleam of teeth flashing white in the darkness.

‘Want me to come in and make sure there are no monsters in the wardrobe?’

Confidence trickled back through her. She stepped a little closer. ‘Quite the gentleman, aren’t you? Are you going to turn down my sheet as well?’

‘If you like.’ He matched her move, stepped closer still. ‘Would you like, Bella?’

Such a simple question. It needed only the simplest of answers. And she already knew what he was asking and what her answer would be. There was no way she could ever say no to him. Probably no one had ever said no to him and she didn’t blame any of them.

‘Yes.’

His head bent. His smile was no wider, but somehow stronger. ‘Good.’

His first kiss was soft, just a gentle press of lips on lips. No other contact. Then he pulled away—just a fraction, for just a moment. Then he was back. Another butterfly-light kiss that had her reaching after him when he pulled back again. And as she moved forward he swept her into his arms. Strong and tight they held her and the next kiss changed completely. Deep, then deeper again. The awareness that had sizzled between them all night was unleashed. Her hands threaded through his hair, his hands moulded over her curves. Together they strained closer, lips hungry, tongues tasting. Bella was lost. He felt better than she’d imagined—broad, lean, hard. Her eyes closed as his lips left hers, roving down to her jaw, down her throat, hot and hungry. The fire in her belly roared.

And then he was kissing her sunburn stripe, undoing the top few buttons on her blouse, pulling it open so he could follow the path of reddened skin with lush wet kisses that did anything but soothe. The red stopped on the curve of her breast—where her bikini cup had been. But he didn’t stop. He pulled the lace of her bra down until her nipple popped up over it. And then he took that in his mouth too.

She arched back as sensations spasmed deep inside. His other arm took her weight, pulling her pelvis into the heat of his hips, and she could feel his hardness through his jeans. She gasped at the impact—and at the pleasure ricocheting through her system. He lifted his head, his hunger showing in the strain on his face and in his body. The air was cool on her bared skin but she was still steaming up.

Breathless, she pulled back, her blouse hanging half open, breast spilling over her bra. ‘I think I better get the door unlocked now.’

‘I think you better had,’ he teased, but her confidence surged higher when she heard his equal breathlessness. ‘Because the thing about sex on the beach,’ he added, ‘is the sand.’

Giggling, she slipped her hand in her pocket, closed her fingers around the key. Turning, she fumbled to get it into the lock. He stood behind her, ran his hands over her hips and then pressed so close she could feel everything he had to offer. Her hand lurched off course completely. He put his fingers over hers and guided the key safely home.

Pressing even harder against her, he spoke in her ear, hot and full of sexy humour. ‘We are having screaming orgasms though, OK?’

‘OK.’ She just got the door open and the answer out before he spun her around and his mouth came down on hers again. He backed her in, kicking the door shut behind them with his foot. He kept backing her, but angled her direction so after only a couple of paces she was up against the wall. Relief flooded her as she felt it behind her and she half sagged against it. She didn’t think her legs were strong enough to hold her up all on their own any more. When the man kissed, all she could think of was a bed, and her desperation to be on it and exploring and feeling and being kissed like that everywhere.

His hands held her face up to his, warm fingers stroked down her neck, but he stood back so his body didn’t touch hers. She wanted it to touch again—all of it against her. The kisses grew deeper as she opened more to him—inviting him in with the sighs of pleasure she let escape and the way she sought him with her tongue.

But her confidence came in waves—ebbing again as his caresses became more intimate, as he undid the last buttons and hooks. Shyness overcame her as her blouse and her bra slipped away completely.

He looked down at her, sensing her stillness. ‘You’re sure?’

She nodded, but explained. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘Me too.’

She didn’t believe that for a second. But it was nice of him to say it.

Then her shyness melted as he whisked his shirt over his head and she saw the beauty of his body beneath.

Her hands lifted instinctively, and she spread her fingers on his shoulder, slowly letting them trace down the impressive breadth of his chest and then lower, over the taut upper abs down to where his jeans were fastened. He lifted his head at that, grinning wickedly. ‘Stop that, sweetness. It’ll all be over all too soon. As it is it’s going to be a close one.’

‘Very close,’ she agreed, letting her fingers walk some more.

‘Stop that.’ His smile only widened.

‘I can’t. You feel fantastic. You really do have muscles.’ She marvelled at it. How the hell did a computer geek grow muscles like these?

But then her own actions slowed as she became acutely aware of his—of the kisses dulling her sense of initiative. He was taking the lead and increasingly all she could do was follow. Slowly, so slowly, he was stripping the skirt off her. Dropping to his knees, he eased it down, pressing kisses to her thighs and legs.

Then he stood again, him still clad in jeans, her in nothing but knickers. Their shoes had been kicked off somewhere outside the door. He took her face in his hands again, searching her eyes and then smiling. Then kissing. And with every moment of the kiss her need grew. Until, pressing her shoulders against the wall for support, she pushed her hips forward towards him—aching for closeness.

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