A Week To Be Wild / Legal Seduction

Libby sighed. Her fingers absently swirled the stirrer in her martini and the general hubbub of the hotel bar behind her faded to background noise.

She’d longed to sleep, to enjoy the luxurious tub in her deluxe room and put today behind her. But, jet-lagged, fractious and horny from her encounters with Alex, sleep had drifted further out of reach with each passing minute. The alcohol wouldn’t help—not with the sleeplessness or the horniness—but sitting in the impersonal confines of her beige room, thinking about Alex and his offer, wasn’t an option.

It was a good offer. Before meeting him she’d have jumped at it. But now…?

The more time she spent with the captivating business man, the greater the risk of her succumbing to her attraction to him. An attraction as alarming as it was alluring. Alex Lancaster wasn’t the type of man to take no for an answer, and her yes wasn’t given lightly these days.

Someone invaded her personal space.

‘Why don’t you drink that so I can buy you another one?’ the man in the suit said, leaning too close and wafting her with beer-fume breath.

Great, this was the last thing she needed. She looked up, unsmiling. Why did guys assume a woman alone in bar must clearly be waiting for them? He was cute enough, if you ignored the leer and the breath, but her body couldn’t muster one drop of enthusiasm for the predictable stranger.

The same body that had spent the entire day lusting after Alex Lancaster. The same body that still reminded her with soaked panties and chafed nipples that it had been three long years since she’d sought pleasure with another. Perhaps that was the reason Alex had got to her with little more than a raised eyebrow or the twist of his kissable lips.

Impervious to her go-away stare, Beer Breath slid one hand to the centre of her back and leaned over to reach for her phone, which was on the bar beside her untouched martini. Her hand beat his there. Just.

He pouted, swaying closer to bump shoulders with her. ‘I was only going to give you my number, so you can call me when you’ve finished stirring that one to death and I can buy you another.’

He raised bushy eyebrows, the leer widening.

‘Right…’ Libby shrugged, shaking his hand from between her shoulder blades. ‘But I’m fine.’

He grinned, signalling the barman.

Damn. He wasn’t going to give up without a fight. That bath and the beige walls of her room looked increasingly appealing now. She should at least try to sleep. She’d need all her wits tomorrow—dealing with Alex would sap every scrap of resolve she possessed.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’

The man occupying her thoughts swept up beside her on a cloud of freshly showered deliciousness, his hand taking a proprietorial hold of the back of her barstool and his smoky, heavy-lidded smile stripping her naked.

Alex.

‘Hi.’ Libby closed her slack-jawed mouth and swivelled to face him, turning her back on the stranger, never one to pass up a golden opportunity. She hated rudeness, but if Beer Breath was too stubborn or thick-skulled to take the hint…

Alex kept his stare on her, his smile genuine and warm enough to melt her underwear clean off, and then signalled the waiter with a flick of his wrist.

Libby sensed the moment when Beer Breath slinked away, and the hairs on the back of her neck settled—but only temporarily, because Alex hadn’t taken his eyes off her. In fact, he was looking at her as if he was seconds from devouring her whole.

She shivered, delicious tendrils snaking to all her erogenous zones. ‘What are you doing here?’ Libby took a slug of her previously untouched drink, the burn calming her enough to meet his bold stare with one of her own.

‘I came to invite you out for a late supper. I was on my way to Reception and then I spotted you here.’ His hand slid from the back of her stool, and he settled into the one next to her, passing his order to the waiter before returning his disconcerting focus to her.

She stared back, lost for words and missing the proximity of his hand on her chair. He was close enough that his warmth traversed the space between them, but far enough away that she battled her body’s urge to sway closer. And keep on swaying.

‘What?’ One corner of his mouth kicked up. ‘What kind of host would I be if I left you to fend for yourself on your first night in a strange city?’

She couldn’t help the snort that left her. ‘The non-stalker kind…?’

He took the jibe with a cocksure arch of one brow, sipping wine while his poised stare flicked over her face from feature to feature.

Libby flushed hot all over. The ‘stalker’ comment had been beneath her. He hadn’t once touched her, hadn’t bought her drink, hadn’t tried to grab her phone, hadn’t even chased away her unwanted admirer—he had simply given her the out she’d wanted. The rest was all her.

What was wrong with her? Rudeness to a generous host and influential employer? All because he’d awoken needs within her? Needs too long dormant. Needs she’d never had before. Needs threatening to overwhelm her in their intensity.

Hardly his fault.

He dropped the bland smile, and a small frown crinkled the skin between his brows. ‘It’s a public bar, Olivia. I’m being a gentleman. But if you don’t want company, just say so and I’ll leave.’

He shrugged.

Simple.

Of course he would. Alex Lancaster didn’t need to stalk women. They probably lined up, forming a polite, orderly, English queue.

She swallowed, her throat tight. ‘Thank you.’ She tilted her head in the direction of Beer Breath’s exit path. ‘He was about to become a persistent pain in my ass.’

He barely acknowledged the man in the suit, and his continued casual perusal made her limbs jittery and lodged a ball of restless energy low in her belly.

‘So, have you eaten? Dinner?’ One eyebrow lifted and he licked red wine from his plush lower lip.

A simple invitation. One she’d offer herself to a visiting business colleague new in town. Why, then, did it feel like more than an offer of a shared meal? Or was that simply her overactive libido filling in the blanks?

‘I’m not hungry.’ Her voice emerged as barely a croak.

No argument, no persuasion.

‘Tell me…’ He leaned a little closer, his stare a little more penetrating, searching hers. ‘Why the reluctance to work for Able-Active?’

Alex cut straight to the heart of an issue. She admired that. But no way could she explain her reticence without giving away a whole heap of personal stuff. Stuff she did her best never to think about.

She ducked her head away from his intensity, her sleeveless, lightweight blouse as cloying as a thick, woolly sweater.

He ploughed on. ‘You think I’m arrogant.’

A statement.

She shot him a glance, surprised to see amusement lingering on his face.

He gave another shrug, as if he had her all worked out. ‘I see it in your eyes.’ He rested his elbows on the bar, leaning closer. ‘I’d like you to extend your stay. All expenses covered, of course.’

‘Why?’ Her head spun, reeling from the arrogant request.

Hadn’t they already established that she wouldn’t roll over and do whatever he asked? If he didn’t seem to have a hotline to her long-dormant libido she’d laugh in his sinfully handsome face.

‘Able-Active doesn’t happen inside an office. I want you to experience it, to really understand my vision. I’d like you to stay a fortnight.’

He took another sip of wine, giving her time to respond.

Her jaw fell, her fidgety hand stilling around the stem of her martini glass. ‘Are you nuts?’

Clearly Libby was nuts, too, because for a fleeting moment she considered it. Then she sobered. Even if she wanted to jump when he clicked his fingers, she couldn’t. She had Sonya, her heavily pregnant partner, to consider. Yes, she could work from anywhere in the world with a Wi-Fi connection for short periods and, yes, she’d cleared her desk before flying to the UK, but a fortnight away from the office…

He laughed—a deep rumble that curled her toes and transformed him from sexy, assured businessman to sexy boy-next-door, all grown up. He turned his stool to face her, leaning back in a relaxed slouch, his thighs spread.

In invitation?

Libby’s eyes burned with the effort of maintaining eye contact and not succumbing to a visual tour of his denim-clad crotch. Time to be clear. If this working relationship was to be successful, he needed to understand a few things.

‘You know, I’m sure you’re used to it, but you can’t always have your own way.’

She plucked the olive from her drink, holding it between her teeth while she stared him down. Two could play Mr Lancaster’s game. If he thought she’d simper at his flattery, drop to her knees no questions asked, he wasn’t as smart as she knew him to be.

She bit into the salty olive, allowing her tongue to linger on her lips.

His pupils dilated—a subconscious tell over which he had no control. Then he shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way. But she knew that wasn’t true. Like her, he’d likely achieved his success by expanding control over all areas of his life. Personal and professional. But did he need that control, like her? Did he feel as if he was spinning off into the inky blackness of space without it, like her?

He tilted his head, his astute gaze leaving her mouth at last. This time when he met her eyes she wanted to curl up and hide.

‘I’ll make you a proposition.’ He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a sip while his words sank in.

Libby shook her head, determined to wrestle back the upper hand. ‘I’ve conceded enough to you in our short acquaintance.’

Alex bit his lip, hiding a smile.

Bastard.

He flared his nostrils, sucking in a breath and tilting his head back to consider the ceiling. Good. She posed a challenge—no doubt a novelty to someone in his position. She could almost hear the cogs working in his head.

‘Fair point.’ He rubbed his index and middle finger along his lower lip. ‘How about for every concession you make, I’ll make one too?’

He shifted, his thighs parting a fraction more, as if he were growing uncomfortable. Was she having a similar effect on him as he had on her?

His voice dropped. Slow. Deep. Intimate.

‘Equal. Mutually satisfying.’

He took another sip of wine. Waiting. Watching her over the rim.

Libby recrossed her legs, her thighs clammy. ‘A negotiation? I warn you, I’m good.’

Not that she had any experience with this kind of deal. How to be a high school sweetheart, how to be a girlfriend, how to be a fiancée—yes. But how to handle this searing sexual chemistry and keep enough distance to emerge unscathed? Could he tell she was making this up as she went along?

He grinned.

Thought he had this in the bag, did he?

He gave a slow nod. ‘I know that. Research, remember? The best.’ He leaned forward, closing the distance between them, his voice a low whisper, eyes aglow. ‘What do you say? Up for a little…adventure?’

Her mind raced, her heart beating its way into her throat.

Yes.

No.

‘It depends…’

Were they even still talking about work? Did it matter? Perhaps Sonya, Vinnie and her hormones were right. A no-strings dalliance was exactly what she needed—slake this intense thirst she’d thought long extinguished, then finish a rewarding and lucrative job and move on.

As if he’d read her mind, he said, ‘Come on.’

Libby leaned closer. His low voice called to her, zinging straight between her legs. From this distance, she could see his pulse flicking in the notch at the base of his throat, the dark hairs peeking over the open neck of his shirt, could smell the detergent he used on his laundry.

His voice continued—persuasive, tempting. ‘You’re a perceptive, intelligent woman…’

She braced one foot on the floor, her body swaying towards his as if she was hard of hearing and needed to lean closer to his tantalising mouth. Her hand landed on his thigh, steadying her balance, but the denim was a poor barrier to the heat and bulk of his taut muscles.

‘You feel this insane chemistry too.’ His stare smouldered, his breath tickling her neck.

She practically sagged into him. She wasn’t alone. Wasn’t imagining this. But should she act on it? Did she dare?

‘I want you.’ He held eye contact, his stark statement hanging in the crackling air between them. ‘Physically, professionally.’

He spoke as if he was negotiating a business deal. Calm, collected, poker-faced.

A tiny shrug of one shoulder. ‘Stay.’

He made it sound so easy—a foregone conclusion. And she was sorely tempted.

All the time they’d talked, he hadn’t touched her. His hands were still relaxed on the arms of the barstool when all she wanted to do was slide her fingers through his silky dishevelled hair and angle his head until he kissed her. Kissed away the doubt. Kissed away the memories. Kissed away the loneliness.

She sat back, her hand slipping from the rock-hard muscles of his thigh. Time to wrestle this back under her command. Get a grip of herself and this situation. Give him a taste of his own medicine.

The trouble was, lust had robbed her brain of its usual quick wit and all the negotiating skills she’d bragged about. Every single comeback or demand had fled her mind like sand falling through the holes of a sieve.

Perhaps she’d transmitted her thoughts telepathically to him, because he said, ‘You need control?’

Could he see her that clearly? Were her fears, her hang-ups, so clearly displayed on her face?

He’d dropped the smile, his expression now serious, as if he understood the momentous battle raging inside her. She wanted him too—had spent the day thinking about him, about what it would be like to feel his touch, feel his mouth, feel him move inside her…

The urge to give in to that curiosity, that need, was overwhelming.

He dipped his chin, ensuring that she saw him—saw both the sincerity in his stare and the flare of the same battle inside him.

‘I’m man enough to concede it. What can I do to give you what you need so we can both win?’

A silent groan had Libby’s eyes drooping as she took in a long, ragged breath. What an intoxicating offer. Could she do this? Separate business from pleasure? Keep things casual between them? On her terms? Give him a concession or two and take what he was willing to concede?

She opened her eyes to his continued stare. The slight flare of his nostrils was the only sign that he too experienced the anticipation that fluttered in Libby’s belly, bringing her to life.

Until she spoke, she was clueless as to how she’d respond. ‘I’ll give you a week.’

A week?

He nodded. So accommodating. So skilled at negotiating this fragile truce.

But she, too, could strike a pretty deal. Time to see how much he was willing to relinquish. Could he be a man of his word? Was he really interested in a deal? Did he want her enough to agree to her terms?

There was only one way to find out.

She leaned closer, her lips parting on a barely there gasp as their knees made contact. She dropped her voice, as he’d done. ‘If we’re working together…’ her eyes flicked to his crotch, still displayed before her ‘…and fucking, I won’t be bossed around.’

Another nod. Another delicious concession.

Her mind raced, searching for a compromise that, as he’d put it, would allow them both to get what they wanted. She’d never fought so hard. Her self-preservation demanded every inch of ground acquired.

The ultimate test of his mettle would come. Could he withstand what she had planned for him? Would her nerve hold?

Libby’s temperature reached boiling point, seconds away from spontaneous combustion. She shook her head slowly, commanding his full attention. ‘You won’t get your own way all the time.’

He shrugged again, the small half-smile returning. ‘If I had my way…’ he lifted his wine glass, taking a sip, his eyes slowly raking over her mouth ‘…I’d have fucked you at the top of The Shard this morning. Had you screaming my name with that sexy voice of yours.’

Her gasp sounded so loud she expected the whole population of the bar to turn in their direction.

He quirked a scornful brow. ‘Seems to me, you are the one getting her way, Olivia.’

Danger. He reeked of it. Not that her personal safety was in question. But she should run all the same.

Still he stared, his eyes flicking between hers. Still her breaths gusted in and out through parted lips. She held his searing eye contact. A challenge. Battle lines being drawn.

Finishing her martini in one swallow, she slid from the stool, coming to stand between his still spread thighs. She leaned close, her heavy ponytail falling forward, a few strands of hair getting caught in the stubble covering his strong jaw.

With her lips mere millimetres from his ear, she whispered, a thrill tingling up her spine.

‘Quid….’

Closer.

‘Pro…’

She could almost feel the fine hairs on his earlobe tickle her lips.

‘Quo…’

Leaning back, she took the key card from her purse and pressed it into his palm, turned on her heel and left the bar on shaky legs.

CHAPTER THREE

HE’D NEVER KNOW how he managed the walk from the bar and across the hotel foyer with his steely hard-on, but he caught up with Libby in two strides. He deliberately didn’t touch her. Hadn’t touched her all evening, although it had almost killed him. But she’d touched him.

Her handprint still burned his thigh, scorched clean though the denim and spoke directly to his cock. The brush of her bare knees, the scent wafting up from her thick, luxuriant hair… He groaned, digging into deep reserves for discipline over his body.

She walked close. Her arm brushed his and the sway of that long, lustrous ponytail tapped his shoulder in time with the clack of her heels across the marble tiles.

They reached the lifts. He pressed the call button, dragging her light floral scent into his lungs until the head rush made him close his eyes for a split second. Fuck. He needed to pull himself together, to grapple back some semblance of mastery. At least over his libido.

He mimicked her, staring straight ahead, his eyes trained on the digital display as the numbers fell, heralding the lift’s arrival.

His mouth burned to kiss her. To see if her plump, pouty lips tasted as good as they’d looked when she whispered the word fucking. On the surface she oozed cool, untouchable sophistication. Not a glorious hair out of place or a wrinkle in sight. But the deal she’d brokered—bold, assertive, knowing what she wanted—what a turn-on. Perhaps it was an American thing. Perhaps it was pure Olivia.

Quid pro quo.

That should have raised his hackles, but he was keen to discover her brand of give and take.

Perhaps he was losing his mind. But, oh, how he’d love to mess her up—to tug out that hair tie and slide his hands through those long, silky tresses, to feel them slither over his face, his chest, his abdomen while she kissed him… How would that austere exterior crack at the height of passion? With her full lips swollen by his kisses, her luminous eyes glazed and punch-drunk? Her smoky voice calling his name with that native New York accent of hers?

At this rate, he’d need a cold shower just to remain in her company. What did she have planned for him? Would he be able to keep it together?

The lift arrived. As the doors opened he saw the car was empty. He cast a glance sideways. He waited, hand out, inviting her to step inside first, all the while battling the urge to push her up against the wall and fuck her right there in the elegant foyer of the Windsor Hotel, Park Lane.

You won’t get your own way all the time.

Right now, he’d gladly take ten per cent. Used to controlling every aspect of his life, especially his sex life, he knew this game he’d agreed to would test every ounce of his willpower.

As if she knew the direction of his thoughts, she poked her tongue out, sliding it along her lower lip, flooding his groin with fresh heat. She stepped inside and he followed, his hands forming fists by his sides to stop himself from touching her.

Doomed. He was so doomed.

If she looked down she’d see the effect this negotiation had had on him. The effect she had on him. He longed to readjust himself in his jeans, but he couldn’t break the spell she’d wound around him as surely as if he was already tangled up in a cloud of that glorious hair. What would she look like naked? With that silky, decadent ponytail liberated until it covered her bare shoulders, the tips brushing her breasts?

She stepped in front of him, leaning over to press the button for her floor. The arch of her long, graceful neck called to him. The phantom taste of her skin lingered on his lips as if he’d already indulged.

He sucked in a breath through flared nostrils, turning to stare at her. Fuck, she was irresistible. Sassy, smart, sexy as hell and completely unimpressed by him. Most women he dated suffocated him with their cloying need to please. To be exactly what they thought he wanted. Olivia Noble didn’t care what he wanted, and good for her. She called the shots. She spoke plainly. He’d never met a woman like her.

She stared back with a momentary flash of hesitancy and a series of blinks of those long lashes over rounded eyes. His chest pinched at this tiny hint of her vulnerability. But he wouldn’t let her off the hook. She’d started this, raised the stakes. And he’d agreed to play give and take—not his usual style—instinct telling him she needed to stay in control at all times.

Why? He’d have to flex his patience if he wanted the answer to that secret.

His body strained, every muscle primed to close the deal. To put them both out of their misery and taste her. But he knew the prize on her terms would be worth the wait, the sacrifice.

She heard his prayer.

Stepping up to him, her bottom lip trapped beneath her teeth, she slowly tunnelled her fingers into his hair. The bite of pain tingled over his scalp as she twisted the strands and angled his head. Her dark stare bewitched him. She reached up on tiptoes and slid her mouth over his, eyes open. Bold, demanding—and so fucking arousing he almost embarrassed himself, almost sagged to his knees.

And then he kissed her back, maintaining eye contact, his fists tightly clenched at his sides to stop himself from taking what he wanted more than his next breath. The kick of satisfaction he got from torturing them both and withholding his touch tightened his balls, ramping up his need until he feared he’d have to break his word and gorge on her like a greedy, selfish addict. Here. Now.

When she pushed her tongue into his mouth, whimpering her frustration and pressing her body against the length of his, he gave up the fight with a groan of both frustration and surrender. His fingers gripped the soft cheeks of her arse, lifting her and pressing her where he needed to feel friction. So close, but not close enough.

He spun her around, pressing her into the mirrored wall of the lift and crushing his steel-hard erection into the flat of her belly.

She deepened the kiss, her mouth voracious, as if she hadn’t been kissed in a very long time. A travesty, if it were true. She deserved to be kissed every second of every day.

He snaked one hand towards the hem of her skirt, now regretting that it hugged her curves so tightly. He’d have to work to peel it up her legs, raise it high enough to part her thighs, hoist her above the gleaming chrome handrail that ran around the lift at waist height. Need raged through him, weakening his knees and making his hands rough, impatient. He tempered the roar of hormones spiking his blood with deep breaths.