Just One Night...: Fiancée For One Night / Just One Last Night / The Night That Started It All

‘Please,’ she pleaded, clutching at his head, gasping as he cupped her mound, his long fingers stroking her through panties wet for him, needing him, hot and hard, inside her. Needing him now, before she came with just one more touch. ‘Please!’

‘God, you’re so hot,’ he said, dispensing with her underwear, pulling free his belt with damn near the same frenetic action.

She saw him then. Her first glimpse of him unleashed and hungry and pointing at her, a compass needle finding true north. Once she might have wanted to believe it. But she was wiser than to believe such fantasies these days, and much wiser to the consequences. Which reminded her…

‘Protection,’ she muttered through the fog of need, but he was already ripping open a sachet with his teeth, rolling it on before pulling her back into his kiss. Her breasts met his chest, the feel of skin against skin taking her breath away, or maybe it was what he was doing with his hands and clever fingers.

Her dress bunched at her waist, his hands kneading her behind, fingers teasingly close to the centre of her, driving her insane with need, as he lifted her, the wall at her back, still kissing her as he urged her legs around him until she felt him, thick and hard, nudging, testing, at her entrance.

She cried out, something unintelligible and primal, lost in an ocean of sensation, drowning under the depths. It was almost too much and yet it was nowhere near enough and she only knew that if she didn’t get him inside her she would surely die of need.

He didn’t keep her waiting. With a guttural cry of his own he lowered her, meeting her with his own thrust, until he was lodged deep inside her.

A moment in time. Just a moment, a fraction of a second perhaps, but Eve knew it for a moment about which she would always remember every single detail, the salt of his skin and the smell of his shampoo, the feel of his big hands paused at her hips, and the glorious feeling of the pulsing fullness inside her.

Could it get any better than this?

And then he moved, and it did, and flesh against flesh had never felt so good, every new moment giving her treasures to secrete away, to add to a store of memories she would take from this night, of sensations she would never forget. Sensations that built, one upon another, layer upon layer, higher and higher, fed by each calculated withdrawal, each powerful thrust.

Until there was no place to go, no place higher or brighter or more wondrous as the sensation, the friction, the furious rhythm of his pounding body all melded together into a cataclysm, taking her with it.

She screamed her release, throwing her head back against the wall, her muscles clamping down hard as he shuddered his own frenetic release.

She didn’t know how long they stood together that way, she couldn’t tell, too busy trying to replace the oxygen consumed in the fire of their coupling while her body hummed its way down from the peak. But slowly her feet found the floor, slowly her senses and sensibility returned. To the knowledge she was standing barely dressed between a wall and a near naked man she barely knew but with whom she’d just had mind-blowing sex.

‘Wow,’ she said, embarrassed in the aftermath as he dispensed with the condom and she remembered her own wantonness. Had she really pulled his shirt apart in her desperation to get inside it? Had she really cried out like a banshee?

And he laughed, a low rumble in a velvet coat. ‘Evelyn Carmichael,’ he told her with a chaste kiss to her lips, ‘you are just one surprise package after another.’

He didn’t know the half of it. She found the straps of her dress, pulling it up to cover herself before she started looking for her underwear.

‘Leave it,’ he said, his hand around her wrist. ‘There’s no point. It’s only coming off again.’

‘Agai n?’

His eyes glinted. ‘This book I was telling you about. It’s a long book,’ he said. ‘That was only chapter one.’

She blinked up at him, her dress gathered in front of her, and he pulled her arm away, letting the dress drop to her waist, then slide over her hips in a whisper of silk to pool like a lake on the floor.

And even though they’d just had sex, she felt nervous standing there before him wearing nothing more than lace-topped stockings and spiky sandals. She hadn’t been with anyone since Sam’s father. She didn’t have the body she’d once had, her belly neat but traced with tiny silvery lines and softer than it had been before bearing a child.

She held her breath. Could he tell? Would it matter?

‘You look,’ he said, ‘like a goddess emerging from the sea.’ And some tiny, futile creature somewhere deep inside her grew wings and attempted a fluttery takeoff.

‘And you look like a pirate,’ she countered, reminding herself it was just a game. It wasn’t real and that pointless tiny creature inside her would soon die a rapid death, its gossamer wings stilled. ‘Ruthless and swashbuckling.’

‘Uncanny,’ he said, his lips turning in a half-smile as he swung her into his arms. ‘However did you know?’

‘Know what?’ she asked, feeling a secret thrill as he carried her into the next room.

‘The goddess of the sea and the swashbuckling pirate.’ He winked at her and he laid her gently on the king-sized bed. ‘That’s the title of chapter two.’

It was a long and detailed chapter. There were passages Eve found agonising going, like when the pirate sampled the goddess, tasting every last inch of her except there, where she craved his detailed attentions the most, and then there were the passages that moved at what felt like breakneck speed, where he feasted on her until she was bucking on the bed.

And even when she lay, still gasping, after her latest orgasm, the chapter didn’t end and he joined her in savouring the final few pages together until that final breathtaking climax.

Outside the lights of Melbourne winked at her, the skies unusually clear, a heavy full moon hanging above the bridge over the Yarra.

Inside the suite, Eve’s breathing slowly returned to normal as she savoured the feel of Leo’s arm lying pro-prietorially over her stomach as he lay face down alongside her, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, his thick black hair mussed into bed-head perfection by her own hands. He wasn’t asleep, she knew, but it was a wonder given the energy he’d used tonight. Definitely a pirate, she thought. And very definitely a magic night. But it was late and magic nights had to end, just as goddesses had responsibilities too.

Oh, my, he’d actually called her a goddess! And she felt that tiny winged creature launch itself for another lurching spin around her stomach.

‘I should go,’ she said, with a wistful sigh for the ill-fated beast before she returned to sensible Evelyn Carmichael again and considered the practicalities of not having a functioning hot water service. ‘Do you mind if I take a shower before I go?’

And his eyes blinked open, the arm around her waist shifting, scooping higher to capture a breast. A smile played on his lips while he coaxed a nipple into unexpected responsiveness. ‘I’ve got a much better idea.’

She swallowed. Surely it wasn’t possible? But still her body hummed into life at the thought. ‘Chapter three?’

He nodded, his busy fingers hard at work on the other nipple, adding his hot mouth to the mix, guaranteeing the result. ‘The goddess returns to the sea only to find the pirate lurking in the depths, waiting to ambush her.’

‘That’s a long title.’

‘It’s a long chapter,’ he said, rolling off the bed and scooping her up into his arms. ‘In which case, we should get started.’

An hour later Eve had bubbles up to her chin and warm jets massaging all those newly found muscles of hers she hadn’t realised would so appreciate the attention. From the bedroom came the sound of Leo’s voice on the phone as he arranged her car. In a moment she’d have to prise herself from the bath and shower off the bubbles but for the moment she lingered, her limbs heavy, feeling languorous and spoilt and thoroughly, thoroughly spent.

It was easy to feel spoilt here, she thought, quietly reflecting on her opulent surroundings, committing them to memory as part of the experience. For if the size and scale of the suites had amazed her, the sheer lavishness of the bathroom had taken her breath away.

Marble in muted tones of sun-ripened wheat and golden honey lined the floor and walls, the lighting low and warm and inviting, the spa and shower enclosure—a space as big as her entire bathroom at home—separated from the long marble vanity by heavy glass doors. It was utterly, utterly decadent.

And if there hadn’t been enough bubbles, he’d found champagne and ripe, red strawberries to go with it. He’d turned what she’d intended simply as a shower into another erotic fantasy.

What a night. Three chapters of his book, all of them different, every one of them a complete fantasy. If chapter one had been desperate and frenetic, and chapter two slow to the point of torture, chapter three had showed the pirate at his most playfully erotic best. The slip of oils on skin, the play of the jets on naked flesh and the sheer fun of discovering what lay beneath the foam.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself just a few snatched seconds of imagining what it would be like if this was her life, all posh hotels with views of city lights and an attentive lover like Leo to make her feel the most special woman alive, with no worries about broken-down appliances and falling-down houses.

But then there was Sam.

And she felt guilty for even thinking of a world that didn’t include him—that couldn’t include him. For Sam was her life, whereas this was a fantasy that had no other course but to end and end soon.

She slipped under the water one last time, letting her hair fan out around her head, relishing the big wide bath, before she sat up, the water sluicing from her body. No regrets, she told herself as she squeezed the water from her hair, she wouldn’t allow it. She’d made her choice. She would live with it. And whatever happened in her life after this, whatever her everyday suburban life might hold, she knew she would have this one secret night of passion to look back on.

‘The car will be waiting in half an hour,’ Leo said, returning to the bathroom, a white towel slung perilously low over his hips, and even though she knew what lay beneath, even though she knew what that line of dark hair leading down from his navel led so tantalisingly and inexorably to, she couldn’t look away. Or maybe because of it. ‘Will that give you enough time for that shower you wanted and get dressed?’

And even though she knew this moment was coming, Eve still felt a pang, the fabric of her fantasy starting to unravel, as already she started counting down the minutes. Just thirty of them to go before she turned from one-night lover to a billionaire into long-term single mother. But there was nothing else for it. She nodded. ‘Plenty of time,’ she said.

He offered her his hand rather than the towel she would have preferred and she hesitated, before realising that after the things they’d done together this night, there was no point in being coy. So she rose, taking his hand to prevent her slipping as she stepped out, and taking half the foam with her. Something about the way his body stilled alerted her. She was taller than him now, standing in the raised bath like this, and his eyes drank her in. ‘What is it?’ she said, looking down to see patches of foam sliding down her body and clinging to her breasts, the pink nub of one nipple peeping through. And she looked back to him to see him shaking his head, his dark eyes hot and heavy with desire. ‘Suddenly I’m not so sure it will be anywhere near enough time.’

Something sizzled in her veins, even while her mind said no. ‘You can’t be serious.’

He gave a wry smile as he reached out to brush the offending nipple with the pad of one finger, sending tremors through her sensitive flesh, and he smoothed away more of the suds to reveal patches of skin, piece by agonising piece. ‘It’s still early.’

‘Leo,’ she said, ignoring the pleas her body was making to stay right where she was and stepping out to snap on the shower taps before she could take his words seriously. A torrent rained down from the cloudburst showerhead and she stepped into it, determined to be rid of the bubbles regardless of the water temperature. ‘It’s three o’clock in the morning. I’m going home.’

He peeled the towel from his hips, turned on his own shower. ‘We have all night.’

‘No. I have to go.’ She turned her face away from the sight of his thickening member and up into the stream of water, relishing the drenching. It was cooler than she would normally prefer, but it was helping to clear her mind, helping cool her body down. And very definitely she needed to cool down. What kind of man could make love so many times in one night and still come back for more? When had fantasy ever collided so perfectly with reality? Well, that was apart from the reality she would no doubt be exhausted tomorrow while Sam would be his usual bundle of energy. To day, she reminded herself. He’d be up in a few short hours. She really needed to get home if she was to get any sleep tonight. ‘Besides, you have an important deal to close.’

‘So maybe I can give you a call, pick you up afterwards?’

Her heart skipped a beat and she paused, soap in hand, feeling only the pounding of the cascading water, the thudding of her heart and the flutter of those damned tiny wings. Without turning around, she said, ‘I thought you were planning on leaving for London the minute you concluded the Culshaw deal.’

His mouth found her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her belly, and there was no missing that growing part of him pressing against her back, no missing the rush of blood to tissues already tender. And even though she knew his words meant nothing, nothing more anyway than him wanting a repeat performance in bed, it was impossible not to lean her head back against his shoulder just one last sweet time. ‘I don’t think that would be wise.’ She turned off the water and peeled herself away, reaching for a towel as she exited the shower. ‘We both agreed this was just one night. And while it’s been good, I think, given our working relationship, that it’s better left that way.’

‘Only good?’ he demanded, and she rolled her eyes.

Trust the man to home in on the least important detail of the conversation. He followed her from the stall, swiping his own towel from the rack and lashing it around his hips, not bothering to wipe the beads of water from his skin so that his chest hair formed scrolls like an ancient tattoo down his chest to his belly and below.

Oh, my…

She squeezed her eyes shut. Grabbed another towel and covered her head with it, rubbing her hair frantically so she couldn’t see him, even if she opened her eyes. ‘All right. The sex was great. Fabulous.’

The towel blinding her eyes was no defence against the electric touch of his fingers at her shoulders. ‘Then why shouldn’t we meet again? It’s not as if I’m asking for some long-term commitment.’

That’s just it, she yearned to say. There’s no future in it. There’s nothing but great sex and the longer that happens, the greater the risk that I start to believe it’s about more than that, and I can’t afford to let that happen.

Not when she had Sam…

One night of sin was one thing. But she could not contemplate any kind of affair. What Sam needed was stability, not his mother embarking on a series of meaningless one-night stands, passing him off to whoever could look after him. She shook her head, heading for the bedroom, her clothes and a return to sanity. ‘I can’t sleep with you and work with you at the same time.’

‘So become my mistress instead of my PA.’

She blinked, blindsided once again by the night’s increasingly insane developments, pulling on her underwear in a rush, slipping off the towel to fix her bra, needing the shelter of her dress.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘You’re right,’ he said, without a hint of irony. ‘Who could I get to replace you? So why can’t you be both?’

‘Perfect.’ She slipped into her dress, retrieved her stockings and sat on the end of the bed, hastily rolling them up her legs. ‘I thought you’d never ask. And when you get sick of me being your mistress, you can get me to send myself one of those trinkets you’re so fond of sending to your ex-playmates. I already know where to send it. How efficient would that be?’

‘Evelyn?’

She was busy in her purse, searching for a comb in order to slick back and twist up her wet hair and not finding one. ‘What?’

‘Anyone might think you were jealous.’

‘Jealous? Me?’ She scooted past him back into the bathroom. Pulled a comb from the complimentary supplies boxed up on the vanity, raking it through her hair before twisting it up and securing it with a clip. It was rough but it would do until she got home. She certainly wasn’t going to hang around here, styling her hair or trying to reapply make-up that would just have to come off at home anyway. ‘Jealous of what?’

He leaned an arm up against the door, muscles pulling tight under his skin, making the most of the posture, and she cursed the fact he hadn’t thought to put on anything more than a towel yet. Or maybe that was his intention. To remind her what she’d be missing out on. Well, tough. After tonight she knew what she’d be missing out on. Of course, he was tempting, but there came a time where self-preservation came first.

‘You did make a point about having to send out those gifts to…my friends.’

‘Your ex-lovers, you mean.’

‘You are jealous.’

She shrugged. ‘No. I’ve had my one night with you. Why should I be jealous?’

‘Well, something’s bugging you. What is it?’

She turned toward him then, wishing she could just walk away, sensitive to the fact that she could still be at risk of losing her contract if she angered him but still bothered enough by the riddle that was Leo Zamos to ask. ‘You really want to know?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Okay,’ she started, her eyes taking this last opportunity to drink in the glorious definition of his body, wanting to imprint all she could upon her memory before she left, because after tonight her memories would be all she had. ‘What I don’t understand is you.’

He laughed, a rich, deep sound she discovered she liked too much. ‘What’s so hard to understand?’

‘Everything. You’re confident and successful and ultra-rich—you have your own plane, for heaven’s sake!—and you’re a passionate lover and clearly have no trouble finding women willing to share your bed…’ She paused for a moment, wondering if she’d said enough, wondering if she added that he was drop-dead gorgeous and had a body that turned a woman’s thoughts to carnal acts, she would be saying more about herself than about him.

He smiled. ‘That’s it? I’m not actually sure where your problem lies.’

‘No, that’s not it. You know there’s more. People are drawn to you, Leo, you know it. And it’s just that, with everything you have going for you, I don’t understand how it can be that when you feel the need to play happy families, you have to pay someone to pretend to be your fiancée.’

‘You would have done it for free?’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I’ll remember that for next time.’

‘No!’ she said, knowing she was making a hash of it, knowing he was laughing at her. ‘That’s not my point at all. I just don’t understand why you’re in the situation where you need to pretend. How is it that a man with clearly such great appeal to women hasn’t got a wife or a fiancée or even a serious girlfriend? How is that possible?’

The smile slipped as he pushed away from the wall, moving closer, the menacing glint in his eyes putting her on sudden alert. ‘Maybe,’ he said, drawing near, touching his fingers to her brow, tracing a line south, ‘it’s because there is no lack of women willing to share my bed. What is that delightful saying? Why buy a book when you can join a library?’

She stood stock-still, resisting the tremors set off by his merest touch, hating the smug look on his face, forcing a smile to hers. ‘Well, the loan on this particular book just expired. Goodnight, Leo.’

He let her go, at least as far as the door.

‘Evelyn.’

She halted, put her hand on the doorframe to stop herself swaying, and without turning around said, ‘Yes?’

‘Something I tell all the women I spend time with. Something I thought you might have understood, although, given your questions, maybe you need to hear it too.’

She looked over her shoulder, curious about what it was he told his ‘women’, what he thought she needed to hear. ‘Yes?’

‘I like women. I like sex. But that’s where it starts and finishes. Because I don’t do family. It’s not going to happen.’

This time she took a step towards him, stunned by his sheer arrogance. ‘You think I was on some kind of fishing expedition to work out what my chances were of becoming Mrs Leo Zamos for real?’

‘You were the one asking the questions.’

‘And I also said I don’t want to see you again. Which part of “I don’t want to see you again” equates to “Please marry me” exactly?’

‘I was just saying—’

‘And I’m saying you needn’t have bothered. I’m not in the market for a husband as it happens, but even if I were, I’m certain I’d prefer someone who didn’t profess to liking women and sex quite so much!’ She turned on her heel and strode through the bedroom, slipping on her heels and picking up her purse, scanning the room for anything she might have left.

‘Evelyn!’

But she didn’t stop until she was through the living room then, turned, one more question to be answered before she left. ‘I’ll understand if you no longer want to retain me as your PA.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I want to keep you.’

She nodded, relieved, suddenly realising how perilously close she’d come to blowing things. ‘All right. All the best with the deal tomorrow. I guess I’ll be hearing from you in due course.’ She offered him her hand, back to brisk, businesslike efficiency, even if she was dealing with a man wearing nothing more than a towel. ‘Thank you for a pleasant evening, Mr Zamos. I’ll see myself out, under the circumstances.’

One eyebrow quirked at the formality but he took her hand, squeezing it gently. ‘It was my pleasure, Evelyn. My pleasure entirely.’

Minutes later, she sank her head back against the plush leather headrest and sighed as the limousine slipped smoothly from the hotel. Better to end this way, she reflected; better that they had argued rather than agreeing to meet again. Better that it had ended now when anything else would merely have been putting off the inevitable.

For it would have ended, nothing surer, and probably as soon as their next meeting. And then Leo would take off in his jet and find another convenient Evelyn somewhere else in the world, and she would be forgotten.

But now they’d claimed their stolen night, the night they’d been cheated out of by conspiring circumstances those years ago, and it had been an amazing night and she’d managed to survive with both some degree of pride and her job intact. But it was for the best that it had ended on a sour note.

Now they could both put it behind them.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHE grappled with the front-door key, her baby growing heavier by the minute. That or her night of sinful and unfamiliar pleasures had taken it out of her, but the child dozing on her shoulder felt like he’d doubled in size and weight overnight. Then again, maybe he’d just had one too many pancakes. She knew she had. She’d woken this morning after too few hours’ sleep almost ravenous.

She was barely inside the door when the phone started ringing and she picked it up more to shut it up than any desire to talk to whoever was calling. She had less desire to talk when she found out who it was.

‘Evelyn, it’s Leo.’