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He checked his phone again. Still no reply. He didn’t want to call and speak to her because she wasn’t going to be in a mood to listen to him. He hated letting her down. He hated how complicated this had become—but he had to see her again. His body wasn’t letting him do otherwise, nor would his brain. She was all he could think about. All he wanted. So he’d make his apology in person. He’d make it up to her in person. But that wasn’t going to help in the next few hours. He quickly punched in another number.
‘Polly, I need a favour. Big favour. You’ve got to take your best ever bunch of flowers to Nadia.’
‘Oh, Ethan,’ she wailed at him. ‘We liked her.’
Ethan gritted his teeth. ‘So do I. So send the damn things, will you? And say I’m sorry on the card.’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘None of your business. But get them to her now.’
‘So it isn’t over?’
‘It will be if you don’t get them organised.’
‘Okay.’
The doorbell rang. Nadia saw herself in the hall mirror as she went to answer it and swore at her panda eyes. Still, at this time of night it could only be a telecoms salesperson or something—so what did it matter.
It was a courier. He handed her the biggest bunch of flowers she’d ever seen.
Nadia took them without a word and slammed the door. The card was typed in an old-fashioned typewriter font.
I’m sorry.
She tossed the flowers on the table and tore the note in two, then three, and chucked the bits like pity party confetti.
How had he managed to get them out at this hour? Florists didn’t work this late. He must have planned the whole thing hours ago. Days ago. In fact she now figured he’d totally set her up. She’d been the one to suggest another date. He’d got her in the palm of his hand just as he’d wanted and now he’d crushed her.
Her eyes were drawn back to the bright mass of blooms. Yes, they were beautiful, but she hated them. The flick-off flowers. Just as the women on WomanBWarned had said. She wiped away more scalding tears and sniffed. Why had she been so stupid as to expect anything else?
There she’d been, actually feeling something like sorry for him—trying to figure out why he avoided everything: emotional intimacy, relationships, conflict. Thinking she understood more after seeing his family the other day. But he’d so taken her for the fool she was. He was an all out jerk with not a shred of sensitivity. And right now he was laughing at her something awful.
Furious, she had to do something—anything—to feel better. And that didn’t include talking to honeymoon-happy Megan. She didn’t want anyone she knew to know what an idiot she’d been. But she had to vent to someone. She went into her WomanBWarned admin database and hunted. Ten minutes later she’d fired off e-mails to the other women who’d posted on the original thread. She wasn’t going to put this up on the internet, but she was so having a private rant with them. She’d bond with others who bore the wounds—the humiliation—of being an Ethan Rush conquest. She’d snarl and moan and gnash her teeth, but not with anyone she knew.
First she just asked if they were who she thought they were, and what other info they wanted to share.
She glared at the flowers, tempted to put them in the rubbish, but she put them in Megan’s room instead. Marching back, she clicked ‘send/receive’ ten times on her e-mail but nothing landed. She stalked to the bathroom and ran a super-hot shower, getting rid of the hair product and the panda eyes and the floral scent of her favourite perfume. She yanked on one of her WomanBWarned tee shirts and some boxers. Not that she was going to bed—sleep was impossible now. Instead she did a final check on the forums and stepped away from the computer. She’d hear the ping of e-mails from the computer if those sisters replied. There was only one thing left to do. Drink wine and watch movies. Horrors—a corpse-fest, with scary music and evil, evil monsters. She’d work her way through the all the Nightmares on Elm Street. To put things into perspective.
She’d watched a ton of gory numbers with her brother and initially she’d been stoic through them so as not to be the ‘scared little girl’ he’d expected. Now she just plain liked them. Things could be so much scarier and worse than real life. And she’d eat eye-watering chilli with it—to terrify her tastebuds too. Provide an extreme sensory experience to overwhelm the extreme agony inside.
She was twenty minutes into the third instalment when her doorbell buzzed again. Way too late for a salesman this time. Or anyone. Nerves fluttered and she paused the movie, telling herself not be scared by something Hollywood had invented. Just because it was almost two in the morning it didn’t mean there was going to be a disfigured guy with knives for fingers on the other side of the door.
She opened it a fraction, and then let it swing wide.
‘What are you doing here?’ The strangest cocktail of feelings flooded through her—a heady mix of disbelief, relief, pleasure and uncertainty.
‘I just got into Gatwick.’
‘You really were stuck on a plane?’
‘You didn’t believe me?’ His bag thudded at his feet. ‘I knew you wouldn’t. That’s why I got Polly to send the flowers. But you still didn’t reply.’
‘I figured if you were in a plane you wouldn’t get a text anyway.’
‘No, you just don’t believe me. Or trust me. Or—’
‘Or what?’ Her defensiveness reared. ‘You sent me ‘‘see ya later’ flowers.’
He frowned. ‘The note was supposed to say I’m sorry.’
‘It did.’
He closed his eyes and breathed deep. ‘Okay, I shouldn’t have come here now. It’s late and we’re both grumpy.’ He picked up his bag.
‘No.’ Recovering from the shock, she grabbed his arm. ‘You look shattered. Come in and have a coffee or something.’
She’d so go for the ‘or something’, but he really did look shattered—unshaven, red-rimmed eyes, crumpled clothes, pale.
He didn’t move, even though she was using most of her weight to tug his arm. ‘You didn’t make other plans when I cancelled?’
‘Sure I did.’ She tugged harder. ‘I’ve got movies loaded and a huge amount of ice-cream.’
He stepped in, the thinnest gleam piercing the dullness of his eyes. ‘So there isn’t anyone else on your sofa?’
‘Is that what you were worried about?’ She dropped his arm. ‘That’s what you’re checking up on?’
‘You told me this wasn’t exclusive.’
‘What did you expect me to say?’ She shut the door behind him. ‘I have some pride, you know.’
‘I’m well aware of that.’ He finally cracked a grin. ‘So what’s the movie?’
‘A horror.’
‘I hate horrors. They make me feel sick.’
‘I’ll hold your hand in the scary bits, if you like.’
Ethan managed another smile, but he was seriously out on his feet. He shouldn’t have come, but somehow when he’d got into the cab at the airport, hers had been the address he’d given. Now he was here the tiredness had hit him—right when he didn’t want it to. But, oddly, it was relief wiping out the last scrap of energy—relief at seeing her wide green eyes fill with the sparkle of promise, pleasure, desire.
Her sofa was fantastically big and he sank into it. He wanted her, but he couldn’t even move. Could hardly keep his eyes open. Everything overwhelmed him.
‘I didn’t sleep,’ he mumbled.
‘You spent the whole time awake?’
‘Lots of work.’ And that was true. They’d worked crazy long hours to close the deal. And in the few short hours he’d had to catch some ZZZs, all he’d done was toss and turn and think about Nadia. The more he tried not to, the more he had. In the end he’d decided to see her again and get her out of his system. Somehow.
‘You mean you were in German lap-dancing bars twenty-four-seven.’
He laughed. It turned into a groan because the energy required was too much. ‘I’m sorry. I’m rubbish company. I’m too tired.’ He should go home. He didn’t want to. Nor did he want to let her down any more—and he was already.
‘Shut up,’ she said, sounding bored. ‘I’m watching the movie.’
As if to prove it, she turned the volume up a notch.
Even though his eyes were closed he grinned, loving the way she was being so nice to him—in her fashion. He just needed a short snooze and then he’d be all over her. Oh, he so would.
‘Ethan?’
Nadia stared down at him in amazement. He’d hooked his legs up on the sofa, his feet dangling off the end, and he’d lain down, using her lap as his pillow. Which was nice. And frustrating. Because now he didn’t answer. How could anyone fall asleep during a horror film? In less than three minutes?
She lifted her hand and tentatively stroked his jaw with the tips of her fingers, enjoying the rough stubble. Ethan Rush was an exhausted man. She sat back, scrunching a little deeper into the sofa so his ‘pillow’ was smoother.
An hour later the film had finished and she still wasn’t remotely sleepy. Nor had she watched much of the movie. No, she’d been completely tragic and watched him sleep—the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the long lashes shadowing his cheek. She was absurdly pleased he didn’t snore—it wasn’t as if that was relevant. It wasn’t as if she was going to spend the rest of her nights sleeping beside him. Even so, she was happy. And concerned. Because he was going to get a crick in his neck if he stayed like that much longer.
She stroked his temple, loving being able to touch him so intimately. He didn’t stir, so she bent forward and whispered in his ear. ‘Ethan, wake up. You’re going to get so uncomfortable.’
Okay, she was uncomfortable. It wasn’t that his lying on her like this hurt, but it was hot. All she wanted was for him to wake up and play. But he was blissfully asleep and she couldn’t bring herself to try harder to rouse him—especially because doubt niggled that he might not want what she wanted when he woke.
She changed the TV to a music station and lowered the volume. She rested her head on the big cushions and stroked his head, trying to match her breathing to his so she’d get to be as calm and rested as he was.
‘Nadia?’
‘Mmm?’ Nadia sighed, lost in a really great dream.
‘Nadia?’
She roused, realising that the voice was real and very amused and very near. She looked down at the heavy, warm weight in her lap.
‘This is good.’ He smiled. The flickering light from the TV made his eyes twinkle too. ‘What are we doing here?’
‘You were too heavy to move to bed.’
‘You wanted me in your bed?’ He shifted, rolling to face towards her tummy.
Her muscles weakened. ‘Uh … um …’
‘I’ve missed you.’ His words were muffled, but still she heard the rawness. He pressed his face close to her, sliding his hands up her thighs, under the loose cotton of her boxer shorts.
Nadia shivered, half trying to suppress her tremoring nerves, but her body had lit with the lightest of touches and those few words. His hands caressed, and she couldn’t help relaxing, slightly spreading her knees wider so his fingers slid higher still. She swallowed, barely able to control her breathing, high on anticipation. Oh, she wanted his touch there—all the way there.
For a moment there was nothing else—just fingertips caressing skin, slowly taking the path already on fire for him. He suddenly lifted his head and looked around the room behind them.
‘What is it?’ She looked up to see what was catching his attention.
‘I’m looking for the treadmill,’ he teased. ‘You must have been exercising while I was sleeping. Your blood is pumping hot.’
In lifting his head up he’d made way for his fingers to surf even higher—which she guessed was the whole point. So Nadia just spread her legs wider.
‘You’ve been lying with your head in my lap for the last five hours.’ Her panting mutter wasn’t as saucy as she’d intended. ‘I’m on fire.’
‘Oh, so it’s me making you this hot?’ He lay down on her again. ‘You like me this close?’
She smiled back—oh, so saucy now. ‘I’d like it better if you were awake and I was naked.’
‘Well, I am awake—but you don’t need to be naked.’ His touches went further, softer, teasing. One hand went north, sliding under her shirt, cupping her breasts, stroking her hard nipples. ‘No bra, no knickers,’ he groaned.
‘Boxers are knickers,’ she argued vaguely.
‘Loose,’ he murmured happily, his fingers pressing more firmly.
She pressed her head back on the sofa, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the ceiling. Her body was so hungry for him—all slippery and hot, welcoming the slide of his fingers, the rub of his thumb. She bit on her lip and suddenly pressed her knees close, trapping his hand as waves of pleasure contracted her muscles. It hit quick, hard, and it wasn’t enough.
‘Making you come is the ultimate turn-on,’ he muttered as he sat up. ‘And it’s so damn easy.’
Uh, yeah … Struggling to regain her breath, Nadia felt embarrassment rise. It was only easy because she was so insanely attracted to him. It was humiliating.
But then she noticed he was now standing, and basically ripping off his clothes.
‘What are you wearing?’ he asked.
Her humiliation faded as she heard how he snapped the question, saw how his hands were shaking as he fought to get a handful of condoms from his pocket. So he’d been prepared to come and see her?
She knelt up on the sofa and enjoyed the show. Her body was even warmer than before. The man had muscles—everywhere—and they were all bunched. He glared at her tee shirt again. Had he only just noticed what it said?
‘It’s really offensive. Take it off.’ His jeans thudded to the floor. ‘Off, off, off,’ he demanded.
But before she could argue he issued another order.
‘Stand on the sofa.’
Nadia blinked. ‘Is this because I’m short?’
A muffled curse as he moved—fast, effortlessly—lifting her so she stood in front of him on the sofa. ‘No,’ he said curtly, whisking her tee shirt over her head and then her boxers to her ankles. ‘This is because I want to kiss you here.’ He licked her nipple and then sucked it into his mouth. ‘And then here.’ He moved, kissing down her sternum to her stomach.
‘Okay.’ Oh, more than okay. Oh, yes, yes, yes.
Between kisses he laughed—low, sexy—making her melt all the more. His hands dropped to her thighs and he pushed them apart. She shifted her feet to please him—only he kept pushing, and pushing, until she was standing with her feet as far apart as they would go. There was something about being bossed by him that was delicious. Her body was all soft and lax and malleable, while his was all hard and strong and ready to fire, and she couldn’t wait to find out how he was planning to do it.
So she stood on the sofa, her hands on his shoulders, while he stood before her, his feet on the floor. She could look him right in the eye—and his eyes were smiling. So she smiled too. His big hands held her thighs hard, keeping them wide but also giving her support. A good thing because when he suddenly thrust—all the way in—her knees buckled. She hooked her hands tighter round his neck and held on for sweet mercy. But there was no mercy—he was big, and his movements were powerful, relentless, and awesomely good.
Nadia moaned, loving the completion, the friction as their bodies slid—locking and unlocking. She thrust with him, their position incredibly decadent and abandoned, and she relished the hedonism. Every movement hit better than the last, so in seconds she was breathless and barely coping with the surging sensations. His pelvic bone ground against hers, rubbing deliciously against her bliss button, sending her faster still towards breakpoint. Her so-sensitive breasts were flattened against his solid chest—more fantastic friction.
But the thing short-circuiting her completely was the way they stood nose to nose and eye to eye. Unbearably intimate. He kissed her—little teasing kisses broken by the occasional lush, deep one. She could see his passion, the raw, unbridled desire. It was so intense she had to close her eyes against it. She couldn’t believe that all the fiery want in his gaze was for her.
‘Look at me,’ he growled. ‘Let me see.’ As he spoke he maintained his rhythm, driving her, knowing exactly what he was doing—how close she was. How moved she was—how much she wanted him. How good he made her feel—how much more he made her want.
