His For Christmas: Christmas in Da Conti's Bed / His Until Midnight / The Most Expensive Night of Her Life. Nikki LoganЧитать онлайн книгу.
rather staid outfits you seem to favour, you still dress to tantalise underneath,’ he said. ‘And I need to undress you very quickly, before I go out of my mind with longing. I need to see that beautiful body for myself.’
His words killed it. Just like that. They shattered the spell he’d woven and wiped out all the desire—replacing it with a dawning horror of what she’d almost allowed to happen.
Allowed?
Who was she kidding? She might as well have presented herself to him in glittery paper all tied up with a gift ribbon. He’d given her a lift home and just assumed…assumed…
He’d assumed he could start treating her like a pin-up instead of a person. Somewhere along the way she had stopped being Alannah and had become a body he simply wanted to ogle. Why had she thought he was different from every other man?
‘What am I doing?’ she demanded, jerking away from him and lifting her fingertips to her lips in horror. ‘What am I thinking of?’
‘Oh, come on, Alannah.’ He began to tap his finger impatiently against the steering wheel. ‘We’re both a little too seasoned to play this kind of game, surely? You might just have got away with the outraged virgin scenario a decade ago, but not any more. I’m pretty sure your track record must be almost as extensive as mine. So why the sudden shutdown at exactly the wrong moment, when we both know we want it?’
It took everything she had for Alannah not to fly at him until she remembered that, in spite of everything, he was still her boss. She realised she couldn’t keep blaming him for leaping to such unflattering conclusions, because why wouldn’t he think she’d been around the block several times? Nice girls didn’t take off their clothes for the camera, did they? And nice girls didn’t part their legs for a man who didn’t respect them.
‘You might have a reputation as one of the world’s greatest lovers, Niccolò,’ she said, ‘but right now, it’s difficult to see why.’
She saw his brows knit together as he glowered at her. ‘What are you talking about?’
Grabbing the handle, she pushed open the car door and a blast of cold air came rushing inside, mercifully cooling her heated face. ‘Making out in the front of cars is what teenagers do,’ she bit out. ‘I thought you had a little bit more finesse than that. Most men at least offer dinner.’
EVERY TIME NICCOLÒ closed his eyes he could imagine those lips lingering on a certain part of his anatomy. He could picture it with a clarity which was like a prolonged and exquisite torture. He gave a groan of frustration and slammed his fist into the pillow. Was Alannah Collins aware that she was driving him crazy with need?
Turning onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling. Of course she was. Her profession—if you could call it that—had been pandering to male fantasy. She must have learnt that men were turned on by stockings—and socks. By tousled hair and little-girl pouts. By big blue eyes and beautiful breasts.
Had she subsequently learnt as she’d grown older that teasing and concealment could be almost as much of a turn-on? That to a man used to having everything he wanted, even the idea of a woman refusing sex was enough to make his body burn with a hunger which was pretty close to unbearable. Did she often let men caress the bare and silky skin of her thigh and then push them away just when they were in tantalising reach of far more intimate contact?
Frustratedly running his fingers through his hair, he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
If she hadn’t been such a damned hypocrite when she’d slammed her way out of his car last night, then he wouldn’t be feeling this way. If she’d been honest enough to admit what she really wanted, he wouldn’t have woken up feeling aching and empty. She could have invited him in and turned those denim-blue eyes on him and let nature take its course. They could have spent the night together and he would have got her out of his system, once and for all.
He turned on the shower, welcoming the icy water which lashed over his heated skin.
True, her home hadn’t looked particularly inviting. It didn’t look big enough to accommodate much more than a single bed, let alone any degree of comfort. But that was okay. His mouth hardened. Mightn’t the sheer ordinariness of the environment have added a piquant layer of excitement to a situation he resented himself for wanting?
Agitatedly, he rubbed shampoo into his hair, thinking that she made him want to break every rule in the book and he didn’t like it. The women he dated were chosen as carefully as his suits and he didn’t do bad girls. His taste tended towards corporate bankers. Or lawyers. He liked them blonde and he liked them cool. He liked the kind of woman who never sweated…
Not like Alannah Collins. He swallowed as the water sluiced down over his heated skin. He could imagine her sweating. He closed his eyes and imagined her riding him—her long black hair damp with exertion as it swung around her luscious breasts. He turned off the shower, trying to convince himself that the experience would be fleeting and shallow. It would be like eating fast food after you’d been on a health kick. The first greasy mouthful would taste like heaven but by the time you’d eaten the last crumb, you’d be longing for something pure and simple.
So why not forget her?
He got ready for the office and spent the rest of the week trying to do just that. He didn’t go near Alekto’s apartment, just listened to daily progress reports from Kirsty. He kept himself busy, successfully bidding for a new-build a few blocks from the Pembroke in New York. He held a series of back-to-back meetings about his beach development in Uruguay; he lunched with a group of developers who were over from the Middle East—then took them to a nightclub until the early hours. Then he flew to Paris and had dinner with a beautiful Australian model he’d met at last year’s Melbourne Cup.
But Paris didn’t work and neither did the model. For once the magic of the city failed to cast its spell on him. Overnight it had surrendered to the monster which was Christmas and spread its glittering tentacles everywhere. The golden lights which were strung in the trees along the Champs Élysées seemed garish. The decorated tree in his hotel seemed like a giant monument to bad taste and the pile of faux-presents which rested at its base made his mouth harden with disdain. Even the famous shops were stuffed with seasonal reminders of reindeer and Santa, which marred their usual elegance.
And all this was underpinned by the disturbing fact that nothing was working; he couldn’t seem to get Alannah out of his mind. Even now. He realised that something about her was making him act out of character. There were plenty of other people whose style he liked, yet he had hired her without reference and only the most cursory of glances at her work. Governed by a need to possess her, he had ignored all reason and common sense and done something he’d sworn never to do.
He had taken a gamble on her.
He felt the icy finger of fear whispering over his spine.
He had taken a gamble on her and he never gambled.
He ordered his driver to take him to the towering block which rose up over Hyde Park. But for once he didn’t take pride in the futuristic building which had been his brainchild, and which had won all kinds of awards since its inception. All he could think about was the slow build of hunger which was burning away inside him and which was now refusing to be silenced.
His heart was thudding as he took the elevator up to the penthouse, his key-card quietly clicking the door open. Silently, he walked through the bare apartment, which smelt strongly of paint, and into the main reception room where he found Alannah perched on a stepladder, a tape measure in her hand.
His heart skipped a beat. She wore a loose, checked shirt and her hair was caught back in a ponytail. He didn’t know what he’d been planning to say but before he had a chance to say anything she turned round and saw him. The stepladder swayed and he walked