The Dare Collection February 2019. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.
moves his fingers away then, just so that he can slide my thong down my legs. I sit up higher but he brings his mouth to me and I am lost once more as his tongue decimates what little is left of my control, my brainpower.
I subjugate myself completely to the power he wields and, in doing so, am aware of my own strength. He is as desperate for me as I am for him. That is a heady knowledge to have.
I am so close to coming. He must feel that, he must know, which makes his betrayal all the greater when he pulls away and brings his fully clothed body over mine. The weight of him on me is beautiful, but I want more. I need more.
‘Was it serious?’
I am panting for breath. ‘I don’t want to talk about Pietro right now.’
‘Ah. But you will.’ His smile is arrogant. ‘Answer my questions and I’ll reward you.’
My stomach flops. I shake my head. ‘Why?’
‘I’m curious,’ he says with a shrug. He props himself on his side next to me, his eyes staring at me almost dispassionately. ‘So? Was it?’
‘Serious?’ I mutter, annoyed as heck and not bothering to conceal it. ‘Yes. It was.’
The glittering in his eyes intensifies. ‘And he’s still in love with you.’
I’m almost certain that’s the case but somehow, admitting that here, to Connor, feels like a betrayal. To Pietro and what we were and, somehow, to what Connor and I share as well.
‘It’s complicated,’ I say again, skirting the issue. ‘Our families would love us to get back together. They always thought we’d get married. They were shocked when we split.’
‘So they invite him to your family lunches in the hope love blossoms,’ he prompts, the teasing smile annoying me. Because he’s not jealous, after all. He’s just interested in that way that his fierce intellect demands. Connor has to lift every rock and peer under it, just because there might be something crawling around. He wants to know about Pietro because of his fierce curiosity, not because he particularly cares.
I place my hand on my stomach and run it lower, defiance in my eyes as I touch myself. I have the satisfaction of seeing his surprise and, yes, most definitely his awareness, but then his hand catches mine and lifts it back to my side.
‘Allow me.’ The throaty request turns me to jelly. He runs his finger over me and I moan. Heat scorches my blood. ‘He drives you home because he’s still in love with you?’
‘Damn it, Connor,’ I snap, reaching for his hand and pushing it away. I stand up and I can tell he didn’t expect that. I stare at him, my hands on my hips, though my anger is possibly slightly diminished by the way my body won’t stop shaking. ‘This isn’t a game. Pietro is probably still in love with me, yes. And he’s a nice guy, and I feel really awful about the fact I don’t love him back, and I’m very careful not to appear that I’m leading him on, and I feel like a complete bitch that I’m the one who doesn’t want it. That I’m the one who’s letting him, my parents and his parents down because I won’t just settle for the very nice, very lukewarm, very safe relationship we had.’
He’s staring at me in a way that would usually arrest my breath in my throat but I’m too annoyed to properly notice.
‘So you’ll forgive me if I don’t want to talk about Pietro while we’re in bed. It’s disrespectful and he deserves better than that.’
‘Jesus.’ Connor sits up straight, his jaw squared as he watches me. My tirade hangs in the air as a storm cloud would, threatening to break, and then he reaches for me.
He stands up then and puts his arms around my waist, holding me to his body. ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s a quietly worded admission. ‘You’re right. That was a bullshit thing to do.’
‘Yeah.’ His apology has taken some of the sting out of my anger but I’m still pissed off. ‘I mean, come on, Connor. We’ve both got a past. I don’t want to drag anyone else into this.’ I step out of his arms and reach for the hem of my dress, lifting it up over my head and tossing it onto a chair. He watches my clothes sail through the air then faces me again.
‘Nor do I.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry.’
I can’t look away. His eyes are burning into me and I feel his apology like a whisper across my skin and I know he means it, but also I’m not sure I care now. I can hardly remember what I was so annoyed about a moment ago.
Our eyes hold, our breaths match, the room swirls.
And then he crushes his mouth to mine. Our first kiss and it damned near kills me. His lips own me and his tongue duels with mine, wiping me of the ability to think, to breathe, to move. My knees weaken and only his arm around my back keeps me upright. He holds me to his body as he kisses me and I remember vividly what he said at his apartment.
I’ve wanted to own you.
This kiss owns me. I am his and I am glad.
* * *
Olivia is dozing beside me, her naked body a beautiful work of art that I ache to touch but don’t. Despite the fact I have made love to her for hours, I want her again. I force myself to be satisfied with looking and not touching.
I watch the gentle throb of her ribcage as she breathes. The soft undulations of her naked breasts. The way her lips part in her sleep and her long lashes fan against the creamy tan of her skin. The sheet is draped over her lower half and I resist the urge to push it down, refocusing my attention on the laptop on my knee.
It’s a funny thing, success. The firm that Michael and I started as two renegades, wanting to take on the world and win, is now a prestigious top-tier firm. We employ hundreds of people and there are thousands more clamouring to join us.
Being good at what I do has rendered me somewhat obsolete. Despite lending my name to the business, there’s not much for me to do on a daily basis to ensure our ongoing success.
Six partners report to me and I get myself up to speed on their trial notes, but even they run without requiring much input from me these days.
I am restless.
I’ve worked hard all my life and now I’m at a point where I don’t need to. I earn a shitload of money for doing not a lot.
I thought teaching would fill this hole inside me. That it would draw me back to what I love about practising law, but Olivia is the best thing about the work I do at the London Law School.
She shifts and I angle my laptop away, not wanting the light from the screen to wake her. She smiles a little in her sleep.
Her smile is beautiful.
I reach for my drink—I’ve progressed to Scotch—then get back to work. It’s the Donovan case, that’s all. It’s left me with a sense of unease, but that will pass.
Once I’ve put a little more time between me and the not guilty verdict, things will go back to normal.
Olivia, law school, this is all a great diversion, but it’s not my real life.
And I’m not her real life. This is a diversion for her, too, one she’ll get out of her system before she remembers that she’s a woman who does the right thing and works her arse off to get ahead.
This is uncharacteristic for both of us.
What the fuck was I thinking, interrogating her over her ex, turning it into a game? She’s far too sweet for that. Far too nice.
She stretches a little beneath my gaze and, fuck it, I reach down and curl a bit of blonde hair behind her ear. She makes a sleepy noise, her eyes blinking and lifting to me. Her smile is instinctive. It’s a smile just for me. My gut stretches and rolls in acknowledgement of this pull between us—of how I could get addicted to her smile, and all her sweetness.
‘Hi.’ Her voice is croaky. She blinks and