The Dare Collection February 2019. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      DAWN LIGHT FILTERS through the hotel window, bathing Connor’s torso in golden stripes. I push up on my elbow to see him better, studying the way his chest moves with each breath. His face is so peaceful like this; he’s asleep, and contented.

      I’m glad he stayed—that we stayed.

      I like sleeping beside him, waking up beside him.

      My phone buzzes and I lurch for it, swearing under my breath as it buzzes again. Connor stirs. I turn my back on him and flick the screen open, to see my sisters are already messaging, despite the earliness of the hour.

      It’s like this, in our family. Lunch on Sunday isn’t enough; we have to be in contact with each other all the time. A smile twitches on my lips as my oldest sister recounts the story of her commute. Another message fires in, and another, and I turn my phone to flight mode then settle back against the pillows.

      ‘Morning.’ His voice is gravelly, better than coffee.

      I pull a face as I look at him. ‘Did I wake you?’

      ‘Yes.’ He snakes a hand out and catches my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. ‘But I’m glad. What time is it?’

      ‘It’s still early. You should go back to sleep.’

      He arches a brow. ‘Should I?’

      ‘We were up late...’

      ‘I remember.’ His grin makes my stomach flip and flop like I’ve stepped off a cliff. ‘Who was buzzing you?’

      ‘My sisters.’

      A pause as he assimilates this.

      ‘Are you close to them?’

      I frown, pleating the sheet between the fingers of my spare hand. ‘Yes and no. I’m the youngest, by several years. They’re all protective of me. I think it’s hard for them to see me as an actual grown-up in my own right. I’m twenty-five but you’d think I was still fifteen if you could hear the way they are with me.’ I roll my eyes. ‘But it’s just because they love me and they worry about me.’

      ‘That sounds kind of nice.’

      Sympathy nudges into my heart. He’s alone. He has been for a long time.

      ‘My oldest sister actually offered to live with me while I was at LLS. To cook for me, help out. Keep an eye on me.’

      ‘She’s a vascular surgeon?’ He hazards a guess.

      ‘Paediatric. Close.’

      ‘And she wanted to look after you?’ He’s teasing.

      ‘I know, right? She works insane hours—I think I would have ended up looking after her.’

      He grins. ‘You’d do an excellent job of that, Miss Amorelli.’

      His compliment touches my heart, spreading gooey warmth through it.

      ‘So why didn’t she?’

      ‘Move in?’

      ‘Yeah.’ He reaches across the bed, putting a hand on the hotel phone, but watching me intently while I answer.

      I shrug. ‘They had their chance to let loose at uni—now it’s my turn.’

      He picks up the phone and orders two coffees and some pastries, then flops back beside me. One of his hands reaches idly for my exposed hip, his finger drawing invisible lines in my flesh. ‘But you don’t let loose.’

      It’s not a question so much as an observation.

      ‘I...did that when I travelled.’

      He laughs. ‘No, you didn’t.’ His fingers reach for my hair, curling it behind my ear, then his hand drops down to the mattress between us, capturing mine.

      ‘Why do you say that?’

      ‘Because I know you. And I think this is probably the craziest thing you’ve ever done. Right?’

      My stomach squeezes. Why would I lie to him? ‘Yes.’

      His eyes sear me with the strength of his emotions. ‘So why?’

      I laugh softly. ‘You’re full of questions this morning.’

      ‘I’m full of questions all the time,’ he corrects, lifting my hand to his lips and nipping my fingertip gently. ‘I’m just indulging them this morning. So? Why after a lifetime of being sensible did you succumb to the dark side?’

      ‘I don’t think you count as the dark side,’ I tease, but his expression is serious.

      ‘Don’t you?’

      I swallow, the lightness of the mood being sucked out into a sudden black hole.

      ‘I just wanted to do something fun,’ I say with a lift of my shoulders.

      He shakes his head. ‘I don’t believe that.’

      ‘Because you’re a cynic.’

      ‘And you’re a terrible liar.’

      I bite down on my lip. ‘Truthfully?’

      ‘Always.’ He strokes my inner wrist, and my pulse is tight.

      ‘Well, I didn’t stop fantasising about you from the moment you entered our classroom,’ I say with a small laugh. ‘You infected my mind, my sleep, my dreams, my everything.’

      I don’t know why I’m not ashamed to admit that, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world to confess. When I look at him, he’s so full of pure, animalistic pleasure that I don’t regret my disclosure. ‘But...’

      ‘But?’ he prompts when I don’t continue, bringing a hand back to my hip, curving his fingers around me and holding me tight.

      ‘But my mother was driving me batty. Do you remember I was on the phone?’

      His eyes hold mine and he nods slowly. ‘I remember everything about that afternoon.’ His wink is slow and it launches a thousand shooting stars in my blood. I too remember that afternoon. The way I touched myself, my body pressed to his, so close I could feel his strength and hardness, feel his warm breath on my temple. It wasn’t very long ago but it feels like a year, at least, for how different we are, how our relationship is. Then, I hardly knew him. Now, I feel like I know him inside and out.

      ‘But,’ I say, a smile tickling my lips, ‘I was annoyed with my mother.’

      He laughs, a low rumble. ‘Your mother? Are you saying I have your mother to thank for that delightfully provocative display?’

      ‘Well, yes, but I wouldn’t suggest you actually thank her because she’s old-fashioned and she’d certainly blacklist you.’

      He laughs again. ‘Duly noted.’ His fingers curve around to my back and he brings his body closer, over the small gap in the mattress, so that our faces are only inches apart.

      ‘Why were you annoyed at her?’

      I can hardly think straight. I just want to stare into his eyes and be lost in their depths.

      ‘Pietro,’ I say with a small shake of my head, dismissing him from the conversation. ‘She was pressuring me to go to a lunch he’d be at, and I was fed up. Fed up with my private life being open for my family’s discussion, fed up with this constant hope that I’ll end up with him.’ Now it’s my turn to touch. I lift my palm to his chest, running my fingertips over another tattoo. ‘I was fantasising about you, knowing I’d never act on it, and then something snapped and all I wanted was to give in to what I needed, what I wanted. I didn’t want to fall in with