A Life Sublime by Billy London Page B

makeup enhancing a sun kissed glow to velvet smooth, skin the colour of a macchiato.
    “We’ve both had a lot to drink.”
    “I have not,” Massimo disagreed immediately. He was quite content he finally had her where he wanted her about two days ago. Her shoes were dangling from her fingers, her other hand braced against his bicep and her back was pressed against the doorway of her bedroom. The plum colour was a faded memory on her lips, her dark eyes hooded beneath arched brows. He stroked the back of his fingers over her cheek, distracted by how soft she felt. Any perceived hardness was all in her speech and nothing in the woman herself. Soon, he would be utterly lost in her.
    “Do not make me ask,” he whispered.
    She gave a grin that spoke of a girl who had been giving and sweet and passionate before life played out on her. “Ask.”
    He asked by touching his mouth to her eyebrows, to her nose, her jaw, her neck. When he was a few, pained millimetres from her lips, she met him. The taste of her was the smoke wood flavour of the whiskey and a sweetness he’d known he’d find. He felt her retreat instantly, like a shadow over the sun.
    “No one will know anything,” he urged.
    “But I was so hard on the children and them staying in separate rooms.”
    “They were not married. We are former members of that particular club. It does not count,” his hands stroked with persuasion over the curves of her body. Of their own accord, his fingers found the zip that ran from beneath her arm to her hip and tugged. “Simply, let me lie beside you.”
    “Really? Is that all?”
    He side-stepped that question. “You will sleep well in my arms. I guarantee.”
    “It’s early morning,” she murmured, not removing her arm from about his neck. “Someone will see you.”
    “And if they say a word, I will kill them slowly and painfully.” He kissed her again and again, losing track of what he was trying to persuade her to do, only drinking at her as if he would die if he stopped. It had been a very long time since anyone had stirred him to this point and he wanted more.
    Belinda fumbled with the door behind her and they both half fell inside. She put a good two feet between them, breathing heavily and staring at him as if he’d grown horns. Something was definitely hard... He liked how the curls in her hair, uniform and perfect right until a few minutes ago, were now all over the place, the lipstick stain was completely gone and her dress was sliding off her shoulder.
    “You left a shoe outside,” he told her mildly, unclipping his cufflinks and throwing them onto the dresser and unbuttoning his shirt. Belinda gave a hiccup then shook her head firmly.
    “We’re just sleeping.”
    If she believed so . “I sleep nude.”
    “Jesus, Lord, save me!” she muttered. “Look, it’s daylight!”
    He carefully laid the shirt on the chaise before her bed then began work on his trousers. “You are doing much talking and not any sleeping.”
    “Cheeky so and so,” she laughed, dropping her shoe and throwing the dress over her head. He halted. She was wearing a burlesque show on her body. Maybe she’d been right, he wasn’t sure he would be able to lie next to her and not try to make love to her.
    “Turn around!” she demanded as his body started a mutiny against any brain function telling each part to calm down and wait a damn minute.
    His eyes flicked to the full length mirror on his left side, and caught a flash of naked buttocks, high and so very round. Visions of what he could be doing to those delicious globes pushed him to the very edges of his self-control. He really should just go to his room.
    Belinda dived into one of the kaftans she’d been swanning around in but there was nothing beneath the thin chiffon garment. He could see the outline of her dark nipples, imagining he’d be able to taste sea salt on the material before he’d know what they felt like in his mouth. God save him, Belinda Afriyie was not