Fire by Deborah Challinor Page A

box. He tucked his arm around her, moved over slightly to give her more room, and started kissing her.
    Irene responded enthusiastically, enjoying his obvious ardour and the strength she could feel in his arms. He might have a fairly sedentary job at Dunbar & Jones, but he obviously kept himself in shape, which was a pleasant surprise.
    After several long minutes, Vince pulled back and looked at her. His face was flushed and his eyes were filled with the sexual longing Irene found intoxicating.
    ‘You’re a gorgeous woman, Irene,’ he murmured huskily. ‘You remind me so much of Veronica Lake with that long sweep of hair falling across your face. Except that you’re a brunette, of course.’
    ‘Ted thinks I look like Hedy Lamarr,’ Irene said. ‘He calls me that every morning when I come in.’
    ‘Ted Horrocks? What would he know?’
    ‘Is that a note of jealousy I hear in your voice, Vince?’ Irene asked playfully.
    ‘Hardly. Ted’s seventy if he’s a day, silly old bugger.’
    ‘He’s sixty-four and I like him.’
    Vince said, ‘Well, I like you and we’re wasting time, so bugger Ted.’
    He leaned in again for another kiss, and this time hisfree hand settled on Irene’s waist. A few moments later it had crept up to her left breast and lingered there, lightly rubbing over the rayon of her summer blouse. Irene felt her nipples rise, and arched her back slightly to push her breast into Vince’s cupped hand. He groaned and moved his mouth from her lips to her neck, nuzzling the white skin beneath her ear.
    And then he bit.
    Irene jumped, the sensation sending shockwaves of lust through her body, and terror into her heart. ‘For God’s sake, Vince, don’t make a mark!’
    ‘I won’t,’ he mumbled, his mouth still pressed against her skin. ‘I’ll be gentle.’
    Irene didn’t actually want him to be gentle, but she did want him to be discreet: explaining to Martin how she’d managed to get a love bite on her neck would be very tricky.
    ‘I’ll do it to you,’ she threatened.
    ‘God, would you?’ Vince said, raising his head and exposing his own throat. The skin there was pale, and Irene could see the blue of that night’s stubble already beginning to show through.
    She bent her head and bit, tasting the tang of light sweat and cologne. Vince groaned and grasped her hand, pushing it into his lap where she could feel his straining erection.
    ‘Irene,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘let me make love to you. Please!’
    Thrilled though she was, she still had the presence of mind to remove her hand. ‘No, not here. I don’t want to do it here.’
    Vince groaned again, this time in obvious frustration.
    Worried that she might have overdone it—or rather,underdone it—Irene said, ‘But we can still have fun, can’t we?’ and began to slowly unbutton her blouse.
    Vince sat mesmerized as the fabric fell open to reveal the twin cones of her satin bra, pointing directly at him. He reached out with both hands, like a child about to receive an eagerly anticipated treat. But then he detoured and his fingers eased her blouse off her pale shoulders and let it slide down her arms, where it rested at her elbows like a shawl.
    She trembled as he began to kiss her shoulders and then her décolletage, his tongue travelling ever closer to her cleavage. When his thumbs hooked under the straps of her bra and slid them off her shoulders, releasing her heavy white breasts with their erect, dusky pink nipples, she gasped.
    ‘Oh my God, Irene, they’re magnificent!’ Vince marvelled, running his fingertips over the firm flesh. He cupped his hands under her breasts and lifted them slightly. ‘You’re an absolute cracker of a girl, you really are.’
    Irene closed her eyes, bathing in the warmth of his adoration. When he began to lick her nipples she slid her hands through his hair and dug her fingers into his skull, her sense of satisfaction turning to excitement. She squirmed, and felt heat coursing