him
desperately, but was honest enough with herself to realise that if
she took, she may lose something too - a fundamental part of who
she was. Nico would never understand her.
Bronte bit into
another cake, topped up her coffee, still staring at the drawing.
Surely a fling or an affair would hurt no-one? An affair sounded
more sophisticated, less sleazy. After all, her heart wasn’t
involved. With a man like Nico, who knew the score, she could have
fun. He’d spelt it out clearly last night and so had she. Therefore
there was no risk to her or to him. She could experience things
other women took for granted without a second thought. He wanted
her and she wanted him. They were single, unattached and free to do
as they wished.
Feeling more
settled Bronte rose and boogied her hips; there was another way to
relieve stress.
She plugged her
iPod into her surround sound system, selected Rihanna and flicked
it up to full volume.
Life, she told
herself, was too damned short not to have fun.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Nico lay on his back,
his heart bucking.
Remnants of an
erotic dream featuring Bronte in the starring role tortured his
mind and his body.
In a fluid
movement he jack-knifed off the bed, slapped on the bathroom light,
blinking at the man in the mirror. And he took a shaky breath. He
was so hard he could barely breathe. His pupils were dilated, full
of arousal as well as a dazed bewilderment. Perspiration beaded on
his forehead and his skin felt clammy and damp. He was an
experienced man of the world, not seventeen and unable to control
himself.
Under a
freezing shower, he fought to come to terms with the last
forty-eight hours. If he believed in magic he would swear she had
bewitched him. His bones ached for her. She made him weak and that
was simply not acceptable.
Never had a
woman affected him like this.
Fury pulsed
through his blood as he shivered under the onslaught of icy needles
beating his physical response to the dream into submission.
With a towel
slung around his hips, he stalked into the bedroom.
How the hell
was he supposed to work, concentrate on running his business if he
couldn’t get a decent nights sleep? When was the last time he’d
spent the night tossing and turning with dreams of wild sex with a
gorgeous blonde? Never.
He snapped on
briefs. Digging out jeans from his closet, he hauled them on and
tugged a cream sweater over dripping hair. She’d been sending him
mixed signals since he met her. He rammed his feet into Tod’s
loafers. He couldn’t believe it when she was dancing with that
young man and he realised she wore absolutely nothing under her
dress.
Grabbing his
car keys, Nico opened the door and strode down the hotel hallway to
the first floor. He took the steps two at a time. Then he stopped
dead when the memory of those huge eyes full of spitting fury and
aroused confusion tortured him again.
It made him
feel physically ill each time he thought of her trembling against
the door.
He’d been too
rough with her.
And whose fault
was that?
Itch? He
continued down the stairs. He would give her an itch all right. She
was attracted to him was she? And he could give it a little scratch
could he? And she would have men whenever she liked would she?
What was she
thinking talking about herself like that?
Which was an
unfortunate thought he realised when lust burned in his groin.
He closed the
car door with a thud and jabbed the key in the ignition.
Once they made
love, he assured himself, this anomaly would pass and he would
return to normal. The Bentley screeched down the driveway. Little
witch.
The car purred to the
rear of The Dower house.
He checked the
time. Too early? Too bad.
Stepping out of
the car, the scent of warm apples, sugar and cinnamon poured across
his senses.
Pure annoyance
fired his blood pressure again.
She made cakes
while he suffered the agonies of hell.
The building
throbbed and boomed with the bass of a pop song.
Nico lifted his
hand to knock
desperately, but was honest enough with herself to realise that if
she took, she may lose something too - a fundamental part of who
she was. Nico would never understand her.
Bronte bit into
another cake, topped up her coffee, still staring at the drawing.
Surely a fling or an affair would hurt no-one? An affair sounded
more sophisticated, less sleazy. After all, her heart wasn’t
involved. With a man like Nico, who knew the score, she could have
fun. He’d spelt it out clearly last night and so had she. Therefore
there was no risk to her or to him. She could experience things
other women took for granted without a second thought. He wanted
her and she wanted him. They were single, unattached and free to do
as they wished.
Feeling more
settled Bronte rose and boogied her hips; there was another way to
relieve stress.
She plugged her
iPod into her surround sound system, selected Rihanna and flicked
it up to full volume.
Life, she told
herself, was too damned short not to have fun.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Nico lay on his back,
his heart bucking.
Remnants of an
erotic dream featuring Bronte in the starring role tortured his
mind and his body.
In a fluid
movement he jack-knifed off the bed, slapped on the bathroom light,
blinking at the man in the mirror. And he took a shaky breath. He
was so hard he could barely breathe. His pupils were dilated, full
of arousal as well as a dazed bewilderment. Perspiration beaded on
his forehead and his skin felt clammy and damp. He was an
experienced man of the world, not seventeen and unable to control
himself.
Under a
freezing shower, he fought to come to terms with the last
forty-eight hours. If he believed in magic he would swear she had
bewitched him. His bones ached for her. She made him weak and that
was simply not acceptable.
Never had a
woman affected him like this.
Fury pulsed
through his blood as he shivered under the onslaught of icy needles
beating his physical response to the dream into submission.
With a towel
slung around his hips, he stalked into the bedroom.
How the hell
was he supposed to work, concentrate on running his business if he
couldn’t get a decent nights sleep? When was the last time he’d
spent the night tossing and turning with dreams of wild sex with a
gorgeous blonde? Never.
He snapped on
briefs. Digging out jeans from his closet, he hauled them on and
tugged a cream sweater over dripping hair. She’d been sending him
mixed signals since he met her. He rammed his feet into Tod’s
loafers. He couldn’t believe it when she was dancing with that
young man and he realised she wore absolutely nothing under her
dress.
Grabbing his
car keys, Nico opened the door and strode down the hotel hallway to
the first floor. He took the steps two at a time. Then he stopped
dead when the memory of those huge eyes full of spitting fury and
aroused confusion tortured him again.
It made him
feel physically ill each time he thought of her trembling against
the door.
He’d been too
rough with her.
And whose fault
was that?
Itch? He
continued down the stairs. He would give her an itch all right. She
was attracted to him was she? And he could give it a little scratch
could he? And she would have men whenever she liked would she?
What was she
thinking talking about herself like that?
Which was an
unfortunate thought he realised when lust burned in his groin.
He closed the
car door with a thud and jabbed the key in the ignition.
Once they made
love, he assured himself, this anomaly would pass and he would
return to normal. The Bentley screeched down the driveway. Little
witch.
The car purred to the
rear of The Dower house.
He checked the
time. Too early? Too bad.
Stepping out of
the car, the scent of warm apples, sugar and cinnamon poured across
his senses.
Pure annoyance
fired his blood pressure again.
She made cakes
while he suffered the agonies of hell.
The building
throbbed and boomed with the bass of a pop song.
Nico lifted his
hand to knock
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