Rocks by M. J. Lawless Page A

nameless, Heathrow hotels that I’m drinking myself into a stupor all on my own.”
    His accent was crystal cut —a posh boy. That explained a lot of the self-confidence. She’d slept with plenty of men who had the looks and body, but once you scraped a fingernail under their very fine skin they would immediately start to unload all their various insecurities on you, something that was very dull.
    “That sounds like a plan,” Karla replied, a tiny bit more flirtatiously than she had intended. “Business or pleasure? I mean, your trip tomorrow. Drinking in a hole like this must be serious business.”
    He laughed at this and glanced downwards, slightly self-deprecatingly. “Business, I suppose, though I always try to mix a little pleasure with anything I do. What about you? Returning to Sweden or Norway?”
    “Denmark,” she corrected, impressed nonetheless that he’d hit the right part of Europe. “Yes, tomorrow. To see my Aunt Elsie. That, I’m afraid, is always business.”
    “That’s the problem with families,” he mused, lifting up his glass and swirling what looked like scotch around a little. “I’m afraid that’s why I tend to avoid them as much as possible.”
    She slyly looked at his hand as he said this. No wedding ring. Not that that meant much, as she knew from experience, but at least it indicated there was not going to be a wife hanging around to complicate how she was going to spend the next hour or so.
    “I’m Franka,” she said, extending a hand.
    “Simon,” he replied, taking her fingers firmly into his and pressing slightly —not too much, but enough to extend that sense of self-confidence. “What am I thinking?” he asked. “Can I get you a drink?”
    “Let me buy it,” she replied. “I’m not quite the weak and feeble woman I look. We Danish women were raiding farms and monasteries while you Brits were still trembling in your homes.”
    “If they were all like you, they were a force to be reckoned with.”
    They chatted pleasantly for less than half an hour before Karla let Simon invite her to his room. She had considered dragging him to hers, but that could be awkward if Maarten showed up. As it was, they fell on each other in the lifts as soon as the door closed. This guy was huge, towering over her as she pressed herself on him, and her fingers enjoyed the sensation of his firm, hard pecs and biceps as they ate each others’ mouths.
    She was still attached to him, sliding her fingers into his hair and pulling his face down to hers, as he fumbled with his room key, kicking the door open once the light flashed green. Then, with a sudden, fluid motion that surprised her, he scooped her into his arms, lifting her up from the floor to carry her into the room.
    It was pleasantly if anonymously furnished, but as he placed her on the bed Karla had no interest in whatever passed for corporate decoration. Instead, pulling one leg up slightly onto the bed, the heel of her shoe digging into the sheet that covered it, she watched with a feral look in her eyes as Simon stood in front of her. He was smiling as he tugged at the hem of his shirt with the fingers of each hand, letting it roll upwards to reveal first the rolling undulations of his washboard abdomen, followed closely by a flat, thickly muscled expanse of pecs and shoulders. His arms bulged as he dragged the shirt over his head, tousling his hair as he did so, and she felt herself begin to flood and open between her legs. This was going to ease her tension much better than any cigarette.
    “I thought we’d taken all the best stuff when we came pillaging all those years ago,” she said, licking her lips slightly. “I can’t believe we didn’t come back sooner.”
    With a grin on his face, he came towards the bed and leaned forward, the strong pillars of his arms on either side of her. “Well, my little Viking goddess,” he said, “I think it’s time the pair of us went plundering.”
    He kissed her again, his tongue