then all that evaporated—as it was all make-believe. All utter Hollywood fantasy. This—this kiss—was real.
She was kissing a very real man. A man who had just teased her lower lip with his tongue. She leant into him, wanting more, needing more.
She needed to touch him, and she reached out blindly, her hand landing somewhere on his chest, then creeping up to his shoulders. His other hand was suddenly touching her, too, beginning at her waist, then creeping around to her back, beneath the little jacket she still wore. His hand splayed across her skin, not that she needed any encouragement to move closer.
He tasted like the wine they’d been sharing, like that crisp sorbet. Fresh. Delectable.
His kisses started off practised, but as she kissed him back, letting herself kiss him in the way he was making her feel, his kisses changed. They were less controlled, more desperate.
Ruby leant into him, matching him kiss for kiss, revelling in the feel and taste of his gorgeous, sexy, sinful mouth.
She felt incredible: beautiful, wanted.
She could sit here for ever, kiss him for ever...
But then his lips were away from her mouth, and trailing kisses along her jaw, up to her ear.
His breath was hot against her skin. So hot.
‘Should we go to my room?’
Was that where this night had always been headed? Where they’d been headed since that dusty afternoon they’d first met?
Possibly? Definitely? Ruby didn’t know—didn’t care.
She just knew that standing now—on legs that would wobble—and leaving this bar for his room was the only imaginable option.
And so when he stood, and held out his hand for her, with that question still shining in his eyes, she knew what she was going to—what she had to—say.
‘Yes.’
SEVEN
Dev lay flat on his back on the sofa, staring up, in the dark, at the ceiling.
He was restless. Completely exhausted, but unable to sleep.
He’d tried pacing the considerable length of the penthouse’s living areas, but it hadn’t helped—from his experience pacing never did.
If anything his brain’s wheels and cogs took the opportunity to whir ever faster, cramming his brain with all sorts of thoughts and ideas—leaving nowhere near enough room for sleep to descend.
He rubbed at his forehead, the action near violent. But as if he could simply erase all this crap away.
And it was crap. Useless, pointless, far-too-late-to-do-anything-about crap.
And so random. The stuff his subconscious was coming up with, that was building and festering inside him.
Snatches of time from his childhood.
Rare moments alone with his father.
Rarer words of praise—praise well and truly cancelled out with years and years of frustration and disappointment. At his failures—the straight As he never received, the sports he never mastered, the good behaviour he could never maintain.
And then memories of his brothers, so different from him, and yet who he’d admired so hard it hurt. Almost as much as he’d idolised his father—once.
Okay. Maybe not so random.
Of course he knew what this was about, it was as obvious as the watches his father had worn, the ones that had cost more than the average person’s yearly wage, and that his father had made sure everyone noticed. But then, who could blame him? He’d worked damn hard for his money...
I worked damn hard, Devlin, and not so you could throw it all away. You know nothing about sacrifices—about what I would do for my family. Nothing.
He heard something—footsteps. Soft on the deep carpet.
He turned his head, and watched Ruby as she crept past. He couldn’t see much in the almost pitch blackness, but she was most definitely creeping—her shoes dangling from one hand, each step slow and deliberate.
‘Ruby,’ he whispered. Then watched as she just about jumped out of her skin.
‘Dev!’
He sat up and switched on a lamp, making Ruby blink at him in the sudden light.
She stood stock still, in her fancy dress and jacket—although her
She was kissing a very real man. A man who had just teased her lower lip with his tongue. She leant into him, wanting more, needing more.
She needed to touch him, and she reached out blindly, her hand landing somewhere on his chest, then creeping up to his shoulders. His other hand was suddenly touching her, too, beginning at her waist, then creeping around to her back, beneath the little jacket she still wore. His hand splayed across her skin, not that she needed any encouragement to move closer.
He tasted like the wine they’d been sharing, like that crisp sorbet. Fresh. Delectable.
His kisses started off practised, but as she kissed him back, letting herself kiss him in the way he was making her feel, his kisses changed. They were less controlled, more desperate.
Ruby leant into him, matching him kiss for kiss, revelling in the feel and taste of his gorgeous, sexy, sinful mouth.
She felt incredible: beautiful, wanted.
She could sit here for ever, kiss him for ever...
But then his lips were away from her mouth, and trailing kisses along her jaw, up to her ear.
His breath was hot against her skin. So hot.
‘Should we go to my room?’
Was that where this night had always been headed? Where they’d been headed since that dusty afternoon they’d first met?
Possibly? Definitely? Ruby didn’t know—didn’t care.
She just knew that standing now—on legs that would wobble—and leaving this bar for his room was the only imaginable option.
And so when he stood, and held out his hand for her, with that question still shining in his eyes, she knew what she was going to—what she had to—say.
‘Yes.’
SEVEN
Dev lay flat on his back on the sofa, staring up, in the dark, at the ceiling.
He was restless. Completely exhausted, but unable to sleep.
He’d tried pacing the considerable length of the penthouse’s living areas, but it hadn’t helped—from his experience pacing never did.
If anything his brain’s wheels and cogs took the opportunity to whir ever faster, cramming his brain with all sorts of thoughts and ideas—leaving nowhere near enough room for sleep to descend.
He rubbed at his forehead, the action near violent. But as if he could simply erase all this crap away.
And it was crap. Useless, pointless, far-too-late-to-do-anything-about crap.
And so random. The stuff his subconscious was coming up with, that was building and festering inside him.
Snatches of time from his childhood.
Rare moments alone with his father.
Rarer words of praise—praise well and truly cancelled out with years and years of frustration and disappointment. At his failures—the straight As he never received, the sports he never mastered, the good behaviour he could never maintain.
And then memories of his brothers, so different from him, and yet who he’d admired so hard it hurt. Almost as much as he’d idolised his father—once.
Okay. Maybe not so random.
Of course he knew what this was about, it was as obvious as the watches his father had worn, the ones that had cost more than the average person’s yearly wage, and that his father had made sure everyone noticed. But then, who could blame him? He’d worked damn hard for his money...
I worked damn hard, Devlin, and not so you could throw it all away. You know nothing about sacrifices—about what I would do for my family. Nothing.
He heard something—footsteps. Soft on the deep carpet.
He turned his head, and watched Ruby as she crept past. He couldn’t see much in the almost pitch blackness, but she was most definitely creeping—her shoes dangling from one hand, each step slow and deliberate.
‘Ruby,’ he whispered. Then watched as she just about jumped out of her skin.
‘Dev!’
He sat up and switched on a lamp, making Ruby blink at him in the sudden light.
She stood stock still, in her fancy dress and jacket—although her
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