When He Was Bad...

Her head snapped back, her eyes locked on his and the slow-burning sexual tension which had been simmering along nicely evaporated in a puff of frosty air. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, then they disappeared altogether as she pressed them into a tight flat line.

His body howled a protest. That’s what you get for being a gentleman, McGregor. He’d not had much experience with women knocking him back. Or he was right and she wasn’t as free spirited as she was making out. ‘Is there someone else?’

‘No.’ Her face reflected the light from the pink lantern hanging nearby as she shook her head.

‘So…?’

Nearby, someone’s glass shattered on the concrete but her eyes remained locked with his. They seemed to say yes, but her behaviour indicated otherwise. The wind scuttled along the high brick fence, scattering dried leaves at their feet and riffling through her bright hair, gleaming like moonlight.

Then her shoulders tightened as she drew in air. ‘So…do it, then.’

Her surprisingly breathy demand had his libido leaping to attention. He leaned closer, watching her chest rise sharply as she drew another swift breath, watching her eyes flare with a mix of vulnerability, hesitance and anticipation.

He barely laid his lips on hers, just enough to feel the warmth there, the texture. It was like tasting summer’s first ripe peach. Sweet, soft. Sensuous. Eliciting a low throaty murmur from her that sang like honey through his bloodstream.

More. It was more than he’d anticipated and it threw him for a loop. He lifted his head to gaze down at her, saw that she was as surprised as he. He hadn’t expected to feel his heart beating oddly out of time, as if he stood on the top of the Sydney Harbour Bridge in the middle of a storm without a safety harness.

Willing to believe it had been a fluke, again he lowered his lips, felt her hesitance dissipate like autumn mist in sunshine as she shifted nearer. Her mouth, tentative and unsure, softened and opened beneath his. He took swift advantage, lifting his hands to cradle her jaw for more intimate access and angling his body so that they aligned in the all right places.

He felt her tiny frame quiver against him as he swept his tongue inside her mouth to tangle with hers where the flavours were richer, darker, hotter.

Ah, now she didn’t resist. In any way. She was right there with him—he knew by the way her tongue curled with his, the way her body turned fluid and malleable against him. He stepped closer, her legs tangling against his.

Either she didn’t notice or she didn’t care. Her hands slid up the front of his shirt. He could feel his heart pounding into her flattened palms. Then she slid them down again and wrapped them around his waist, and leaned in so her breasts pushed against his chest.

He let his hands wander too, over the smooth creamy column of her neck, the delicate heart pendant she wore, inside her jacket until they found the neckline of her dress. Down, palms skimming the outside of her breasts, the womanly shape where her waistline dipped, then flared again as he traced her hips. She was perfection. He wanted more. And with the way she was melting against him, it would appear he was in luck.

Ellie’s knees were so loose it was a minor miracle she didn’t collapse right there on the pavers. Her pulse thundered, her blood sizzled. Her only thought was she couldn’t believe that she was letting this man—this godlike man who smelled sinfully good and probably did this every night of the week with a different woman—kiss her to kingdom come.

Then her eyes closed, her mind shut down and all she felt was sensation. His hands warm and firm on her body, his unfamiliar hot, potent flavour, the sound of fabric shifting against fabric as he drew her closer.

And she was clutching his shirt without even realising she’d reached for him. Her body was burning without any recollection of who’d lit the fire.

His hands began a more intimate journey, seeking out her hardening nipples, drawing them into stiff peaks against the bodice of her dress. Rolling them between finger and thumb. She gasped as wetness accumulated between her thighs and, like a wanton, thrust her breasts forward, willing, willing him to keep doing what he was doing.

He did. Oh, yes, he did. But the ache only intensified, his clever hands sending ripples of desire straight to all her secret places. Her belly rubbed against a powerful ridge of masculinity. A moan rose up her throat at the sensation of the contrasting hardness against her softness.

A ragged answering groan seemed to come from the depths of his being. ‘How far to your place?’ he murmured thickly against her neck.

His voice and the message conveyed broke the lust trance she’d been momentarily lost in and her eyes snapped open. The harsh streetlight over the wall haloed his head, leaving his features obscured. All she was aware of was a dark silhouette looming over her and the unfamiliar scent of a man she really didn’t know at all.

Oh. My. God. Panic clawed up her throat and she pulled free. ‘I…I need to go to the ladies’.’ Clutching her jacket about her shoulders, she took a couple of steps away, and from the safety of distance she pulled her thrumming lips into some semblance of a smile and said, ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

She plunged back into the overheated room, saw Sasha amongst the dancers and caught her eye. Sasha winked over some guy’s shoulder and twirled her index finger in the air—their prearranged ‘goodnight’ signal should they decide to leave separately.

Ellie nodded, manoeuvred her way through the dancers, past security at the entrance and out onto the street, still busy with traffic despite the late hour.

A car filled with loudmouthed teenagers cruised past, their car stereo’s bass competing in an out-of-sync rhythm with the club’s. Cold air stung her face and bare arms as she clung to her jacket, desperately willing a taxi to appear.

‘Wait, Ellie.’ She jumped at the sound of his voice behind her, but she didn’t turn around.

No, no, no. If she looked, she might reconsider and she couldn’t risk that. A fleeting kiss was fine, a little flirting…probably. But a kiss like that, with a man like him…A man who could sweep away her common sense without raising a sweat…

A frantic wave brought a taxi screeching to a halt in front of her. She dived inside, slammed the door and ordered the cabbie to drive.

But before he could pull into the stream of traffic, the door swung open again. Her breath caught and her fingers tightened on top of her bag. Matt whoever-he-was filled the space with his unique brand of woodsy midnight cologne, his smile, his charisma. ‘You dropped your jacket,’ he said, and laid it on the seat beside her. He didn’t attempt to climb in.

‘Ah…Thank you.’ She hadn’t even realised it had slipped off her shoulders and felt like a fool. He hadn’t done anything she hadn’t wanted him to and she’d taken the coward’s way out and ditched him without one word of explanation. Worse, she could see the blonde who’d eyed him up earlier watching the proceedings from the club’s entrance.

‘You sure you don’t want to change your mind?’

No. She dragged her eyes back to his. ‘Yes.’

‘“Yes,” you’re sure, or “yes,” you want to change your mind?’

She shook her head. ‘You know what I mean.’

His smile faded. ‘Maybe, but I’m not sure you do.’ He withdrew a wallet from his hip pocket, flipped it open and pulled out a black-and-gold business card. ‘When you do…change your mind…’

When I do? That’s why she stayed away from men like him. They messed with your head; they were dangerous…and addictive. And when they were finished with you, what did you have? Emptiness, pain and regrets.

When she didn’t take the card, he reached inside and grasped her hand with his large warm fingers, turned it palm up. He pressed a kiss to the centre, then replaced his lips with the card, folded her fingers over the top. ‘Until I see you again.’ Spoken with all the arrogance and confidence in the whole damn universe.

Her palm burned and she curled her fingers into a fist. Protecting the imprint of his mouth or screwing up his card? ‘I don’t think so.’

But he just grinned, as cocky as ever. He peeled off a one-hundred-dollar note from his wad. ‘Cab fare home. Pleasant dreams, Ellie.’

Ellie unlocked the door to her one-room studio apartment, stepped into calming darkness and solitude, grateful none of the other tenants she shared the building with were around to witness her dishevelled state.

Leaning back against the door, she let out a sigh. She could hear her own breathing, still ragged, her pulse, still rapid. What had she been thinking? Letting him kiss her and then…oh…and then letting him come on to her that way? And what was she supposed to do with all that change from the cab fare?

Closing her eyes didn’t help. It didn’t block the images or shut out the memory of how she’d responded to him. ‘Idiot!’ she snarled. ‘I am an idiot.’ She recited the words slowly through clenched teeth. Her fingers closed tightly over the business card she still held. She hadn’t been able to make herself drop it in the gutter like she should have.

Crossing the room, she tossed the crumpled cardboard on her night stand without looking at it, flicked on her bedside lamp and flung herself onto her narrow bed, pulling her comforting pink rug over her body. Then, just to be sure, she sent Sasha a text telling her she’d gone home. Alone—in case Sasha got smart and sent her a fun text about ‘getting lucky’. Lucky? She stared at the ceiling as if she could read answers in the ancient water stains.

She didn’t want to get lucky. She didn’t want to get involved. With anyone. Not that Matt had come even close to suggesting any such thing. It had been obvious where his intentions had been focused. But a late supper, maybe a few dates and who knew where that would have led? On her part, at least. You know exactly where, the little voice in her head whispered.

She didn’t know how, but Matt was unlike any man she’d ever met, and that made him dangerous. Didn’t mean she didn’t know his type. He’d probably already forgotten her.

She’d always been one to get easily attached to people. And when they left, for whatever reason, they took another piece of her with them.

Like when her part-time father walked out on her and Mum for the final time. She’d been three. Then three years later there’d been the car accident which had taken her mum and both grandparents. Her father had come back into her life to take care of her, but he was and always had been a wanderer. It had been a glorious adventure, travelling with him around the country chasing work, but she’d been a hindrance, and at the age of nine he’d left again, tearing out her young heart, and she’d found herself in foster care.

As she’d grown up she’d had boyfriends, and two and a half years ago her first and only serious relationship…She shook her head against the pillow. No, she wasn’t going to think about Heath. But the memories slinked back anyway, like wolves waiting to pounce.

They’d been inseparable for six months. Ellie had thought Heath was serious, but no…Instead, it seemed the gorgeous Brit she’d fallen for had an expiring work visa and the not-so-little complication of a fiancée waiting for him back in London. He’d told her it had been great while it lasted but she’d been a fling, didn’t she understand that?

Her hands clenched around the sheets. Matt whoever-he-was hadn’t only ignited a fire in her belly; one look into his eyes, one brush of his lips over hers and she’d forgotten everything she’d taught herself about self-preservation.