Dressed to Thrill

She closed her eyes. Hung her head and calmed.

A moment passed—two at most—then he threw his arms back and blew out a breath. That would be the sign to hop off, then. She braced her arms on the bed and slid slowly off. He still felt big and thick inside her, and it felt so damn good. But reality was beginning to dawn along with the early autumn sunrise. They had just had sex. He hadn’t looked at her, touched her or soothed her. He hadn’t said a single word. She was just a lay.

Silence.

The window she passed was undressed and looked out onto all her favourite London landmarks. She paused for a moment, imprinting the view on her mind—all the shapes and colours of skyscape and roofline—bridges, towers, clocks and wheels. All with the flush of dawn behind.

He blew out another long breath. ‘You’d better get dressed.’

‘I am.’ She cast a look round to where he was still lying. Michael Cruz—beautiful, arrogant, not her type at all.

‘Don’t sound sore. I only mean that Angelica and her friends are bound to be here in minute, and it would best if we were ready to welcome her to a party rather than a love-in.’

‘I know what you meant. I said I’m going to get dressed. You don’t mind if I have a little clean-up first, though, do you?’

She knew her tone was bitchy, but he was such a swine. That had to be the worst post-coital talk she’d ever experienced. And she’d walked right into it. What was she even doing here? A favour? To a girl she barely knew and her extremely cosmopolitan sister? And, OK, she felt a solidarity with them, was happy to help them get one over on yet another controlling man.

A controlling man with a legendary sexual reputation that she couldn’t even begin to conjure up any immunity to.

Why had she let herself in for this? What had made her think that she had the emotional wherewithal to pull it off? She needed rules and boundaries. She couldn’t dabble like this! She could flirt. She could most definitely tease. But she knew herself well enough to understand that she invested too much when she took it any further. She couldn’t help it that the heart she wore on her sleeve was just really well covered up. And the camouflage of her comments would be all that he would know.

‘Go right ahead. There’s a bathroom—there.’

He flicked his hand and stood up and she tried hard not to be impressed by that body again, but the man was beyond fit. What a shame his personality was so rank.

She felt around on the cool tiles for the light, but he came up behind her, stretched in and flicked it on. ‘Thanks,’ she said, aiming to shut him out.

But he stepped inside and reached out for her. Her skin was rapidly cooling, and she craved the warmth of his body, but she held herself rigid in his arms. He draped a heavy golden arm across her chest and the contrast was striking. Her milky Celtic skin was the perfect foil to his smooth caramel body. And even with her full breasts and hips she still fitted neatly within his outline.

In some perverse way it pleased her—but in the way that counted it annoyed her that she had gone and done what every other idiotic woman with a pulse seemed also to want to do with him.

Her eyes fell to her treasured necklace. Her grandmother’s ring strung on an old gold chain. The little bit of love she fingered every day. Her little bit of sanctuary and strength. She touched it now, waiting for him to leave her.

‘Look, I need privacy if that’s OK.’

He took the thick, snaky strands of her hair that had worked free and tucked them behind her ear. Trailed his finger under her chain questioningly. She said nothing.

‘Sure,’ he said, but he spun her round and cradled her face. Kissed her. Slow and sweet. ‘Whatever you want.’ He gave her one more kiss and then pulled back. Trailed his finger down her shoulder and her arm. ‘Beautiful.’

She watched the door close behind him and made a face. They were all beautiful—every one of the ten thousand women he must have slept with. And she was number ten thousand and one. What kind of fool was she that she couldn’t even resist him?

She looked at the mess that stared back from the mirror—everything wiped off or smudged. She looked like her mother—weak and worried. And she felt sick at that.

* * *

Michael must have used another shower, because he looked like an aftershave advert when she finally got herself out of the bathroom and along to where coffee seemed to be brewing.

‘Still no sign?’ she said, thinking that surely Angelica would be making an appearance soon.

He shook his head and sipped at the coffee. ‘No. Change of plan, apparently. Coffee?’

She shook her head. Who drank caffeine at this time in the morning? She had already filed this night in the ‘delete’ folder and was going to ditch the party at

Jonny’s and head right back to her bed.

‘So what was the change?’

He had his back to her and again she felt her eyes drawn to examine the way he moved, the slide of his muscle under fabric.

‘Seems like everybody had enough of a good time at the club and by the time she got to her apartment she just decided to stay there. I don’t have any missed calls—do you?’

Tara’s mind whirred. What the hell was the right thing to say here? Surely something had happened so that Angelica had never made it over? Something with Fern, perhaps?

‘Dunno. I’ll check in a minute. So…’

‘So you can have coffee, but the car’s waiting when you’re ready.’

He was sitting on a bar stool, the morning paper flicked out and open on the honey wood work surface. He raised the irritatingly small espresso cup to his mouth and she had the overwhelming urge to smack it right out of his self-satisfied hand.

‘For the record, Michael, I reckon I misjudged you. I thought you were merely arrogant. But now I see that I was way off. You managed to single-handedly spoil a night that I’d been looking forward to for weeks. You’re beyond arrogant. You know that?’

‘Interesting. I spoiled your night.’ He spoke to his newspaper. ‘So you’ll be ready to go? I’ll phone down to let the driver know you’re on your way.’

Tara scooped up her bag. And what was left of her pride. Could not get out of there fast enough.

Her heels sank into and caught on the thick pile of the carpet as she made her way to the door. Hot sharp tears pushed against her eyes. How could she have let herself down so badly? What on earth had she been thinking, having sex with a guy like that? No amount of pleasure was worth being made to feel like a hooker—an unwelcome hooker at that. He had totally wiped out every post-orgasm happy hormone and nuked her self-esteem. And, worst of all, she had let him. She should have acted breezy—even if she didn’t feel it. Should have climbed off and swung her bra over her head in celebration. She really shouldn’t be allowing his dismissal of her to hurt her like this. She was Tara Devine. She didn’t give a damn.

Except she did. She so did. And it was so, so sore.

But every day was a school day. After what she’d been through it had to be. And this was small stuff compared to some of her other life lessons. She just wished she’d been better prepared. That she could wear her heart anywhere other than her sleeve.

THREE (#ulink_6cf0c4f5-6a15-5771-a4df-a8622f866626)

‘I’m not buying it, Angelica. Where is she?’

Michael strode through the hallway of Angelica’s chi-chi apartment, his scowl black and irritation bubbling.

‘Good morning, Michael. So we’re in one of those moods? What happened last night? I hope you weren’t this rude to Tara—were you?’

Michael tracked Angelica with his eyes as she glided through the perfectly furnished space. And that wasn’t a question he was prepared to answer either—no one’s business but his.

He looked for evidence of…anything, but the place was immaculate. Though Angelica did look drawn, which was a pretty unusual occurrence. She busied herself in the kitchen.

‘Don’t put coffee on for me—I’ve had too much already.’ He’d thrown it down his neck as he’d tried to force out flashbacks of Tara’s shock at his comments to her.

It had been the night from hell and he knew he’d been manipulated—he just didn’t know why. But one thing was certain: the idea of losing control to a woman did not sit well with him. And he’d come very close to that last night. Hadn’t been able to stop himself from taking her. When was the last time he had shown such complete contempt for his own values? He hated that out of control feeling—it was too fresh in his mind, even though it was over twenty years now since he’d truly been in a tailspin.

‘Where is our sister?’