A Week To Be Wild: New for 2018: The hot billionaire romance book from Mills & Boon’s sexiest series yet. Perfect for fans of Darker!

‘Quo…’

Leaning back, she took the key card from her purse and pressed it into his palm, turned on her heel and left the bar on shaky legs.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_208e679b-737b-5ace-87c3-a4856ca31b42)

HE’D NEVER KNOW how he managed the walk from the bar and across the hotel foyer with his steely hard-on, but he caught up with Libby in two strides. He deliberately didn’t touch her. Hadn’t touched her all evening, although it had almost killed him. But she’d touched him.

Her handprint still burned his thigh, scorched clean though the denim and spoke directly to his cock. The brush of her bare knees, the scent wafting up from her thick, luxuriant hair… He groaned, digging into deep reserves for discipline over his body.

She walked close. Her arm brushed his and the sway of that long, lustrous ponytail tapped his shoulder in time with the clack of her heels across the marble tiles.

They reached the lifts. He pressed the call button, dragging her light floral scent into his lungs until the head rush made him close his eyes for a split second. Fuck. He needed to pull himself together, to grapple back some semblance of mastery. At least over his libido.

He mimicked her, staring straight ahead, his eyes trained on the digital display as the numbers fell, heralding the lift’s arrival.

His mouth burned to kiss her. To see if her plump, pouty lips tasted as good as they’d looked when she whispered the word fucking. On the surface she oozed cool, untouchable sophistication. Not a glorious hair out of place or a wrinkle in sight. But the deal she’d brokered—bold, assertive, knowing what she wanted—what a turn-on. Perhaps it was an American thing. Perhaps it was pure Olivia.

Quid pro quo.

That should have raised his hackles, but he was keen to discover her brand of give and take.

Perhaps he was losing his mind. But, oh, how he’d love to mess her up—to tug out that hair tie and slide his hands through those long, silky tresses, to feel them slither over his face, his chest, his abdomen while she kissed him… How would that austere exterior crack at the height of passion? With her full lips swollen by his kisses, her luminous eyes glazed and punch-drunk? Her smoky voice calling his name with that native New York accent of hers?

At this rate, he’d need a cold shower just to remain in her company. What did she have planned for him? Would he be able to keep it together?

The lift arrived. As the doors opened he saw the car was empty. He cast a glance sideways. He waited, hand out, inviting her to step inside first, all the while battling the urge to push her up against the wall and fuck her right there in the elegant foyer of the Windsor Hotel, Park Lane.

You won’t get your own way all the time.

Right now, he’d gladly take ten per cent. Used to controlling every aspect of his life, especially his sex life, he knew this game he’d agreed to would test every ounce of his willpower.

As if she knew the direction of his thoughts, she poked her tongue out, sliding it along her lower lip, flooding his groin with fresh heat. She stepped inside and he followed, his hands forming fists by his sides to stop himself from touching her.

Doomed. He was so doomed.

If she looked down she’d see the effect this negotiation had had on him. The effect she had on him. He longed to readjust himself in his jeans, but he couldn’t break the spell she’d wound around him as surely as if he was already tangled up in a cloud of that glorious hair. What would she look like naked? With that silky, decadent ponytail liberated until it covered her bare shoulders, the tips brushing her breasts?

She stepped in front of him, leaning over to press the button for her floor. The arch of her long, graceful neck called to him. The phantom taste of her skin lingered on his lips as if he’d already indulged.

He sucked in a breath through flared nostrils, turning to stare at her. Fuck, she was irresistible. Sassy, smart, sexy as hell and completely unimpressed by him. Most women he dated suffocated him with their cloying need to please. To be exactly what they thought he wanted. Olivia Noble didn’t care what he wanted, and good for her. She called the shots. She spoke plainly. He’d never met a woman like her.

She stared back with a momentary flash of hesitancy and a series of blinks of those long lashes over rounded eyes. His chest pinched at this tiny hint of her vulnerability. But he wouldn’t let her off the hook. She’d started this, raised the stakes. And he’d agreed to play give and take—not his usual style—instinct telling him she needed to stay in control at all times.

Why? He’d have to flex his patience if he wanted the answer to that secret.

His body strained, every muscle primed to close the deal. To put them both out of their misery and taste her. But he knew the prize on her terms would be worth the wait, the sacrifice.

She heard his prayer.

Stepping up to him, her bottom lip trapped beneath her teeth, she slowly tunnelled her fingers into his hair. The bite of pain tingled over his scalp as she twisted the strands and angled his head. Her dark stare bewitched him. She reached up on tiptoes and slid her mouth over his, eyes open. Bold, demanding—and so fucking arousing he almost embarrassed himself, almost sagged to his knees.

And then he kissed her back, maintaining eye contact, his fists tightly clenched at his sides to stop himself from taking what he wanted more than his next breath. The kick of satisfaction he got from torturing them both and withholding his touch tightened his balls, ramping up his need until he feared he’d have to break his word and gorge on her like a greedy, selfish addict. Here. Now.

When she pushed her tongue into his mouth, whimpering her frustration and pressing her body against the length of his, he gave up the fight with a groan of both frustration and surrender. His fingers gripped the soft cheeks of her arse, lifting her and pressing her where he needed to feel friction. So close, but not close enough.

He spun her around, pressing her into the mirrored wall of the lift and crushing his steel-hard erection into the flat of her belly.

She deepened the kiss, her mouth voracious, as if she hadn’t been kissed in a very long time. A travesty, if it were true. She deserved to be kissed every second of every day.

He snaked one hand towards the hem of her skirt, now regretting that it hugged her curves so tightly. He’d have to work to peel it up her legs, raise it high enough to part her thighs, hoist her above the gleaming chrome handrail that ran around the lift at waist height. Need raged through him, weakening his knees and making his hands rough, impatient. He tempered the roar of hormones spiking his blood with deep breaths.

Slow. Savour.

The lift pinged, announcing their arrival. Neither of them seemed in any hurry to break the searing kiss that had left their chests rising and falling in unison. Alex used every ounce of strength he possessed to pull back, pushing her skirt down just before the door slid open.

The corridor was deserted.

Without a backward glance, although looking a little flustered, Libby led the way to her room. Alex swiped the card she’d given him in the bar. Her eyes—huge dark pools in the dim lighting of the corridor—beguiled him. His blind confidence wavered. He was used to commanding every aspect of his life, and this power exchange, while exciting, left him adrift. Would he be able to concede to her wishes, whatever they were? For more of her, he’d certainly die trying.

But curiosity won.

‘What do you want?’

He’d promised her a compromise, give and take, control. He’d do everything in his power to give her what she needed.

She pushed inside the room, flipping on lights and kicking of her heels, revealing toes painted with deep red nail polish.

As the door snicked closed behind him she turned.

He’d been right. Their kisses had left her mouth gloriously swollen, and the slight flush of beard burn marked her chin and cheeks. She was more beautiful than ever, and his fingers itched to complete the transformation—to undo her hair, currently featuring in all his filthy fantasies, and strip her of her prim clothes, expose the soft, feminine curves he guessed lurked beneath.

When she finally found her voice, it was so smoky he expected it to trigger the fire alarms.

‘What do you want?’

That was easy to answer. A dream come true. ‘I want to touch you. All of you.’ He curled his fingers into his palms, his breath trapped behind his tight throat.

She nodded, eyes heavy, the tip of her tongue touching her top lip. ‘I