“Busy?” he finished, and gave Moreau a cool nod.
“Well…yes.”
“I sorted the problem out and came back to finish our conversation.”
“Oh.” Her eyes went round. She glanced in Moreau’s direction.
Trying to work out how to dump the Frenchman, Angelo suspected.
“Another vodka?” Moreau offered.
Vodka? Angelo narrowed his gaze. A flush rose in her cheeks. Guilt. “I thought you didn’t drink much of the hard stuff any more? In fact, I seem to remember mention of a hot drink in a coffee shop after I left you earlier.”
“Gemma is of age,” Moreau interjected. “She can drink whatever she desires.”
“I told her to stay away from you.” Angelo shot the Frenchman a killing look. Then he said to Gemma, “What the hell does it matter? Have another goddamned vodka with him.”
Deeply disappointed he turned and walked away. He told himself he didn’t care what she did. Gemma Allen was bad news. A liar. A faithless little cheat. The anger she’d ultimately caused him three years ago had not been worth the pleasure she’d given him in bed.
And she hadn’t changed. The sooner he put her out of mind the better.
“Angelo…”
His long, angry strides had already carried him out the bar, across the entertainment complex and he was headed for the lobby to the elevators that would take him to his penthouse.
“What?” He swung around, glaring down at her as a bolt of sensation shook him as she caught his sleeve. He didn’t want this attraction. Not to this woman.
She released him. “Forget it.”
“No, you’re here now. So talk.”
“I wanted to explain why I had a drink with Jean-Paul.”
Her eyes were wide and dark. Gentle and pleading. He looked past her, clenching his jaw. All she wanted was his help to regain her memory. Nothing more. Better he remember that. “Drink with whom you please.”
“I wanted to find out if he knew anything about the thirty thousand—”
“Forget about trying to find out what happened to the damned money. It’s gone. Put your stupidity behind you. So you have some debt, so what? You’re young, you can work it off.” A pause, then he added softly, “On your back if need be.”
Gemma’s expression changed. He saw the fury, the darkness in her eyes as she registered the taunt. Her hand came up. She swung wildly. Angelo ducked, she missed. A glass vase from the glass table beside the elevator crashed to the ground. A party of guests took one horrified look at them and hurried past. Gemma barely noticed. Angelo knew he should rush after them, offer them a free night, gambling chips. Damage control.
But he didn’t.
Right now Gemma had his full attention.
“How dare you?” She hissed. “How dare you say that, you…you…”
“Gorilla? Neanderthal?” Behind him the elevator opened. He took a deft step backward. “Who knows, I might even be convinced to consider taking you back to my bed and if you’re very, very good—maybe I’ll help clear that debt.” And he hit the button for the roof garden.
She rushed forward, balling her fists and swung again. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last—”
“Neanderthal in the world?” he finished with a hard laugh, and caught her flailing hands. “You might not be so lucky then. You’ve done it before, why the scruples now?”
He felt her stiffen with outrage. He secured her arms behind her back and pulled her up against him and his mouth slanted across hers.
She tensed.
The elevator shot upward. As his tongue delved into her mouth, Angelo felt her give and lean into him and the familiar arousal shafted through his lower body.
How could he have forgotten how soft her skin was? How full of life her red hair was? Or the little moaning noises she made into his mouth as she pressed against him? He couldn’t remember her feeling…tasting…this good.
Hell, so maybe he had amnesia, too.
Distantly he heard the ping of the elevator door opening and the sound of talking and laughter. The rooftop garden was occupied.
Releasing her hands he pressed the ground-floor button and then they were sinking. Her tongue stroked against his, hot and deliberate. The fire inside went wild. He released her hands and cupped her buttocks, pulling her towards him. She came eagerly, rising on tiptoe, her body soft, melting against him like warm golden honey, and he ached with want.
He was tempted to yank open the bow on that wraparound dress, unfurl her, rub his hand between her legs to check if she was damp enough to take him and slide into her slippery warmth. Only the knowledge of where they were stopped him.
An elevator. Hell. Given how annoyed she’d been minutes ago, she’d slap him for sure. Hard. Even if only after he’d driven them both to completion, tasted her satisfied sighs. No, better to take it slow.
Instead he slid his hands up…over the feminine curves of her bottom to her waist and back down again tracing the tiny string of an excuse for underwear she wore. Heard her breath catch…and hold. Taking advantage of her expectancy, he fingered the thong through her dress.
She wriggled against him, and he drove his tongue deep into her mouth, giving her a taste of what he wanted, what he really craved. She arched against him and he felt his erection leap.
The car shuddered to a stop. He lifted his head. “Carry on like that and I’ll forget my good intentions. I’ll hit the button for my suite. Three steps and we’ll be in the dining room. Three minutes and we can both be naked. Is that what you want?”
“No.” She shook her head wildly, her face shocked and pale. “I don’t want this…you.” She stumbled backwards out of the confined space, her hands covering her eyes. “God, what am I doing?”
He followed more slowly. Putting an arm around her shoulder he guided her away from the public lobby. Out of sight. “What we’ve done many times before?” he said helpfully. Her hands dropped away from her face and she bit her lip, her teeth white against the bee-stung bottom lip as she glared at him. But something in her eyes, a deep agonised confusion made him stretch his hand out. “Hey, it’s okay, I know you don’t remember. But it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.” It was a wail. Then her head was back in her hands, her fingers knotting through the long dark red curls. “It matters more than I can tell you.”
“It doesn’t.” He stroked her shoulder and noticed absently that his hand was trembling. “I’ll tell you something, it’s even better now than it ever was in the past. It’s more…I can’t explain. But I can’t seem to get enough of you. The taste of you, the feel of your body up against mine. I want you, Gemma. Badly.”
“Believe me, that’s not good.” The smile she gave him was wan.
“It will be very good,” he promised, “you’ll see.”
“I can’t.” Her expression grew resolute. “Angelo, I can’t make love to you—”
Irritation twisted inside Angelo. He wanted her. He wasn’t accustomed to women saying no. “Why? You want to.”
“That’s arrogant.” But true. She was terrified she was going to cave in to his demand. She drew a ragged breath. There was one thing he would understand. “I can’t make love with you until my memory returns.”
He cursed.
“Who knows,” she added, “there might be someone else—”