How to Resist a Heartbreaker

‘You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?’ But she traced a finger down his cheek and over his lips. ‘Do it again.’

He waved a hand and the room plunged into darkness again. ‘Like that?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Palms worked their way down to his chest.

Then the lights came on again.

Then off.

Then on.

She grinned as he caught her, her arm in mid-air. ‘Oops. In the real world we have flicky switch things. This is so cool.’

As the room plunged into darkness again he found her mouth, the pressure of her fingers on his back stoking the fire in his belly. He guided her to the couch, raking his hands through those thick curls he’d been aching to touch all evening.

With every stroke of his tongue she moaned with pleasure, sending him dangerously closer to the edge. He undid the buttons on her blouse, slid his hand under her bra, felt the delicious contraction of her nipples against his palm.

He struggled with an intense need to take her. Here. Now. But he sensed he needed to take it more slowly with her. Wanted to take it more slowly. They only had a few hours before morning and he felt as if time was running out. If he hurried, the magic would be lost too soon.

When he pulled away slightly he watched her face transform from beguiling to bewitched as she gazed across the room to the city view.

‘This place is freakin’ huge! Incredible! Look at all those lights, the harbour. I can see a cruise ship down there in dock. It’s magical.’ Then she glanced around the moonlit room, her delight evident, like a kid in a sweet shop. ‘The glass … so much glass … must cost a fortune in window cleaning.’ She laughed, ran her hand along the top of the couch. ‘And all these white fixtures, the blonde wood … but no knick-knacks? Pictures? Photos?’

‘No.’ He wouldn’t explain.

‘What about Jamie? Your family? You must have photos of them.’

‘I don’t like clutter.’ He’d managed to live like that for a long time. No mess—physical or emotional. ‘I keep things simple.’

‘I see. Noted.’ She paused and seemed to take that in. Then she nodded, understanding his hint not to probe further. ‘It’s stark, but breathtaking. I’ve never seen such a space. It’s like something out of a magazine.’

‘Metro House Monthly—February edition.’ At her frown he explained. ‘The interior designer was pretty happy with it so she booked an editorial. There’s a spa, too, out there in the garden.’

‘You have a spa and a garden all the way up here? Oh. My. God.’ She ran to the Ranchslider doors but he flicked the remote and they opened before she got there.

‘Oh.’ Disappointment laced her voice as she stepped out. ‘That’s not a garden, it’s a desert. There’s nothing here.’

‘I don’t have time to look after plants. I hardly have time to sleep these days.’ He tutted, took her hand and walked her across the empty decking space towards the spa.

Looking at it all through her eyes, yes, it was kind of sparse. Just how he’d planned it. Uncomplicated, stressfree.

Just like Gabby seemed to be. Instead of all the pretence that he usually went through with women—the faux affection, the predictable seduction, the craning of their necks to see the colour of his credit card before they said yes—Gabby seemed undeniably, ruthlessly real.

Her bright-eyed reaction to his apartment was genuine, not greedy. She’d been honest about her expectations. And flirty and unexpectedly fun.

A pinky-orange glow shimmered across the balcony, illuminating the red and gold highlights in her hair, her dewy skin, warm eyes. She fitted perfectly into his arms, soft curves filled with promises.

No, it wasn’t his flat that was breathtaking—Gabby was. How amazing to make love with her out here in the moonlight … in the spa.

Anywhere.

She leaned back against the railings, her forehead crinkled with frown lines. For a moment he felt like he’d disappointed her, but then she smiled. ‘If I lived here I’d have an oasis—somewhere I could come sit and read, relax. A sky garden with lots of plants. A home isn’t a home without flowers and plants.’

Where’s home? The question almost tripped off his tongue, but he remembered their agreement—no questions. His hands ran over her shoulders, down her triceps, and he realised she was shivering in the early-winter breeze. He locked her into his arms. ‘I’m not into flowers and plants. That’s girl stuff.’

‘No. Real men get their hands dirty.’ Taking his hand in hers, she examined it. ‘You’ve got surgeon’s hands. Wow. Just think of all the lives these hands have saved.’ She pressed her lips into his palm, kept her eyes locked with his, then slowly placed his hand over her breast. Went up on tiptoe and filled his mouth with her tongue.

Maybe this was a dream. A post-surgery dead-on-his-feet hallucination. A beautiful woman. A still night. Promises … Anytime soon and his cellphone was bound to go off. He was going to wake up.

On paper she was his perfect woman: she didn’t want a relationship, didn’t want more than one night. Was happy to forget it all tomorrow. Just like him. Sure, on paper she was perfect, but there must be a catch. There was always a catch. ‘Are you for real?’

‘No, I’m a figment of your imagination. Open your eyes and I’ll disappear in a puff of smoke … gone …’ she whispered, and giggled.

‘Then I’ll keep them shut. I don’t want you disappearing on me. Not just yet.’ He kissed her again hard and fast, cupping her breast. Her excited moans of pleasure spurred him on. Just the simple act of kissing her was a sensual feast that he didn’t want to end. Her hips ground against his and suddenly a fire blazed in his groin, hot and hard. Tearing at her straps, he removed her top, lifted her bra and took one nipple into his mouth.

Watching the reaction on her face—concentrated joy—spurred him to give the other nipple the same treatment.

She clutched at his hair. ‘Oh, God, this is so good. I don’t suppose this place has a bedroom?’

‘I have three.’

‘Goody. Which one do we start in?’

Her skin against his mouth fired spasms of need through him. He dragged his lips from her shoulder. ‘Master. Now.’

‘Don’t stop, though. Don’t stop.’ Ignoring her groans of protest, he took her hand and led her into his bedroom. ‘Wow. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more impressive.’

As she pointed to his bed he was hit with a surge of pride. Okay, so it was a handcrafted masterpiece, imported mahogany, Egyptian cotton. Yeah, it was impressive.

But when she said, ‘It looks so perfect I daren’t mess it up,’ he swooped her into his arms and lifted her onto his bed—her dark hair instantly flaming against the white linens. Her skirt ruched up to her hips, revealing long shapely legs.

Palming her thigh, he joined her on the bed. She edged closer, fitted into his space. Kissed him again, soft and sweet. Then in an electric moment the tension ratcheted, the kissing became more frenetic, the need more explicit.

He slipped her skirt off, kissing across her bellybutton down to the edge of her panties. ‘How am I doing on the rating front?’

‘Oh … nearing eight …’ she breathed out on a sigh.

‘Only an eight? I show you this … I do this … and this …’ He moved back up to her neck, nibbled her ear, slicked a slow trail from her lobe. Tweaked her nipple again with his hot mouth. ‘And I only get an eight?’

‘Hey, a guy’s always got room for improvement.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Grabbing his condoms from the bedside-table drawer, he paused and looked at her. Realised he didn’t want hot and quick. Wanted long and slow. And maybe again tomorrow.

He shook those kinds of thoughts from his head—useless and pointless. People walked through his life, no one ever stayed for long. That was how it worked for him. And for Gabby, too, it seemed. ‘Are you sure?’

Placing her hands on his chest, she frowned. ‘I want you to know this is not something I’ve done in a very long time. I don’t usually … you know … do this … I am on the Pill but, yes, definitely use a condom.’

She seemed hesitant. Maybe the alcohol was wearing off. Good call—he wanted her head to be in full working order if they were going to do this. No regrets for either of them. He brought her fingertips to his mouth. ‘It’s okay, you know. I could take you home. We don’t have to do this.’