His Ultimate Demand

‘I’d like a Big Apple Avalanche, please. Heavy on the apple.’ She needed a clear head if she intended to stay toe to toe with Narciso Valentino.

The bartender didn’t move. ‘I don’t think you’re allowed—’

‘Is there a problem?’ The hard rasp came from over her shoulder.

The bartender snapped to attention. ‘Not at all, sir.’ He grabbed the apple mixer and the canister of top-range vodka.

‘I’ll take it from here.’ Narciso took the drinks from him and waved him away.

Despite the warmth of her coat, she shivered when he turned to her.

‘Ready?’

God, this wasn’t going well at all. Far from feeling under control, she felt her thoughts scatter to the wind every time he looked into her eyes.

‘Yes,’ she said as she inserted the specialised drinking spout into the ice outlet and brought her lips to it.

Her eyes met molten silver ones and fiery heat rushed into her belly. He slowly tipped the canister and icy vodka and apple pooled into her mouth.

Cold and heat simultaneously soothed and burned their way down her throat but the power of the decadent drink came nowhere close to the potent gleam in his eyes.

Before discovering Simon’s duplicity, sex had been something she’d imagined in abstract terms; something she’d accepted would eventually happen between them, once the trust and affection she’d thought was growing between them was solid enough to lean on.

Sex just for the sake of it, or used as a weapon the way she’d watched her parents use it, had made being a virgin at twenty-four an easy choice.

But looking into Narciso’s eyes, she slowly began to understand why sex was a big deal for some women. Why they dwelled on it with such single-minded ferocity.

Never had she wanted to drown in a man’s eyes. Never had she wanted to kiss sensually masculine lips the way she wanted to kiss him right now. She wanted to feel those arms around her again, holding her prisoner the way they’d held her on the dance floor. She wanted to spear her fingers through his luxurious hair, scrape her nails over his scalp and find out if it brought him pleasure.

‘Have another one,’ he commanded huskily. He raised the sterling silver mixer, his gaze riveted on her mouth.

He wanted to kiss her badly. The same way she wanted to kiss him. Or would have if she didn’t know from painful experience how treacherous and volatile sexual attraction could be.

‘No, thanks. It’s getting late. I need to go.’

One beautifully winged brow rose. ‘You need to go.’

‘Yes.’

‘And where exactly do you intend to go?’

She frowned. ‘Back to my hotel, of course.’

He slowly lowered his arm. ‘I thought you understood your role here,’ he murmured coolly.

Icy foreboding shivered down her spine. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means, the moment the last guest arrived, the whole building went into lock down. You’re stuck here with me until tomorrow at six.’ He discarded the canister and stepped closer. ‘And I have the perfect idea of how we can pass the time.’

* * *

Narciso watched a myriad expressions dart over her face.

Excitement. Anxiety. Suspicion.

Two of those three weren’t what he expected from a woman when he announced they were effectively locked in together. Most women would be salivating at the thought and making themselves available before he changed his mind.

Not this one.

Even the hint of excitement was fading. Now she just looked downright frightened.

He frowned. ‘I expected a more enthusiastic response.’

Her gaze went to the watch—his watch—then back to his face. Narciso decided not to think about why the sight of his large watch on her delicate wrist pleased him so much.

He would gift it to her. She could keep it on during sex. Once he’d dispelled that unacceptable look from her face.

‘You just told me I can’t leave. And you expect me to be excited?’

‘You have some of the world’s richest and most influential men gathered in one place. Everyone who attends these events has the same agenda—network hard and party harder, especially the Petit Qs. You, on the other hand, are acting as if you’ve received a prison sentence. Why?’

Her eyelids lowered and she grabbed the lapels of her coat.

Faint alarm bells rang at the back of his mind. Going against a habit of a lifetime, he forced himself to ignore it as she raised those delicate lids to lock gazes with him.

Her sapphire-blue eyes held a combination of boldness and shyness that hugely intrigued him. She wanted something but wasn’t quite sure how to get it.

He had every intention of showing her how to get exactly what she wanted once he got her to his suite upstairs. He might even tempt her into using the velvet ropes that held back his emperor-size bed’s drapes...

Desire slammed into him with a force he hadn’t experienced in years...if ever. The strength of it struck him dumb for a few seconds before he realised she was speaking.

‘...knew about the club, of course, and that my hostessing gig was for two days. I didn’t know I’d be staying here for the duration.’

‘Ah, one small piece of advice. Always read the small print.’

Her delicious mouth pursed. He had the sudden, clamouring urge to find out if it tasted as succulent as it looked. Her narrowed-eyed glare stopped him. Barely.

‘I always do. I can’t say the same for other people though. Especially people who have the small print pointed out to them and still wilfully ignore it.’

The alarm bells grew louder. ‘That’s decidedly...pointed. Care to elaborate?’

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. ‘I’m cold. Can we leave?’

‘That’s an excellent idea.’ He walked her to the door of the ice bar and helped her out of her coat.

The sight of her hardened nipples—an effect of the sub-zero temperature—fried a few million brain cells. That clawing hunger gutted him further, making him fight to remember whether he was coming or going.

Going. Definitely. Up to his allocated suite with this woman who sparked a reaction within him that left him reeling, and wanting more. He hadn’t wanted anything this badly for a long time. Not since his eleventh birthday...