on life. Her reaction to flying had completely thrown him. What had made her so cautious?
‘It should be important to all of us.’
At his non-answer, Libby nodded.
Then he completely stunned himself by adding, ‘My sister had an intellectual disability.’
His gut twisted, stealing his appetite.
‘I wish more people had cared about her potential, her future.’ Himself especially.
What a time to open this particular can of worms. Why had he brought up his sister? He never spoke of Jenny. To anyone. Let alone someone he’d just met. What had prompted him to tell this intriguing virtual stranger his motivations? Especially when he barely picked over them himself for fear of what he’d expose.
But, even though their acquaintance was in its infancy, didn’t some small part of him already feel closer to her than the hours they’d known each other warranted? She was easy to talk to. She cut through the bullshit. He didn’t have to second-guess her every thought and unspoken subtext. And she wasn’t constantly flattering him.
Perhaps it was just his dick doing all the thinking. Even so, the most serious of his ex-girlfriends knew nothing about Jenny. Well, nothing he’d spoken about. Gossip notwithstanding.
She gave a small nod, her eyes watchful. ‘Had?’
It was common knowledge—his professional success and the prominence of his family name had exposed his entire life to public scrutiny. Of course the media had sensationalised the tragedy—the intellectually disabled teenaged daughter of a wealthy family dying from an epileptic seizure had been big news for all of thirty seconds. But they hadn’t covered the devastating impact it had had on his parents’ marriage, his mother’s subsequent nervous breakdown or her intermittent dependence on alcohol.
‘She died.’
He swallowed hard, his failure a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.
‘I want to offer respite facilities for parents, so they can take a break, recharge, focus on themselves and their relationship. I’m building a purpose-built rural hotel here in the Oxfordshire countryside. Somewhere families can come, where the children can be occupied with the Able-Active programme while the parents get some well-deserved down-time. It’s important. Something that gets overlooked.’
Something that could have helped his family, perhaps.
She was quiet for so long he was half tempted to fly her back to London, pay her for her time and release her from their deal before she pulled out.
She sipped water, her shrewd eyes flaying him alive.
‘So what’s on the adrenaline menu tomorrow?’
Thank fuck.
His breath stuttered back to life. ‘I’ll show you the site of the hotel.’
Her stare held his, bold, astute, daring. ‘And…?’
If she kept looking at him like that he’d never make it through one mouthful, let alone a whole meal.
‘I thought we’d go hot air ballooning.’
Her composure wobbled, her throat working on a swallow. ‘Seriously?’
He nodded. Quid pro quo, Olivia. That stunt last night had cost him dearly in the self-denial stakes. Time to return the favour, make her step outside her comfort zone for a good cause, let down that tightly bound hair of hers until her eyes lit up from within.
Her controlled sigh gusted over parted lips, the tip of her tongue darting out. ‘Well, that’s going to cost you.’
Blood surged to his groin, his limbs twitchy with contained energy. What would that tongue look and feel like on his dick? What would he do to see it there?
‘What do you want?’ He spoke slowly, his words measured, voice low.
With almost Pavlovian predictability his body responded to the question he’d asked. A question he’d wanted to ask her all day. A question that sounded more like a dare.
For a second her eyelids drooped, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths that lifted her alluring breasts. Then she composed herself, gave a sexy tilt to her head.
‘Well, for starters I’d like a tour of your bedroom.’
He asked her again. ‘What do you want, Olivia?’
He was pressed up behind her, his words husking out with his warm breath on the back of her neck.
She practically melted into a puddle on the plush carpet of his palatial master suite. She’d barely registered the opulence and modern elegance of his home as he’d led her here. Every ounce of her focus had been required to keep herself upright and seemingly in control of her own body.
His words—so intoxicating—wrapped themselves around her, a warm cradle. She fought the urge to succumb to them, to blurt out her every wish, every fear, her very soul to him. But she pulled back, forcing herself to stay in command of herself and the heady situation.
If she couldn’t have what she wanted, she’d have what she needed right now. And that was Alex.
He’d agreed to play this game by her rules. The fine line of control and concession was a greased tightrope under her feet. But if he intended to push her out of her comfort zone with daredevil pursuits, she’d push back. Force his natural alpha tendencies into submission. See how far she could take him before he snapped.
She turned, and his warmth seared the tips of her breasts mere millimetres from his chest. ‘I want you to watch me strip.’
He nodded, face grim, nostrils flared. Euphoria surged inside her, robbing her limbs of structure until she stepped backwards to the bed, pressing her legs against the mattress to keep herself upright.
Just like the night before, Alex stayed where she’d directed him. His limbs twitched as she worked the buttons loose on her blouse, his palms curled into white-knuckled fists.
Libby slid the silk from her shoulders. The slow glide was torturous on her sensitised skin, which prickled under his heated stare until every tiny hair stood on end. She unclasped her bra, releasing aching breasts, and tossed it on top of the blouse.
‘Fuck…’ Alex hissed, eyes almost black, staring blatantly.
Libby felt his gaze slide over her nipples as if he’d touched her with those slightly callused hands of his. Her knees buckled. She could almost feel his mouth on her breasts, his bold tongue laving and lashing. In denying him, she denied herself, but the reward would be worth the wait.
She unzipped her skirt with trembling fingers and hooked her thumbs into the waistband, pushing both it and her panties to the floor in one swoop. Every second she tortured him, she tortured herself. The need to see him naked, to touch him, clawed at her, stifling the breath in her lungs until her head buzzed with lack of oxygen.
He teetered towards her, rocking on the balls of his feet.
‘Keep the shoes.’ Gruff. A command.
Libby raised one brow, a twist to her mouth. ‘Is that what you want?’
His command thrilled her. Hers to concede or deny. She’d love to see the excitement flare in his eyes as it had when she’d unclasped her bra. But this was her game. Her rules.
He nodded, his stare travelling the length of her naked body, stopping to linger on her breasts, the juncture of her thighs and the four-inch heels. When his eyes detoured to the scars on her left hip, she shifted her arm, hiding them from his view. She couldn’t go there.
His chest rose and fell, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides, and Libby guessed she didn’t have long to enjoy the power trip. But it was worth it. Any scrap of command she held over the scorching chemistry between them kept her grounded,