Australia: In Bed with the Playboy. Emma Darcy

her the house.’ That would come later, after…

      Her pulse drummed a faster beat as they mounted the stairs.

      ‘Olivia won’t speak to you like that again, either,’ he tagged on.

      She sighed, relieving the tightness in her chest before slanting an ironic little smile at him. ‘I guess all your social set will think the same things about me, Jordan.’

      He squeezed her hand hard. ‘What they think isn’t important. Only what we have together matters.’

      The intensity in his voice sent a quiver of excitement down her spine. She wanted what they could have together, wanted it as much as he did. They reached his bedroom and nothing else mattered. They were both insanely lustful, kissing as though there was no tomorrow, removing clothes in urgent haste, falling on the bed in a tangle of legs and arms, reaching for each other, gripping, clinging, caressing with fierce possessiveness, passion pumping through their bodies, fuelling the need to take, to give.

      Jordan muttered a curse as he remembered protection, tearing himself away long enough to grab it from a drawer in a bedside table and sheath himself. A weird stab of sadness went through Ivy’s heart. No baby with Jordan. That would never happen. It wasn’t what this relationship was about. But she had accepted that, hadn’t she? And she accepted him now with an intense shaft of pleasure as he came back to her and thrust deeply, driving to the edge of her pulsing womb.

      Wild excitement coursed through her with each repeated plunge, the rhythm of it rolling through her in euphoric waves, cresting in marvellous peaks, finally carrying her to an explosion of utter ecstasy and a flood of sweetly lulling peace. Yes, she thought blissfully. It was worth any hurt later to have this with Jordan now.

      She lay with her head resting over the strong beat of his heart, smiling as she listened to its pace gradually lessen to a quiet, steady thump. Peace for him, too, after the long waiting, she thought, and was glad she had surrendered to his patient pursuit. His hands started gliding over the curves of her back and her skin tingled with pleasure. He picked up her plait, removed the rubber band that kept it fastened, and slowly unwound the skeins of her hair, fluffing it out with his fingers when it was freed of its constriction.

      ‘With your hair and skin, you could have posed for Botticelli’s Birth of Venus,’ he murmured. ‘It’s a wonderful painting, displayed in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. We could go on to Italy after the cruise and…’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ Ivy stirred enough to protest. ‘We’ll be away for a month as it is.’ She lifted her head to give him a teasing look. ‘And you haven’t even shown me all the paintings in this house yet.’

      He laughed, raking her hair out on either side of her face. ‘You outshine them all, but when I summon up the energy and the inclination I’ll give you a tour.’

      ‘Mmmh…I’m not in any hurry.’

      ‘Good, because I don’t want to hurry anything this time.’

      He kept every kiss and caress deliciously sensual. They moved around each other in a long, languorous dance of gliding, nestling, touching, feeling—a glorious sexual wallowing that simmered with excitement without blazing into imperative need.

      He spoke seductively of the fantastic sights they would see and the pleasures they would share in Europe: the amazing array of statues in Prague, the magnificent Schonbrunn Palace in Vienna—‘I’ll dance you around the gold ballroom’—the vineyards climbing the hills in the Wachau Valley—‘We’ll go wine-tasting’—the amazing amount of castles along the Rhine, the totally eye-popping quantity of gold decorating the cathedral at the Melk monastery.

      ‘You’ve seen it all before,’ Ivy commented ruefully at one point.

      ‘Not since I was in my teens. My parents took Olivia and me on a world tour as part of our education.’

      Not with another woman then, Ivy thought with a rush of relief. It was ridiculous wanting something exclusive to herself, knowing how very experienced he was, yet she instantly felt happier in her anticipation of their travels together.

      ‘Besides, I’ll enjoy it so much more being with you,’ he said, smiling into her eyes, making her heart melt with longing for that to be true.

      ‘Talking of paintings, why did you choose to hang Sydney Nolan’s Ned Kelly images in this bedroom?’ she asked, wanting to understand more of the man. ‘Do you feel some affinity with our famous bushranger or do they simply complement the decor with him wearing his black armour?’

      He sidestepped the question, asking, ‘Do you like them?’

      ‘They’re great, but I thought you’d be more into nudes in here.’

      He grinned. ‘I don’t need that kind of stimulation.’

      She laughed, well aware that he had no problem with impotence. ‘You still haven’t told me why Ned Kelly?’

      His eyes were hooded as his fingertips feathered her lips. ‘He reminds me always to be armoured. Especially in the bedroom. Only you have ever made me forget that, Ivy.’

      He kissed her, as though wanting to draw that power from her soul, be the man who never lost control again. The simmering excitement instantly escalated, compelling them into another climactic union. It wasn’t until long afterwards that Ivy thought about what he’d said about always being armoured.

      A billionaire’s son, a billionaire in his own right—a target for people who wanted a piece of him for their own ends, in the bedroom and out of it. She imagined very few people would ever fool him in business, but there was a natural vulnerability with intimacy, a wish to trust. Jordan had seen his sister be a victim of it three times because of her wealth.

      Was it any wonder that he’d chosen a playboy lifestyle?

      Essentially a lonely life, Ivy thought, always armoured.

      And she was lonely, too.

      She enjoyed his company on the tour of his house, enjoyed his company over the delicious dinner Margaret served them, enjoyed the seductively sensual skinny-dipping in the solar-heated pool later in the evening and revelled in the lovemaking that followed. She didn’t feel lonely with him and she hoped he didn’t feel lonely with her.

      Before Jordan had to leave for his family meeting the next morning, they had a happy, relaxed breakfast together and made plans for him to spend the next week-end on the rose farm with her. Ivy drove home feeling brilliantly alive, hoping they could make a lovely self-contained world together that nothing could spoil.

      She knew it was a rather silly hope.

      Other things would inevitably intrude.

      But she was determined to enjoy what she could with Jordan while she could.