Then he stills, reading me, lost in me like he might get lost in a book.
‘You have no idea, do you?’ He tucks my loose hair behind my ear and presses his mouth to mine, slow, still, unmoving. ‘You’re a witch, Scarlett Heath, and I’m completely under your spell.’
Then I kiss him. Fully, passionately. He rolls me onto my back and lies between my legs, the soft, plump skin of his lips owning mine. I feel whole under the weight of his body. He nudges his hips forward lazily and he grows against me. I want to surrender to him. I want him to control my body totally, utterly, completely.
He teases my top lip with a stroke of his tongue and circles his hips against my stomach.
‘You’re not the only one under a spell, Mr Ryans.’ I am 100 per cent besotted with this man.
He makes sure I’m ready – I am. I most certainly am. Without warning, he thrusts his length into me. A welcome hit. But the look in his eyes tells me he’s not going to fuck me; he’s going to make love to me.
Showered and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, I smile at the sight of Gregory sitting at the breakfast bar, remembering the events of last night, and this morning.
‘Have I told you how unbelievably sexy you look in a suit?’ he says, watching me walk down the stairs and into the kitchen.
‘Hmm, if you plan on keeping me around today, I’m going to need to pick up some clothes from home.’
‘If that’s what I have to do to keep you, deal.’
I smile. ‘Why don’t I make us some pancakes? Sandy makes the best pancakes. I can’t promise to make pancakes like hers but how hard can it be?’
‘Erm, sure?’
A door bangs somewhere in the apartment, or duplex, or house, or whatever Gregory’s oversized city pad is most appropriately called.
‘Is Jackson here?’
‘Most likely. He has an almost self-contained flat up there,’ he says, pointing generally in the direction of upstairs and east. ‘I haven’t really shown you around properly, have I?’
‘Always been in a rush to do other things,’ I say, grinning at my wit as I crack eggs into a glass bowl.
Gregory’s amusement decorates his voice. ‘Well, if I’d shown you around, you’d realise Jackson doesn’t need to come through the lounge. There’s a staircase to the side of the front door that goes straight up to his room. A sort of guest wing. It’s like he doesn’t live here most times which is good; we spend a lot of time together as it is and I like the space. I’m not always the most sociable of people.’
‘You don’t say.’
He scowls. ‘Plus, he knows you’re here.’
I smirk over my shoulder. ‘And all that implies.’
He winks. I could orgasm on the spot.
I fumble in the fridge to distract myself from desire. ‘Why did you ever employ Jackson?’
‘I needed a driver. Getting from A to B can be tricky in the city sometimes so it’s convenient and it means I can work, take calls, answer emails if I need to, whilst we’re en route. Then there were a few other things: incidents. Like I’ve said, having money can piss a lot of people off.’
‘So he’s a bodyguard.’
‘I don’t really see it like that. He’s a driver, a personal trainer and to an extent, yes, something like a bodyguard. He watches my blindside.’
I trickle olive oil into a frying pan and turn on the induction hob. The oil heats almost instantly and sizzles when I pour in the wet pancake mix.
‘I’m not sure how these are going to fit with your personal training regime.’
‘I can make an exception.’
A burst of female laughter comes from the adjoining door on the mezzanine level. I turn my head toward the sound.
‘I take it Jackson isn’t alone?’
