She swallowed; he enjoyed watching her fine pale neck knot beneath his gaze. “But that’s for secretarial work …”
“That wasn’t definitively specified.” He pointed out. “And nor is it required.”
He lifted the champagne to her lips but this time she kept them clamped firmly shut. His smile was darkly haunted. She watched as he dipped his finger in the champagne and then dribbled some of the bubbling liquid over her shoulder. It was cold; she jumped the smallest amount. He dropped his lips to the same spot and tasted her. The contrast of the cold drink and his warm, moist mouth made her groan against him.
“What are you doing?” She asked softly, her hands lifting to the black lapel of his tuxedo and clamping around the fabric to hold him close.
He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he lifted the champagne to her mouth,and again she refused to drink it. But he poured it anyway, watching with undisguised fascination as it dribbled down her chin, her exposed décolletage to the valley formed by her petite breasts. And down it went still, over her stomach, to the lace underpants she wore. She gasped as it made contact with her sensitive flesh.
“What are you doing?” She repeated, as his lips dropped to chase the champagne on her décolletage.
“I would like to drink this from your body, if you'll let me.”
Kate shook her head, but her fingers were tightening in his jacket. “That would be crazy.”
“It is your decision,” he murmured, strumming her sides with his fingers. She shook her head. It didn’t feel like a decision. It felt like an option, and only one option was open to her.
“I don’t know you,” she said, but her eyes were staring at him helplessly and her hand was dropping to link through his.
“You will,” he promised, catching her fingers and pulling her behind him. He moved so fast that she almost had to run to keep up. At the entrance to the ballroom, she ducked her head to avoid being seen by her colleague Saphire. It was not necessary; Saphire was staring into space, seemingly miles away.
Kate breathed a sigh of relief as they emerged from the beautiful villa. There were valet cars parked in the grounds; Kate knew because she’d personally interviewed and selected the valet staff.
But Benedetto nodded instead towards a shining black motorbike propped insolently in the driveway.
“This?” She squeaked, all the words of warning her father had drummed into her over the years flashing back to the forefront of her consciousness.
In answer, he pulled the helmet from the seat and settled it on her head. She stared up at him as he tightened it into place, then he threw one powerful leg over the bike and throttled the engine to life.
“Hop on,” he called over his shoulder, his eyes not meeting hers.
“My dad would have kittens,” she said, more to herself than him. Her father hated motorbikes, and with good reason given the way her mother had died.
The reference to her father set Benedetto’s heart heaving. He watched herpretty face cross with emotion and his resolve strengthened. This was necessary.
Kate took one last look at the gorgeous castle and then settled herself behind him. She wrapped her hands around his waist, and felt the powerful vibrations of the engine begin to evoke a dark, desperate need inside of her.
“Where are we going?” She shouted to be heard over the engine.
“My place.”
Well, get there fast,she thought. And she laughed, because she’d discovered when she ran away that flirting with danger was a good thing. It made her feel brave and alive in a way she never had her whole life. And that night, with the stars glistening their approval and her arms wrapped around his strong torso, Kate Jones felt Katherine Beauchamp blowing out of her soul. She held him tight and she laughed a little more.
Being reckless felt good. And the motorbike was only the beginning …
CHAPTER TWO
“This is amazing,” she said.
It was, but she was speaking for the sake of it. Since he’d pulled his bike to a halt in front of the river-front mansion, he’d said nothing. He’d simply unclipped her helmet and stalked in the front door, leaving her to scramble somewhat inelegantly off the seat and follow in his wake.
Now, standing on the terrace he’d walked on to, looking at his tuxedo-clad frame, she was besieged by nerves.
“Mr. Arnaud?” She murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder to draw his attention.
He turned slowly, his eyes pinpointing hers with ferocious intensity. “We are about to have sex,” he spoke with a cold pragmatism that should have sent warning sparks flying through her. “I think it is time for you to call me Benedetto.”
She nodded awkwardly. “Benedetto.” It was a perfect name for him. Dark, mysterious and complex. As an after thought, a small frown formed on her face. “The sex part …”
