‘Do you want me to go?’ Clearly, I’m no longer needed. Well, not for the original purpose anyway.
‘Don’t you dare.’ Those full hot lips brush over the sensitive skin of my earlobe. He steps aside and yanks me against the strong smooth planes of his torso.
He’s still in his suit pants and a crisp white shirt but the top two buttons are undone, revealing a hint of tanned chest and a wispy tuft of delicious dark chest hair. He looks positively delectable, but he smells even better, that fancy cologne tinged with his own masculine scent is intoxicating.
I follow him through to the kitchen where he uncorks the wine and pours two glasses. ‘How was your day?’ he asks in a low voice, but with enough interest to make me think he actually cares.
‘It was good. Busy. After the pictures of the party went viral, we’ve been swamped with new sign-ups.’ I take a sip of the cold, crisp wine but it does nothing to soothe the burning yearning growing inside. The physical pull to Cillian Callaghan is beyond magnetic. It’s a gravitational force of its own.
‘I saw the photo.’ He raises his glass to his lips, his eyes locking with mine over the rim. He doesn’t need to say which one. It’s obvious. It helped that my movie-star brother shared it on his socials, but I’m pretty sure that thing had the potential to go viral all on its own. Despite both of us being fully clothed, the image was unmistakably pornographic.
A hot blush streaks my cheeks. ‘With that image circulating, no one will ever suspect this thing between us is a business agreement.’
‘With benefits.’ He drinks and my eyes are drawn to his.
‘Is that why you lured me over here? To cash in on those benefits?’ I don’t mind. In fact, I might even be flattered.
‘No. I really did have company, though I was contemplating inviting you over anyway.’ He places his wine glass down on the gleaming kitchen counter; his hands gravitate to my waist before sliding over my hips. ‘Is this okay?’
‘I suppose I can tolerate it.’ I place my glass next to his.
‘The other night was …’ Huge black pupils study my face like he’s searching for the right word but struggling. ‘Unexpected.’
‘In what way?’ I would have thought given what happened in this very kitchen, it was utterly expected, if not inevitable.
‘Unexpectedly mind-blowing.’ He draws my body flush with his, peppering my neck with tiny teasing kisses that pebble my nipples beneath my cashmere midi dress. I was aiming for winter chic. I know how much Cillian hates the over-the-top way his ex flaunts her body at him, that’s why I opted for understated. I don’t want to have anything in common with her. I already hate that I ogled him from afar for a year, the same way she did.
He hands me my glass, picks up his own and steers me out the kitchen, guiding me into a large, double-height hallway. Thick coving frames the ceiling. One wall is comprised entirely of bookshelves, filled with everything from a collection of Encyclopaedia Britannicas to Dan Brown’s latest novel.
I drift towards a weathered-looking copy of Stephen King’sMisery, open the pages and sniff. ‘Told you I couldn't help it.’
‘Enough of that.’ He takes the book from my hands and places it back on the shelf. ‘My life is anything but misery with you here, looking like that.’ His perusing gaze sends chills across my skin.
I follow him into the main living area. The walls are painted a deep shade of grey, giving the room a masculine feel, but there’s nothing masculine about the extravagant fairy lights adorning the thick mantlepiece, or the pink and white Christmas tree flashing on a slow repetitive cycle in the big bay window.
‘Not exactly what I’d have imagined.’ It’s a testament to him that he lets his six-year-old daughter have the final say on the Christmas decorations. Just as I suspected, the man is a teddy bear beneath the sharp suit.
‘Phoebe’s favourite colour is pink.’ He slips that arm around my waist again. Does he feel that same gravitational pull? The one that urges me to touch him at every single opportunity. ‘Well, it was pink until you gave her the lipstick. Now she wants her room painted a deep devil-red.’
‘That particular shade is technically called Plum Passion Addict.’
‘Sounds about right.’ He motions for me to sit on the leather couch in front of the roaring open fire. I sit and place my glass on the coffee table.
‘We always put the tree up early in December. I know it’s a bit of an eyesore, but traditions are traditions. Did you put yours up yet?’
Nervous laughter bubbles in my throat. ‘You invited me over to clarify if I put my tree up yet?’
‘Indulge me.’ He drops to the couch next to me, his fingers trailing circles on my stockinged thigh. ‘I’m killing time until I’m one hundred percent certain my daughter is unconscious, then I’m going to devour you.’
My insides somersault. I press my legs together but Cillian’s quick fingers wedge between my knees.
‘I don’t put a tree up in my apartment. I spend Christmas at my parents’ place.’
‘What?’ Cillian’s face scrunches into a more sullen expression. ‘You have to put a tree up.’ A low whistle resounds through the air between us. ‘And people callmemiserable.’ He shakes his head.
I shrug. ‘It seems kind of pointless, just for me.’
‘Nothing is pointless, just for you, Ava Jackson. Don’t ever forget that.’ There’s that surprising tenderness again. It's almost as much of a turn on as the hand snaking beneath my dress, blazing a trail of fire all the way to my flaming lady parts.
