Page 53

Chapter Eighteen

Cohen

“Make me forget.” Threewords, and my resolve is gone. Three simple words falling from dark lips while indigo eyes swimming with emotion plead with me.

Her pulse quickens under my touch. I felt the rapid flutter in her wrist beneath my thumb. I didn’t want our first time to be nothing more than an attempt to chase away the ghost of her past, and I could say no to her standing before me in nothing but lace, but I can’t say no to her, here, now, not while she stands fully clothed needing me the way she does. Swallowing a thump wedged in my throat, I close the distance between us and place a quick kiss to her forehead. This isn’t about a physical connection, this is about the electricity that overwhelms me when she is near and the way she nearly pulls my beating heart from my chest with a look that lets me know she doesn’t think she’s enough. I need to show her she’s more than enough, if only for one night.

Without saying a word, I fasten my hand around hers and lead her outside. The chill of the summer evening air is refreshing as we escape the heat of the crowded gala and flicker of candlelight.

Not wanting to wait for my driver, I escort her to a black taxi idling outside the nearest exit.

“I’ll double your rate to get us out of here. We’re in a bit of hurry.” My voice is stern, and he nods. “The Kensington hotel please, mate.” He nods again.

“No,” Scarlett speaks up, turning toward me. “My place.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, knowing what she confessed that night about never bringing men to her house. Knowing I’ll be the first has my chest puffing with pride, like some kind of deranged caveman.

“Yes,” she replies firmly before rattling off her Nottinghill address.

Once we are settled in the back of the cab and speeding away, I take her hand in mine.

“I need to let Teddy know since he brought me tonight,” she explains, reaching for her mobile with her free hand, and I try to remind myself they are only mates. She punches out a message and drops her phone into her tiny bag.

“Good thinking.” I smile at her before diverting my eyes out the window. It’s feeling rather hot in here.

My fingertips drag back and forth over her palm, intertwining with her own.

Our hands perform a sensual dance as we ride in silence. The sexual tension thickens with every mile closer we get to her flat. We cross Lambeth Bridge and pass Buckingham Palace, everything a blur of lights as we drive by. My eyes remain fixed ahead, afraid if I look at her, I’ll combust.

So we both remain frozen. My muscles ache at the discipline it takes to sit so still with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me. What feels like an hour later, we pull up to her flat, and as promised, I hand the driver double the fare and a generous tip for making good time.

Deja vu washes over me as I follow her up the walkway. She fidgets nervously with the keys before I steady her hand in mine. “We don’t have to do this. Not tonight.” I give her an out, and she turns to look up at me. “But if come in, I can’t hold back.” The need to be with her coils tightly in my core.

“I know.” Her reply comes out in a whisper as she steps over the threshold and grabs my lapel, pulling me after her.

Our lips fuse together in the foyer, and my back slams into the door as the kiss deepens.

A tangle of limbs, hands, and lips greedily pull at clasps and buttons.

“This way.” She steps back, and the loss of her nearly knocks the breath from me. She walks backwards, her heels clicking on the wood floor as she seductively saunters down the hallway to her bedroom.

Sliding the lock into place, securing us for the night, I step away from the door and stalk toward Scarlett as she continues leading me to her private boudoir like a siren leading a sailor astray.

When we reach her doorway, turning her back to me, she pulls her long blonde hair to the side.

“Help me with the zipper?” she asks, her voice dripping in lust.

“I would love to.” My hands tease the delicate, exposed skin of her back before finally lowering her zipper. Her dress falls to the ground with a heavy whoosh. I can’t help but wonder how she got the dress zipped up. It’s probably for the best I don’t know.

She steps from the puddle of beads and feathers and stands with her bare back to me in black lace panties, a matching garter, and sinful black stilettos. The red soles taunt me as she walks slowly forward, stopping in front of a large, floor-to-ceiling gilded mirror. I see her exposed breasts as she drops her hands shamelessly to her hips.

My dick strains painfully hard as I watch her in the mirror. There is something much more erotic seeing her nakedness from the reflection, rather than if she were to turn around.

Playing her little game, I shrug from my black tuxedo jacket and toss it on a velvet chair next to the bed.

Her silhouette is perfection. Long legs, full hips flaring out from a small waist, and shapely breasts give her the perfect hourglass figure with a bit more height.

I stalk toward her like she’s my prey. Scarlett has unleashed something primal in me and I’m dying to taste her.