I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror of the restaurant. My face is flushed with a satisfied glow.
Who are you and what have you done with Kate?
What the hell just happened?
One minute I was nervous, next minute I was dry-humping him on his chair before we even ate . . . ugh, what came over me?
I acted like a sex-deprived teenager.
How embarrassing. Way to play it cool, you idiot.
The cruel words from my Google search come back to taunt me: Affectionately nicknamed Casanova Miles by the press due to his apparent ability to get women to do anything he wants.
Damn straight he can.
Oh hell, now I’m one of those women . . . kill me now!
I take my time washing my hands and I fix my hair a little, and to be honest, I just want to run away, this man makes me want to do things that I never imagined.
I walk back into the private dining room and take a seat.
Elliot is leaning back in his chair, wineglass in his hand, and his eyes assess me. “Everything alright?” he asks.
“Yes.” I pick up my margarita.
“You’ve gone quiet.”
“Oh.” I shrug shyly. “A little embarrassed.”
A frown flashes across his face. “About what?”
“Forget it, it’s nothing.” I sip my drink—what did I say that for?
“Kate,” he warns.
“I just . . . can’t believe I did that before.”
“Did what?”
I stare at him: he’s completely clueless, this must be normal behavior for him.
“Within two minutes of sitting down, I was dry-humping you in your chair.”
He stares at me. “What are you embarrassed by?”
“Forget it.” I put my drink down sharply. “You ready to go?”
“No.” His eyes hold mine. “Explain to me what you just said.”
“Elliot.”
“Don’t Elliot me, what did you mean by that?” he snaps.
I stay silent, unsure what to say.
He sits forward in his seat. “There is no one here but you and I, Kate. And what happens between us . . . is nobody’s business,” he says softly. “And if sexually pleasing me makes you embarrassed, then . . .” He shrugs.
“Then what?”
“Then what are we doing here?”
I frown. “Why do you insist on making me feel like an errant teenager?”
“Because you’re acting like one?” He picks up his glass and swirls it around. “I’m adventurous, Kate. I like sex, I like it hard, and I like my women to come . . . often.” He lifts his glass to his lips and takes a sip; I watch as his tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip. “If you want vanilla, I’m not the man to deliver it.”
“I never said that—”
“Are you going to be embarrassed every time I make you come?” he cuts me off.
“Keep your voice down,” I whisper angrily as I look around.
“We are alone in a room, just the two of us.”
I stare at him.
“And we will always be alone, just the two of us. Nobody else is in our bed.” He leans over and cups my face in his hand and dusts his thumb over my lip. “Don’t punish yourself for feeling something new, angel,” he whispers, then he leans down and kisses me tenderly and I melt against him.
“I will push you . . . but it will only ever be what you need.” His tongue gently dances against mine, and I smile softly as I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders.
Oh . . . this man.
“Stop judging yourself,” he murmurs against my lips, “or this is never going to work between us.”
I nod and pull back from him. He’s too . . . much. We lean against each other with our foreheads touching. He gently kisses my cheek as we stay close.
There’s an intimacy running between us that shouldn’t be there.
Every word that leaves his mouth is sacred, it’s like he’s coaching me into a role that he designed. Training me up to be what he needs.
Whatever that is.
But this plaything has a heart, and I fear she’s in danger because we haven’t even scratched the surface yet and if tonight has taught me anything it’s that you can’t hide from Elliot Miles.
If he wanted to, he could bring me to my knees. I can already feel my defenses slipping, and yet I don’t want to get off the ride.
He stands and holds out my coat for me and I slide into it, then he turns me in his arms and kisses me as if we have all the time in the world. It’s slow, erotic, and tender, and I smile softly against his lips.
His kiss is like a drug.
I can hear warning sirens screaming in the distance . . .
Let the games begin.
The black-metal garage doors rise slowly. My hand is in Elliot’s on his lap in the backseat of the Bentley, Andrew is behind the wheel.
We drive in slowly and pass an array of swanky cars lined up in their bays; there are security guards walking around and this place looks more like a high-end car dealership than an underground parking lot. Andrew pulls the car up at the glass doors that lead into an elevator. He gets out, opens the car door for me, and I climb out. “Thank you.”
Elliot puts his arm around me and ushers me into the elevator, pushes the button, and we begin the ride up. He stares straight ahead with this trace of amusement on his face.
“What is that look?” I smirk.
“Nothing.” He kisses my temple. “Not every day I get to take the Kate Landon home,” he replies casually.
“We’re having coffee, Elliot,” I say. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Good.” I square my shoulders as I try to hold my smile; I like this game.
He steps forward and I step back, his hands above my head on the wall behind me. “You know, I could just hit the stop button . . . deliver your coffee right here.”
My eyes widen. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He chuckles as his lips take mine. “Oh, but I would.”
“Elliot,” I whisper.
The elevator dings as we reach our floor.
He smiles against my lips as the doors open. “Saved by the bell.” He bites my bottom lip and then takes me by the hand. We’ve arrived in what looks like a private reception area. A large, round table with a floral arrangement on it sits in the middle; a huge, abstract painting in reds and black is hanging on the wall. Elliot puts his hand over a scanner and the door clicks as the lock releases.
We walk in and my breath is instantly stolen. Glass from ceiling to floor, showcasing a magical city view, bright city lights twinkling in the distance. The ceiling is so high and I look up in awe; I see a grand staircase in the middle. “Your apartment is two levels.”
“Uh-huh,” he replies casually as he leads me into the kitchen, takes my coat, and sits me up on the countertop, then stands between my legs.
The kitchen is white and modern and I look around. “Wow . . . This is beautiful.”
“Who cares about my house, let’s talk about the coffee.” He bends and bites my bare shoulder.
I giggle. “Okay . . . we could do that.”
His eyes rise to mine. “How do you like it?” His hair is messed up and his eyes are wild.
“My coffee?”
“Yeah.” He smiles and drops his lips to my breast and nips me through my dress.
“Ow . . .” I giggle.
“Cappuccino, long white, short black . . .” He whispers as he goes through the options.
“Straight up sounds pretty good.”
He drags my hips toward him in one sharp movement, spreads my legs a little further, and slides his hands up my bare thighs. “Risky,” he murmurs as his eyes follow his hands.
“Risky?” I whisper as his thumbs dust my sex through my panties.
His eyes darken. “Easy to get injured with a straight up.”
We stare at each other as the air crackles between us. “Well, what do you suggest . . . to lessen the risk.”
His fingers move in a circle. “Sugar.”
“Sugar,” I whisper as his fingers slip under the leg of my panties; he circles them through my wet lips and my insides begin to quiver.
“Sugar always helps with a straight up.” He slides a finger in deep and we both inhale sharply as we stare at each other, his jaw ticking as he clenches it. “Especially if the cup is so tight and small.” He slides another finger in and we let out a collective gasp.
His lips take mine as he kisses me. My legs are wide and his strong fingers begin to work me.
With every lash of his tongue, his fingers get stronger and I can hardly keep my eyes open. The sound of my arousal sucking him in echoes around the room. “This is excellent coffee,” I whisper, my hands in his hair.
He smiles. “This is sugar . . . coffee . . .” His eyes flutter closed as he temporarily loses control. “Fuck. Coffee is close.”
“Percolated,” I breathe.
“Plunger,” he hisses. He adds another strong finger at piston pace with a twist at the end, and I begin to shudder.
Yessss . . . this is good.
It’s embarrassing how quickly this man can make me come.
I grab his head in my hands and kiss him with everything that I have. “You better deliver that coffee right now, before I spill it on the floor.”
“Fucking hold it,” he whispers against my lips. “This cup, I’m drinking.”
I struggle to control my breathing, my arousal at fever pitch.
He scoops me off the countertop and carries me up the stairs; he’s so strong, and I cling to him for dear life. He marches down the hall and kicks open the door, and in one sharp movement he takes my dress off over my head.
I stand before him in my black strapless bra and panties, and he smiles as his eyes drop down to my toes. When they rise to meet mine, they’re blazing with desire.
He undoes my bra and throws it to the side, and then slides my panties down my legs and kisses my sex before he rises.
“Get on my bed and spread your legs for me,” he whispers darkly, his fists clenched at his sides.
I’ve never been with such a sexual creature. Never wanted to please someone so much.
I lie on the bed and, feeling brave, I spread my legs.
His eyes roam over me and I feel the heat of his gaze as it sears my skin, then he tears his shirt over his head and in slow motion undoes his jeans and pulls them to the ground.
The air leaves my lungs. Holy fuck.
His skin is olive, his chest is broad with a scattering of dark hair, his stomach is lean and ripped. My eyes drop lower.
He’s big . . . really big.
This is the best fucking coffee shop that I ever saw.
I swallow the lump in my throat as my nerves begin to thump.
Our eyes meet and his face breaks into a breathtakingly beautiful smile. “Hi,” he whispers softly.
My heart somersaults in my chest. “Hi.”
“I’m naked with Kate Landon.”
I laugh out loud, this is crazy. “What’s happening?”
He smiles darkly and drops his head to between my legs, as he lies down and makes himself comfortable. “I don’t know, but I like it.” His thick tongue swipes through my sex and I nearly jump from the bed. He holds my thighs open as he licks me and his eyes close in pleasure. “So good,” he murmurs to himself.
I watch him, in a detached state, somewhere between heaven and hell. My hands go to his hair and I run my fingers through it: it’s thick and feels curly to the touch.
He gets rougher and his two-day growth begins to tingle my skin; he licks deeper and deeper and then he’s all in, his whole face rubbing me.
My back begins to arch from the bed. “Ell . . . Oh God.” I throw my head back in pleasure. “Get up here. Get up here. Get up here,” I begin to chant. “Now.” I sit up and pull his face by the hair up to meet me. “Elliot, now!”
We stare at each other, my arousal glistening on his big, beautiful lips.
Just like I used to imagine.
Without a word he pushes me back to the mattress and spreads my legs, rolls a condom on, and kneels over me. He lifts my foot up and kisses it and then puts it over his shoulder. He kisses my other foot and puts it over his other shoulder.
In this position, I’m completely at his mercy.
We stare at each other and then he drags his tip through the lips of my sex, back and forth, back and forth.
I can’t breathe as I wait for him.
He walks over me on his hands, my legs still up, and he pushes in a little.
I cling to him, and he kisses me softly. He pushes forward again and I tense.
Ouch.
That smarts.
His grip on my calf muscles tightens and I put my hands on his shoulders, “Ell, careful,” I whisper.
His forehead furrows. “Nobody’s ever called me that before.”
“That’s a lie,” I whisper. “I just did.”
“Smart-ass.” He smiles as he pushes in further.
“Ouch,” I whimper. I cling to him, my fingers digging into his back.
“Nearly there, baby. Nearly there,” he whispers softly.
I screw up my face, oh God . . . he’s . . . “Stop, stop, stop,” I whimper. “Give me a minute.”
He drops and kisses me, his tongue dancing with mine, and I hold him close in my arms. We kiss for a long time and it’s then, with tenderness between us, that my body opens up and lets him completely in.
He circles his hips, first one way and then the other as he stretches me out.
Desperation builds between us and our kiss gets rougher.
He spreads his knees and pulls out, he slides back in, he does it again and again, until finally I’m loose and then he lets me have it.
With his hard and thick pumps, the bed begins to hit the wall with force. His jaw hangs slack and with his dark hair falling over his perspiration-clad face, I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so perfect.
Elliot Miles fucks like he does business, hard and unapologetic.
I knew he’d be something else, I just didn’t know it would be everything.
His teeth are on my neck, his hands are on my ass, his cock filling every last inch of my body. But it’s the moans that are coming out of him, the moans of sheer pleasure . . .
My eyes roll back in my head.
The possession, the burn . . .
Oh . . .
The absolute best sex of my life.
My toes begin to curl and I shudder hard as I clench around him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growls as he hits the sweet spot. “Yessss.” He holds himself deep and I cry out as I come hard. I feel the telling jerk as he tips his head back and I smile up at him in awe.
Our eyes are locked and then, with unexpected tenderness, he bends and kisses me.
It’s soft and raw and intimate and everything that this isn’t supposed to be. I feel the last of my defenses slip from my reach.
“You’re incredible, Kate Landon,” he whispers.
“I know, right?” I tease as I hold him tight.
He smiles into my neck. “I better check again though, just to make sure.” He flips me over. “This time I’m going to be thorough.”
ELLIOT
I lie on my side, propped up on my elbow, and watch her as she sleeps. The sun is peeping through the sides of the drapes and as the time passes, with more light, I can see her more. Her honey hair is splayed across the pillow, her big lips are pouty, and her eyelashes flutter sporadically as if she’s dreaming.
She rolls onto her back and for the first time I see her exposed neck.
Fuck.
Teeth marks all over it. The bruising only faint, but still there. With trepidation I peel down the blankets to look over the rest of her body.
Her full breasts rise and fall as she breathes and it’s all I can do not to lean over and suck them. She definitely delivers in that department.
Who am I kidding? She delivers in every department.
My eyes roam down over her stomach and I frown when I get to her hips: four distinct bruises. I sit up so I can see her other hip and am appalled to find the same.
Finger marks.
I get a vision of us toward the end of last night, her on her knees on the bed with me standing behind her. The grip I had on her hips, the way she rode my cock . . . I feel the slow tantric beat of blood pumping through my body as I harden again.
She stretches as she sleeps and her legs fall open and the air leaves my lungs.
Fuck it.
Beard rash, all over her pretty lips. Red and prickly, it looks tender and sore.
I lie back down in disgust with myself. I completely lost my head. She’s covered in fucking bruises.
It’s been a long time since I had a night like that . . . if ever.
For someone so tight, she sure knows how to ride cock—I’ve never had sex so good.
Every inch of me was on fire.
My cock begins to throb; just the memory of last night incites arousal.
Cut it out, no sex for you.
She stirs, her eyes flutter open, and she gives me a big, beautiful smile. “Hi,” she whispers.
I smile, lean over, and kiss her softly. “Hey.” I brush the hair back from her forehead as I stare at her beautiful face.
Why am I so kissy?
She takes me into her arms and holds me tight and I smile into her hug, which doesn’t feel awkward, or weird. Quite the opposite—it’s nice. Familiar.
She pulls back and brushes the hair away from my forehead. “Last night was incredible,” she whispers, her voice husky.
“You’re incredible.” I pull her closer.
She smiles as she closes her eyes. “Does that thing ever go down?”
“Oh.” I pull back from her, realizing that she thinks I want sex again. “Sorry.”
She grabs my hip and pulls me back toward her. “Don’t be sorry, I’m not complaining.”
“You will be when you see your neck.” I widen my eyes in jest.
Her fingers go to her neck. “What’s wrong with my neck?”
“There’s about fifty bite marks on it,” I mutter.
She smirks. “You’re a fucking animal, my entire body is throbbing. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
Unable to help it, I lean down and bite her breast and she jumps. “I’m sorry, I was hard on you last night,” I apologize.
“Are you kidding? That was the best sex of my life.”
I stare at her as my brain misfires. The best sex of her life. “You’re so different from what I thought you would be.”
“Why?” She smiles up at me with an honesty I don’t know if I’ve ever seen.
My stomach rolls.
“I thought you’d be playing hard to get.”
She leans over and kisses me; her lips linger over mine. “And I thought you’d be cold, but you’re the opposite. Warm and tender . . . delicious.”
I blink, surprised. Tender . . . when have I ever been described as tender?
Okay, this is getting fucking weird now.
I straighten my back and slide away from her a little.
“No, you don’t,” she whispers, and pulls me back toward her without missing a beat. She snuggles her head into my chest. “You stay close to me.”
I put my arm around her. I can feel her heart beating against mine and I frown as I hold her.
This. Is. Fucking. Weird.
Too comfortable, as if we know each other already.
She leans up onto her elbow and smiles as she watches me. “So, if you came home six days early only to see me”—she kisses my chest—“does that mean I get you to myself for the next week, because technically, nobody else knows you’re back?”
I smile as I cup her face in my hand, dust my thumb over her bottom lip. “And what would you do with me for a week if you had me to yourself?”
She kisses down my stomach and I inhale sharply as I spread my legs.
Woman’s insatiable.
She licks up my length. “Run away with you.”
She takes me fully into her mouth, and I lie back and put my hands into her hair. “Why don’t we go away?”
She looks up, surprised. “Huh?”
I push her head back down. “Don’t stop. Multitask. Suck and listen.”
She giggles and goes back to her job.
Yeah . . . why couldn’t we go away?
That’s actually a good idea.
If we stay in London for the week we can only be at my place or hers. But if we went away . . . the jet is here. I could organize something . . . I mean it would be short notice, but . . .
“I’m taking you away for the week,” I announce.
She looks up and frowns. “What?” she mouths around me.
I smile. Fuck she’s adorable. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
She pulls off. “We can’t go away. I have to prepare and then there’s the—”
“Kate.” I pull her up and she lies on top of me. “If we stay here, we can’t leave this apartment.”
She looks down at me and I can see her brain processing.
“It’s one week.”
“Well, where would we go?”
“Somewhere with sun and cocktails.” I see a trace of a smile cross her face. “My treat.” I try to sweeten the deal.
She kisses her way back down my body. “Is this my company bonus, sir?” she teases.
I chuckle and spread my legs again. “Yes, so depending how well you suck me will determine where we go.”
“You can’t afford a resort that good.” She sucks me deep along with a long stroke of her hand, and my eyes roll back in my head.
I shudder as my balls contract. “You could be right.”
I turn into Kate’s street and pull up across the road. “I’ll pick you up in a few hours.”
“Are you sure about this?” She frowns.
I lean over and kiss her. “Positive.”
It’s one week, don’t get excited.
“Okay.” She smiles. “What will I pack?”
“Nothing, we won’t be wearing any clothes.”
She giggles and we look over to see that guy she lives with come out the front door. He’s dressed up and walks down the stairs and gets into the Audi that’s parked out the front—he’s good-looking and dressed well. We watch as the car pulls out and drives away. “What’s his name?” I ask.
“Daniel?”
“You know who I’m talking about, don’t be cute.”
“What is your problem with him?” She frowns. “He’s lovely.”
“I bet he is.”
He wants her.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, he’s very touchy with you, that’s all.”
“That’s just his personality.”
“I don’t like it.”
Kate rolls her eyes. “He’s a friend, Elliot.” She opens the car door. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Okay.” I nod and hold my tongue about her touchy-feely, fuckwit roommate.
I’ll deal with him later.
My phone rings and the name Tristan lights up.
“See you soon.” She kisses me quickly and jumps out of the car.
“Hey.” I answer my phone on speaker.
Kate turns and waves and I sit and watch her walk inside.
“Can you talk?” Tristan asks.
“Uh-huh.”
The front door closes behind Kate and I pull out into the street.
“How was last night?” Tristan asks.
“Good.” I smirk.
Incredible.
“And?”
“And what?”
“Well, it must have been fucking good to make you leave New York a week early. Anyone I know?”
I smirk again. You could say that. “Nope.”
“Are you seeing her again?”
“I’m going away with her today for a week, actually.”
“What? Didn’t you say last night was the first date?”
“It was.”
“Your second date is a week away?” He gasps. “Fuck me dead, it must have been some fucking date.”
I smile as I turn the corner. “Don’t get excited, she’s not Mrs. Miles.”
He laughs. “Famous last words.”
“It’s just a week, I don’t have to worry about paps then.”
“Fair enough. Where are you taking her?”
“No clue, any ideas?”
“What are you after?”
“Something private, hot, and beachy. Cocktails and restaurants.”
“Hmm, St. Barts?”
“No, I’ll run into someone I know there at this time of year. Under the radar if possible.”
“I’ll have a look now.”
“Okay. Thanks.” My phone beeps as another call comes in. “I’ve got another call, I’ll call you back. Elliot Miles,” I answer.
“Hello Mr. Miles. It’s Peter from Strathborn Investigations.”
“Ah.” I’ve been waiting for them to get back to me. “How are you?”
“Very well. I have some good news.”
“Great.”
“We finally have a lead on your artist, Harriet Boucher.”
“What is it?”
“We think we’ve located where she is.”
I listen intently. I’ve been searching for this woman for over a year.
“And?”
“If it’s the right woman, and we think that it is, she’s currently in the South of France.”
I frown as I listen. “Are you certain it’s her?”
“I’ll have confirmation this week. She flies completely under the radar.”
“When you have confirmation, I’ll book a flight. I want to meet her in person.”
“Mr. Miles, do you mind me asking what your business is with this woman?” he asks.
“It’s of a personal nature,” I reply curtly.
“Okay, I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.” I hang up and turn the corner. I don’t know what my fascination with Harriet Boucher is . . . but I need to find out.
She’s calling to me through her paintings . . . and I don’t know why.
But I keep coming back to her, I can’t drop this.
One word describes her.
Extraordinary.
