‘I’d like that,’ she said.
‘Good. In that case, I’ll have my jet prepared.’ His eyes gleamed as he unzipped his jeans and started walking towards her. ‘And in the meantime...why don’t you lose the blanket?’
THIS HIGH UP, the snowy winter light was on the harsher side of bright. A penthouse apartment high in the sky—far above the streets and away from the sounds of the New York traffic. Chosen specifically for its isolation and for the fact that nobody could see you, or hear you. An apartment Rafe had never shared with anyone.
Until now.
He stared at Sophie’s back, silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline as she watched the ant-like people far below. His home, his space, his life. A fortress of a place which up until now had always been inviolate. People came here rarely because hospitality on home turf had never been his thing. He preferred to take people out to dinner, rather than be stuck with guests who wouldn’t take the hint and go home. The same with lovers, too. Not for him the awkward morning ritual of trying to remove a woman who wanted to stay.
Why had he invited Sophie here? He ran his gaze over the gleam of her bare legs. Because he felt partly responsible for the arrival of the press in the Cotswolds? Yes. And the sexual chemistry between them had been an added incentive. Why turn his back on a physical compatibility which was as good as theirs? But it was more than that. He’d confided in her. Told her stuff he’d never told anyone else. Stuff which had stirred up feelings inside him which had left a raw and gaping void. He’d thought exposing his secrets would make the darkness go away, but he had been wrong. He told himself he just needed time. And that maybe having Sophie here with him was nothing but an insurance policy. A charm offensive to get her onside and make sure she kept those secrets close to her heart.
He acknowledged another stir of lust as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. This morning she was wearing one of his shirts which came to just below her bottom as she surveyed the cityscape. One hand was planted on her hips as she watched the snow tumbling towards the city streets. It was a pose designed to show off her long legs to their best advantage—something he suspected she knew very well, despite her relative inexperience. But she was a fast learner, he thought approvingly. She’d learnt to remove her clothes and tantalise him better than any of those high-class strippers he knew rich out-of-towners visited down on Midtown West.
His groin throbbed with a relentless beat as he walked over to her and slid his arms around her waist, lifting aside the still-damp curtain of dark hair to plant a lingering kiss at the base of her neck.
‘Good swim?’ he murmured.
‘Fifty lengths—and all I had to do was take the elevator.’
‘That’s the beauty of having a pool in the basement.’
‘Yes. Rafe,’ she added indistinctly as he cupped his hands over her breasts and began to massage them through the cotton of her shirt. ‘You do realise I’m standing in front of the window?’
‘I do. And you’re nineteen floors up.’
‘Somebody might have a pair of binoculars.’
‘The glass is mirror-coated,’ he said, moving one hand down. ‘Which means nobody gets to see—although, if it turns you on, you can always pretend someone is watching me slide my hand down between your legs and easing you open like this.’
‘You are...’ she gasped as he slipped his finger inside her ‘...incorrigible.’
‘Am I?’ He moved his finger against her, loving the way her head fell helplessly back against him, the scent of her sex heavy in the air as he brought her to a shuddering climax right where she stood. He felt the buckling of her knees as she slumped back against him and thought about carrying her over to the sofa. But she was nothing if not surprising because she quickly gained her equilibrium and turned around, her face flushed and a small smile on her lips as she ran the flat of her palm experimentally over his groin.
‘Oh,’ she said, digging her teeth into her bottom lip almost shyly as she explored the hard and throbbing ridge covered by the denim of his jeans. ‘I see. You are a very excitable man, aren’t you, Rafe Carter?’
He gave a low and exultant laugh. ‘Is that what I am?’
‘Among other things.’
The rasp of his zip sliding down was the only sound other than his ragged breathing as she sank to her knees in front of him and teased him with her fingers, before putting the moist tip against her lips.
‘Sophie,’ he groaned as her tongue gave a playful lick.
Sophie lowered her lips onto him, loving the sensation of sucking this most intimate part of him. She liked having the silken thickness of him deep in her mouth, just as she liked tasting that first salty bead of moisture which showed he was close to climax. He’d taught her so much. About her body. About his. Sometimes she wished she could grab hold of time and freeze it because the clock was ticking down towards Christmas and once the holiday was over, she’d be far away from here. From him.
But her thoughts were forgotten as his hands clamped around her head and his fingers dug into her scalp as his excitement grew. She could feel him tense and hear that distinctive choking sound he made, just as he flooded her mouth and she drank him in.
She opened her eyes and looked up to find him staring at her and she slid her tongue slowly over her lips, which were still sticky with his salty essence. His eyes darkened but his hands were gentle as he pulled her to her feet and led her into the huge wet room adjoining his bedroom, where he turned on the warm jets of the shower.
‘Where do you want to go for lunch?’ he questioned, slicking thick soapy foam over her body.
‘I’d love to go to that lovely restaurant in Gramercy again.’
‘Then that’s where we’ll go.’
‘Won’t you need to book?’
His smile was wolfish as he sluiced suds from her skin, paying specially close attention to her thrusting nipples. ‘I never need to book.’
Overlooking a snowy courtyard garden, the restaurant was exquisite and afterwards they went to an art gallery in Chelsea where a friend of Rafe’s was exhibiting his sculptures. Sophie drank champagne and chatted with the artist and decided she liked New York, a city where it was possible to blend in and lose yourself. She liked it nearly as much as Poonbarra. Her heart missed a beat. The two places which had felt most like home had one thing in common.
Him.
She glanced across the gallery, where Rafe was standing studying a sculpture, his thumb rubbing thoughtfully at his chin while close by a striking-looking blonde in a mulberry-coloured velvet coat was trying to catch his eye.
Sophie thought about how it would be once she had returned to Isolaverde. That one day soon, this blonde—or someone like her—wouldn’t just be chatting to Rafe about a marble figure, but would be accompanying him back to his gorgeous penthouse, to do to him what Sophie had been doing earlier. A sickening image sprang to her mind—of somebody else unzipping his jeans. Somebody else taking him so intimately into her mouth...
Sophie’s heart clenched as she put her glass down on the tray of a passing waitress and waited for the feeling to pass. But these pangs of longing and possession had been getting more and more frequent as the days had ticked by. Was it sexual jealousy she was experiencing, or something else? Something she was too scared to acknowledge because it was as futile as expecting the sun to rise at midnight. That her feelings for Rafe were becoming more complicated than either of them would ever have anticipated.
Far more than he would ever have wanted.
She wondered if he’d noticed her attitude towards him softening, or whether she’d managed successfully