‘It’s bad form to compare lovers,’ Ellie said primly, sitting on the opposite side of the spa from him and determinedly not looking at his bare chest. She didn’t believe for a second that he actually felt the same way—she hadn’t been his best lover ever as well.
‘I’m not doing that.’ He laughed. ‘I’m merely reminding you that that night with me was the best sex of your life. I can’t understand why you don’t want a repeat of that.’
‘Because it wasn’t real,’ she said simply.
‘It wasn’t real?’ Ruben’s tease vaporised. ‘Wasn’t real?’
In a heartbeat the relaxed, teasing atmosphere snapped to stormy. Ellie’s suddenly feverish temperature couldn’t be blamed on the bubbling water.
‘No, it wasn’t real,’ she insisted.
He stared at her. ‘It was the best sex of your life,’ he declared again, almost defiantly daring her to deny it.
‘Okay, I’ll give you that.’ She cleared her throat. ‘But don’t you think that’s because it was such a fantasy? Like a dream?’ Her half-dreaming state had made the memory even better. ‘So good it couldn’t have been real.’
His obsidian gaze narrowed in on her, compelling more explanation from her.
‘I didn’t know you. You didn’t know me.’ She faltered. ‘We can’t ever recreate that scenario.’
‘So you think our being together again would be a disappointment?’ he asked, incredulous.
‘It would have to be,’ she muttered. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘No, I don’t. You’re not curious to know for sure?’
‘I...’ Of course she was curious. It was hard containing that curiosity. But she didn’t want to taint that memory with disappointment, nor did she want to mess up her opportunity at work.
‘You liked fantasy sex.’
‘So did you,’ she defended.
‘Yeah,’ he admitted with a wolfish grin. ‘There are other kinds of fantasy sex.’
She swallowed. ‘I’m not into kink.’
He chuckled. ‘I can come up with many, many simple, sweet fantasies if you like.’
She licked her lips before realising what a revealing piece of body language she’d instinctively performed. She put her hand to her mouth and rubbed—as if she could deny the yearning there.
‘Ellie.’
Oh, help, that had her toes curling, but the rest of her was paralysed. She couldn’t walk, couldn’t run. She just waited as he took the two paces through the water. So close she had to tilt her chin to maintain eye contact—which she was damn well determined to do. So close she could feel his breath, could feel her own muscles weakening as excitement erupted.
He inclined his head, lowering it almost enough. ‘You want fantasy?’ His lips barely moved as he challenged.
Ellie couldn’t breathe at all now, couldn’t hear a thing other than the echo of his words and the amplified thud of her heart. Blood shot to her extremities, her skin suddenly super sensitive. Every cell sensitive. And screaming out. Screaming so loud her reason was muted. So she was the one to tilt her chin that tiny bit further, bringing their lips into contact.
She was lost in that instant. She shut her eyes, only able to focus on the velvet warmth of his kiss. The insistence of his lips, his tongue. Oh, she opened, she let him in. She let him, let him, let him. Because what he demanded was exactly what she wanted—passion and need. So swiftly his touch swept her into that burning vortex where thought and caution were flung away because this ecstasy was all that mattered.
With every lush caress of his mouth, her resistance melted. She melted, her muscles sliding towards his strength, her mouth moving to welcome his demand. But there was a kernel of tension, slowly knotting, growing, sending the message that only his lips touching hers was not enough. Not nearly enough. She craved closer contact, craved for them to meld completely. Chest to breast, thigh to thigh, for their arms to curl and cling and for them to literally be locked in intimacy. Oh, she wanted that, she wanted that now.
She moaned—a song of need, a plea. The pressure of his mouth increased, his tongue flicking in an erotic tease that saw her tremble with it. For her body to move of its own accord—closer, closer, closer. They were inches apart in warm water, she wanted to feel his strong muscles, to press their wet skin together...
‘That fantasy enough for you?’ he asked, his voice rough as he stepped back. The water splashed as he sat down again on the opposite side of the tub.
Ellie couldn’t believe he’d kissed her like that and then let her go. She couldn’t believe the intensity in his expression—in his action—had suddenly vanished. ‘You’re the most awful tease.’
‘Actually I think you’re the one who can claim that crown,’ he argued in that charming rogue way.
‘I’m not teasing at all. You’re the one who keeps crossing the boundaries.’ She swept her sodden hair from her face.
‘You keep tempting me to.’ He shrugged.
‘So it’s all my fault?’
‘Absolutely.’
Unable to help it, despite knowing it was what he wanted, she laughed.
‘You think it’s funny?’
She nodded. ‘You’re so good for a girl’s ego.’
‘Well, that is my raison d’être.’ He inclined his head.
Ellie nodded. Yes, he’d gone back to form—a charming, carefree man made for good humour and good times. Yet she sensed that impenetrable wall only a millimetre beneath his surface.
Damn it, the whole complicated package fascinated her.
‘PUT these on while we get your things cleaned and dried.’
‘I didn’t think I’d need more than one pair of jeans. I wasn’t expecting a mudbath,’ Ellie said with defiance born of embarrassment as she took the jeans and tee Ruben held out to her and then dived to her bedroom to get decent.
She figured that at least he was never going to get off on the ‘she’s wearing my clothes’ thing—they totally swamped her. But suddenly she was feeling decidedly ‘his’ now wearing his jeans and tee. It was pathetically primeval but utterly seductive.
When she went out to the kitchen he was waiting with two giant mugs of coffee—perfect, as she’d been having some dangerous thoughts about heading to a nearby bed.
‘What do you do when you’re here alone and the weather’s closed in like this?’ she asked, desperate to make innocuous conversation.
‘I read.’
‘Let me guess, thrillers? Gory crime stories?’
‘No.’ He lifted his mug and led her down the hallway, pushing open the door to the large, plush study. He walked to a bookshelf around a corner, further away from the others. ‘Non-fiction.’
‘Oh, wow.’ Ellie gazed at the partially hidden display. Architecture books. Big, expensive, beautiful architecture and design books. Covering all kinds of buildings—not just hotels but homes and castles, inner-city apartments, outback homesteads and skyscrapers. The works.
‘You’ve got a ton.’ She moved in front of the shelf and pulled a couple out, then folded to sit cross-legged and opened the first book. It was the perfect safe