Cross My Hart, page 9
‘Huh?’ I couldn’t have told you, for a million dollars, what the time is.
‘We’ve destroyed the bed,’ he says, grinning, so my tummy squeezes because his smile is both sexy and devilishly handsome, sweet and...addictive. The words run through my veins like ice.
‘Huh?’
He laughs, dropping a finger to my nose, tracing its length before dropping it to my lips and running it over the tip. ‘Is this the same woman who threw P & L spreadsheets at me all day?’
My brain is still sluggish. With effort, I bring myself fully to the moment and realise he’s right—this bed is saturated. It’s not going to dry out in a couple of hours. ‘Whoops.’
‘Whoops.’ He runs his finger lower, over my chin, swirling it around the divot there, then tracing it over my throat, pressing his fingers to my racing pulse point.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘Since half an hour ago?’
He shrugs. ‘Room service...’
‘No. I came straight back to my room and had a cold shower,’ I quip.
‘How’d that work out for you?’
I shake my head. ‘It didn’t.’
‘I’m glad I got here when I did then.’
‘A minute later and you would have missed out on the party altogether.’
His laugh is throaty. ‘Heaven forbid.’
He pulls up from the bed, standing for a minute, just staring at me like he’s committing me to his memory.
‘I just wanted to pick you up and fuck you on that conference table today, you know.’
‘Funny, I was having the same fantasy,’ I say honestly.
‘I wonder what Orion Karakedes would have said...’
‘I’m not sure he would have cared, so long as it didn’t affect your interest in the property.’
He laughs. ‘Damn it. Now I’m kicking myself for not acting on the impulse.’
‘You couldn’t,’ I say, wide-eyed, scrambling to my knees, on the edge of the bed, pulling him towards me, his body still damp from the shower, naked for my touch and inspection. I flick one of his nipples with my tongue and feel his ragged inhalation beneath my mouth.
‘Oh?’
‘Daytime.’
‘That’s right. We’re sexual vampires.’
I smile against his hair-roughened chest, moving to the other nipple, biting it gently.
‘Uh-huh. Per the terms of our agreement.’
‘But it’s night-time now.’ His voice is gruff.
‘Yep.’
‘So you’re mine. Right?’
My heart does a funny little flip-flop in my chest. ‘I’m mine,’ I say with a wry glance at his face.
‘Oh, no, Grace. Between now and dawn, you’re all mine. Every little bit of you. And I intend to make the most of it.’ He pauses meaningfully. ‘Per our agreement.’
My pulse ratchets up a gear. ‘I think I like the sound of that.’
‘I kinda hoped you would.’ He brushes his lips over mine. ‘But I’m starving. Dinner first?’
It’s still early evening. It makes sense to eat. ‘Room service?’
He laughs. ‘Definitely. But my room. I want a bed within reach that’s not such a swimming pool.’
I nod. ‘Fine by me.’
His room is exactly the same as mine, but flipped. I stroll into it, looking around, and perhaps my confusion shows because he smudges a thumb over my perplexed smile. ‘What’s up?’
‘How come you stay in tiny hotel rooms?’
‘I have to sleep somewhere. You think the street would be better?’ He’s being deliberately vague.
‘I mean instead of somewhere more high-end.’
‘Why would I?’
‘Because you’re a gazillionaire,’ I remind him, smiling, dropping my handbag to the floor inside his door and padding to the small balcony that overlooks the edge of the golf course and, beyond it, the ocean. The smell of salt hangs in the air, tropical and breathtaking.
He’s right behind me. ‘A bed’s a bed,’ he says simply.
I turn around, bracing my elbows on the railing, regarding him thoughtfully. ‘You don’t like the trappings of wealth?’
‘I don’t like wasting money on crap I don’t need.’
‘You have a private jet.’
‘That’s necessary.’
I laugh. ‘Really?’
‘Sure. I fly a lot. I need a plane that can be at my disposal. I work on the plane. Entertain. It suits me.’
‘But extravagant hotel rooms...’
He shakes his head. ‘I have homes in the cities I travel to regularly. When I’m on the road I just need a bed. A gym in the hotel. That’s it.’
I admire his attitude. Having known a lot of people who value status symbols over just about anything, it’s refreshing to talk to a guy with a serious fortune in the bank who’s happy to live like a normal person.
‘What’s your house like?’ I ask out of curiosity.
He traps me with his hands, one on either side of my body, and I like the feeling.
‘A penthouse.’ He shrugs. ‘Big. Glass. Open. Easy.’
‘Why not have something smaller?’
‘I spend a lot of time at home. I like the space.’
It makes sense.
‘Plus, Brinkley really takes up most of the room.’
‘Brinkley?’
‘My dog.’
My heart does something dangerously soft and mushy. ‘You have a dog?’
‘A golden retriever.’ He nods.
‘Aww...’
He laughs. ‘What?’
‘I just didn’t picture you as a dog person, but now you say it I can totally see it.’
He grins. ‘I am indeed a dog person. Whatever that means.’ He moves away, coming to stand beside me but looking out at the view. ‘You got one?’
‘A dog? Nah.’
He grins slowly and my heart flip-flops. ‘You’re not a “dog person”?’
‘Oh, I am.’ I shake my head. ‘I’ve always had dogs. I left Harrison behind when I moved to Sydney and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.’ Tears thicken my throat.
‘Why’d you leave him?’
I turn around, facing out to the ocean, my body beside his. ‘He was too old to rehome. I left him at Mum and Dad’s—they have a big, beautiful property with bunches of avocado trees. He spent his days running around and eating the fruit whenever it dropped to the ground.’ I shake my head fondly at the memory. ‘I always thought I’d bring him to Sydney, but then I met Gareth and he’s allergic...’ My voice tapers off as I draw in a fortifying breath. ‘Harrison died last Christmas.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He says it with the sympathy only a dog owner can feel. I nod curtly, but inside my heart is shattering.
‘He was fifteen, and arthritic.’
‘Doesn’t make it suck any less.’
I shake my head, lifting my eyes to his. ‘Nope.’ Something passes between us. A surge of warmth or understanding, something that flutters in my gut. I rip my gaze away, focusing on the golf course.
‘Do you know why it’s called Silver Dunes?’ I murmur, my eyes chasing across the course, finding the sand dunes one by one.
‘Nice name?’ he says light-heartedly.
I pull a face. ‘Sure, that’s part of it. But no, actually. It’s that bunker there.’ I point across the course. The twelfth hole is only partly visible, just the edge of the bunker shimmering from this angle. ‘On a clear night like this, the moon hits it and the sand looks like starshine. Can you see it?’
‘No,’ he says with a slight laugh. ‘I see dark rolling hills and pale sand bunkers.’
‘Look, though,’ I persist. ‘Can’t you see it? It’s kind of magical.’
He angles his face, so close to mine I feel his breath against my jaw. ‘It’s not the most transfixing thing I’ve seen tonight,’ he says simply and my stomach squishes and turns.
I bite down on my lower lip, stilling my smile, my pulse.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asks, the question soft.
I nod, even though my tummy is in loops and probably not capable of eating much. It’s been a long time since lunch. ‘Sure.’
‘Happy for me to order something?’
I nod. ‘Yeah. Whatever you’re having.’
He pulls away from me and I feel his absence almost instantly. I stare out at the golf course, but he’s back a second later. ‘Your phone was ringing.’ He holds it out towards me and I look towards the screen.
Gareth.
Jagger watches me for a moment, his eyes latched to mine, and then he turns on his heel, heading back into the modest hotel room, lifting up the room phone and speaking in his husky, sexy American drawl. I pull the glass doors shut, separating us and, with a heavy sigh, press Gareth’s name in my phone.
I don’t want to talk to him. Frankly, I wish he’d get stuffed. But we’re business partners and I’m not going to let the fucked-upness of our personal lives get in the way of business.
‘Gracie.’
I dig my nails into my palms. ‘You called?’
‘Yeah. Hang on a second.’ There’s a scratchy noise, sounds like he’s covered the receiver, then his mumbled voice and the closing of a door. ‘You there?’
I count to five. ‘Did you want something, Gareth?’
‘How did it go today?’
I count to ten. ‘Why are you checking up on me so much?’
‘It’s a big deal,’ he says straight away. ‘I feel like I left you in the lurch with no support...’
I count to fifteen. I resist the urge to point out he left me in the lurch when he walked out on our relationship and proposed to another woman. ‘I’ve got it,’ I say firmly. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘I know that. I just feel like I should be there...’
‘You’re on your honeymoon,’ I snap, wishing I’d counted a few seconds before answering. I soften my voice. ‘And I’m all over the material. There’s nothing unfamiliar to me here. It’s just another property, another deal. It’s what I’m good at.’
I hear the doors slide open behind me and turn, facing Jagger as he saunters onto the small balcony.
‘What’s the investor like?’
He walks towards me purposefully, a glint in his eyes I can’t understand. His hand finds the hem of the floaty dress I pulled on before leaving my hotel room, lifting it up my legs, his fingers glancing across my pussy—naked, because why bother with underpants when I know we’re going to come together again any minute?
‘He’s smart,’ I say as Jagger’s fingers separate my seam.
‘But is he interested?’
He slips a finger deep inside me, his eyes laughing, crinkled at the corners as I bite down on my lip.
‘In the golf course?’
‘Yeah. And the resort. The whole deal.’
‘I don’t know.’ The words come out strained. He lifts his spare hand and presses a finger against my lips, urging me not to moan as he moves his finger deeper inside me and then pulls it out, thrusts it in again, as though he’s fucking me. My hips buckle, pushing me forwards.
‘You must have a sense...’
My breath escapes on a sharp hiss. ‘I think the course is an incredible investment and he’s smart and moneyed.’ He drops his hand from my mouth and lifts it to cup my arse, digging his fingers into my flesh, pulling me forward, against his hard dick. I have to bite down hard on my lip to stop from groaning.
‘So he’ll buy it?’
‘I don’t know.’ The words quiver.
‘Are you okay, Gracie?’
‘I’m fine, Gareth. I have to go...’
Jagger shakes his head, drops his mouth to my other ear and whispers, ‘Don’t hang up. Not yet.’
My heart rushes against my ribs.
‘You sure you’re okay?’
I nod, then realise he can’t see me. ‘Fine.’
‘I’m going to make you come while you’re on the phone to him,’ he whispers in my ear, and my blood bursts through my veins.
I jerk my head away, my eyes lancing him, and he grins then drops to his knees once more, his mouth some kind of voodoo magic. I’m already at fever pitch and the second his tongue slides along my sex I feel the first tingling hint of explosion. I grip the railing tight.
‘You’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Did Bianca send you the run sheet? Snorkelling in the morning, followed by lunch, then a game of golf in the afternoon. I know you’re shit at sport but he’s meant to be a keen player—supposed to be almost pro level. I’m sorry to miss it, actually,’ Gareth drones on, but I stopped listening eons ago.
Jagger lashes me with his tongue, the warmth of his breath and the pressure of his mouth making pleasure roll through my veins until I can no longer keep quiet.
‘I got it,’ I moan. ‘I have to go.’ I fumble, disconnecting the call, then grip the phone tight in my hand as Jagger pushes me over the edge.
‘I said not to hang up,’ he murmurs as I come against his mouth, as I forget where I am, who I am, what I want in life.
‘Couldn’t...stay...quiet...’
‘Good,’ he purrs. ‘I like you noisy, Grace. I like you screaming, in fact.’
I don’t feel even a hint of embarrassment. I’m riding a wave of complete pleasure, total euphoric release. ‘Don’t stop,’ I beg, staring up at the sky. ‘Please, don’t stop.’
‘All night long, remember?’ He doesn’t say anything else. He uses his mouth to play my body, to fuck me with his lips, and I cry his name out at the top of my lungs as I spin wildly into an abyss from which I have no idea if I can escape.
* * *
‘Why did you do that?’ I ask when I can speak again.
‘Because I like making you come,’ he says simply, standing, straightening my dress. ‘In fact, I fucking love making you come.’
Pleasure makes my smile broad. ‘I meant, why did you do it while I was on the phone?’
His eyes flash for a second with something darker, something more hard-edged. ‘Because he’d hate it.’
‘He didn’t know.’
‘Sure. But you knew.’ His arms encircle me. ‘And I knew. And I like the idea of that.’
Something turns over in my gut, because I do, too, but it’s petty and juvenile. ‘I’m over him, you know,’ I say seriously, determinedly.
‘Sure you are.’ He laughs softly.
But his cynicism angers me—I’ve fought too hard to put Gareth behind me to have anyone doubt it now. ‘I am,’ I say firmly. ‘He’s married to someone else.’
‘That doesn’t mean you’re over him.’
‘Hello,’ I say with a forced smile. ‘Have you been with me the last couple of nights?’
‘Yeah. And you fuck like you’re trying to forget. I’ve been there. I recognise it.’
Something like panic flares in my chest. ‘You’re wrong.’
‘No, I’m not.’ He lifts a hand, strokes it over my hair, but I jerk away. He takes a step back, not crowding me. ‘But you’ll get over him eventually. He doesn’t deserve you.’
‘I am over him,’ I insist. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘Sure I do. He jerked you around, promised you the world, then left you for someone else.’
‘It’s really not like that.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. I turn away from him, staring out at what I can see of the twelfth hole. ‘It’s not him. It’s me.’
He’s quiet. The moon dips behind a cloud, darkening the course momentarily.
‘He told me he didn’t want to get married. When we first started dating, I mean. He said, “I’m not into marriage. Don’t believe in it”. And I was okay with that. I didn’t really care, to be honest. I had no idea if I’d even be with him in a month’s time. Marriage was nowhere on my horizon. But then we were still together a month later, and a month after that. Six months later. A year later. And suddenly I felt like I’d closed myself off to a whole world that maybe I did actually want to be a part of.’
‘Did you talk to him about it?’ The question is asked with clinical precision, the same businesslike professionalism he brought to the conference room earlier today.
‘Sure. Once. He smiled and told me he loved me but that he hadn’t changed his mind. Marriage wasn’t for him.’
‘I see. And you said...?’
‘I said that I didn’t really care, even when I did.’ I shake my head. ‘I told myself I was being stupid, that marriage is just a certificate and the option of changing your name—which you can do anyway. I told myself it didn’t mean we wouldn’t spend the rest of our lives together, wouldn’t have kids together. Wouldn’t be together, just like a married couple. I told myself loving someone was about accepting all their unique quirks and foibles, and this was one of his.’
I suck in a gulp of salty night air. ‘Then we broke up and he got engaged to someone else and I realised he did believe in marriage.’ My voice is raw. ‘He believed in it. He wanted it. He just didn’t know that until he met someone who made him want it.’ I angle my face to Jagger’s. He’s watching me with a guarded intensity that strips me raw. ‘He just didn’t want me.’
He compresses his lips, his eyes scanning my face.
‘I showed him all of myself, and he walked away. And I gave up all of myself—I gave up what I wanted in life, and love, because he asked it of me, and he walked away from me. I don’t still love him, Jagger. This isn’t about him. It’s about how he made me feel—how I let him make me feel.’ I tilt my chin a little, even when I’m sure my eyes are awash with all the hurt my heart carries.
‘Compromise in a relationship is important,’ he says finally. ‘And caring for someone enough to give them what they need, to sacrifice in their name, is the only way a relationship can work.’ He rubs his hand over mine on the balcony. ‘He just didn’t want to sacrifice back.’
