Page 9 of Forget

But the contemporary lighting wasn’t her main focus as her gaze glued to his butt and the way it filled out his black chinos. Damn, he looked good. Better than she remembered.

Felt good too, from her blatant stroking of his cock in the jazz club. It had driven her wild, knowing he had the hots for her, had emboldened her to do what she’d yearned to do from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him again: kiss him.

And what a kiss: deep, sensual, erotic, Brock to a T. She’d been on the point of straddling him if the band hadn’t started up.

Now, she wanted to start up in an entirely different way.

No sound came from the kitchen and she hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts. She’d subdued her doubts about having sex with him, especially when they’d be working together to organise her business, and she’d assumed that inviting her here to get down and dirty meant he wanted the same thing.

Sneaking a peek over her shoulder in the direction of the now brightly lit kitchen, she scuttled towards a high-backed chair furthest from the floor-to-ceiling windows. She rucked up her skirt and wriggled out of her control panties, experiencing a moment of panic when her usual muffin top rolled out.

Mentally cursing her inherent insecurities, she stuffed the panties into her handbag and smoothed her skirt down.

She’d lost about five kilos since her uni days, enough to give her a semblance of a waist. The weight loss served to accentuate her bust and take some of the attention away from her hips and ass. ‘The perfect hourglass’, Brock had said with reverence when he’d skimmed his hands over her body on grad night.

But she hadn’t disrobed fully then, keeping on a T-shirt the entire time. Brock hadn’t pushed her to take it off and she’d loved him for it. He’d never made her feel anything but cherished during the whole experience and she wanted more of the same.

What would he think if she revealed her embarrassing secret?

That she hadn’t had sex since that night.

Six years of celibacy by choice.

It sounded crazy in her head; no way could she articulate it. He’d think she was some kind of loser, getting so hung up over that one cataclysmic night that she hadn’t screwed any guy since.

Not that she hadn’t tried. She’d fooled around with a few dates, giving and receiving head. But when it had come to revealing skin she’d baulked, each and every time. She’d been labelled a prick tease several times but hadn’t cared. None of those guys she’d casually dated had been a patch on Brock.

It had been serendipitous when she’d seen an article on him in a computer journal last week. She needed the best in the IT business to ensure she could honour Sasha’s memory in the right way, so it had been a no-brainer to contact him despite her qualms. Because a picture had accompanied the glowing recommendation from some journo and seeing him again—albeit on a screen—after six years had stirred up quashed memories in a big way.

How he’d lavished every inch of her body with attention, exploring dips and curves with his tongue. How he’d maintained eye contact the moment he’d slid into her for the first time. Howhe’d caressed and kissed her skin, from her ankles to her ears, taking the time to linger where she’d needed him most.

The memories had been potent and kept her up nights when she’d lain in bed, horny and alone, pleasuring herself with the memory of him inside her.

She squeezed her thighs together; as if that would stop the insistent throb. If he didn’t come back soon she’d go after him, but it had been six years since their last phenomenal bout, what were a few more minutes?

Padding to the glass door that opened out onto a wrap-around balcony, she took in the view of Melbourne at night. She loved this vibrant city, every cosmopolitan inch. Travelling widely with her folks had ensured she’d fallen in love with cities on a regular basis: Paris, Vienna, Hamburg, London. Lake Como had been her favourite, with Vancouver a close second, but no city had a vibe like Melbourne.

From her vantage point she could see the Arts Centre spire, an electric blue against the night sky, the bustling Flinders Street Station, and the Melbourne Cricket Ground lights on. She didn’t follow Aussie Rules football but you couldn’t live in Melbourne without knowing teams played there every winter weekend.

‘Sorry that took so long.’

She spun around to see Brock laying out a cheese platter, a fruit platter, and a bottle of Shiraz on the coffee table. Sheesh, this guy was too good to be true.

He gestured at the feast he’d laid out. ‘I didn’t have dinner and I’m hungry, thought you might be too?’

His bashful smile made her want to hug him, but she settled for sinking into the soft suede sofa in front of the food.

‘Thanks for this, you’re very thoughtful.’

‘I aim to please.’

Their gazes locked and she knew in that instant he wasn’t talking about the food. Heat and electricity sizzled in the airbetween them, a reminder of how good they were together, anticipation of doing it again.

To her mortification, her stomach gurgled at that moment, loud enough to be heard, and heat flooded her cheeks.

His mouth eased into a sexy grin. ‘Let’s eat.’

He took a seat next to her, close enough that their knees touched, sending a jolt of longing arrowing straight between her legs.

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