Page 66 of Midnight Enemy

He just laughs. Then he turns to face me, slides a hand around my waist to the small of my back, and moves close to me.

His gaze scans me, desire in his eyes. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs. Then he dips his head and lowers his lips to mine.

His hand splays in the middle of my back, holding me there, showing me he’s not going to let me go until he’s kissed me. Powerless to resist, I reach up onto my tiptoes and rest my hands on his chest, leaning into the kiss. My fingers pluck at his cotton shirt, and I give a soft moan in my throat as his lips move across mine. It’s a public kiss, no tongues, but my heart bangs anyway, my insides turning molten as my blood heats up like mercury in a thermometer.

When he eventually lifts his head, his pupils have dilated, and we’re both breathing fast. “Uber’s here,” he says, his voice husky.

I detach myself and get in, hoping I don’t faint, because I feel a bit dizzy. Maybe it’s the champagne. Or the adrenaline. Or maybe I’m hyperventilating. I should have brought a brown paper bag with me.

Orson gets in the other side, and the car slides into the traffic.

He picks up my hand and kisses my fingertips. “Are you sure about this?” he murmurs. “I’m not expecting anything. If you’d rather go home, that’s fine.”

I shake my head. “I’d like to see where you live.”

His lips curve up. “Okay.”

“Wheredoyou live, actually?”

“I have an apartment overlooking the harbor.”

“Don’t tell me—the penthouse?”

He just smiles, so I know I’m right.

“But you stay at the club sometimes?” I ask.

He nods. “I have a suite in the hotel.”

“So you have two houses?”

“I also have a bach up in the Bay of Islands.”

My jaw drops at his mention of a beach house in what many call the most beautiful part of New Zealand. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. And I have a townhouse in Wellington, another in Christchurch, and one in Dunedin.”

“Wow.”

He grins. “I go to a lot of meetings and conferences across the country.”

“It’s impressive. Do you ever look forward to settling down, though? Putting down roots?”

He looks surprised. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“What about when you have a family? A wife and kids.”

He looks genuinely puzzled, and I can see he really hasn’t considered it. “I guess,” he says.

“You’ve never considered asking any of your girlfriends to marry you?” I ask. The words sound funny as they leave my mouth, as if I’m trying to force apples through small square holes in a wire fence. The thought of him being with other women, being intimate with them, twists me up inside.

“No,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Dunno. Never been in love.”

I stare at him. “Never?”

---