Page 74 of Ride the Wave

The doors slide back towards each other.

Leo spins me round to face him as soon as they shut.

‘Well, that was fucking torture,’ he states.

‘The worst,’ I breathe, before grabbing his head with both hands and pulling his mouth to mine.

I think my enthusiasm takes him by surprise at first, but he’s more than happy to throw his back into it, his large, warm hands gripping onto my hips as I crush my lips against his, desire pumping through my veins and making me lose all inhibitions.

When the doors open at his floor, he breaks the kiss and his hand finds mine, threading our fingers and leading me out of the lift as quickly as possible. I clasp his hand tightly, biting my lip as I hazily go wherever he wants to take me, my aching feet miraculously cured by the power of Leo Silva’s lips. I have to say, I feel a little bereft to leave that lift; I’m kind of fond of it now. It’s where Leo first kissed me, the place where I discovered that my ginormous, inappropriate, burning crush is reciprocated. I feel guilty for being mad at it when it was out of order. It is now my favourite lift in the world.

Do people have favourite elevators? Is that a thing? Fuck it, I don’t care. I do.

His door is open and we’re inside. He’s pulling me into him and his hands are back where they belong: all over my body. My back, my waist, my hips, my arse, roaming everywhere and anywhere – his hands are so large and strong that they make me feel tiny. His mouth descends on mine again and my stomach twists with anticipation as I dissolve into the kiss, dropping my bag from my shoulder and chucking it across the floor, before pressing my hands against his solid, sculpted chest. My fingers fall to the hem of his t-shirt at his hips and I try to yank it up without breaking the kiss, desperate to touch him, to feel his bare skin beneath my fingertips. He chuckles against my lips, getting the hint before pulling away and leading me by the hand towards his bedroom.

‘I’m pleased to see you’re the kind of guy who makes the bed in the mornings,’ I remark, noting the neat, white sheets and general tidiness of his room.

There’s no clutter anywhere, just a reading lamp and book on his bedside table and a huge, horizontal, framed photograph of turquoise-blue waves crashing on a golden beach in the warm-orange glow of sunset over his bed.

‘Throw cushions?’ I say, unable to hide my surprise when I spot them arranged against the pillows. ‘I didn’t have you down as a throw-cushion man.’

‘I’m a lot more sophisticated than you think, London.’ He grins, crinkles appearing around the corners of his lips, so gorgeous and sexy they send shivers down my spine.

He reaches for my other hand and tugs me towards him, but he slows things down now, lifting a hand to sweep my hair back over one shoulder, his eyes following his fingertips as they brush down the neckline of my dress, branching away across my collarbone. My breath hitches as he looks at me, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

‘You look unbelievable in this dress. Fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe you wore this on a date with that dickhead,’ he mutters in a low, resentful voice.

‘You like it?’ I ask coyly.

‘It reminds me of the bikini you wore for our surf lesson yesterday. It’s similar at the top,’ he notes, his fingertips resting on my collarbone.

‘The yellow halterneck.’ I lift my eyebrows. ‘In a good way?’

His eyes darken as he runs his hands down to my hips.

‘You have no idea,’ he growls, pressing his forehead against mine and sending shivers down my spine. ‘It drove me fucking crazy, having to undo the zip of your wetsuit, seeing you in that yellow bikini, unable to untie it and touch you like I wanted to.’

I can barely breathe.

‘Show me,’ I hear myself say in a quiet, urgent voice. ‘Show me how you wanted to touch me.’

Time seems to stop for a moment as I meet his gaze.

‘Okay, London,’ he murmurs, ‘since you ask so nicely.’ He bends down and scoops me up in his arms again, just like when he carried me up the beach and up the stairs to my flat earlier. He grins at my gasp of surprise as I’m lifted in the air. ‘First, let’s get you off that injured foot.’

Walking across the room, he lowers me carefully down onto the bed, shoving the throw cushions aside, before moving to kneel between my knees. Lifting his t-shirt, he pulls it off over his head and drops it down onto the floor beside the bed. He takes a moment to gaze at me, my hair splayed out around his pillows, my teeth digging into my lower lip as I seize the opportunity to drink him in too. My eyes scan his tanned, sculpted chest and abs, a torso I’ve seen so many times over the last couple of weeks but haven’t been allowed to touch. Now, if only fleetingly, he gets to be mine. I ache for him to be close.

‘In your own time, Leo,’ I mutter impatiently.

‘I’m not rushing this,’ he says, and something about the seriousness of his tone makes my heart race.

He leans over to kiss me but slowly and deeply, nothing like the urgency of the lift, because I’m in his bed now and we have all night ahead of us. His lips brush against mine so tenderly, he’s making me feel shy, which is fairly unusual for me. I’m not used to someone being so careful, so admiring, but that’s how it feels like, being kissed by Leo. Like he’s been longing for this; like he wants to savour and remember every moment of it. He exhales softly against my mouth, his tongue gliding against mine and sending pulses of heat cascading through my body. I arch my back a little, my breasts pressing into his chest, and his breath catches. There’s an intensity to this kiss that covers my skin in goosebumps. It makes me nervous.Hemakes me nervous.

Now I’m shyandnervous? I don’t know what this man is doing to me.

As his hand moves down my side, his fingers must trip over the small, delicate zip to the dress because he smiles against my mouth triumphantly as he pinches it and carefully pulls it down. He hesitates, lifting his head to look at me with a puzzled expression.

‘I’m a big fan of this dress, as you know, but,’ he brushes his fingers along the satin halter neckline, ‘how does it come off?’

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