Page 57 of The Payback Plan
Paige shut her eyes. Oh dear God,shut up,wine brain.
‘Paige.’
It was soft and low and she opened her eyes slowly, willing herself not to grind against him, not to move. Their eyes met briefly, his black pupils large, almost obliterating the blue of his irises. And then his gaze drifted to her mouth.
‘Paige…’
It was softer this time, lower. A rumble of air that sounded as if it had come from the depths of the earth. And that’s what did it. The raw ache in his voice pulsing between them. He seemed as lost in this moment as she was, her guilt from only ten minutes ago evaporating, disappearing into the ether. Lust fogged her head, replacing propriety with a roaring imperative to touch.
Her pulse a percussion section in her ears, Paige swooped down, her breasts flattening against his chest as she pressed her mouth to his.
This time neither of them were tentative. Neither of them froze at the audacity of the action. The kiss flared bright, right from the first touch of their lips and Paige moaned as the hands clutching her ass pulled her in tighter.
There was no Just Desserts. No payback plan. No Bella. Just him, solid andgoodbetween her legs.
Her breath caught in her throat as she pressed herself against him, trying to get closer to those contours that were thickening by the second. His low groan filled her head and the taste of coffee on his tongue was like a spoonful of Affogato. Sweet and bitter and absolutely no good for her but hell if she could resistanythingItalian.
A hand shoved into her hair, a palm grazed her cheek and she leaned into it as their mouths moved and shifted, their tongues tangling, hunting relentlessly for the next gasp, the next moan.
‘Jesus,Paige,’ he muttered against her mouth, his breathing hot and ragged on her face before he shoved his other hand in her hair and went back for more.
One kiss, two. Deep. Hard. Then a throaty groan and suddenly, she was on her back, his mouth barely leaving hers as he performed the feat, his body half over hers, pressing her into the floor, his hand sliding to her hip, to her waist, under her shirt, trailing fire.
Trailing desire.
His hand found her bra and Paige moaned, her fingers twisting into the hair at his nape and tugging as he cupped her breast and squeezed, her nipple hardening in a second streaking pleasure in a line that went directly to the bullseye right between her legs.
It did not pass go, it did not collect two hundred pounds.
Then, suddenly, two loud thumps on the front door, shattered their clinch as decisively as a falling axe. ‘Police,’ a voice boomed from the other side as blue light slid under and bled around the door surrounds, turning the darkened hallway into some kind of macabre disco as it strobed across the wreckage of the violin. ‘Open up.’
Startled, they sprang apart as if they were about to be arrested for… what? Making out. Betraying a friend.Again.Paige winced.
Damn you, wine brain.
‘What the fuck?’ Oliver scrambled to his feet, raking a hand through hair that between the fall and the fornication, was exceptionally mussy.
Also standing, Paige straightened her clothes. There was no hope forherhair.
Another bang on the door. ‘If you do not open this door, pronto,’ the voice boomed, ‘we’ll have to force it open.’
‘Coming,’ Oliver called before turning to her. ‘Why in the hell,’ he whispered, his brows forming a vexed V, ‘are the police at the door?’
Paige’s brain was not in a fit state to critically analyse anything right now. Between the wine and the hormonal buzz she could barely remember her own damn name. But he was looking at her like it was all her fault and that rankled because this time,shehad kissedhimand guilt needled her hard.
‘I don’t fucking know,’ she hissed. Oh, but actually… ‘Shit.’ She looked around for her phone. There it was a few metres away, the screen lit up, presumably the emergency call taker still on the line listening to the crashing and kerfuffle and then the utter silence while they were making out on the bloody floor.
Cringe.
‘I’d called 999 just before I karate-chopped your hand.’ Man, that had been fast. Surely, it’d been no more than ten minutes since she’d first dialled?
Oliver stared at her for moment and she thought he was going to demand to know why but then, as if he’d suddenly realised why a lone woman thinking someone was breaking into her housewouldcall the cops, his annoyance deflated and he huffed out a sigh. ‘Well… this ought to be good.’
Taking the half dozen strides to the front door, Oliver opened it with a smile. Paige joined him as he said, ‘Officer. Oh…’ Behind the burly copper who was laden down with about a dozen things hanging off his belt and his vest, there was another similarly encumbered. ‘Officers,’ he corrected.
‘We got a 999 call to this residence,’ he said with no preamble in a broad northern accent, eying Oliver suspiciously. He had two huge, greying eyebrows that undulated like furry caterpillars on his forehead.
‘Yes, sorry,’ Paige said. ‘That was me, I?—’
