Page 7 of The Polly Principle (The Laws of Love 2)

Seconds later she was back, brandishing a small spray can.

“Hope that’s not mace?” He laughed somewhat nervously as she sashayed towards him.

“You’d have to beverybadly behaved for me to do that,” she purred, coming so close he could see even in the dim light a dusting of freckles on her nose. “Now, open wide.”

He opened his mouth like a baby cuckoo and the cold tingle of menthol and mint hit his tongue, coated the back of his throat.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“Oh no, you don’t get away that easily.” Ebony curls shook vigorously. “One more.”

He opened again. Another shot of iciness.

A giggle escaped her as he pulled a face, then she turned the can, parted her lips and gave a quick spray.

“Why only one for you?” he demanded.

“Alcohol is nowhere near as yucky as smoker’s breath.”

“Want to bet?”

“We’ll see after a taste-test, shall we?” She’d popped the can into a tiny pocket in those tiny shorts and her fingers started an itsy-bitsy spider walk along his forearm and up his bicep.

“Nice—hard—muscles,” she murmured softly and glanced up from under her lashes.

When her splayed hand smoothed over his pecs, a guttural sound escaped him; the sort of sound a starving man would likely make as he was presented with a three-course feast.

She let out another giggle as their noses bumped.

“You haven’t felt anything yet.” He heard his words, husky and full of lust and confidence, two emotions that hadn’t been in his repertoire for a very long time. “Now stop laughing and kiss me.”

* * *

Sometime later,Solo rolled onto his back and tried to catch his breath.

“Wow!” he managed finally.

He heard Polly’s throaty chuckle next to him. “Did that meet with your approval, Mr Motorbike Man?”

“You could say I’ve been right-royally fucked stupid, yes. And you?”

Deftly he removed and knotted the condom, then shifted onto his side, hooking his head onto a cupped hand. He let his eyes follow the outline of a shapely shoulder, dipping down to the hollow of her waist and the swell of her hip, pale as marble in an arc of moonlight from the window.

They’d ended up on her bed after a few minutes of frenziedly throwing each other against the wonky railings, accompanied by thrusting tongues and incoherent words of mutual appreciation. When Solo had worried out loud that there might be dry rot and they’d both end up on the veranda below, him with his jeans round his thighs and Polly with nothing much left on at all, they’d made the decision to stumble into her room. He’d been so turned on he wasn’t sure what to focus on first, but clearly the gorgeous Polly was pretty experienced, presenting him with a condom from God-only-knew-where before wrapping her legs around him and urging him to thrust hard as she straddled him. Moments later one of her hands had taken hold of his and sneaked it between her legs, guiding his movements. In no time it seemed she’d helped herself to a very lyrical orgasm, which brought his own on with such intensity it nearly knocked his head clean off his shoulders.

Solo couldn’t think of the last time he’d had such mind-blowing sex. And with such an amazing woman, who was now saying sweetly, “Oh, yes, Mr-I-fly-solo, this time you took someone with you, right to the ver-ry end.”

“Happy ending, huh?” He couldn’t help feeling smug, even though he wasn’t sure how much of it he could actually claim credit for.

“Oh, yes.”

Here was a woman who revelled in her sexuality.

And, hell, he had no problem with that.

No problem at all.

He reached out and toyed with a curl that had fallen across her face, pulling it straight between his finger. “Real corkscrews.” He smiled.

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