Page 47 of A Diamond for My Forbidden Bride

He stared down at me a moment, his expression impenetrable, then he took my hand from his cheek in a gentle grip and he kissed each one of my fingertips, his mouth warm and velvety. ‘Well,’ he murmured with a ghost of his old charm. ‘Who am I to argue with a lady?’

My heart clenched at the way he kissed my fingers, but I only said, keeping things light, ‘Indeed you shouldn’t.’

The tension around his mouth eased slightly as he let go of my hand, not so much a smile as an easing of tension. Then he leaned back against the desk. ‘Surprise me then, little star.’

So, I did.

My palms were damp as I pulled off the silky dress, my heartbeat loud in my head. I wore nothing underneath it, because I’d been secretly hoping it would end this way between us.

His gaze flared as I let the silk go and it raked down my naked body, lingering in all his favourite places and making me shiver.

‘Well?’ I asked. ‘Are you?’

His attention came back to my face, his smile gone now. ‘Surprised? Yes. Yes, I am. You are perfection, Olivia Wintergreen.’

My breathing was fast but I made no attempt to control it and I didn’t look away. I let him see the hunger inside me. I let him see the fire as it licked up higher. I let him see it consume me. Because, yes, I burned.

And I wanted him to watch.

I took the last step that separated us, getting close to him, watching the fire catch alight inside him too. ‘Don’t move,’ I whispered.

And he didn’t. He stayed exactly where he was, statue-still.

I put a hand to the buttons of his jeans, touching him through the denim, feeling the long, hard shape of him. The breath hissed between his teeth as I mapped him with my fingertips, the flames in his eyes leaping higher. Every part of him was tense, but he didn’t move.

He was giving me this by doing what I said. He was giving me his trust. An aching, shifting kind of emotion washed through me then, powerful and familiar, deep and resolute.

His father had controlled and abused him, left him emotionally isolated with only his brother for company. A brother he’d tried to protect, who’d then betrayed him. He’d been shut in a windowless room for six months and, when he’d finally managed to escape, he’d had to fake his own death just to make sure his father would never find him.

He wasn’t scarred on the outside, but he was on the inside.

But he was perfection too and I wanted him to know that.

So I concentrated on what I was doing, tracing him through the fabric of his jeans, stroking him, giving him as much pleasure as he’d given me.

I lifted my hands to his jeans, my fingers now shaking as I undid them. He didn’t move, but I could hear his breathing in the silence of the room. It was ragged and short.

I had no idea what I was doing, since I’d never done this to a man before, but somehow that didn’t matter. I could see what I was doing to him; he didn’t hide it, so I just kept going.

He stayed still as I pulled open his jeans and when I touched him. When I drew him out and held him in my hands. His skin was smooth and hot, and he was so hard.

I leaned forward and traced him with my tongue, tasting him, salt and musk, and he made a soft growling sound that thrilled me right down to the bone.

I took him into my mouth, learning the feel and shape of him, and he made another of those delicious masculine sounds, half-groan, half-growl. His hands were in my hair, not pulling or directing me in any way, just massaging my skull gently before drawing his fingers through the strands, taking a sensual delight in them against his skin.

I glanced up at him, wanting to watch his face as I explored him, using his expressions as my guide, and he didn’t look away. He let me see the effect I had on him.

‘Livvy...’ The words were rough and hot. ‘Livvy, you are perfect... Ah, a goddess...’

I loved the husky note in his voice, loved how he hid nothing from me. So I gave him more, gave him hotter and deeper, and he watched me, our gazes connecting, losing ourselves in the fire we were generating between us and being consumed by it.

He growled my name in the end, and pulled my hair, but it didn’t hurt, and I liked it. Tasting him had made me even hungrier for him, but I didn’t need him to return the favour.

Yet it seemed he had his own ideas about that, because afterwards he helped me to my feet then gripped me, turning round and setting me on top of his desk.

Then he kissed me, long, deep and hard, his hands on my body, stroking me.

I trembled, every part of me alive to his touch. ‘You don’t have to,’ I murmured against his mouth. ‘It’s not a favour you have to return.’

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