The Billionaire Affair

Wanton heat was already pooling between her thighs and something caught at the back of her throat as she raised the sultry heaviness of her lashes and let her glazed eyes roam the savagely handsome planes of his face, meeting the slightly frowning, brooding intensity of those gypsy dark eyes.

She shuddered convulsively as a wave of fierce longing flooded right through her. She needed to feel that sensually carved mouth on hers again, to take the thrusting masculine pride of his body into hers again—a need so desperate it ravaged her chaotic senses…

Her bones shaking, she reached out to him, but…

‘You’re out on your feet, sweetheart,’ Ben remarked softly, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders, holding her upright as she swayed involuntarily towards him. ‘Skip the shower tonight. You need sleep.’

The caring in his voice brought fresh tears to her eyes, mortifying her. She who never cried had shed enough to float a battleship over the past few hours.

Nothing to do with the trauma of at last learning just why her father had so bitterly resented her existence, nor the painful memories of that final interview—just Ben, his compassion. His caring for her well-being during their long-ago love affair had been one of the things that had made her love him so.

Yet that didn’t gel with the way he’d washed his hands of any responsibility towards Maggie Pope and his baby daughter…

She muffled a sob as he began to undress her, peeling away her blouse then undoing the waistband of her linen trousers, the backs of his fingers grazing the soft, sensitised skin of her tummy.

Caroline gasped, her stomach muscles tightening as he slid the fabric down her hips. Did he know what he was doing—the effect he was having on her? How every nerve in her body leapt? How her heart was thundering wildly sending fire to every part of her in a raging torrent of need? How her breasts were swelling, the rosy peaks hard, aching for his mouth?

Risking a glance from under her lashes she saw that he didn’t show even a casual interest in the twin globes he released as he unclipped her bra, merely dropping the filmy garment to the floor before turning his attention to her briefs with a smooth efficiency that made her burn with frustration.

Was he totally unaware of how wildly aroused she was, of how much she needed him? Did he think he was being considerate, leaving her in this state?

She thought she heard the sharp tug of his breath as she held onto him for balance while she shakily stepped out of the briefs he’d slid down the length of her legs, her engorged breasts brushing against him. And then she was sure she had to have imagined it when he laid almost clinical hands on her shoulders, turning her round then briskly plumping up the pillows, holding back the lightweight duvet, telling her levelly, ‘In you get. I don’t think you should be alone to brood tonight. So I’ll be right beside you if you feel the need to talk, for someone to hold you. Just hold you, OK, Caro?’

A catch in her throat, she stumbled into the bed, felt the duvet settle upon her, heard him move away, heard the gush of the shower in the en suite, turned her face into the pillow and bit it. Hard.

It seemed hours before he joined her, the raging torment of wanting him so much it hurt making the sleep she needed impossible to come by.

He hadn’t said a word when he’d finally exited the en suite. He’d simply walked across the room, switching off the light, closing the door to his private suite of rooms quietly behind him, leaving her alone in this room for what must have been ages.

Now Caroline heard the rustle of his clothing as he undressed in the darkness, felt the mattress dip as he slid in beside her, taking care not to disturb her.

Disturb her? She was disturbed enough to be in a white-hot sexual frenzy!

He settled down, his back to her, an aching void away in the huge bed. And she commanded thickly because she couldn’t help it, because she was driven, ‘Hold me, Ben. Please, hold me!’

She sensed him stiffen, the darkness around them tensing for one brief second before he turned and gathered her to him, folding his arms around her, tucking her head into the angle of his shoulder, his warm breath fanning her cheek as he murmured gently, ‘I’m here, sweetheart. You’d like to talk?’

He too was naked. Her skin ignited against his, her blood exploding in her veins. Talk? They had to, of course they did. About Maggie, his child, the money he’d taken from her father. But not now.

Now she wanted him. Just him. The utter perfection of their physical mating, the bad things forgotten, just for now. Tomorrow would be soon enough for this fantasy of love to end, to tell him that she could never marry a man she couldn’t trust.

‘No!’ she uttered hoarsely. ‘Make love to me. I need you.’ And she pressed her tingling breasts against the hard wall of his chest, wrapping her legs around his, drawing one of his thighs between hers, melting with delirium as she felt his instant, leaping response against the frantically quivering flesh of her abdomen. ‘Now, Ben! Now!’

She heard him take a sudden breath and knew the control he’d been keeping had been fractured when he turned her on her back and straddled her. Then, with tormenting slowness he ran his hands down the length of her writhing body until he found the warm, secret dampness at the juncture of her thighs.

Caroline moaned aloud, his skilful fingers driving her to the point of no return and when his mouth replaced them she arched and bucked and cried his name as waves of ecstasy convulsed her, over and over, until she reached out and caught his head between her hands and kissed him, her breath sobbing raggedly in her lungs.

His own breathing was raw as he pulled her down with him and kicked away the duvet. Linking his fingers with hers he said with sultry confidence, ‘That was for you. Now we do it my way, sweetheart. Slowly, very, very slowly…’

When Caroline woke she half expected to feel ashamed of her behaviour, but all she felt was a glorious wave of happiness and a sweet, drenching contentment.

She stirred and stretched lazily, voluptuously, and Ben’s deep, honeyed voice said, ‘Just like a lithe little cat.’

Lifting her lashes her soft amethyst eyes located him. Standing above her, clad in a short terry robe, his hair damp from the shower, he looked utterly gorgeous, the harsh, proud planes of his face curiously softened, his mouth a sultry, kissable curve.

Her heart wrenching over she hoisted herself back against the pillows as he put the two mugs of coffee he’d been carrying down on the bedside table then perched on the edge of the bed beside her.

‘Now, there’s a sight a man would gladly kill for,’ he remarked silkily, his black eyes roaming her nakedness with languorous attention to every detail. ‘Perfection against his pillows.’