A Pawn in the Playboy's Game

He was proving how simple sex was. She knew that and while her head was jammed with conflicting thoughts, she still couldn’t resist the warm pressure of his hands as he reached behind to unclasp the bra so that her breasts spilled out, her nipples tightening at the drop in temperature.

He looked at them, dark eyes hot and appreciative.

‘We...we should be going to the airport... We can’t... Not here...’

‘I’m not going to make love in this car,’ Alessandro said, his eyes flicking to her heated face. ‘Too small for a big man like me. No, I’m just going to do a little touching...’ He leaned over to lick her nipples and she sank lower in the car seat. To watch his dark head suckling at her breasts with the bleak open fields stretching on either side was unbelievably erotic. Wetness seeped through her underwear but in the confined space she couldn’t rub her legs together to relieve the ache there and he wasn’t going to put her out of her torment by going any further than her breasts.

It was sweet torture and she was as helpless as a kitten as he continued to suck and tease her nipples. The only sounds were the sounds of his mouth on her, and then he stopped and neatly pulled down her bra, her vest and the jumper, and sat back.

‘Enjoy what we have,’ he said, starting the car and slowly pulling away from the grass verge to continue their journey. ‘We are where we are. No need to get tense about it.’

Laura was busy doing up her bra, tidying herself and wondering how he could manage to prove a point with such consummate ease. How could she explain to him that she wasn’t as black and white as he was, when she had gaily launched herself into a no-strings-attached affair, cheerfully accepting that it was going nowhere? What right did she have to suddenly start pulling moral scruples out of the bag? How hypocritical was that?

They were going by private jet. For such a short holiday, she was told that it worked. She listened and contributed to the conversation. She knew that she was asking all sorts of interested questions about a private jet—when he used it, didn’t he think it was environmentally destructive?

‘You’ll have to get rid of all those thick clothes,’ he drawled, as they boarded the sleek, black jet that was waiting for them on a private airstrip she had never known existed. For a while, Laura forgot every qualm and doubt.

This was what it felt like to step into something that reeked of money. It was travel without the hassle of an airport and the discomfort of crowds of people. He was amused as he stood back and watched her poke and pry, scarcely hearing him when he told her that he had made sure that a selection of light clothes be brought to the plane. He guided her into a separate, private room with a relaxing sofa and indicated the neat stacks of clothes. He stood by the door, glanced at his watch, eventually told her to get a move on because they would be taking off shortly.

‘I brought my own clothes.’ Laura looked down at the bright collection in front of her. Tropical colours. Colours she would never have dreamed of wearing.

‘So now you have more than you need. Isn’t that every woman’s dream?’

‘I’ve told you already that I’m not like every woman so, no, that’s never been a dream of mine.’ She held up one strappy, frothy little number and twirled it in front of her with a frown.

‘Try it, Laura,’ Alessandro encouraged softly. ‘Dare to live a little... And I’ll meet you outside in five minutes. I need to make some urgent calls.’

Laura glared at his departing back. Dare to live a little? It felt as though she had been doing nothing but daring to live a little, for weeks and weeks and weeks. If she hadn’t been so daring to live a little, she wouldn’t be here now, with her thoughts in a dizzy whirl and an orange-and-pink sundress in her hand!

She would be...safe.

And she didn’t want to be safe. She wasn’t sure whether she would ever want to be safe again.

Because there was no excitement in a safe world. No thrills, no lurching stomach, no heightened senses, no edge-of-cliff feelings.

No Alessandro.

She sat down heavily on the sofa, her breath coming and going in fast little pants. She stared, glassy-eyed, at the dress in her hand and tried to arrange her thoughts in a way that wouldn’t point her in a direction she didn’t want to follow, but she felt sick.