‘You should be asking Diana. She’s the one with the interior designer’s eye.’
Adam ignored her and opened the door.
‘Oh wow,’ said Rachel.
It was an old library, with floor-to-ceiling polished wooden shelves, some still stacked with books, and brass-handled ladders on castors for reaching the topmost shelves.
‘What is this place? I mean, what was it?’
‘A private museum,’ said Adam. ‘One of those Victorian gentlemen who brought things back from his travels. Things like this, actually.’
He gently turned her by the shoulders and Rachel was brought face to face with a full-sized stuffed bear. She let out a little shriek.
‘Wimp,’ he laughed, and she swatted his arm.
They walked through the maze of rooms, each one with a feature of interest – a Zulu shield and spear, an alabaster sculpture of a winged horse, a polished fossilised shell the size of a chair. Adam explained that he was planning on using the artefacts to decorate the rooms in the finished hotel, and his eyes lit up as he discussed it.
‘So you like it?’ he asked.
‘I love it. I’d stay here in a heartbeat. How many bedrooms has it got?’ she asked before stopping herself. Jesus, Rachel! she thought, flushing. What the hell are you doing asking him about bedrooms?
‘I reckon we could get thirty-five bedrooms out of it, and one penthouse.’
‘Penthouse?’
‘Follow me,’ he said, taking her hand. He pushed at an open door with his toe and it creaked back on its hinges.
‘What are you doing?’ Rachel said nervously. She could just make out the inside of the room; it was a dark, intimate space, crowded with boxes.
‘This was the curator’s quarters,’ he whispered, as if he feared waking up the old chap’s ghost. ‘This way.’
Without letting go of her hand, he led Rachel up a winding iron spiral staircase.
‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ he said. There was no other word to describe it. They were standing on a circular gallery, a sort of mezzanine looking down on the rest of the quarters, and above them was a glass dome through which they could see a dark expanse of star-spangled sky.
‘It’s . . . beautiful,’ she whispered, her head tilted back. ‘Truly.’
H
e was standing behind her and she could feel his breath on her neck. He stroked her hair and it felt as if his fingertips had seared her skin. She moaned softly, a voice in her head willing her to turn around, a thought that thrilled and exhilarated her, but his hands were already on her, doing it for her. And when they were face to face, he took the final step forward and kissed her softly, tenderly.
She could almost hear herself purring with pleasure.
As their kisses got deeper, he pushed her against the wall. ‘Why have we never done this before?’ she said between short, desperate gasps.
‘You’ve always been a very tricky customer,’ he murmured.
‘I’ll show you tricky,’ she whispered, finding this game, this banter the most natural and easy thing in the world.
His lips brushed down her neck whilst his hands pulled up her short cotton sundress, exposing her thighs and her knickers. He pushed himself against her, and she felt his hardness, reminding her that he had nothing on beneath the denim. Smiling slowly, she undid the button of his jeans and teased the zip down slowly. His cock sprang free and she sank down to meet it. He groaned with pleasure as she took him in her mouth, her hand guiding him in and out.
She stood up, leaving him hungry for more, and he cupped her face and kissed her deeply, pulling at her lips, probing his tongue into her mouth. Rachel reached around him, pulling him in tighter, running her fingers up through his hair. She wanted him. She wanted him more than anything.
‘Please,’ she growled as her phone began to ring.
‘Don’t answer it,’ he mumbled, pushing the thin spaghetti strap of her dress off her shoulder.
She had no intention of answering it right now, she wanted to turn it off. But as she pulled it out, the phone slipped from her grasp and clattered down on to the iron walkway.