Undone By Her Ultra-Rich Boss

CHAPTER SIX

FORASPLITSECOND, Orla thought she’d misheard. That she’d been so dazzled by the sight of him—his broad, muscled chest, tanned, bare and glistening in the evening sunshine—she’d lost her ability to think.

And to be honest, briefly, she had. Duarte had hauled himself out of the pool and she’d practically combusted on the spot. All she’d been able to do was stare and drool. When he’d lowered his gaze from her face to her legs just now, leisurely perusing the bits in between, she’d been so transfixed that she hadn’t even been able to take a breath, let alone summon up a protest at his blatant and outrageous scrutiny.

Her brain had clearly been starved of oxygen by that because she hadn’t meant to confess how strongly he affected her. ‘Whatever it took’ had not meant exposing her vulnerabilities to a man who already wielded far too much power over her. It had not meant admitting to an aspect of her personality that she’d been told, by a therapist she’d seen once when her engagement ended and she spiralled into a pit of self-doubt and hopelessness, was a flaw.

Could she have been subconsciously hoping that he’d sympathise and retreat? If she had—and frankly, she had no idea why that would have been the case when she barely knew him—it had badly backfired. All she’d done was give him ammunition. However, what was said was said and it was too late to take any of it back, and in any case the conversation had taken an unexpected turn.

Surely he couldn’t have said what she thought he’d said. And if he had, then surely he had to be joking. But he didn’t look as though he was joking. His expression was filled with dark, dangerous intent and his voice had dropped an octave, just as it had the evening before when he’d asked her to stay.

‘You’ve lost your mind,’ she managed once she’d unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth and regained the power of speech.

‘Not in the slightest,’ he said with a cool, even tone that she would have envied had there been space for it amongst all the heat and desire crashing around inside her. ‘By your own admission you’re distracted because you’re attracted to me. That attraction won’t go away just because I do. It’s too powerful. It will linger. Fester. Swell until it grows out of all proportion, and then you really will be distracted. Then you really will make mistakes.’

He didn’t sound quite so cool now. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about. ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

The shrug he gave was careless, but she could practically see the shutters slamming down over his eyes and his guard shooting up, which suggested she was right. Who? When? How fascinating.

‘If you want your concentration back, you need to get what’s throwing it off course out of your system,’ he continued, interestingly leaving her question unanswered. ‘Demystify it and it loses its power. We want each other. You’re driving me as mad as I apparently drive you. So let’s do something about it. Scratch the itch and it goes away.’

Seriously?

No matter how certain Duarte sounded, to Orla that didn’t make any sense. Eradicate the attraction by indulging it? She might not have much knowledge on the subject but she didn’t think it worked like that. What if it didn’t go away? What if it got stronger? More distracting? And if sleeping with Duarte was so good that she ended up with further itches that needed scratching, how on earth would that help?

‘What if it doesn’t?’ she said, her head fogging at the thought of feeling even more for him than she already did.

‘That’s never been my experience. Once is generally enough.’

For him, maybe, but what about the women he took to bed? What about her? ‘I’m really not sure it’s a good idea,’ she said with staggering understatement.

‘Incredible sex is always a good idea.’

Well, yes, perhaps in theory, but she wouldn’t know, and the whole idea of sleeping with him felt recklessly dangerous. Not only could she find herself way out of her depth, but also she really didn’t fancy making a fool of herself, which was what could well happen if hell froze over and she did throw caution to the wind to take Duarte up on his suggestion.

According to the gossip columns, he’d bedded hundreds of women in the years preceding his marriage. Beautiful women. Experienced women. Imagine if something started between them and she got it all wrong. Imagine if her inability to truly enjoy herself in bed hadn’t been down to her ex or simple incompatibility but wasin fact because of something in her. What if the sparks and heat she felt in his vicinity didn’t last? What if his effect on her somehow disappeared beneath the pressure to perform, to excel? The humiliation would be unbearable. She’d never be able to work with him again. She wouldn’t even be able to look him in the eye.

But on the other hand, insisted a little voice in her head that was becoming increasingly loud, what if it didn’t? What if she was overthinking this and quite possibly missing out on not only the opportunity to turn a failure into a success but also some apparently pretty scorching sex in the meantime?

Didn’t she owe it to herself to see if she couldn’t rectify the situation that had been bugging her for years? She was nearly thirty. How much longer was she going to put it off? And perhaps Duarte was right and just the once was the way to get it out of her system. He had vastly more experience than she did, so maybe chemistry did work like that. Out of sight, out of mind hadn’t exactly been a success. Look at how her night had panned out.

Something had to give here, and she had to at least try and find out what she was capable of, she thought, the possibility of it beginning to drum through her. She’d never experienced lust before—which presumably was what all this was—and who knew when the next opportunity might come along? Surely the effect he had on her—so wild and intense—had to mean that anything between them would be better than good.

Deep down, she longed to know whether the reality could live up to her dreams, and what was the worst that could happen? That it didn’t? That she felt nothing and had to fake it? Well, that wouldn’t be a problem. She excelled at that. Her ex hadn’t guessed for a moment that her panting and moaning was calculated and strategic rather than spontaneous and instinctive, and if it came to that, nor would Duarte.

‘Incredible is a bold claim,’ she said, her mouth as dry as the desert and her heart thundering like a steam train.

His dark gaze glittered in the setting sun. ‘Incredible is a guarantee.’

Was it? He seemed so sure. Did she dare? To grab the chance to right a wrong and experience some allegedly hot sex with the most attractive man she’d ever met, a man who astonishingly seemed to want her as much as she wanted him, and wasn’t really a professional conflict of interest? Why, yes. Despite the potential for failure, apparently she did. ‘All right.’

***

For a big man Duarte moved with impressive speed. Barely before she’d had time to blink he was up and off the seat and closing the distance between them with single-minded intent. He stopped an inch in front of her, planted a hand on the small of her back and drew her in.

‘Here?’ she managed breathlessly, as her senses swam and her skin beneath his palm burned. ‘Now?’

‘Do you have a problem with that?’

The heat swirling in the depths of his eyes as he stared down at her took her breath away and her thoughts spun for a second. Ludicrous thoughts, such as when had she last examined her bikini line? What underwear was she wearing? Did it matter? Would he even notice? Given the focus and intensity with which he was looking at her, she doubted he would notice a thousand champagne bottles popping simultaneously behind him. And her body was all right. She kept herself in shape and depilated. It would probably be best to strike while the iron was hot and just get on with it, before she talked herself out of it.

‘No,’ she said huskily, lowering her gaze to his mouth and feeling a surge of longing so overwhelming she didn’t quite know what to do with it. ‘No problem at all.’

She put her hands on his bare chest and his hold on her tightened and then he was kissing her, hot and hard. Her heart thundered and fire licked along her veins. She slid her hands up, over warm skin and taut muscles, skimming over his shoulders, until her fingers came into contact with his thick, soft hair. She held his head and he pulled her hips to his, and when she felt the steely length of his erection against her she gasped.

Taking advantage of the break in kissing, Duarte, breathing heavily, removed her T-shirt and, ah, yes, now she remembered. Her underwear was practical and sturdy rather than sexy and feminine, cotton not lace, designed for comfort while at work in the heat. Not that he appeared to mind. He seemed more intent on getting her horizontal. He manoeuvred her round and down and then she was lying back on a double sun lounger, free to ogle him as he reached for his wallet and extracted what she presumed was a condom.

God, he was gorgeous. And he clearly knew his way around a female body. But what would someone like him—former international playboy, looks of a god—expect? Presumably incredible sex required incredible input on her part, but what ought she to be doing? His skills were evidently extensive, while hers were very much limited, and how on earth was she supposed to get an A-plus when she hadn’t even revised for the test?

She’d close her eyes and trust her instinct, she told herself firmly. She’d stop thinking and focus on feeling. She was a fast learner. She’d pick up the clues quickly enough. There’d be no problem.

Duarte joined her on the lounger and lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply while she closed her eyes and moaned. Her hand went to the nape of his neck and his moved to her breast. She arched her back, pressing herself against him harder, seeking the tingles she’d experienced the night before, but they remained annoyingly elusive.