“My ex thought museums were boring.”
“We’ve already established that he was an idiot. Forget him.”
Her sudden peal of laughter was so vivacious every other person in the exhibition hall turned to look at her—and they all smiled.
“Done.” She grinned.
Eduardo’s spirits soared. He’d not been sure how she’d greet him when he came to the store tonight. But he’d felt bad at ignoring her this morning. He couldn’t help it—he’d been struggling to hold it together and if he’d stopped to talk to her? It would have been a mess. It was embarrassing enough the way he’d gone to bits in her store. He didn’t want to dump it on her—he wanted to keep this light and fun.
Outside the museum, he could wait no longer—he pulled her into his arms and pressed his parched lips onto hers. He needed the touch—he needed the vitality that streamed from her. It was only two stops back to Baker Street and he spent every second of that train ride kissing her. No need for a flashmob choir, it was all stars and song in his head. Relief poured through him, but a rapidly building tension took it all away again. He needed all of her. Now.
“Come home with me,” he breathed, pulling her close again as soon as they stepped onto the platform.
She pushed him away, her chin lifting as she laid out her demand. “Only if you kiss me in the morning.”
He’d kiss her every bloody morning if she’d just come home with him now.
“Here’s the deal,” she said, her breasts rising and falling fast beneath her pretty blouse and distracting him even more. “I leave over the weekend. If we’re doing this again, we’re doing it for the rest of my time in London.”
“Fine.” He grabbed her hand and marched.
He couldn’t deny himself now—he didn’t have the strength. And if he had enough of her in the next few days, it would burn out—right? It was just sex. And the intensity of this need was only because, as she’d said, it had been a really crap day.
But at this moment she was all he could think of. His head filled with fantasies—his cock aching to make every single one real. He needed her so damned much. Unable to wait to get to his bed, he hauled her into his arms the second he slammed his front door. Once more she melted right into him—as if she sensed how great his urgency was.
Three seconds of kissing and he realized her need was as razor sharp as his. Her hands clung, her lips, her tongue thrashing his. He backed her up to the nearest wall and stripped her where he needed her bare—shoving her bra down, her skirt up. His blood rushed—he felt giddy from the taste, scent and touch of her. Now. He had to get inside her. Now.
Except he didn’t have anything on him. Cursing his lack of forethought, he froze—he couldn’t bear to tear himself away from the lush, rough kisses.
She laughed—actually laughed. And then bent, scrabbling for a second—producing a brand-new three-pack of condoms from the bag dangling from her elbow.
“Machine in the public loo,” she breathlessly explained.
He broke the zipper of his trousers in his haste. Her shirt was half-unbuttoned, her skirt pulled up to her waist, her knickers to her knees. And her mouth was red and urging him to hurry. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
He planted his feet wide, blocking her from moving anywhere while he took twenty-seconds-too-long to roll the damn thing on. She teased him agonizingly as he did it—undoing his shirt, her fingers fluttering across his abs, and then she scraped a fingernail up to his nipple.
He swore, grabbed her hands and lifted them high above her head. He couldn’t have her teasing him right now—he’d lose it before he even got inside her. He switched his grip, holding both her wrists in one hand so he could finger-fuck her with the other. There were no nice euphemisms for what he wanted. No, he just wanted her to come on him. He wanted to feel every tight little contraction, he wanted to see her shake, wanted to hear her lose it. Wanted her to know absolute, exquisite pleasure—and it to be because of him.
She was smiling. He half-laughed, too—relieved, tormented, frankly out of his mind. But then he bent and kissed her—face, neck, collarbone. He sucked her sensitive little earlobes, all the while flicking his fingers in a slippery dance in and out of her.
She was breathing so hard her breasts were rubbing against his chest in an erotic tease. She didn’t seem to mind his dominance—the nipping kisses she pressed against his skin were hardly submissive. The way her hips rocked and circled against his hand was hardly shy, either. She moved them faster, her words dirty, demanding. It was carnal and quick. He felt her clamping on his fingers. He rubbed his thumb over her nub even faster and the hot, tight pulsing began.
Her head fell back, her legs buckling as her mouth parted on a shuddering sigh. “Please.”
He couldn’t wait a second longer either.
He wasn’t easy on her—taking her harder than he’d done the other night. His grip on her too rough—rougher still as she twisted his guts with sultry words and the sexiest of sighs. He gave as hard as he could. But she took it and demanded yet more until he was literally slamming them against the wall, ramming into her over and over. He felt invincible as she smiled and then victory surged as she screamed her joy. Her nails dug into him. A split-second later, he roared, too—furious he’d finished, feeling like his heart had been ripped out of him.
It was over, but it wasn’t enough.
Gently he gathered her close. “Are you okay?” He had to ask. “That was rough. Was that too rough?” Hell, now his voice was rough, he’d shouted so hard.
She shook her head. “It was perfect.” She drew a deep breath. “Are you ready to do it again?”
His body was buzzing, his brain was buzzing. He’d entered some other realm where he felt all powerful and hell yes, he was ready to do it again. He needed this escape, needed all her vitality.
He carried her to his bedroom, recklessly did all the things he’d dreamed of since first laying eyes on her.
“Eduardo.” she lay back, flushed and shiny and smiling. The picture of a sated, sensual woman. “You really know how to dance.”
In the early hours of the morning, he led her to the kitchen for replenishment. She found his supply of flavored milk in the fridge and poured herself a glass. She sipped slowly and then put it on the bench. “Tell me more about Caspar.”
His heart twisted. Instinctively, he shook his head.
“Tell me,” she repeated quietly.
He pulled out a stool and sat on it. “Why do you want to know?”
She licked her lips. “Because it’s hurting you and you shouldn’t have to bear it alone.”
“I’m okay about it,” he lied. “It’s just… he was very young. I don’t usually work in pediatrics. But he had a very rare form of leukemia.”
She didn’t comment. Just stood near, listening.
“He was a cute kid.” He sighed, not wanting to go there. Not now. “What do you want to know?” He asked again, anger building. “Yes, it hurts. I’m sorry he’s gone. I’m angry there was nothing I could do. I hate that I failed. That I worry about those poor people and there was nothing I could do to help them. I hate that.”
Her eyes glistened and he felt like a prick.
“I just want to help you somehow,” she said softly.
“You have. You are.” He sighed. “Yes, I hurt. But you… this… helps.” He drew a breath. “Please.”
He just needed to be around her—in her. She helped him remember the good. She helped him forget the bad. And maybe he was an asshole for using her like this, but he knew in some way he was helping her, too. So that made it okay, didn’t it?
She put her glass down and came to him, lifting her face for him to kiss. “Okay.”
He didn’t know how they did it, but they both made it to work on time the next morning—having agreed to meet back at his apartment that night.