Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

‘A tease must be prepared to take the same,’ he warned.

He’d broken her control time and time again already. And he knew it. But now he kept a firm grasp on her hair and kissed her.

‘I thought we were keeping this under wraps,’ she squeaked when he lifted his head. Hell, no one would be left in any doubt as to how well they knew each other if they’d seen that kiss.

‘That was until you thought you could say something like that to me out in public. You thought wrong.’ He slid his open palm all the way up her stomach, lifting higher to pluck her taut nipple.

‘What are you doing?’ She gasped.

‘Turning you on.’

He already knew she was on.

‘Here? Now?’ In public?

‘Absolutely. It’s your punishment.’

It didn’t feel much like a punishment.

In the crowded club, the music thumped. In no way were they the only couple doing the bump and grind. It looked like dancing. It was dancing. Except he was expertly rubbing her just the way he knew she liked to be rubbed. And in less than thirty seconds she was hurtling to the place only he could send her.

She stumbled. His grip tightened.

Heat enveloped her. Her mind a haze. She no longer cared about who could see them. What his family or anyone else would think. She was with James. He was all that mattered. And she was burning up for him. He knew it. She saw the smile and satisfaction in his eyes—the blind, glazed look of escape into physical pleasure. All that did was stoke her higher. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted to give him the relief that he brought her.

‘Take me home,’ she begged.

He kissed her. Bending her back so she had to cling to him, pushing her hips right into his, thrusting his hungry tongue deep into her mouth.

His eyes glittered as he lifted his head and looked down at her. ‘Yes.’

James didn’t care what Jack or George or anyone thought as he walked out of the club with Caitlin clamped to his side. But Jack, true brother that he was, didn’t ask, he just walked with them outside, flagged a cab and held the door open.

‘George and I’ll come home later.’ He closed it on them.

In the cab, James turned towards Caitlin, needing her kiss more than he needed air. His thoughts went chaotic as she kissed him back. This was crazy. He knew this was crazy. But he needed her more than he’d ever needed any woman. He ached to find release in her arms. Since he’d told her about Louis and Pete this morning, the need had burned even more out of control.

He’d seen people thrown together in drastic circumstances, who’d believed they’d forged a relationship so strong nothing could ever break it. But things did. Ordinary life did.

This thing with Caitlin was too soon. Too built on sex. It was nothing more than an affair—like a schoolboy crush. His inability to think of anything other than her was symptomatic of that. A fixation that wouldn’t stand the test of time. It would fade. He couldn’t believe in it, couldn’t start to dream of all the things he’d long ago sworn to deny himself.

But there wasn’t just lust in her eyes. Not only lascivious hunger. There was tease, yes, but also tenderness. Passion, but also patience. She was generous and gentle.

He held her hand tightly as he walked through the quiet, dark house, taking her to his bedroom. She belonged in his bed.

Her skin glowed, her shoulders creamy and smooth. She bared herself, touching him, offering herself—for him to use her as he wanted. He didn’t want to use her. Didn’t want to take up the dare she’d made on the dance floor. Because he wanted to touch her too, wanted to see her smile. Wanted to see her happy. More than anything.

He shuddered as she touched him. Closed his eyes against the overwhelming burst of emotion that flared within him. Damn it.

For an instant he tried to deny it. He didn’t want the intensity that was beginning to override their time together. He just wanted sex, right? The fun, meaningless kind. He sought nothing but satisfaction. Not any kind of connection, none of this ‘opening up’. They weren’t sharing on that level. He’d been wrong to tell her about Louis.

He kept his eyes closed, so she was only curves and heat and softness. But there was no denying it was Caitlin. Caitlin’s sighs, Caitlin arching against him. Welcoming him. Accepting him. Holding nothing back from him—offering it all. And he couldn’t resist taking it.

On the beach today he’d known she wouldn’t let him down—she’d listened. Accepted. And now she embraced.

Wasn’t that why he’d told her? Because he’d known she would hold him anyway.

He felt as if he were tearing apart. He pressed kisses to the junction of her neck and shoulder, wrapped his arms tightly about her to hold her close. She clung back—held him—as they both trembled and tumbled over the edge.

His lungs worked hard—unable to catch the breath he so badly needed. She’d let him claim her. And in her unquestioning acceptance of his demands, she’d damn well given him so much more again. And he’d given her more than he wanted to.

There was nothing simple about what they shared.

There was nothing simple about anything any more.

ELEVEN

A gentle knock at the door woke Caitlin.

‘James?’

It was Jack.

James covered her with the sheet and wrapped a towel round his waist. From the bed Caitlin couldn’t decipher the soft murmurs, but she saw the concerned look in Jack’s eye. Saw the way he handed James something. A loyal brother.

James didn’t look pleased as he came back to bed after saying bye to Jack and closing the door. He was carrying an iPad. That was what Jack had given him? Caitlin’s blood iced. Over his shoulder, she stared at the screen. She blinked rapidly, but the picture didn’t change.

The photo was basically explicit. You could see the outline of her nipples—diamond hard—her lips were red and swollen from James’ kisses. Her cheeks were flushed as she walked pressed close to his side, her hand locked in his as they exited the club last night. He wore the edgy, almost violent expression of a man about to stake his sexual claim.

It hadn’t helped that he’d pulled her onto his lap the second they’d got into the cab outside the nightclub. In that second picture there weren’t hands in inappropriate places, but it was clear what was about to occur.

She looked at the logo of the British tabloid in the top corner of the webpage. Of course. Even a former E-list celebrity like her gave them fodder to fill their poisonous online editions. Frustration spurted in a furious blast. It wasn’t as if she courted publicity. If only she’d not gotten involved with Dominic. It wasn’t fair.

Through blurry eyes she read parts of the accompanying article—and the comments people had left at the bottom of it.

Beauty and the Bitch.

Someone needs to warn him...the most unlikely couple...

Scarred hero will be screwed over by the psycho.

A

ll the venom was there. The vile things people said, carping about him being with her. Some celebrity psychologist had even done a boxed opinion piece on ‘why do the good guys always want to redeem wayward women?’. The opposite of the good-girls going for bad-boys. Somehow, it was always the woman’s fault. The good girls were labelled stupid for thinking they could change someone. Yet the good guy was heroic for trying to pull back the titanium-tits bitch.

‘I’m sorry.’ James switched the screen to black. ‘Don’t look at it. Don’t go there.’

‘I don’t understand how they knew we were there.’ Horrified, she stared at him.

His brows drew together and he stared back at her. ‘Don’t think I told them.’

‘You didn’t?’

He looked appalled. Then irate. ‘Like I’d let the media know anything. Did you?’

‘Of course not,’ she spat.

‘Why are we fighting?’ He grasped her wrist as she tried to leave the bed. ‘This is ridiculous. We both loathe the intrusion. Neither of us would sell our souls, right?’

‘Right.’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Sorry. Of course you didn’t tell them. It just threw me.’

She knew some other story would soon take its place. It was like being stabbed—sudden and sharp—and everyone’s shocked eyes were locked on her as they watched the blood ooze. But they’d soon turn away, as soon as some other attention-worthy mess occurred. But she’d be left with the wound. It lingered with her far longer. It wasn’t fifteen minutes of fame in the Internet, more like five seconds. And yet it was then up there for all eternity. Any time someone did a search, it would be found again. She’d never truly be able to escape it.

‘It probably wasn’t even paparazzi,’ James said. ‘Everyone has a smartphone these days, right?’

There was no such thing as privacy.