Innocent in the Ivory Tower

Nice? She wanted him to be nice?

‘How’s your shoulder?’

‘A little touchy, but I don’t want to talk about my shoulder.’

‘Neither do I, but it’s good to know.’ And in one movement he heaved her up over his shoulder and with his foot kicked shut the door behind them.

Oh, my.

‘What are you doing?’ she managed, although it would have been fairly clear to Blind Freddy what was going on. He was going to finish what he’d started in London right now, here, on this bed that was suddenly under her, and she was looking up into his laser-blue eyes and every one of her fantasies was pulsating to life.

‘Yes or no, Maisy. Your decision.’

Yes, screamed her body, shifting from zero to a hundred in under two seconds. But you hardly know him. Nice girls don’t do this. Anais made Leo wait three months …

Then he ran his thumbs gently over the inside of her wrists, lifting one of her hands to press his mouth where his thumb had been. Maisy made a soft little sound and he lifted her arms up over her head so that her breasts lifted and her body stretched out for him. He lowered himself down over her, hovering, his weight on his forearms, overwhelming her with the sheer size and strength of his body.

She broke the connection of their gaze to sweep a comprehensive look down his body, poised above hers. The faint press of his ribs, the slabs of muscle across his chest and shoulders and back, bunched as he bore the weight of his own body. It all combined to make her feel small and soft and feminine, and she wanted to touch him so badly her palms were burning.

‘What do you want, Maisy?’

His scintillating blue eyes were so deep in hers Maisy found it hard to gather her words. Her heartbeat was so loud she was being deafened by it.

‘I want everything,’ she confided, her breath catching in her throat. ‘I want you.’

Something flared in his eyes that caused a tug deep in her pelvis, and she half rose up off the mattress to meet him as he lowered his head to kiss her, long and slow and with a deep satisfaction. As if they had all the time in the world. But he kept her arms pinned so that she felt vulnerable to him in this position, her breasts rubbing slightly against his chest, her nipples sharpened with nerve endings and pressing against him shamelessly.

It felt incredibly good, yet when she tried to shift her arms his hands slid over hers and made it impossible for her to move. The more she strained against him the deeper he kissed her, her breasts sliding and pushing against him. Then he released her.

Stunned, Maisy lay alone on the bed as he leapt up. For a moment she didn’t know what was going on, until full morning sunshine rushed into the room. Alexei had activated the blinds on the windows, letting in some light on the subject. Maisy blinked furiously as it hit her in the face. She brought her arms down, pressing on her good elbow as she struggled to sit up, confused and wondering exactly what she was getting herself into.

Alexei stepped in front of her so that she was forced to remain seated, gazing up at him. For one simmering moment he just stood there, looking down at her, those jeans sitting tantalisingly low on his lean hips. His abdomen was so ripped she longed to trace her fingers along the fine delineations of muscle. He was that close. A light smattering of dark chest hair covered him before arrowing down and disappearing into the V of his taut pelvic cradle. Maisy followed it with her eyes, her mouth running dry as she registered the distinct bulge. He surely didn’t want that? Now? Did he? Was she supposed to start confessing everything she didn’t know about the male body?

‘Stop thinking, Maisy,’ he instructed her, his voice warm with humour. ‘Shift over, dushka.’

Feeling off-centre and decidedly gauche, Maisy scooted over into the centre of the bed, wondering if she should say something—if she was supposed to be doing something a more sophisticated woman would just know in her bones how to do. But he was coming down over her, blocking out the sun, and suddenly all she could see and feel and inhale was him.

He brushed his lips over her mouth, and when she instinctively responded he moved away to drop butterfly kisses along her jawline. Maisy began to sense he was playing a game with her, one of advance and retreat, as if tightening his hold on her each time. She didn’t want London, she didn’t want out-of-control, but nor did she want to play a part in any sort of game. She wanted simple, she thought nervously as her body responded despite her jangling thoughts. She wanted honest. She just wanted him.

Maybe she should tell him.

Then his breath was hot in her ear and he began to promise her things … wicked things, sexual things … and then he shifted slightly, and she was pinned under the heft of his body, and she felt every inch of what he wanted to do with her.