Pride After Her Fall

But something else was at play here.

Even now he wanted to mark her so that other men would know she was his and wouldn’t lay claim to her.

What am I doing here?

He didn’t know.

Apart from the obvious, which was pressed against her hip and demanding his attention—or actually hers. It would be too easy to stroke her body to wakefulness and bury himself inside her, allow mindless pleasure to provide answers. But they had been doing that all night and his own stamina in itself had been a surprise. He’d never doubted his sexual prowess, but last night had been...rare.

Like the woman...

Nash touched the cluster of curls falling over one eye, hooking the silky weight behind her small ear, and she smiled sleepily, slowly opening her eyes. She lay there just looking at him and he was happy to let her look her fill. Her smile faded a little as she connected with his eyes, and she reached up and ran her index finger down the sweep of his jaw as if, like him, she was a little baffled by what had occurred.

‘Is it morning yet?’

‘Not yet.’ His voice was rougher than usual, stripped back and raw. He needed coffee to lubricate it, but right now he wasn’t thinking about breakfast.

Yeah, he could just about hammer nails with his erection but for a moment he wanted just to look at her.

Her hair lay about her head on the pillow like a bright halo. Her tip-tilted eyes were sleepy soft, her mouth swollen from his kisses. She appeared so delicate he would be a brute to initiate anything...

She sat up slowly, dislodging his heavy arm, which he obligingly lifted, a little surprised. But she was pushing back the covers, uncovering them both, still smiling, her eyes twinkling at him.

‘Good,’ she said.

Then slowly, silkily, she began to lead a trail of fiery little kisses down the centre of his chest, over his abdomen and lower, until he was gripping the sheet and forgetting everything but this.

* * *

Lorelei examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’d done her best with the comb in her purse, warm water and a fresh toothbrush Nash had on hand in his cabinet. She hesitated as she held her lipstick up to her mouth, because the woman gazing back at her didn’t need any make-up.

She had a glow.

Soft pink colour in her cheeks, a gleam in her eyes. Almost wonderingly she touched her lips. Her mouth looked frankly sensual.

She looked like a woman who had had a very good time indeed.

Smiling softly to herself, she dropped the lipstick back into her handbag and closed it, taking a longer look at the rest of her appearance. There was nothing worse than wearing clothes from the day before, but that couldn’t be helped—and at least she wasn’t in an evening gown.

Lorelei met her own gaze again, this time a little less confidently. This was a first for her, just to go off with a man and spend the night with him outside of a relationship. She knew he probably thought, given the chaos going on around her yesterday, that the walk of shame was hardly a first for her, but it was. She was careful in her romantic life to an almost fanatical degree. Men had to jump endless fences before they landed in her bed. She’d seen too much bed-hopping and sad, needy women growing up as Raymond St James’s daughter to do anything else.

Ça va. She steadied her chin. She didn’t have to worry. Even if she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing she didn’t regret last night.

The tears, yes. She wished she hadn’t cried. But that couldn’t be helped.

She emerged to find Nash was talking into a cell phone on the balcony, the wind ruffling his hair. She was slightly taken aback by the sight of him in an Italian suit that lay close and faithful to the proportions of his fit body. He looked every inch the powerful and successful sportsman gone corporate, and here she was with damp hair, wearing yesterday’s casual clothes. Talk about heading into the morning after with a disadvantage.

Sighing, Lorelei joined him, her desire to slide her arms under that expensive crease-free jacket, to encircle his hard, lean torso and enjoy the closeness of the moment held in check by the memory that, although last night had been intimate, she was old enough and wise enough in the ways of the world to realise they hadn’t really done any talking of consequence. She didn’t have a clue where she stood with him.