Absent in the Spring (The Shakespeare Sisters 3)

Christ, the man knew how to kiss. She was like potter’s clay in his hands, moulding to him, aching for him to form her into something new. Every time he touched her, every time he said something to her, she was sinking deeper. Into a need she didn’t know she had, and a desperation she had no idea how to control.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, watching him pull the white terry-cloth belts from both their bathrobes, laying the cords on the bed in two parallel lines. ‘What are they for?’

‘Insurance,’ he said, trying to hide a smile. She was so fucking cute.

‘Against what?’

‘Against your better judgement.’

Her mouth dropped open. She was sitting on their bed, her bare legs curled beneath her. When they’d got back from their day of sightseeing he’d run her a bath, pouring her a large glass of white wine to relax her. Her skin was still pink from the heat, her eyes a little glassy from the wine. An intoxicating combination.

‘Stop trying to frighten me,’ she said, sending him an icy stare, though her smile spoiled the effect. ‘I’ve seen a bluff before, remember? It’s my job to work out the truth.’

He’d spent the time she’d been in the bath trying to work out what he was going to do with her. When he’d made the bargain last night, it had been more of a joke than anything else. A way to get her to relax. And it had been pretty fucking hot, too.

But now a whole world of opportunity lay in front of him. Or rather sat in front of him, wearing one of his old, grey T-shirts, her hair wet and brushed back from her face. There was her scar again, a little pinker than the rest of her, a jagged line from her brow to the top of her ear. For some reason he was drawn to it, his curiosity eating at him like a hungry wolf.

‘As soon as I take my shirt off, it’s on,’ he said, pulling it from his waistband. ‘After that you don’t talk back, you don’t question, you just do what I ask. Okay?’ Deftly, he unfastened his buttons, his white cotton shirt gaping to reveal his chest.

Her mouth was slightly open, her eyes wide, her gaze following his hands as he unfastened his cuffs. He could see her swallow, the emotion in her face making her so goddamn expressive. He wanted to kiss the worry lines from her brow.

‘What if I want you to stop?’ she asked him.

‘You won’t want me to,’ he said, grinning. God, this side of her was so different to the Lucy he saw in the office. ‘But if you do, then just say it. “Lachlan, please stop.”’

‘And you’ll stop?’

‘Yes, I will.’

‘Do you do this often?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘Dominate women?’

He couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’m not a dominant, Lucy. I’m not going to do any more to you than you did to me last night. I’m going to be in charge, tell you what to do, but believe me, we’re both going to enjoy it.’

‘The way you did last night?’

‘The way we both did.’

‘What about those?’ She inclined her head to the belts, still laid out beside her.

‘I meant them as a joke,’ he admitted. ‘Unless you want to try them.’

‘Okay.’

Her answer shocked the hell out of him. He shook his head as though to send some sense back into it. ‘Seriously?’ She never failed to surprise him. It was one of the things he

liked about her the most, he could never quite guess what she was going to do next.

‘Seriously.’ She nodded.

His cuffs released, he shrugged out of his shirt, watching it fall to the floor in a pool of white cotton. ‘You have one last chance to back out,’ he warned her, more for effect than anything else. This kind of thing had never floated his boat before. Sex had never been about being on top, or planning intricate ways to dominate another human. It had been a way of getting off and that was it.

But now, seeing her sitting in front of him in his over-worn T-shirt, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do. It wasn’t about controlling, it was about pleasing her, about giving her the things she didn’t know she wanted.

Until she had them.