French Kitty - The Complete Knight Trilogy -

The Knight Trilogy by Kitty French

Kindle Edition Copyright 2014 Kitty French Kindle edition. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Editing by Charlie Hobson Cover by Angela Oltmann

About the author Kitty French is the USA Today best selling author of the Knight Trilogy. She also writes as romantic comedy under the pseudonym Kat French. Her debut novel, Undertaking Love, is out now. Kitty lives in England with her husband and two young sons. TO SIGN UP FOR KITTY'S NEWSLETTER, PLEASE CLICK HERE.

Knight & Play by Kitty French

CHAPTER ONE “How can I make my CV more interesting, Kara? Even I wouldn’t employ me if this landed on my desk.” Sophie sighed and flipped the paper around on the small café table for her friend to read. “So sex it up a bit, then. Everyone does it.” Kara ripped the top off a packet of sugar and shook it over the froth on her cappuccino. She scanned the CV as she twirled the long wooden stirrer around in her cup. “Take this sentence here. You say: I have worked as a personal assistant for ten years for a company director.” Sophie shrugged. “Well I have.” “Yes, I know that,” Kara said, as if she were talking to a child. “But you have to make it sound cooler. Sexier. More fun.” “It isn’t cool,” Sophie snorted. “Or sexy. Or fun. I spend most of my time typing up estimates for double glazing and fending off Derek’s wandering hands.” “Work with me here, Soph,” Kara sighed. “What’s the job you’re applying for?” “Another manager’s PA role, but it’s a much bigger company.” “Another building firm?” “Umm, no.” Sophie stalled. “Well what do they do, then? We can tailor your CV to whatever their business is.” Sophie leaned in and lowered her voice so that no one else in the café would overhear. “It’s in the adult entertainment industry.” Kara’s dark eyebrows shot into her heavy fringe as she started to laugh. “Holy cow, Soph! That’s some career move. Does Dan know?” Sophie shook her head. Dan was away for a couple of days on business yet again, and it somehow hadn’t felt appropriate to tell him about the job advert over the phone. She could have told him before he’d left, of course, but he’d seemed busy and distant. If she were to be completely honest, she was holding off telling him unless it came to the point where she was actually offered the job. Why rock the boat unless she needed to? Kara frowned. “How the hell am I going to spin the sex industry into your experience with a building company?” “I have no clue.” Sophie bit the end off the flake from her hot chocolate and started to laugh. “You could always say I’m experienced with erections.” Kara grinned and pulled her laptop out of her bag. “Now you’re talking. Come on. Let’s see what we can do.” A couple of hours and two large frosted blueberry muffins later, Sophie slid her new, sexed-up CV into its envelope and dropped it into the postbox with a kiss for good luck. Lucien Knight dropped the foul plastic cup of coffee from the vending machine into the waste paper basket and glanced over the CVs that had arrived in the morning’s mail. If any of them happened to mention their coffee making skills, they’d just earned themselves an automatic pass to the interview stages to be his new PA. Too old. The first CV followed his coffee into the bin. Young kids. The second one followed the first. It wasn’t that he was ageist, or unsupportive of mothers. It was simply that he wanted a PA who would make him their number one priority, and in his experience, older women tried to mother him and young mothers were too distracted mothering someone else to make him number one on their list.

The third envelope seemed to be sealed with traces of lipstick, which was no bad thing in his book. Sophie Black. She passed the age test, and made no reference to kids, or to a husband either for that matter. She did however, make a great deal of her excellent personal skills, and she’d made sure to mention how extremely open she was to new ideas. Girls who were extremely open to new ideas interested him a lot, as did girls who sealed their envelopes with a kiss. Despite the fact that Sophie Black didn’t allude to her coffee making skills, he filed her CV on the interview pile anyway. “Kara! I’ve got an interview for that PA job at Knight Inc.,” Sophie whispered into her mobile. She glanced towards the office door where she could see Derek and one of the site foremen engaged in a heated discussion. “No way! That’s hilarious!” Kara hissed back, obviously equally as unable to chat but desperate for the gossip. As soon as the thick cream envelope bearing the Knight Inc. logo had landed on the doormat next to a ruck of brown bills that morning, Sophie had felt an undeniable fizz of excitement. Dan had glanced up from his newspaper as she’d come back into the kitchen with the mail in her hand. “Anything interesting?” “Not really. Bills. Flyers.” She’d dropped it on the work surface. “You know, junk.” He’d looked down again before she’d even finished speaking, and for once she’d been glad of his disinterest. “So when is it?” Kara whispered in her ear. “After work on Monday. What should I wear do you think?” “Err, a French maid’s outfit? Naughty nurse?” Kara’s laugh was pure smut down the phone line. “I’m being serious, Kara. They’ll be expecting someone cool and sophisticated, and my wardrobe consists of a uniform of deathly dull chain store work suits.” “Then you’d better thank your lucky stars you’ve got me,” Kara laughed. “I’ll come over on Sunday and sort you out.” “You’re a life saver.” Sophie said, bolstered by her friend’s support. “I’ll get the wine in. Dan’s away again for ten days from tomorrow so we’ll have the house to ourselves.” “You’re on, chick. Gotta go.” Kara mumbled. “Tosser Boss is eyeballing me.” Several hours later, Sophie tipped a pre-bagged salad into a bowl and splashed a little dressing over it as she placed it in the middle of the dining table. A soft smile touched her lips as she laid a hand against the cool wood. Large and oak, she could well remember the day some years ago when she’d brought Dan a new tie and re-enacted Pretty Woman for him when he’d arrived home. He’d loosened his tie at the sight of her in just stilettos and his gift, and they’d christened the dining table, swiftly followed by the stairs. Thinking back now, Sophie could barely believe it had ever happened. Who were those people? Dan had swept her off her feet from the first moment she met him, and when he proposed to her on her twenty-first birthday she hadn’t needed to think twice. Sure, they were young, but they were in love, and any attempts at guidance from their families fell on stony ground. And for the most part, it worked. Wasn’t it true for all long-term relationships that the excitement slows down once the first flush of lust fades away? Sophie had read enough magazine articles to know that she was in the majority when it came to having a love life that was more about routine than spontaneous sex on the dining table. And, if the truth be told, it probably wasn’t all Dan’s fault. Sophie knew she could just as easily be the one to instigate something, but what? And when? Dan was away so much that he could officially be classed as a part time husband, if such a role existed. Which by default made Sophie a part time wife. The thought unsettled her, and she still had a frown on

her face when Dan came through the door a few moments later. “All right, babe?” He dropped a kiss on her forehead as he deposited his briefcase on the floor. Sophie smiled and forced her melancholy mood aside. Tonight was their last night together for ten days; it wasn’t the moment to rock the boat. “I’m fine,” she said. “Hungry? I made pizza.” Dan shrugged out of his suit jacket and headed for the stairs. “Sure. Let me just go and get out of these and I’m all yours.” Sophie sliced the pizza and put wine on the table, and she smiled when Dan came down in old jeans and a white T-shirt. His hair was still shower-damp, and his feet were bare. These were the times when he felt like he was hers again, the few and far between occasions when he didn’t have his suit on and his Blackberry glued against his ear. His rapid promotion through the ranks at work had been champagne moments at home, but every increment in wages had brought with it more responsibility and more travel. “This is nice.” He nodded his approval at the table, complete with candlelight. “I thought we could use a little romance.” Dan laughed and reached for the wine bottle. “Steady on, Soph. I’m bloody knackered.” Sophie’s smile faltered as she slid the pizza onto their plates. “Eat your dinner then. Get your strength back.” Dan reached for his knife and fork and launched into a work-related story as they ate, and Sophie pushed her salad around with ever increasing despondency. The evening was ebbing away from them on a tide of meaningless chitchat, when she’d really wanted to make it into something more memorable to get them through the coming days. He reached for more pizza, and Sophie took advantage of the lull to change the subject. “I’ve got a job interview on Monday.” Dan looked up in surprise. “I didn’t realise you were serious about looking for something else.” “I wasn’t really. It just caught my eye.” Dan topped up their wine glasses. “What is it?” Sophie hesitated. “Another PA role, just a bigger company.” “Cool.” Dan yawned and rolled his shoulders. “Christ, I ache. This job’s killing me, Soph.” “Yet you don’t want to leave,” Sophie said, pointedly. Dan moaned incessantly about his long hours, but she knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t be scouring the job ads for something else. Dan shrugged and pushed his plate away. “I’m done. Better go and pack.” Sophie nodded with a tight smile as she picked up the empty plates, then blew out the candle with a resigned huff as he disappeared. While she cleared down the kitchen, she reasoned with herself. She’d tried subtlety with her comment about gathering his strength and it had slipped under his radar. She took a good swig of wine and decided to up the ante a little. After all, it wasn’t fair to expect him to make all the moves. She flicked out the light in the kitchen and mussed her hair up in the hall mirror, then added a slick of lip-gloss to her mouth for good measure. She could hear him zipping his bag upstairs, so she skipped into the lounge and sat down, her legs tucked beneath her in a ‘sit next to me’ kind of way. Glancing down at her blouse, she popped a button to give Dan a bird’s eye view of her lace bra when he joined her on the sofa. Except he didn’t. He gave her a distracted smile when he came down and flopped down in his armchair, then reached out and swiped the TV remote from the coffee table. “Anything good on?” Sophie tried to ignore the sting of resentment and reached for her wine glass with a neutral smile. “I’m not sure.” Dan flicked the channel from the programme Sophie had half decided to watch and settled on a re-run of a reality cop show that she really couldn’t stand the sight of. “All packed and ready to go?” she asked. “Think so.” Dan didn’t look away from the screen as he answered her.

“Ten nights is a long time,” she said softly. Dan flicked his eyes at Sophie and grinned. “Will you miss me?” Sophie nodded. “Of course.” She paused, crippled with awkwardness. “Shall we, umm, have an early night?” “Yeah,” Dan yawned. “You go on up if you like, I’ll lock up and be up in five.” Sophie unwound herself off the sofa and picked up their wine glasses. As she passed Dan’s chair, she leaned down and brushed a kiss over his mouth. “See you in bed.” Upstairs, she undressed slowly, leaving her lace underwear on for Dan to remove. In bed, she propped herself up and sipped her wine whilst she waited. After five minutes she fidgeted with her underwear and wondered if it looked too obvious and she should change into something else. After ten minutes she decided to pick up a book to pass the time. After twenty, she was battling to keep her eyelids open, so she gave up waiting and padded downstairs. Dan was still in the armchair, fast asleep with his Blackberry in his hand. She touched his shoulder, and he started awake and dropped his phone. “Fuck. Sorry, Soph.” He hurriedly grabbed his phone and checked the screen. Sophie turned and headed back to bed, still holding onto hope despite the fact that he’d barely so much as glanced her way as she’d stood in front of him in the underwear she’d kept on just for his benefit. She may as well have had her winter coat on. When he came into their bedroom a few minutes later, he stripped off and slid straight into bed, grumbling as he set the alarm for earlier than usual. He flicked the lamp out and flopped back with the duvet pulled up to his chin. Sophie turned to him in the darkness, and for a couple of minutes neither of them spoke. She could see his profile clearly now that her eyes had adjusted to the shadows, and even though his eyes were already closed, she reached out and stroked his cheek. He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm. “Night, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ll try not to wake you in the morning.” Creeping desperation forced Sophie onwards, even though she was struggling to ignore Dan’s fairly clear signals that he wasn’t up for anything but sleep. She snuggled in close and kissed the side of his mouth. “I’m really going to miss you.” Dan sighed. “You too, babe.” He shifted a little and kissed her forehead rather than her lips. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He laughed softly and turned over, leaving her looking at his back. “Look on the bright side, Soph. You can have sole custody of the remote while I’m gone.”



CHAPTER TWO “Mr. Knight will see you now.” Sophie flickered a nervous smile at the immaculately dressed woman in front of her. She’d spent most of the day at work running through potential answers for possible questions that might be thrown at her, but one glimpse of the glossy, black Knight Inc. Building had chased all of her carefully memorised words out of her head. Its predatory presence on the busy road intimidated the hell out of her, and she’d seriously considered turning away. She already had a job. She didn’t need another one. Then she’d caught sight of her reflection in the mirrored glass. Kara had been true to her word and waved her magic wand yesterday, leaving Sophie barely able to recognise the sexy, sophisticated woman gazing back at her. The jacket of the dark business suit nipped right in at the waist and then followed close against her curves. The pencil skirt ended just a hair’s breadth from being too short, and her Mary Jane high heels added at least three inches to her legs. Kara was a designer clothes junkie, and she’d turned up with an armful of work clothes that were a world away from Sophie’s off the peg, ordinary attire. The moment she’d slid into the deep inky purple suit, something extraordinary happened. She wasn’t just Sophie, the local builder’s PA any more. She was an enhanced version of herself, someone sassy and sophisticated. Someone brand new, open to endless possibilities. Much of that confidence had drained away as she’d sat in the reception on the top floor waiting to be called through, and she could just as easily have bolted as follow the woman along the plush carpet of the corridor. She felt physically sick. But then they came to a halt in front of a door at the end, and after tapping it once, the woman opened it and stood aside so she could go through. Sophie swallowed hard and stepped inside. In the usual course of things, Sophie didn’t lust after other men. But from the moment she stepped inside that room, she couldn’t take her eyes off Lucien Knight. This wasn’t the usual course of things. Tall, dark and handsome was nowhere near the mark. He was tall, definitely, but with dirty blonde hair and flint blue eyes that were now fixed on her with a predatory look of interest. He wasn’t exactly in business dress, either. He might have been, earlier in the day, but right now he was down to a close-fitting charcoal shirt with the cuffs turned back to reveal strong, tanned forearms. He’d loosened his equally dark tie and popped his top button, and if he’d put his feet up on the desk and produced a glass of whisky, Sophie wouldn’t have been altogether surprised. He looked like he’d tumbled out of a club, or stepped straight from the centre-fold of a glossy hipster magazine. Or in fact, make that a top shelf one. “Come in, Ms. Black. I won’t bite.” She walked across the room. “… unless you want me to?” he murmured as an afterthought, and raised an eyebrow at her as she took a seat opposite him at the desk. It certainly wasn’t a question Sophie had devised an answer for in her interview preparation. Was she supposed to respond, or pretend she hadn’t heard? Thankfully, as she considered it, Mr. Knight moved on. “So, Ms. Black. Why do you want to be my PA?” Phew. Safer territory. A question she had prepared for.

“Well, I’ve been in my current position for several years, and I feel like I need a new challenge.” She watched him watching her. Her words seemed to amuse him. “I see,” he nodded. “But why here, specifically? Why Knight Incorporated?” Sophie crossed her ankles and knotted her fingers in her lap to stop them from fidgeting. “Well… because it’s very different from what I do at the moment.” Hah. That was the understatement of the year. He was still watching her intently, but his expression gave nothing away. “And because… because, well, to be perfectly honest, I’m bored, Mr. Knight.” His eyes flickered, letting her know she’d finally said something that surprised him. A silence stretched out between them as he seemed to weigh up her words. “Do you know why I called you in for interview?” he asked, eventually. Sophie stalled. “My CV?” He nodded. “You sealed it with a kiss. I wanted to see the lips that made that mark.” His answer knocked the breath clean out of her lungs and sent hot prickles shooting up her neck. This was beginning to feel less like an interview and more like someone coming on to her in a bar, and that hadn’t happened to her in some considerable time. “You blush too easily, Ms. Black.” He twirled a pen in his fingers. “Trust me, that’s not a good thing in this industry.” His mouth twisted to one side, that assessing look still in his eyes. “This isn’t an industry for shy girls.” He leaned forwards on his elbows and steepled his fingers. “Are you a shy girl, Sophie?” Jeez this was ridiculous. Sophie couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her, and a fair part of her brain was shouting at her to hightail it out of the building back to the safety of her ordinary, mundane life. But something held her in her chair, and that same something gave her the boldness to meet his challenging look and answer his question. “No, Mr. Knight. I’m not especially shy.” “It’s Lucien.” Lucien. Crap. Even his name was sexy. “Okay Sophie. Here’s the deal. I need someone who can do all the usual PA stuff. You already know what that is so I won’t bore you with a list, but it includes making a decent cup of coffee. Is that a problem for you?” Sophie shook her head and laughed, almost giddy with relief. Emboldened, she replied, “That’s a little chauvinistic of you, Mr. Knight.” “Lucien.” “Okay, well… for the record, yes. I make a mean cup of coffee, Lucien.” Sophie tasted his name for the first time and felt as if she’d said something far dirtier. “I’ll need you to accompany me to meetings, exhibitions, the odd commercial trip. I keep odd hours. Will that bother you?” He was all business now, and the look on his face brooked no argument. Sophie frowned. Her first thought was for Dan, but then didn’t he give exactly the same service to his boss without a thought for her? “Not a problem,” she said smoothly. “So far, so good.” He nodded in approval, and scrubbed a hand over his chin for a few seconds as he studied her. “I don’t know, Sophie. You tick all the boxes, and yet…” “Yet what?” Sophie asked. His hesitation chased away any attempt to stay businesslike. Besides, he’d already veered so far away from businesslike that it seemed unlikely to worry him. He cocked his head to one side. ‘How can I put this delicately?” He licked his lips. “You look too… innocent.” Sophie shook her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.” He threw his hands out to the sides. “This is the sex industry. Sophie. You’d be a long way from typing

up building quotes here. One day you might be working on a report comparing sex toys. The next you might be ordering new cages for one of the clubs. I need someone who can do all of that without turning a hair.” Sophie knew that the telltale colour was back in her cheeks. “Someone who won’t blush at the mere mention of a vibrator,” he added, to illustrate his point. “I can do all that,” Sophie insisted, feeling far from certain that she could. Lucien gave her an assessing look and opened the desk drawer. He placed an object down on the desk between them. “What’s that?” he asked. Sophie looked down and felt heat slap her cheeks again. “Mr. Knight…” He raised an eyebrow. “Lucien… I…” “You what, Sophie? You don’t know what it is, or you’re too prudish to say it?” He picked up the blue jelly silicone ring and held it out to her. Sophie looked at him, and his eyes told her that this was the acid test. Fail it, and she was out the door. She took it from him, and swallowed hard at the feel of the small, stretchy ring in her hands. She looked him squarely in the eye. “Fine. It’s a cock ring.” “Good girl,” he grinned. “And what does it do?” Sophie swallowed again and looked down. She had no intimate knowledge to draw on here. “It… umm…” “Wrong answer, Sophie.” He frowned. “Try again.” Sophie squirmed in her chair. “I’m not totally sure, but I think it would probably make a man last longer?” Lucien’s mouth twisted to the side. “Not totally sure, huh? Am I to draw from that that you have no direct experience of sex toys?” “Mr. Knight...” Sophie gasped. “I really don’t think that’s an appropriate question for any job interview.” She bristled, partly with indignation and partly because he was bang on the money. “Maybe not, but you don’t want this job if you’re in any way prudish.” “I am not prudish. For God’s sake, I’m no blushing virgin, I’m a married woman.” For a second, Lucien looked genuinely taken aback and his eyes flickered to her left hand. “You’re married?” “Is that against the law in this industry too?” “No, no.” His whole demeanour had changed unreadably. “Tell me, what does your husband think of you applying for this job?” Sophie faltered and her gaze slid away from his. “He’s fine with it.” Lucien let out a low whistle. “He doesn’t know, does he?” “Yes. Sort of.” She glanced down at her wedding ring. “He knows I have an interview, just not what it’s for, exactly.” “And would he mind, do you think? I’d mind if you were my wife.” Lucien’s blue eyes locked on Sophie’s as his words did thrilling things to her insides. If only Dan were as territorial. “He won’t mind,” she said quietly. “He’s pretty busy with his own work. If I’m happy, I’m sure he’ll be happy.” “And are you happy, Sophie?” She wasn’t sure what he meant by the question, and it unnerved her. Were her marital problems written all over her face? Or was he simply asking if his abrasive, unique interview style bothered her? Either way, there was only one possible acceptable reply. “Yes, I think I am.” Lucien nodded and drummed his fingers on the desk. “Good.” His smile didn’t quite touch his eyes. “Thanks for coming in, Sophie. I’ll be in touch.” He pushed his chair backwards.

Sophie stared at him, surprised. That was it? He’d finished? She got the distinct feeling that he’d decided she was a bad bet, and because it was unlikely she would ever see him again, she threw caution to the wind. “You’ve decided I’m unsuitable.” He leaned back in his chair with a frank expression on his face. “I don’t think this job is for you.” He shrugged. “You’re too vanilla.” “Vanilla?” She couldn’t keep the note of frustration from her voice. “What does that even mean?” He shook his head with a small laugh. “Exactly.” He leaned forward and sighed. “Look, Sophie. You seem like a nice girl. But I don’t need a nice girl for this job. I need someone free of inhibitions. Someone who knows their dildos from their anal beads. Someone who won’t stumble like a schoolgirl if they need to say a rude word.” Sophie squared her shoulders. “You underestimate me, Lucien. I could do this job. I’m damn good, and I’m a fast learner.” She held his blue gaze and willed him to believe her. It had suddenly become crucial to her that he didn’t write her off as a prude, because it endorsed all of her negative feelings about her relationship with Dan. Was she really the little mouse they both seemed to take her for? “Okay.” Lucien folded his arms across his chest, and Sophie’s eyes were drawn to the way his shirt defined his biceps. “Say clitoris, Sophie.” Sophie’s mouth fell open in shock. Hearing Lucien Knight unexpectedly say the word clitoris made the bottom drop out of her stomach. No way was she going to say it back just to amuse him. “Well, that’s certainly a question that didn’t feature on any of the job websites I studied,” she quipped to cover her embarrassment. “You’re right.” He nodded in acceptance and worked the knot on his tie open. Was he hot? She was definitely feeling the heat in here. He tapped his pen on the desk. “Fair enough, don’t say clitoris.” She sighed with relief. “Say masturbation instead.” Sophie couldn’t take anymore. Lucien Knight was too much. Too sexual, too arrogant, too male. Even though he was fully clothed, sex oozed from every pore of the man in a way Sophie had never encountered before. He made her think of Viking warriors, and right now she felt like a damsel in serious distress. Lucien Knight was right. She wasn’t equipped for the candid conversations he required. She couldn’t be as brazen as he needed her to be. She got to her feet. “You know what, Mr. Knight? You’re probably right. I’m not cut out for this.” She swung her bag over her shoulder and ignored the spark of amusement in his eyes. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” Lucien got to his feet too and crossed to open the door. “On the contrary, Sophie. It’s been my pleasure.” He’d placed himself between Sophie and the exit, leaving her no choice but to brush close to him as she left. He was a good head and shoulders taller than she was even in her high heels, and she caught the scent of him as she drew level. Delicious. He smelled of warm spice and citrus, and something else. Something dark and sexy, so uniquely Lucien Knight that it kicked her senses into overdrive. She wanted to leave, and yet at the same time she wanted him to say something to stop her. She turned to him, and found him leaning on the doorjamb with a lazy smile on his face. “Goodbye, Mr. Knight.” “Ms. Black.” He inclined his head, but made no further move, leaving her no option but to walk away. Except for one. Sophie turned away, and then swung back around and said something that she never imagined she’d say as part of a job interview. “Clitoris.” She took pleasure in watching the predatory spark re-ignite in his cool blue eyes, and she licked her lips before she spoke again. “Masturbation.”

Sophie met his gaze head on, dizzy with exhilaration. “Cock rings. Anal beads. Vibrators, dildos and…” she cast around desperately in her limited imagination for a big finish, “and blow up dolls!” The amused heat in Lucien eyes scorched her. In that moment she wasn’t ordinary Sophie Black, builder’s PA and invisible wife. She was sexy and sophisticated Ms. Black, able to stop Viking sex-gods in their tracks with just a few little words. She noticed the way Lucien’s throat worked as he swallowed before he spoke. “You start in the morning. Nine o’ clock sharp. Don’t be late, Ms. Black.” Later that evening, curled up on the sofa eating Chinese from plates balanced on their knees, Kara stared at Sophie, agog. “You aren’t actually going to take the job though, right?” Sophie tucked her feet underneath her and nodded. “Kara, I am. I have to.” She took a sip of her wine and searched for the words to explain her feelings. “If I don’t, then I’m accepting that this is as exciting as my life is ever going to get.” She gestured round her lounge. “A dead-end job, a husband who’s barely here and doesn’t notice me when he is…” “Soph, if you’ve got problems with Dan, this job is only going to make them a million times worse, you know?” “It won’t. Maybe I’ll learn stuff to spice things up for us.” “Can’t you just talk to him?” “Kara, I’m not taking this job because of what’s going on with me and Dan. I’m taking it because for a while back there today I glimpsed a different version of myself, and I liked her better.” Kara shook her head and laughed in resignation. “You’d better hang onto those other clothes then. Something tells me you’re going to need them.” Sophie locked all the doors and went to bed with her mobile in her hand to call Dan. She listened to the clicks as it made the long distance connection, and it rang out once or twice before it diverted to his answer phone. She glanced at her watch. It was just after ten thirty for her, so a little after midnight for him. Who was he with that he should need to reject her call at that time? He wasn’t due to start his meetings until tomorrow. Sophie sighed and slid into bed, her mobile still clutched in her hand in case he called back. He didn’t.

CHAPTER THREE At eight fifty the next morning, Sophie passed through the black, gleaming doors of Knight Inc. with her heart in her mouth. Poor old Derek had never sounded so lost for words as when she’d called him last night out of the blue to resign, and thankfully he’d been too flustered to argue with her request to use holiday days owed in lieu of the company’s one week notice policy. Her old boss was a letch of the highest order; Sophie pitied the next girl who would have to put up with his wandering hands. Was her new boss a letch? Lucien Knight loomed large in her mind, a bronzed, muscled warrior with sparkling blue eyes and a killer way with words. No. He wasn’t a letch. His job just demanded that the usual veil of decency be removed. Even though Sophie had only met Lucien once, she already sensed she could trust him not to cross the line. Derek hadn’t been able to keep his grubby old hands off her, but Sophie felt pretty certain that Lucien Knight wouldn’t lay an untoward finger on her. Unless he thought she wanted him to. Sophie shook her head to dislodge the unbidden thought, and stepped out of the elevator onto the plush carpet of the top floor. The same immaculate woman as yesterday inhabited reception, but her smile was a fraction warmer today as Sophie approached the desk. “Mr. Knight is expecting you, Sophie. Welcome aboard.” Sophie smiled, disconcerted that the woman knew her name already. “Thank you.” The receptionist tapped the keyboard and made no move to get up. “Shall I just go on through?” In answer the woman nodded and extended an arm behind her towards the corridor. That was that, then. She was now officially an employee at Knight Inc. Nerves swirled low in Sophie’s stomach as she approached Lucien’s door at the end of the swathe of carpet. Yesterday already felt as if she’d dreamed it – things like that didn’t happen in real life, did they? In books maybe, or films, but not to ordinary girls leading ordinary lives. Except it had happened, and as Sophie tapped twice on Lucien’s door, she felt like anything but an ordinary girl. “Come in.” His quiet command filtered through the door, and she turned the handle and stepped inside. “Sophie.” A lazy smile crossed his mouth when he looked up. “You came.” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Did you expect me not to?” He shrugged. “How could you resist?” Sophie smiled despite her nerves. She couldn’t help it. Lucien Knight was just about the most selfassured - no, in fact, cocky - man she’d ever met. “This way.” Lucien stood and opened a door to a second room to one side of his desk. Sophie hadn’t noticed the doorway until now, and she crossed behind his desk to stand alongside him. The adjoining office was smaller, with the same lush decoration and picture window views of London as Lucien enjoyed. “You should find everything you need in here. Claire has left detailed guidance notes.” “Claire?” Sophie’s interest was piqued. “My previous PA. She had to leave a couple of weeks earlier than planned, but you should find everything in order.” Sophie wasn’t brave enough to ask why Claire had needed to make a speedy exit. Maybe she’d fallen for her boss…

“Why don’t you take a little time to get acquainted with things? And I’ll call you if I need anything.” Lucien left Sophie’s door open and sat down at his desk. Despite what he’d just said to the contrary, he’d have put down good money that Sophie Black wouldn’t turn up this morning. She’d surprised him again, just as she had when she’d turned back yesterday and said things that clearly made her uncomfortable. He sensed the spunky girl lurking beneath her good girl demeanour, and he was looking forward to helping her find her way out. He looked up as she appeared in the doorway. “Coffee, Mr. Knight?” There was a gleam in her eye that could almost be deemed mischievous. “Why, thank you, Sophie. I’d like that very much. Espresso, if you can work that infernal machine out.” She disappeared again, and he could hear the clank of the high-tech coffee machine in her office that he’d never bothered to get to grips with. A few minutes later she placed a steaming cup down on the desk next to him. “I wasn’t sure if you took sugar,” she said, a sachet in her hand in readiness. “No, thank you. That’s perfect.” She inclined her head, and sunlight bounced off the clip that held her hair up. Lucien’s fingers itched to reach out and remove it, to let her blonde hair fall around her face. How long was it, he wondered? Shoulder length? Long enough to cover her breasts? He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. He picked up the cup and watched her retreat into her office. He had much to learn about Sophie Black, but two things were already apparent. The girl had a fabulous backside, and she could indeed make a mean cup of coffee. Sophie sat down at the large, unfamiliar desk and touched a key on the computer keyboard. The screen instantly lit up, the Knight Inc. logo emblazoned across it. Claire had indeed been very thorough with her handover notes, Sophie found everything listed from computer passwords to intricate details of how to manage Lucien’s diary. The thought of being in charge of the movements of the six foot sex god sitting outside her door set off the nerves in her stomach again, so she entered the computer passwords and opened up the email programme. It seemed as good a place to start as any. The next couple of hours passed in a blur, and almost to her surprise, Sophie found that the job actually held some similarities to her old one. She still had to clear emails, manage the post, type memos. She drew strength from those familiarities. I can do this. She was about to get to grips with the filing systems when an instant message box popped up in the corner of the screen. “You’re very industrious in there, Ms. Black. I’m impressed.” A smile touched the corners of her mouth. How very Lucien Knight to choose to do something other than just lean back far enough to put his head around the door and speak to her. She was fast learning that he was a man who avoided the predictable. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she tried to decide how to respond. First and foremost, this man was her boss. She should just be screamingly professional, but he’d somehow managed to show her that that wasn’t what he was looking for from her. She rather thought that he wanted the other Sophie. Even so, there was something inherently intimate about messaging him that made her feel weird. But turned on weird, rather than run for the hills weird. She racked her brain. What would the other Sophie say? “I aim to please, Mr. Knight.” She pressed send. A few seconds later, his reply flashed in. “Then I hope you’re a good shot, Sophie.” Sophie laughed softly under her breath.

“I never miss. Is there anything particular you’d like me to do next, Mr. Knight?” “Yes. I want you to call me Lucien.” Sophie blushed. She’d already attempted to call him Lucien a few times that morning, but his name felt wrong in her mouth. Why couldn’t he have a run of the mill name? Something normal, like Tom, or Jack… or Dan. Something that could have been anyone’s, rather than a name that was so personally, completely his? He seemed to fill every corner of the word. He chose that moment to roll his chair back and come through into the office with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Sophie, could you work on these after lunch, please?” He handed the papers over. “It’s customer feedback reports from our product testing group. I need the results collating, please.” She put the papers aside with a professional smile. Say his name. Say his name. “Of course… Lucien.” There. She’d said it, and no one had died. His eyes glittered with approval. “Much better.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go out for an hour or two. Don’t forget to take a lunch break.” He left a few minutes later, and Sophie breathed out properly for the first time since she’d arrived that morning. She’d been tense, too tense in his presence. An unbidden image of Lucien Knight massaging the tension out of her shoulders popped into her mind, and she pushed it aside hurriedly. What was happening to her? Her last boss had never unsettled her like this, but then Derek was a man whose attentions she had actively avoided, rather than daydreamed about like a star struck fan-girl. The fact was that being around Lucien Knight had her on edge. She’d never met anyone like him before. He radiated a raw sexual energy; it dripped from his every pore. He had exempted himself from the usual conventions that shackle people and had created the Knight Inc. empire on the back of it. Her pre-interview research had told her little of the man himself, but much about the multi- million pound business of adult clubs and stores he operated up and down the UK. He seemed to view the world through an x-rated lens, and he had made his millions by tapping into the vein of depravity that ran through every otherwise decent person. Up until now, Sophie had considered herself a conventional woman. Accepting this job was probably – no, definitely - the biggest risk she’d ever taken. She’d applied for it because the boredom of her life was suffocating her, and so far it seemed that if her aim had been to inject some excitement into her days, she’d scored a spectacular goal. Was she escaping from her old life? Yes. Was she using the job to stop herself from thinking about the terse text she’d received from Dan this morning, telling her not to call so late again and that he’d be in touch when he could? Absolutely. He’d been gone for three days and had yet to find the time to take her calls. Not that that was so unusual these days. It had been that way on more and more overnight trips over the last couple of years. Sophie knew better than to let herself think about it too deeply, because then there would be questions that needed answers. Up until now she hadn’t wanted to ask them, even though they were there in huge black capital letters. The gulf between them had slowly widened into an ocean awash with the flotsam and jetsam of a neglected relationship; countless cold shoulders instead of enveloping hugs. Too many dry pecks on the cheek rather than passionate clinches on the dining table. Too many hurriedly hidden text messages. The circumstantial evidence all pointed towards another woman, and Sophie’s sexual confidence had ebbed away in the face of Dan’s undeniable rebuttals in bed. She’d been feeling old, and cold. Until now. Until she’d stepped into Lucien Knight’s force field yesterday evening. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel all woman, and Sophie could feel herself blossoming… ripening… re-emerging… and she liked it. She liked it a lot. She grabbed her lunch from her bag and returned to her desk to make a start on that report Lucien had

asked for. She flipped the file open, and the full-page illustration on page one stilled her sandwich half way to her mouth. What was that? She tilted her head to the side to try to work it out but ended up none the wiser. A standard vibrator given to her on her hen night was as far as her experience with sex toys went, and even that hadn’t seen much use. Sophie flicked over the page and read the product description. 'The all new Vibrating Lick’n’Love Ring features all the best features of our regular vibrating cock ring, with the addition of an innovative silicone tongue-shaped clit stimulator for enhanced couple play. Designed to move and feel like a real tongue, the remote control Lick’n’Love Ring combines the best of all worlds. The fully waterproof unit also comes with detachable anal stimulation beads for male or female use.' Sophie read the blurb with her hands pressed against her cheeks in shock. Was Lucien testing her again? Or was this just the reality of the job she’d taken on? Sophie wasn’t certain, but either way she needed to write the report. A flick through the rest of the pages showed them to be individual satisfaction surveys with tick box answers, and then a space for individual comments. Straightforward enough to collate, but far from easy to read. Sophie found herself growing hot and flustered as she read the anonymous strangers’ responses on the forms. It certainly seemed as if the toy had found favour with its reviewers. Mind blowing orgasm, one said. Felt just like a real tongue, another reported. Sophie found her eyes constantly pulled back to the image of the toy as she tallied up the responses. Was it really that good? How life-like would it actually feel? These questions and more crossed Sophie’s mind as she collated the comments, and she didn’t hear Lucien’s office door open until he appeared around her doorway. He gave her a mock salute when she glanced up. Were her cheeks telltale red? Could he see how flustered she was? By the knowing gleam in his blue eyes, probably yes. “I’ll be just out here if you need anything,” he murmured. Sophie looked up as he turned away, and couldn’t help but notice the way his dark shirt clung to the width of his shoulders. He was obviously in great shape, long and lean with defined muscles. Sophie puffed her fringe out of her eyes and shook her head to dislodge her mind from the path it was heading down. A path that had her wondering just how good Lucien Knight would look without that shirt on. “How’s the report coming along?” The question appeared in the chat box in the corner of the screen. She hesitated, then tapped, “Okay I think. Almost finished.” “Nice work. Come and feedback the results to me when you’re done.” Lucien probably heard her gasp out loud. The idea of discussing the reports findings with him made her squirm in her seat. She couldn’t, she just couldn’t. “Yes you can.” The words popped up on the screen, and she heard his low laugh. “Your CV said you want to be challenged, Ms. Black.” Sophie put her hands over her face. She hadn’t expected this sort of challenge. “Fifteen minutes. Bring coffee.” Sophie almost longed for her old job as she clicked save on the last of the comments and pressed print. Boredom was easier to handle than this barrage of nerves that had her constantly on edge. She pinned two copies of the report together and put them on the tray next to the coffee. It was now or never. She popped her head around the door. “I could just email the report to you if you’re busy?” Lucien grinned at her last ditch avoidance pitch. “No need. I’m all ears, Sophie.” She turned back and took a deep breath as she picked up the tray. It was time for the other Sophie to

come out to play; the one Lucien had given the job to. She could do this. She turned around and went through into Lucien’s office.

CHAPTER FOUR Sophie placed Lucien’s coffee down next to him and took the seat opposite his at the desk. “So, Sophie. How did you get on with the report?” Sophie picked up the two printed copies and handed one across to him. He glanced down at the front cover, on which Sophie had included the image of the Love’n’Lick Ring and its blurb accompanied by the date and report header. “Nice presentation.” He nodded. “So far, so good.” “Thank you.” Sophie smiled but didn’t look up and meet his eyes. She’d decided that the only way she was going to make it through this session was by imagining that he was her old boss, Derek, and they were discussing something as innocuous as wall grouting options. If she looked up, that would be impossible. Lucien turned the top page over to the results analysis. “Talk me through the findings, please Sophie.” Sophie swallowed at his softly spoken command. Short of refusing, he’d left her little room for manoeuvre. She cleared her throat. “Well, as you can see, the test group found that the product was, umm… fit for purpose.” “Fit for purpose?” Lucien’s laugh was low and suggestive. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Ms. Black. From the top, please.” Sophie’s fingers touched against her throat, and Lucien’s eyes lingered on the movement. “Okay. Right. Well… question one. The testers were asked to judge the product on appearance.” “And?” “And they liked it. A couple of people would have preferred it to be coloured, but most liked the fact that it was clear.” “Why?” “Why what?” “Why do they prefer clear to coloured?” “From the comments, people like the fact that it blends in rather than stands out.” Lucien nodded. “And what do you think of its appearance?” “Me?” Lucien nodded again and looked at her with expectant eyes, and she tried to imagine that he’d just asked her which grout mix she would recommend. It didn’t work very well. “I couldn’t really say,” she stumbled and flicked back to the front cover to look at it again. Lucien wheeled his chair backwards to a cabinet and opened it, then returned to the desk with a real life version of the Love’n’Lick in his hand. Sophie blanched as he took it out of the packet. He held it out across the desk, and Sophie did the only thing she could. She took it. “Look at it,” he said, and she dropped her eyes hurriedly. “Test how it feels against your skin.” Sophie could do nothing to stop the warm flush on her cheeks, but what else did he expect? “Note how you can see your own skin through it. We designed it to become almost invisible when used.” She could hear the note of pride in his voice. However titillating the subject matter seemed, the fact was that this product research was essential information to Lucien and he took it seriously. She looked down at the sex toy in her hand, and curiosity overtook embarrassment. It was far softer and stretchier than she’d imagined it would be, more tactile. The tongue stimulator struck her as very… well… tongue-shaped. Her mind skipped along the obvious path… how would it feel to use this during

sex? And more disturbingly, it wasn’t Dan who starred in her x-rated imaginary sex test. “Question two,” she coughed, and chased the images from her head. “How easy was the product to use?” People had raved over it on the questionnaires. “It scored highly in this area, Lucien. People found it incredibly easy to use.” “Good. That’s what we hoped.” He seemed satisfied with that, so she thanked her lucky stars and moved on. “The next question was aimed specifically at women.” Sophie willed her cheeks to stay cool. “It asked if the product increased the female partner’s pleasure during sex.” Sophie couldn’t look up. This whole conversation was too intimate. She wouldn’t even have felt comfortable having it with Dan, let alone Lucien. “And the results?” Sophie nodded. “Umm, yes. The responses were favourable again.” “For everyone? No additional comments?” Oh, there had been comments. Plenty of them. Sophie passed her hand over her forehead and coughed again. This was excruciatingly hard, given the subject matter. But then wasn’t that the point? This was the bread and butter of the business she was now part of, she needed to prove to Lucien that she could handle it. It was time to pull herself together and be the PA Lucien needed, or she might as well get her coat now. The thought of losing the job centred her, and she put her shoulders back and looked up. “Every last women loved it, Lucien.” Sophie spoke without allowing a trace of her inward tremble into her voice. “They all found that the additional clitoral stimulation helped them achieve orgasm during sex. One woman reported three orgasms within half an hour, and many mentioned that the tongue action felt extremely life-like.” Lucien nodded. “And you, Sophie?” “Me?” “Do you think the tongue action feels life-like?” “Lucien, I haven’t…” Sophie’s eyebrows hit her fringe. “Switch it on and test it against the palm of your hand.” “You’re not serious.” “Perfectly. I need you to be fully conversant with all aspects of what we do, and that includes product awareness.” Dear God. He genuinely expected her to switch it on and test it, right here in front of him. He was outrageous, and Sophie had never felt so exposed in her life. Or so turned on. She flicked the switch on the vibrating tongue, and the little machine buzzed into life in her hand. When she looked down she could see that the tongue had small raised bumps all over its surface that undulated in a wave-like motion. A tongue-like motion. She flicked her eyes up at Lucien and found him watching her face intently, and his blue eyes had darkened to navy glitter. He raised one eyebrow at her in a challenge. “Try it against your palm.” It was more of an order than a question, but one Sophie found herself ready to comply with. She placed the tip of the tongue lightly against the centre of her hand. Lucien shook his head. “Not like that.” He came around the desk and dropped on his haunches in front of her chair. “Imagine the position it would be in during sex.” Reaching out, he placed one large, golden brown hand flat underneath her smaller one to hold it steady, and then with his other hand he turned the toy over and pressed the tongue stimulator flat against her palm. “There. Like that,” he said, looking up at her. “How does that feel now?”

Sophie sat rooted to the spot and stared down at him, wide eyed. “Like someone is licking my palm,” she all but whispered. He flicked the switch and the vibrations increased. “And now?” Sophie shifted in her seat. The scent of Lucien reached her nose and filled her head with cinnamon and spice, and the warm strength of his hands holding the toy against hers made her want his hands on her everywhere else. His eyes watched their hands, and he looked somehow vulnerable with the sweep of his lashes against his cheek. “It’s licking me harder,” she said. Lucien nodded and snagged his bottom lip between his teeth. He pushed the slider onto full strength, and the little tongue started to lap urgently against Sophie’s palm. “And this, Sophie? How does this feel?” Sophie closed her eyes. She couldn’t get her breath. “Honestly?” she breathed, her mind back on her earlier fantasy of a shirtless Lucien. “It makes me want sex… to know how it would feel between my legs.” She dragged her eyes open and realised with horror that she’d actually just said that out loud. Lucien stared at her with barely controlled lust, his breathing almost as shallow as her own. “That’s excellent, Sophie.” He cleared his throat and snapped the vibrations off, giving Sophie a couple of seconds to gather herself together as he returned to his seat. “I think we can send this one to production,” he said, dropping the Lick’n’Love toy into his drawer. “It seems to hit the spot perfectly.” Sophie stayed at her desk until well after five o clock, waiting for Lucien to leave before she passed through his office. She couldn’t believe what had happened out there earlier, and she couldn’t blame him because she’d willingly let it happen. From the moment she’d set eyes on Lucien Knight, she’d fallen. She should resign, run for her life and her marriage before anything more serious happened. Because it would. The computer screen lit up as the instant messaging box popped up. “I’m done for the evening, Ms. Black. I hope you’ve enjoyed your first day as much as I have.” Sophie read his words, and any thoughts of resignation melted away. “Yes, thank you. It’s been very… illuminating.” “I hope that’s a good thing. I’ve left some homework on my desk for you. Pick it up on your way out.” And with that, he called out goodnight and she heard his door close behind him a second or two later. She dropped her head in her hands. What the hell was she doing? In the space of twenty-four hours, her life had gone from humdrum to something straight out of a top shelf movie. She picked up her bag and jacket and went out through Lucien’s office, where the Lick’n’Love sex toy lay on top of a piece of paper with her name scrawled across the top. Sophie, Keep this. You seemed to like it. I don’t need you to start until 2pm tomorrow, expect it to be a late one. L A little after one the following afternoon, Lucien put the phone down and drummed his fingers on the desk. As far as he was concerned, the information he’d just learned about Sophie Black changed everything. Or the information about her husband, to be precise.

The man obviously didn’t expect Sophie to check up on him, because he’d barely even bothered to cover the tracks of his two year affair. As Lucien sat and digested the information, an email pinged in from his head of security confirming the details he’d just outlined over the telephone. Lucien had learned over the years that his industry attracted more than its fair share of wacko job applicants, so any new staff were routinely vetted. Quite why he’d ordered checks to be carried out on Daniel Black as well as Sophie he couldn’t easily explain, but it turned out that his instincts had been right on the money. A series of photographs accompanied the written report on the screen. Lucien’s mouth twisted in distaste at the sight of the man Sophie was apparently married to walking through Heraklion airport with his arm around a dark haired, elfin woman. She was very different from Sophie. The man had diverse tastes. This woman was small and tanned, with severely cropped dark hair. Sophie was taller, and fairer, with curves that would no doubt be soft and full in Lucien’s hands. She reminded him of a young horse: coltish, jittering between nerves and spirit, ready to be taken in hand. He’d deliberately pushed her yesterday. He could easily have read that report and drawn his own conclusions, but it was much more fun to see how far she was willing to go. She’d surprised him, just as she had at her interview. Beneath the cool, professional exterior that he could see she was working hard to project, Lucien detected a sensual woman waiting in the wings. She was like a ripe peach that no one had bothered to pick, and he wanted to sink his teeth right in. “Loser,” he muttered under his breath as he scrolled down through pictures of the couple taken yesterday. Yesterday. Laughing in a bar, their heads close together. Reading by a pool, his head resting on her stomach. A nighttime shot of them wrapped around each other on their hotel balcony, and if Lucien’s eyes didn’t deceive him, the woman was naked. There was no question. Sophie’s husband was cheating on her. As far as Lucien was concerned, that rendered Sophie Black a free agent, even if she didn’t know it herself.

CHAPTER FIVE Sophie emerged from the elevator onto the top floor at just before two, dressed today in a bottle green dress that clung to her every curve. It was a dress she wouldn’t have dared to wear for her old job, and for that matter wouldn’t have wanted to. Being Derek’s PA had been all about fending off his wandering hands, but being Lucien’s PA brought with it a whole new set of parameters. What would she do if Lucien’s hands started to wander? In truth, she was starting to feel more worried that her own hands might be the ones to stray. She’d tossed and turned in her big, empty bed most of last night, her head full of fantasies of Lucien Knight giving her a personal demonstration of the Lick’n’Love toy. Although it was just as well she’d had something to concentrate her mind on, because Dan had once again proved elusive aside from a message on the answer phone waiting for her when she’d arrived home yesterday. What was the point of calling her at home when he knew she’d be at work? The idea that he’d done it for precisely that reason lurked in the back of her head, but she refused to allow it to come to the fore. She didn’t want to have that conversation, even with herself. Dan was a busy man, and since yesterday, she’d become an extremely busy woman, too. Sophie bypassed the reception desk today with a polite nod towards the receptionist, and a small thrill of belonging rippled low in her belly when she rapped her knuckles softly against Lucien’s door. “You don’t need to knock.” He was right there and opened the door wide for her to pass. Sophie stepped inside the lush office, feeling rather like a lion had opened the door of his lair and beckoned her in. “Good afternoon, Lucien.” She raised her eyes and gave him the benefit of a megawatt smile. She’d made a pact with herself as she’d applied her eye make up carefully that lunchtime. From the moment she stepped foot inside Knight Inc. today, she was going to let the other Sophie take over, and she was damn well going to enjoy it. “Sophie,” he murmured, and the slight smile on his lips let her know that her greeting had pleased him. Christ, he was gorgeous. All in black, from his well fitted shirt to his trousers that tapered down to black boots. He was covered from the throat down, yet somehow sexier than any other man naked. How would Lucien look naked? The scandalous thought made Sophie glance down at her shiny shoes and hope mind reading wasn’t one of Lucien’s skills. Although, it wouldn’t surprise her if it was. He seemed to look at her and see straight through her carefully constructed outer shell, right through to a dormant, sexy temptress that needed awakening from her slumber. She’d known Lucien Knight for less than forty-eight hours, but he’d already changed her in more ways than anyone else had in her entire life. A few minutes later, Sophie glanced at Lucien’s computer screen as she placed coffee next to him on his desk. From what she could make out, it looked like a club website, but not any kind of club she’d ever been in. It was dark and opulent, and screamed sex from every shot. “Is that one of your clubs?” He picked up his coffee and rolled his shoulders. “Yes. The newest of the Gateway Clubs. It’s curtain up tonight.” He paused and licked his lips. “We’ll head over there around five o’ clock.” “We?” Sophie’s mouth went dry. Lucien nodded. “Do you have a problem with that?” Did she have a problem with that? She shook her head. “I guess not. It’s just I’ve never been to a …” He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin on his face. “A what, Sophie?” “Anywhere like that.” Sophie gestured towards the screen.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be perfectly safe.” She glanced down at her dress. “Aren’t I a little underdressed for a club?” Lucien’s laugh was low and suggestive. “Quite the opposite, actually.” He laughed again at her shocked expression. “I’m joking. We’re going to work, not play.” Sophie nodded and escaped back to her own office. She didn’t want to go to a sex club with him. She did want to go to a sex club with him. She opened the email programme and started work, letting the routine of getting to grips with her new job soothe her tattered nerves. Her predecessor had run a very tight ship, which made Sophie’s job much easier and stopped her from needing to constantly ask Lucien for help. A bleep from the computer alerted her to the flashing message box on the screen. “You’re very quiet in there.” “How much noise do you expect a PA to make?” “The previous one was quite vocal.” What did he mean by that? Sophie burned to know why Claire had needed to leave the job early. Had she been sleeping with Lucien? Had it all gone wrong? He certainly didn’t seem to be nursing a broken heart. Lost in thought, Sophie must have taken too long to reply, because a second message flashed in as she sat there mulling things over. “She left to marry her French boyfriend. A whirlwind romance, or some equally trite phrase, I believe she used.” Christ, he really was a mind reader. Or else, he really understood how her mind worked. Sophie went through to Lucien’s office and picked up his empty cup. It was half past four. “Do we need to leave soon?” Lucien nodded. “Don’t be nervous, Sophie. I think you’ll enjoy it if you keep an open mind.” Sophie appreciated his attempt to settle her nerves, but the fact that she was going to need an open mind was actually more worrying than calming. “I’ll just grab my bag.” Back in her office, Sophie checked her phone for messages. Nothing. She sighed heavily. Even by Dan’s standards, this was ridiculous. She flicked her mobile into mirror mode and slicked a fresh coat of gloss on her lips, then paused for a second as her reflection gazed back at her. Did she look different, somehow? Did her eyes have a more alive glow than usual? This job and Lucien Knight made her skin tingle with excitement and the blood flow a little faster in her veins. “Come on Sophie. Time to roll.” An hour or so later Lucien eased his Aston Martin into a reserved parking bay outside the newest in his chain of Gateway clubs and turned to Sophie in the passenger seat. “This is it.” She glanced out of the windscreen at the gleaming, low-slung building, and then turned big, apprehensive eyes to him. “Is it open yet?” “Not yet. It opens at eight.” Sophie’s eyes cut to the clock on the dash. He could almost see her working out how much ‘safe time’ she had left. He turned to face her. “Sophie. This is business. We aren’t here to play, so just relax, okay?” He saw her throat move as she nodded and swallowed hard. She didn’t fool him for a second with her acts of bravado. She was like a kitten, brave every now and then, but mostly marshmallow. Her feisty interludes turned him on, and he wanted to push her into situations that encouraged the tigress in her to

come out more often. The girl shimmered with untapped sexual potential. Her dick of a husband obviously wasn’t able to see what he could see, or he wouldn’t be swanning around the Med with some pixie-faced tramp. The man must have rocks in his head, or else not be using his head at all. He was obviously the kind of guy who listened to his cock rather than his conscience. He got out and opened Sophie’s car door. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour before it opens.” The reception area was a world away from Sophie’s expectations. More like an upmarket spa than a club, she thought, as Lucien pointed out the changing rooms as they passed through the double doors beyond the reception area. Inside, the club opened out onto a large open plan space, opulently decked out in aubergine velvets and gilt chandeliers. “This is the social area.” Lucien gestured at the various seating nooks, a bar, and a dance floor. “It looks like any other club,” Sophie marvelled, surprised by the normality of the space. “Or a nicer version of a normal club.” “I’ll take that.” Lucien nodded. “What did you expect? Something seedy? People use this area to make friends, dance, have a drink…” He shrugged. “Just like a normal club,” Sophie said again, feeling slightly less intimidated. “Kind of.” Lucien’s tone made her look back at him curiously, but he just shrugged again and motioned for her to head towards the open tread staircase that ran up one side of the dance floor. She regretting going ahead of him as soon as she set foot on the stairs; he wouldn’t be able to avoid a close-up view of her backside, and Kara’s bottle green dress was cut to leave little to the imagination. She forced herself to keep climbing the steps steadily, and when she turned to him at the top he looked at her with a grin. “What?” He threw his hands out to the side and raised his eyebrows innocently. “Nothing.” Sophie narrowed her eyes at him. “Which way next?” Lucien placed a hand on the small of her back and urged her forwards down a corridor. The moody décor from downstairs continued up here, dark and opulently atmospheric. Each door along the corridor was closed, three on either side. Lucien reached for the first one and pushed it open, and Sophie peeped in. And then, hesitantly, stepped inside and stared. “Okay. So this is nothing like a normal club anymore,” she murmured, taking in the huge bed area in the centre of the room and the mirrored ceiling. “No.” Lucien’s voice was close enough to warm her neck, and his hand still scorched the small of her back. “We choose the best fittings and fixtures to make our rooms the most comfortable around.” Sophie nodded, too conscious of the fact that she was staring at a big sexy bed with Lucien to comment on the quality of the furnishings. “Try it out. Tell me if it’s comfortable.” Sophie gasped and shook her head. “Don’t panic, it’s unused. This is launch night, remember?” Sophie weighed up her options. She kind of wanted to say no, but she had to acknowledge that she kind of wanted to say yes too. She remembered her resolution to have fun today, and stepped tentatively forward towards the edge of the bed. What would sexy Sophie do? She dropped to her knees on the edge of the mattress and crawled to the centre, then flipped onto her back and glanced up at her own reflection. She caught her breath. The woman looking back at her was nothing like the woman she usually saw. This girl was sexy, no, sexual. Rosy

cheeked, blonde waves spilling over rich aubergine velvet like a fifties pin-up. “Well?” Lucien crossed to the bottom of the bed and gazed down at her, then reached for a button that made the whole bed vibrate. She shot up on her elbows, and he laughed, low and smutty. “Pretty cool, huh?” The vibrations did strange things. Sophie lay back and closed her eyes, allowing the sensations to play along her spine. She pushed her body down into them, and in answer Lucien turned up the intensity. Sophie could feel her whole body melting into the bed and as she pushed her bottom down, the sensations were strong enough to radiate all the way up between her legs. She gasped involuntarily and opened her eyes, meeting Lucien’s gaze as he watched her. “Shall I turn it up again?” he asked, levelly, one knee resting on the mattress. Sophie straightened her dress and crawled hurriedly off the bed. “It’s, umm, very comfortable,” she managed, as she darted out of the room. Jesus Christ. What was happening to her? She jumped as Lucien’s hand returned to the small of her back. Her skin throbbed with awareness. If he’d chosen that moment to press her against the wall, she’d have let him. And begged him for more. He opened the doors to the rest of the rooms along the corridor one by one, but Sophie made sure to do no more than stick her head around and peep inside. Which was just as well, given that one room held a cage and shackles, plus an impressive array of whips and other sinister looking things she didn’t recognise on the wall. Another revealed a Nordic steam room, and a further one seemed quite tame by comparison, with its central pool table. Tame until Sophie’s mind offered up the idea of Lucien bending her double over it. She caught his eye and, not for the first time, she felt as if he could see the very thoughts inside her head. As the tour continued, Sophie became familiar with the concept of playrooms for couples, swingers, singles… whatever your desire, it could be met here in these shadowy rooms. A large spa area dominated the rear of the upstairs space, with an opulent hot tub lit with inviting stars and glittering mirrors all the way around. It was undeniably fabulous. “Fancy a dip?” Sophie had to look over at Lucien to be certain he was joking. After the unexpected interlude in the first room she couldn’t be altogether sure. “Maybe later,” she ventured, and received instant gratification from his expression of surprise. “Just kidding.” She smiled sweetly. “That’s a shame, Princess.” Sophie caught her breath at his casual endearment. Coming from him, this towering Viking, it was mindnumbingly sexy. She was in way over her head with Lucien Knight, and in that single moment of clarity she made a decision. If she didn’t let herself have this man, she’d spend her entire life wondering what would have happened if she had. Dan had absented himself from her in body and mind for long enough. No more. Lucien unlocked a side door, and led her up a separate flight of stairs to his private suite on the top floor. The front area held a desk, with office paraphernalia to one side and a lounge with invitingly sumptuous sofas and a huge TV on the other. Double doors stood open at the end of the room to reveal a decadent bedroom beyond. Sophie moved silently forward to stand on the threshold, and her eyes took in the huge bed, the massive gilt-edged mirror leaning against the wall, the open door affording her a view into a hotel-style, slate tiled bathroom. This was it. Now or never.

CHAPTER SIX Sophie stepped into the bedroom and sat down on the club chair nearest to the window. Lucien leaned one strong shoulder against the door and tilted his head to one side, watching her. She crossed her ankles and looked up at him. “My husband is having an affair, Lucien.” He had the grace to look genuinely shocked, then waited and watched for her to continue. “And here’s the thing. Right at this moment, he’s God knows where with God knows who until next weekend, and I don’t think I even care.” How good did it feel to say that? Sophie was momentarily taken aback by the strength of her relief at hearing her own words out loud. Dan had held her down with his casual disinterest for long enough. Acknowledging it was a release. Lucien crossed the room slowly, never taking his eyes off her, and sat in the chair opposite. “He’s a fucking fool.” Sophie shrugged and looked out of the window. “Maybe. He’s avoided having sex with me for more than six months now.” “I’ll say it again. He’s a fucking fool.” “Yes.” Sophie gazed at Lucien opposite. Jesus, he was beautiful. If she was going to be unfaithful with anyone, this sinful, sexy man was it. “Would it help if we fucked?” Sophie laughed and put her hands to her cheeks in shock. “Could we at least have a drink first?” Lucien lifted an eyebrow at her and crossed the room to open a sleek cabinet. He returned moments later and placed a champagne bucket and two glasses on the table between them, then sat down opposite her again. “Take your dress off,” he said, softly. Sophie caught her breath. If she’d thought she was turned on before, she’d been mistaken. Now, she was turned on. She got to her feet slowly and turned her back to him. “I need help with the zip.” She didn’t actually, she could have dragged the dress over her head as she had this morning, but that didn’t seem appropriate for this moment. She stood for a few seconds, and the horrible thought struck her that he might not get up and help. It melted away the instant she felt him lift the weight of her hair over one shoulder to expose the zip. His fingers brushed hot against her neck, and it took all of her efforts not to turn around. The sound of the zipper sliding down was indecent in the quiet room. Sophie couldn’t be certain, but she thought he ran the lightest of fingertips down her spine as he went. “Take it off,” he breathed against her ear, then slid back into his chair to watch her again, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. Sophie turned to face him, and the raw lust in his eyes was so unfamiliar, so powerful, that she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She slipped the dress off one shoulder and then the other, then held her breath as she let go of the material and allowed it to slither to the floor. Lucien’s eyes moved slowly from hers, over her shoulders, and lingered on her breasts encased in black silk. Sophie squirmed, and fought the urge to bring her hands up to cover herself. “Stand still.” He leaned in, poured the champagne and handed her a glass. She took it and drank deeply, letting the

bubbles fizz on her tongue. His eyes moved from her breasts to her stomach, lower to her black silk knickers. “Turn around.” Fuck. Sophie wanted to gather up her clothes and run. Or… maybe she didn’t. She found that she wanted to turn around and let him stare at her backside. She turned around. For endless, silent seconds, he didn’t move a muscle. Sophie rubbed a finger up and down the stem of her glass as she wondered what he was thinking. She badly wanted to see his face. She knocked back half of her champagne, terrified that her silk-clad backside didn’t meet his approval. She never usually wore stockings. It had taken ten minutes this morning to find the hold-ups in the back of her wardrobe, but she was glad of the effort now. She was on the verge of turning round when she felt Lucien’s hand on her waist. Sophie drew in a sharp breath and arched her back as his warm hand slid around her to splay over her rib cage. His other hand took her champagne glass and placed it on the table. He was so close behind her that she could feel the heat of him. When he stepped closer still, hard against her from shoulder to hip, his hands swept up and covered her breasts. Sophie heard him make a sound low in his throat, and then he turned her around in his arms to face him. God, he was tall. She looked up into his face, and his hand slid down her spine to caress her backside. He wound her hair around his other hand, all the way up her back until he had it tight enough in his fist to tip her chin up. His fingers bit into the cheek of her bottom, right along the silken edge of her knickers. Dan was always gentle, and at that moment Lucien was anything but. He was raw, and strong, and Sophie wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone else in her life. How could she be here, half naked in his arms without having even so much as kissed him? She slid her hands up onto the wall of his chest and touched him for the first time. Her hands registered hard heat, and even through his shirt she could feel the steady beat of his heart. “Unbutton it.” Oh, yes please. Sophie worked the buttons open and slid the material back over his shoulders, and he yanked it off his arms and threw it to the floor. Up close and bare-chested, Lucien was heart-stoppingly fabulous. The soft silk of her bra brushed against the hardness of his chest, and Sophie melted into him. Lucien’s breathing was audible but steady as he caught hold of her hands. He snagged them both behind her back in one of his own larger ones, and his other hand slid around the nape of her neck to draw her mouth to his. She was captive, at his mercy, and she loved it. “Beautiful Sophie,” he murmured against her lips, and then, at last, he lowered his head and kissed her. Sophie’s senses reeled at the first touch of his mouth on hers, soft and then hard and so filled with sexual intent that she trembled. He bit her lips and then licked them better. Explored her mouth with his hot, potent tongue as his firm hand cupped the back of her head. Being kissed by Lucien made Sophie feel as if everyone who’d kissed her before should queue up for lessons from him. Her knees buckled, but he had her so securely in his grip that it didn’t even matter. “Easy,” he murmured into her mouth. His hand slid around her throat, and then down to trace across the silk-encased curves of her breasts. Sophie arched against him, desperate for more, and she groaned as his erection pressed hard into her stomach. He lifted his head to look down into her face, then eased his knee between her legs. “You have no idea how many ways I’m going to make you come.” Sophie all but yelped. He was filthy, and she couldn’t get enough of him. She was desperate to touch

him, but he gripped her hands a fraction tighter when she wriggled in an attempt to free them. Lucien shook his head. “Not yet, Princess.” He slid his thigh further between her legs. Delicious friction. With his free hand he pulled her bra straps down to bare her breasts to his eyes. Sophie gasped and felt her nipples stiffen as she watched him lean his head slightly to one side and stare openly at her body. He rocked his erection harder against her and licked his lips as his ragged breathing belied his apparent cool control. He was every bit as excited as she was. “So pink.” Lucien bent to suckle each of her nipples in turn, drawing a splutter of desire from Sophie’s throat. She wanted to push her hands into his hair and hold him there, but he wouldn’t release her wrists. Instead, he started to rock her on his thigh. The silk of her knickers rubbed her sex. Backwards. Forwards. Backwards. Forwards. Harder, until she rode him like a lap dancer on a pole, shameless in her need for him to finish what he’d started between her legs. “That’s better,” he crooned, kissing her throat when she let her head fall backwards. “Let it go.” He played with her breasts, watching her face for reactions. Stroking. Cupping. Rolling her nipples hard enough to send answering shots of desire firing through her body. “Lucien…” she breathed his name. “Lucien…” He arched an eyebrow as his fingers trailed down the soft curve of her stomach, every touch like a million tiny electric volts. A crooked half smile crossed his lips as she bucked against him. He leaned in and kissed her ear. “Tell me what you want me to do, Sophie.” His fingers stroked the along the edge of her knickers, making her stomach muscles jump in response. “I won’t do it unless you ask me to.” He licked the hollow at the base of her throat. She knew exactly what she wanted. “Lucien, please… touch me.” His answering laugh was pure filth. “Not nearly good enough, Ms. Black.” He cupped one of her breasts in his hands and bent his head. “You have perfect tits.” He licked her nipple and flicked his eyes upwards to her face. Sophie watched his tongue slide over the pink nub, mesmerised by what he was doing to her. Her breasts throbbed, and she ached between her legs for him. “Is this what you want, Sophie?” He slipped his fingers inside her knickers and cupped her. Sophie writhed with pleasure. “God, yes. Yes…” she moaned and pushed herself down into his hand. Lucien straightened and clamped her, vice-like, against him, his hand down her knickers and his tongue in her mouth. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do. Say the words.” Sophie had never known lust like it. She was so close to coming, and Lucien must know it. She eased her legs further apart and rubbed herself against his fingers. “Open me,” she whispered, and instantly his fingers parted her. Sophie could feel his warm, strong fingers hovering, ready for orders. “Touch my clit,” she breathed. Lucien looked at her, an expression of lazy triumph alight in his eyes. “Like this, Princess?” He started to stroke her, drawing slow circles on her clitoris with his thumb. Sophie shuddered exquisitely and closed her eyes as the delicious sensations spiralled up through her body. His tongue explored her mouth, his skilled fingers more insistent than ever between her legs. “God, Lucien…” Sophie arched, so close to climax that the only thought in her mind was release. His fingers slid down to her opening, and he rubbed his thumb over her mouth. “Come on Sophie, ask for more.” “Put your fingers inside me,” she whispered, her heart banging and her desire ratcheting tighter. Lucien made a guttural sound and moved her forwards on his thigh, then pushed two fingers all the way inside her. Sophie cried out at the intimacy, and Lucien’s mouth softened over hers to an ultra-gentle kiss. He stroked her clitoris with his thumb, crooking his fingers inside her, and Sophie lost hold of the

threads on her control. She felt her climax begin at his fingertips, and Lucien’s other hand tightened around her wrists to hold her up when her legs went from beneath her. He kissed her through it as her body stiffened, and thrust his fingers deeper into her when she bucked hard against his hand. “That’s it, Princess,” he whispered. “I can feel you coming.” His fingers were inside her to the knuckle, his thumb quickening on her clitoris. “Christ, I can’t wait to fuck you,” he muttered, then thrust again. And again. And again, until Sophie lost it completely. She had nowhere to go besides over the top… she cried out and tossed her head back in wild, liberated abandon. Lucien’s admiration made her powerful, sexy and uninhibited. She’d never known an orgasm like it, and she was greedy for more, more, more. He’d unleashed something new within her, a raw sexual need that had for too long been buried beneath the detritus of everyday life. Beneath the detritus of her broken marriage. Sophie couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty. Not yet. Not with Lucien’s fingers still moving lazily inside her, and his slow, tantalising kiss still on her lips, as he released her hands. He’d shown her how sex was supposed be, and there was no going back.

CHAPTER SEVEN As the glow of her orgasm wore off, Sophie slid slowly back to reality. She couldn’t believe she’d been so brazen. Or so unfaithful. She wriggled out of Lucien’s arms and sat down in the chair behind her, pulling her underwear back into place and holding her suddenly hot face in her hands. What was she doing? She was in a sex club for God’s sake, and had just allowed her boss bring her to orgasm. Or to be more accurate, she’d begged him to. Who was she? And oh, God. Dan. Lucien sprawled back in the chair opposite and propped his feet up on the coffee table, still shirtless, still sexy as sin. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Sophie. Look at me.” She couldn’t. She was mortified. “Look. At. Me.” There was no ignoring him. She dropped her hands and met his eyes. How could he look so entirely relaxed, lounging as if he didn’t have a care in the world? Well, maybe he didn’t, but she did. “I’m a married woman, Lucien.” “Yes. And your husband is screwing someone else, so the way I see it, this makes you square.” Sophie shook her head. “This isn’t a game of tit for tat, Lucien, it’s my marriage. I’ve loved Dan since I was seventeen years old.” Tears welled in her eyes and she dashed at them with the back of her hand. She’d always thought that she and Dan were the real deal. When the cracks had started to appear, she’d frantically papered over them, had made excuses to herself for him. It was agony to rip through the brittle wrapping and expose the ugly truth beneath. “Christ, Lucien.” Her heart ached. “What if I’m wrong? What if he isn’t even having an affair?” Lucien fixed his gaze on the window, suddenly expressionless. “You seemed pretty certain.” Sophie shrugged and reached for her dress. “Did I? Maybe I was just telling myself that because it was convenient, because I wanted to give myself permission to… to screw you.” She made herself say the word. “You haven’t screwed me,” he said. “Yet.” “Yet?” She shook her head to try and clear it. “Lucien, I need to go.” “No, you don’t. Be brave, Sophie. Stay here.” She stood up to step into her dress, but he stood too and caught hold of her shoulders. When she looked up his face was deadly serious. “This isn’t about your husband, Sophie. It’s about you. It’s about the fact that you’re a young woman trapped in an unfaithful marriage.” His hands moved up to cradle her face, his thumbs warm along her jawbone. “Christ Almighty. How can he lie next to you and not want you?” Tears scorched Sophie’s throat again, and she swallowed them down. Jesus. Lucien was dangerous enough when he was being his usual cocky self, but like this? Perceptive and raw? He was lethal. Lucien took the dress from her hands and threw it on the chair behind him. “Don’t lie to yourself because you feel guilty, Sophie. He’s cheating, and you deserve better. You deserve to be adored, and you deserve to be fucked until you can’t stand up.” Sophie stared at him and her insides twisted with desire. That was just about the sexiest thing anyone

had ever said to her, and the way he was gazing at her now with undisguised carnality was just about the sexiest way anyone had ever looked at her, too. She’d never known anyone like Lucien, so in touch with their own sensuality, so unencumbered by unnecessary inhibition. He must have sensed that his words had found a crack in her armour, because he moved in close and took her hand. “Come with me. I want you to see something.” He led her across the room to the huge, gilt-framed, floor-standing mirror. “Look in the mirror, Sophie.” She tried to pull away but he held her firm. “Look. Tell me what you see.” She looked, reluctantly. And she saw the same person she always saw reflected back at her. The same yet subtly different. More grown-up? More knowing? Black silk underwear, hold-ups, high heels. Long, tumbled blonde hair. A kiss-swollen mouth, and the liquid, sensual eyes of a satisfied woman. And standing behind her, a head and shoulders taller, Lucien. Shirtless. Beautiful. Her Viking warrior, and now her Viking lover. “Let me tell you what I see.” Lucien said, his hands on her shoulders. “I see a woman with the face of an angel.” He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “A face that makes men want to fuck her just to see how she looks when she comes.” Sophie stared at him in the mirror, shocked and mesmerised. “She has the kind of curves that make men want to touch her.” He splayed a big warm hand over her pale stomach, making her skin tauten and her breath catch in her throat. “I see a woman who deserves to be treated like a princess.” He only had to touch her and it was as if he’d flicked the ‘seduce me now’ switch in her head. “Look at you, Sophie.” He was so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath tickle her neck. “You’re like a peach waiting to be plucked from the tree.” He stepped flush against her, her back against his chest. “Velvet soft skin.” He trailed his fingertips down her arms. “Luscious curves.” He covered her breasts with his hands and stroked them through her bra. “Ripe.” He slid a hand between her legs and cradled her. Sophie watched his every move in the mirror with wide eyes, almost too turned on to breathe. “Juicy.” He groaned as he slid his hand inside her knickers. “So fucking juicy.” He moved his fingers along her sex, still wet from the first time he’d made her come. “I want to lick your juices, Sophie.” Sophie could feel his erection pressing hard into her back, and all she could think of was how much she wanted him to carry on making her feel this good. The sight of them in the mirror was like a life size soft porn movie; she couldn’t take her eyes away from his hand moving inside her knickers. “Tell me that isn’t beautiful,” he said against her ear. She couldn’t. The fact was that he made her beautiful. “Stay there.” Sophie almost cried out in protest when he eased his hands off her and backed away. He returned moments later with her glass of champagne in one hand, and a large, silver vibrator in the other. Sophie gaped. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Which one would you like first?” he asked, that lazy, cock-sure smile back in place. “Lucien, no. I don’t want to…” “Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.” He handed her the champagne and shook his head. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this. I saw you in my office, the way thinking about that toy turned you on.”

“But I’ve never…” she eyed the vibrator with apprehension. “I’ve never really used anything like… like that…” she tailed off, flame-cheeked, and swallowed a huge mouthful of champagne. “It’s just not my thing.” He laughed and came to stand behind her again. “That’s just the thing, Princess. I don’t think you know what your thing is.” His arm slipped around her waist, the silver vibrator in his hand. He flicked the switch and it hummed quietly into life. Sophie stood stock still, knowing full well that she wasn’t going to stop him. Right now, he could do just about anything he wanted. “You’ve lived your safe, vanilla existence.” He touched the tip of the vibrator between the swell of her breasts, and unclipped her bra at the same time in one swift movement. She gasped and went to hold onto it, but he was too quick and whipped it out of her hands. “Stop hiding from me.” He moved her hair behind her shoulders to fully expose her naked breasts. “Look at you.” His eyes darkened with lust and he ran the head of the vibrator up her stomach. “You’re wasted on the occasional bout of missionary sex with a disinterested man.” He placed the tip of the vibrator against one of her nipples, and Sophie’s eyes widened at the new sensation. Lucien’s teeth grazed her neck as he moved the vibrator around her other nipple. Jesus. Sophie felt the erotic vibrations fizz from her pebble hard nipples to her groin, and she arched into the erotic waves of pleasure that lapped through her. “I see you. Really see you,” he whispered, watching her eyes in the mirror. “I see the girl in there who’s greedy for more.” He slid the vibrator down her body and nuzzled it in between her legs. “Are you still sure this isn’t your thing, Sophie?” She shook her head and leaned back against him, reaching an arm behind her head to hold onto his neck. She wasn’t sure of anything apart from how damn good that vibrator felt as he ran it over the scant silk that covered her sex. He moved his hands to hook his thumbs into the sides of her knickers as Sophie watched her bare, jutting breasts rise and fall in the mirror. He was going to strip her naked and fuck her with that big silver vibrator, and she couldn’t wait. “You want this.” He eased her underwear down, then straightened to look in her eyes again. She chewed her lip and nodded slowly. “Look again. See what I see.” Sophie saw herself, naked apart from her hold-ups and high heels, and she’d never felt so profoundly sexy in her life. “Kneel down.” Her eyes jumped up to his in confusion. “Here, by the mirror.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and applied a little pressure to encourage her, and she dropped down uncertainly to kneel with her bottom resting on her ankles. Lucien looked massive standing behind her, and she could clearly see the swell of his erection close to her head. He looked like the world’s sexiest cowboy: all brawn and bare chest with a vibrator in place of a gun. He lowered himself and knelt behind her, bracketing her legs with his own, the silenced vibrator on the floor next to him. He wrapped his arms around her body and held her close, and those few unexpected moments of tenderness overwhelmed her. Lucien’s arms were strong and warm, his lips gentle as they grazed her shoulder. Sophie looked at his bowed head, at the way he closed his eyes as he kissed her, and she melted for him again. Then he opened his eyes and gave her that crooked, sex god smile, and the moment was gone. Her pulse rocketed in erotic anticipation of what might happen next. Lucien didn’t keep her waiting to find out. He placed his hands on her knees and parted her legs, then kept his hands on her kneecaps to still her as she instinctively tried to close them again. “Uh-uh. Open.”

Panic spiralled in Sophie’s belly. Or was it excitement? The two sensations had been intertwined in her guts from the moment she’d set foot across the threshold of Lucien’s office and entered his presence. She wanted to close her legs, it was too lewd, both of them looking at her glistening sex in the mirror, but then… she didn’t want to. Lucien’s hands moved along her inner thighs when he was certain she wasn’t going to clamp shut on him. His fingers traced the soft skin, and she moaned when he ran one finger down her core. Up again, ultra slow. Sophie’s breath came in short gasps, and threatened to stop altogether when he moved his hands to cover her own and took them back down between her legs. His big warm hands over her smaller ones. “Open yourself for me, Sophie.” She squeezed her eyes tight, and he sank his teeth into her neck almost hard enough to make her cry out. “Don’t close your eyes. Watch.” He moved her fingers with his own, guiding her actions, forcing her to expose her inner self to them both in the mirror. “You see? Can you see how fucking gorgeous you are?” He touched his index finger against her clitoris, and smiled at the way she jolted and moaned with pleasure. “That’s better. Don’t move your hands. Watch. Watch my fingers.” She did as she was told, lost in the intensity of the feelings he’d unleashed. She wanted to come. She wanted them both to watch her come. Yes. Yes. Don’t stop. She licked her lips, lost in the way his big brown fingers moved on her in just the right way. And then he stopped, and she gasped in frustration because she’d been so close, so very, very close. And then she gasped again, but this time in apprehension, because he’d turned the vibrator on and slid it down behind her back. It buzzed rudely against the fullness of her backside, and then Sophie’s eyes widened as Lucien ran the tip between her legs. She could see its silver head throbbing, and she rocked her hips in an effort to move it closer to her clitoris. “Greedy girl.” Lucien pushed it forward to give her what she wanted for the briefest of seconds. Long enough to make her squirm, too brief to let her come. He was her heavenly torturer, running the buzzing tip up and down her sex, never letting her have what she needed. “Do you want it inside your cunt, Sophie?” He let the very tip of the vibrator slide inside her. “Yes,” she breathed, horrified by the fact that his crude choice of words only excited her even more. “Yes.” She was beyond desperate for him to fill her up. “Princess,” he murmured against her hair, and then he fed the throbbing vibrator all the way inside her in one long, languorous push. Sophie moaned with pleasure, unable to take her eyes off his hands as he worked the silver shaft into her. She started to shake, to physically tremble with bone-deep pleasure, and he kept her right on the edge of her climax, daring her with his eyes and his hands to go further for him than she ever had before. “Yes…yes…” she moaned and he thrust the vibrator deep inside her to the hilt, then twisted it until the clit stimulator hit her sweet spot. He held it there. “Fuck, yeah,” he whispered. Look at you…” Her body started to jerk. “Watch yourself come, Sophie.” He had her spread wide open and the stimulator held steady against her clitoris when she tried to squirm away from the intensity, making her convulse with the violence of her orgasm as it exploded through her. She could hear someone screaming with pleasure, and it took her several long moments to register the sound as her own. Her body had taken over control from her mind with an animal instinct that she was powerless to fight. Lucien Knight was feral, and she loved it. Sophie slumped in Lucien’s arms as he gathered her close to his chest. She needed to be still, to let her heart stop hammering and her body stop shaking. What was she doing? Aftershocks of shame crept over her, and she closed her eyes against the image of herself naked in another man’s arms. What had looked so erotic moments ago now looked shoddy. What hold did this man have over her? He only had to touch her and common sense flew away, leaving

her wanton and craving his touch. Even now, with the weight of shame on her shoulders, she couldn’t see him as anything but beautiful. It wasn’t his fault that her marriage was broken, and much as he might think so, letting herself be seduced wasn’t the key to mending it. Lucien stirred behind her, but her bones felt too heavy to lift from the floor. She needn’t have worried. Moments later his strong arms slid beneath her and lifted her like a child, his chest warm against her cheek as he settled her against him. He crossed to the bed and laid her gently down, then tucked the covers around her lightly shivering body and smoothed her damp hair from her cheek. If he’d been anything other than breathtakingly gentle, Sophie might have found the resolve to call a halt to it, but his tenderness unbuttoned her defenses. It stole away her shame and her anger, and left her with only a sense of inevitability and calm, and the weary ache of a satisfied lover. He stroked her hair, and soothed her with whispered, incomprehensible words. She strained to catch them, but they floated away from her on the coat tails of sleep. All except for one. Princess.

CHAPTER EIGHT Lucien sat in the chair beside the bed and watched Sophie sleep. She’d been out for the count for a couple of hours, and downstairs the club had come alive. He’d walked the floor beneath an hour back and found himself satisfied by the number of people flooding through the doors, every one of them bold-eyed and expectant. He loved their lack of inhibition, their courage to shun social boundaries and to be whoever the hell they wanted in this place that he’d created. The Gateway Club was precisely what it said above the door. A gateway to sexual freedom for anyone brave enough to enter. He looked back at Sophie again. She’d frustrated the hell out of him from the moment she’d sashayed into his office in heels she could barely stand up in, and she’d stunned him when she’d turned around and forced words out of her mouth that clearly mortified her. Her embarrassment had lost the battle with her pluck, and it impressed him. The girl was eighty percent kitten and twenty percent lioness, and he considered it his mission to make her roar. Sexual potential shone out of her like a beacon, and her insistence otherwise only made him want to prove her wrong even more. Besides, there was the small matter of her husband. If there was one thing that really made Lucien’s skin crawl, it was men who treated women badly. His investigator had dug around and turned up evidence to prove that Dan’s other woman had been a permanent fixture in Sophie’s marriage for some considerable time. How could the man do it? How could he tell barefaced lies to the woman he professed to love? Darkness settled over Lucien’s heart as long-buried memories of his mother’s heartache swam through his head. Her only crime had been to love his father too much, and she’d died for her cause. Alone, save for a bottle of pills and a scrunched up photograph of her husband. She’d lived her life in the shadows of Lucien’s father’s deception, and for the most part she’d conned herself that she was happy. Right up until the day she couldn’t ignore it any more because it was shoved rudely in her face when she’d visited him at work and found him astride his secretary on the desk. She’d been faced with the truth in all its ugliness, and it had broken her. Lucien had been too young back then to save his mother, but he was going to make damn sure that Sophie didn’t get sucked down into that same cycle of destruction. She was teetering right on the verge of confronting her husband, and Lucien intended to tool her up for the fight. In a small hotel room in Crete, Dan slumped in a similar chair next to a similar bed and watched another woman sleeping. What was he doing? This was the first time he’d spent more than twenty-four solid hours in Maria’s company, and the reality of being with someone other than Sophie around the clock had hit home hard. Meetings with Maria for clandestine dinners and afternoon sex sessions had become pleasurable fixtures in his life over the last eighteen months. From the moment they’d met at a work party, she’d made no secret of the fact that she fancied him. She was flirty. Sexy. She was fun, and she didn’t care if he forgot to put the bins out or left his washing on the bedroom floor. She was exciting in her unfamiliarity, and she wanted him. It took no effort at all to separate her in his mind from his marriage vows. If anything, he told himself, screwing Maria helped his marriage. Maria did things that Sophie wouldn’t dare. He was a satisfied man, and in every other area than the bedroom his relationship with Sophie was ideal. He’d compartmentalised his life in his head perfectly. Sophie, his wife and best friend.

Maria, his twice a week lover. It had been the ideal set up, until now. Until this week. Maria had been making noises about getting away together for months but he’d managed to dodge it. She knew his situation. He was a married man. But then events had conspired against him, and he’d found himself unable to get out of it this time. Maria hadn’t exactly said that she’d tell Sophie about their affair, but she’d intimated as much, and the threat alone was enough to have him packing his suitcase and telling his biggest lie yet. Maria had met him at the airport, and from there on in, he’d known with utter conviction that it was wrong. He didn’t want to browse duty free with her, because buying Sophie a new bottle of scent was part of their usual holiday ritual. Being with Maria twenty-four seven had highlighted all of the differences between the two women in his life that he’d never taken the time to think about. Sure, Maria might not grumble about bins or dirty washing as yet, but the minutiae of temporarily living with her had exposed their incompatibilities more than their strengths. Or maybe he was being unfair. It probably shouldn’t matter that Maria slept on the wrong side of the bed, or that she preferred tea to coffee in the morning. It really shouldn’t faze him that she was the sightseeing type rather than a bake on the beach girl, or that she had no clue how to play poker on the balcony late at night. But the fact was, all these things did bother him, because they rammed home the fact that she just wasn’t Sophie. She wasn’t the woman he loved, the woman who knew him inside out. Did Sophie know about Maria? How could she not? Christ, he hoped not. He dropped his head in his hands, feeling trapped. He wanted to go home.

CHAPTER NINE Sophie opened her eyes. Warm, subdued lamps lit the room, and she was incredibly comfortable. Fragment by fragment, the memory of the past few hours clicked back into place as she woke, and a glance under the covers confirmed her fears. She was naked. She hadn’t dreamt it. She really had let Lucien do those things to her. Where was he? She sat up in bed, the sheet clutched against her nude body. He must have heard her movements, because a second later he appeared in the doorway. “I’ll take it as a compliment that you slept so well.” He leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. Sophie frowned, wrong-footed by the fact that he’d changed his clothes. She hadn’t seen him in anything other than business dress, but right now, in soft, battered jeans and a faded black t-shirt that clung to his well-defined body, he was a brand new kind of gorgeous. “What time is it?” she asked, disorientated by the darkness and Lucien’s nearness. “Almost midnight.” Sophie squinted at him. She’d been asleep for more than three hours. Oh God. She was in a sex club. Heaven only knew what was happening beneath her. “Lucien. This is wrong. I shouldn’t be here.” Her voice came out hoarser than she’d expected. He shook his head and disappeared for a few seconds, then returned with a tray. He placed it down on the bed next to her, then sat down alongside it. “Eat. You must be hungry.” Sophie glanced down at the array of food. Delicate sandwiches. Bowls of fruit. Chocolate truffles. She looked up at Lucien again, wondering how he could expect her to sit there naked and snack. She was his PA. He was her boss. “Is this how you welcome all new staff, Lucien? A trip to a sex club, a quick fumble, and a sandwich? It’s not very classy.” She’d aimed to offend, but he just laughed off her rudeness. “That wasn’t a fumble, Sophie. It was a prelude.” She’d been half-considering eating a sandwich, but the idea lost its appeal at his words. “A prelude?” He nodded and helped himself to a cherry from the bowl. “A prelude.” He sank his teeth into the dark, glossy skin of the cherry and ripped the flesh from the stone. There was always an element of surprise in conversations with Lucien; he was as unpredictable as quicksilver. Sophie watched him in silence and waited for more. “I have a proposition for you.” He reached for another cherry. Sophie shook her head. Where had her reality gone? She suddenly understood how Alice had felt when she’d tumbled down that rabbit hole. Had someone plucked her out of her own life and dropped her into a fantasy? She was naked in a sex club watching a Viking warrior suck on a cherry. This was not her average Tuesday evening. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t know any appropriate words. “Stay with me this week.” Whoa. She knew the answer to that one. “What? No!” He might be gorgeous, but he was clearly crazy. “Give me one good reason why not,” he said, then stretched out next to her on the bed and dangled another indecently big cherry over his mouth by the stalk. “Because… because I don’t want to, for one thing.” “Of course you do, you’re just afraid to admit it.” Lucien laughed and bit the cherry in half. “A better

reason, please.” Sophie shook her head. “You are the cockiest man I’ve ever met.” “Yada yada yada.” He gestured for her to move on, and she stared at him, frustrated. She was trapped. Her clothes were strewn across the other side of the room, and the sheet was pinned beneath his body. Short of treating him to a strip show there was no getting away from this conversation, and he knew it perfectly well. He turned big, innocent blue eyes on her. “Do you have a cat? Is that it? Is Mr. Tibbles going to die without you going home to feed him?” She narrowed her eyes and looked away. “I don’t have a cat.” “A dog, then? Two screaming kids?” Sophie sighed and flopped back on the pillow, the sheet clutched under her arms. “It’s just me and Dan.” “Who isn’t there.” The quiet starkness of his words stripped away Sophie’s anger and left her defenseless. “Right. Let’s start this conversation again. Stay with me until Sunday.” Sophie propped herself up on one elbow and turned to him. “What for?” His eyes slid to hers. “Because you owe it to yourself. Because you’re young, and beautiful, and there is so much more to sex than you’ve experienced so far. You deserve to know it all, to feel it all, and I want to be the one to show you.” “Has it occurred to you that I might not want to know?” He shook his head with a low, sexy laugh. “It’s occurred to me that you think you don’t want to know. But then I touch you, and you come alive.” He reached across and picked a peach from the tray. “Aren’t you curious, Sophie? Really, don’t you want to know?” Convention decreed that Sophie should refuse, but his directness demanded the same candour from her. She couldn’t bring herself to lie, yet equally couldn’t allow herself to admit the truth. Lucien turned the peach over in his hands, knowing full well that it was so much more than an innocent piece of fruit. He trailed a fingertip down the curve of it, and he may as well have been stroking her bottom. He was doing it again, subtly infiltrating her thoughts. If he ever gave up his life as the king of a sex empire, he’d make a crack hot hypnotist. “Stay because I want you to, Sophie.” He brought the peach up to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Stay because I can make you feel better than anyone else ever has.” He put the peach to his mouth, closed his eyes, and sank his teeth in deep. Sophie’s nipples stiffened beneath the sheet. She couldn’t deny it. He’d won. She wanted his mouth on her rather than that peach, but the words wouldn’t come out. He propped himself up on his elbow, mirroring her pose, then offered the peach up to her lips, close enough for her to taste it. “Bite.” She closed her eyes and obeyed his command. “It tastes like you.” His words caressed her as she ate the soft flesh. “Sweet.” His fingers touched her mouth as she swallowed. “And tempting.” Sophie couldn’t stop herself. She opened her mouth and sucked his finger in, swirling the sweet peach juices around him with her tongue. When she opened her eyes, he slid his finger slowly out of her mouth and into his own. “I like the taste of you,” he said. “Tell me you’ll stay.” Sophie gave him the tiniest of nods. “I’ll stay,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “I’ll stay,” she repeated, louder this time. “I want to stay with you, Lucien.” Lucien’s answering smile was full of sexual promise, and in one swift movement he leaned over and

rolled Sophie on top of him. He was fully clothed, and there were layers of bedding between them, but Sophie could still clearly feel his arousal pressing up into her stomach. His hands swept down the length of her exposed spine, making her gasp. She was nude apart from her hold-up stockings, and Lucien wasted no time in helping himself. He filled his hands with her backside. “Now that’s peachy,” he said, with a sidelong glance at the abandoned plate of fruit, then he snaked a hand around the back of her neck to pull her mouth down onto his kiss. Fireworks exploded in her gut as his tongue slid over hers and his hips rocked, hard into softness. She couldn’t help it, she opened her legs a little for him, and his fingers slid into the crevices of her backside. His other hand moved to cup her head against his. His fingers moved in long strokes, touching her everywhere. Sliding just inside her, then back out to trace lazy figures of eight on her clitoris. “I’m going to lick you here.” Sophie groaned with anticipation. God, she wanted his tongue there. “And here.” He slid his fingers inside her again for a second, then slipped them out again and around to caress her bottom. “And here.” His finger stroked the tight little entrance, making her squirm with shock. “Lucien! No.” He sunk his teeth into her lower lip. “No?” He didn’t move his fingers away from her bottom, but his touch was so feather-gentle that she stopped trying to wriggle away. “It might surprise you.” She shook her head. It was a taboo that she’d never been interested in breaking. And she still wasn’t, but there was something undeniably sexy at the feel of Lucien touching her there. “I’ll add it to my list,” he breathed into her mouth. Sophie lifted her head a fraction, and the movement pushed her spine downwards, which in turn pushed her backside down a little deeper onto his hand. Her eyes opened wider. He said nothing, but instead gave her a long, knowing look. He was on to her. He knew that she’d already grown to like the alien feeling of his attention there. “What list?” “The one in my head of things I’m going to make you do this week, Princess.” Sophie felt beyond filthy. She was lying on top of a man who was playing with her bottom and filling her ears with promises of a week of unadulterated, uncensored pleasure. She was full to the brim with dark, luscious desire, and ready to follow this big Viking sex god into his thrilling, unfamiliar world. His hand lingered for another moment on her backside, then he sat up and rolled her off him. “Get dressed, Sophie. We’re going downstairs.

CHAPTER TEN Sophie hung back by the open door to Lucien’s suite, dressed once again in her green dress and high heels, but bereft of her knickers. They were in Lucien’s pocket, and no amount of pleading for them back had made the slightest jot of difference. He’d laughed at the idea that she’d never before left the house without underwear, and pocketed them regardless of her protest. He stood at the bottom of the small flight of stairs and beckoned to her. “Come on, Sophie. I’m going to do a full walk through, and you’re coming with me.” “But…” she glanced desperately down at his pocket. She really wanted the security of her knickers. “Stop looking at my crotch and come here.” He reached for her hand, taking the edge off his words. She stepped uncertainly down to stand next to him, feeling wrong and exposed even though she looked perfectly decent to the unknowing eye. “That’s better, Sophie. Now, I’m going to do a full check on the place, and you are going to do your job as my PA and accompany me.” Sophie found small solace in the fact that he’d given the event a work-related slant. “Shouldn’t I have a clipboard, or something?” she asked. She’d feel so much better if she looked official, distinct from the rest of the club’s clientele. Something to mark her out as staff, rather than as a pleasure-seeker. Lucien laughed at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re aiming to blend in, not stick out and put people off their…” he turned to her and licked his lips. “Their stride.” He ran a hand over her backside and leaned close to her ear. “I don’t think I’m going to let you wear knickers again this week.” The man was lethal. This was all a big game to him, and he was a world-class player. Sophie straightened her spine and pushed her shoulders back. The thought of seeing the club with people in those rooms, on those beds… she shivered. She sort of wanted to run home, even without her knickers, but she had to acknowledge that a bigger part of her wanted to stay and see what lay beyond. She reminded herself that regardless of everything else, she was supposed to be here in her capacity as Lucien's PA. If she thought of it that way, maybe she could make it through the next few hours. “Lead the way, Mr. Knight.” He inclined his head and placed his hand on the small of her back. “Stay close to me. No one will touch you unless you touch them first.” She’d been apprehensive before. She was terrified now. What if she stumbled into someone, or brushed past them by mistake? Would they tie her to the bed and give her thirty lashes? And would Lucien intervene, or would he consider it all part of her sexual liberation? “Sophie?” Lucien came to a stop and looked down at her. “For God’s sake, just relax, will you? This way.” He moved towards a fire exit, and threw her an enquiring look when she didn’t automatically follow. “We’ll go down this way and come in through reception,” he explained, holding out his hand again. “I want to see it through the eyes of our paying customers.” Sophie threw one last, longing glance over her shoulder at the now locked door that stood between her and sanctuary, and then followed Lucien out onto the fire escape. Sophie clamped herself against Lucien's side as they bypassed the small queue at the front door. The club looked different now that darkness had descended. The smoked glass exterior took on a menacing stance without the sun to glint off it, and the subdued lighting in reception added to the air of anticipation

that radiated from the waiting customers. Sophie sneaked the smallest glance at them as she passed, then looked away hastily. From what she could see, most people looked pretty regular. Maybe she’d overblown things in her mind. It was a club. She’d been clubbing enough times, the people in the queue had been no less dressed than regular clubbers. Lucien nodded at the security staff and placed his hand on Sophie’s back again to steer her past reception and through the double entrance doors. He leaned down and placed his mouth close to her ear as they stepped down into the packed, shadowy club. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” The unexpectedness of the phrase made her suppress a giggle. She relaxed a little. Sophie let her eyes rove around, taking in the fact that this previously empty room was now filled with people. On first glimpse, it almost looked like any other club. Music pumped, the bar glittered with countless spirit and mixer bottles, and the dance floor heaved with gyrating people. However, a closer look confirmed that they weren’t dressed like the clubbers outside. Obviously the changing rooms were mostly a place to get rid of eighty percent of your clothing. Women shimmered in tiny, see-through dresses, or basques, and occasionally next to nothing at all. “Drink?” Lucien asked, raising his voice over the music. Sophie frowned. “It doesn’t seem very professional.” “Consider it part of your disguise.” He guided her to the bar, and Sophie’s eyes wandered as Lucien ordered drinks from the immediately attentive barman. A guy was perched on a stool at the end of the bar, and it took several seconds for it to register with Sophie that his cock was buried in the mouth of the brunette between his knees. Holy fuck. She looked away hurriedly and found Lucien’s amused blue eyes watching her. The subdued lighting shadowed his face and gave him a slightly menacing air. Could she trust him to take care of her here? What if he suddenly stripped his clothes off and expected her to jump naked into the writhing hot tub? It was strange. She’d only known him for a tiny amount of time, yet she was – unfathomably – certain that she could trust him. He offered her one of two tumblers. “What is it?” “Vodka.” “Neat vodka?” He shrugged. “You can have ice if you like.” She sipped it cautiously and straight away choked on the throat-stripping intensity of the spirit. Lucien rolled his eyes and held out her glass to the barman, who emptied a silver shovel of ice into it without a flicker of expression. Lucien turned to lean against the bar and surveyed the room. “Sit for a second. I need to watch it all working.” Sophie glanced down at the high designer metal stool next to him and wished she had some hand sanitiser. “Just sit on it. It’s scrupulously clean.” Lucien anticipated her thoughts once again, and it was her turn to roll her eyes as she climbed up onto it. Why did they make these things so bloody awkward? Lucien steadied the stool with his hand. “I wish I’d been standing in front of you just then. I think you just flashed that guy over there.” Sophie’s eyes shot around in panic. There was no one watching her except for Lucien, who was openly laughing. He patted her knickers in his pocket. “Funny,” she muttered sourly, and crossed her legs to be doubly sure that no one could see up her skirt. A woman with long black curls and a sprayed on red lace dress sashayed up to the bar next to Lucien, close enough to make ignoring her impossible. Her curvy body brushed against his from shoulder to thigh,

and fear prickled along Sophie’s skin. Had she got him wrong? Would he accept this woman’s none-toosubtle invitation? Sophie glanced up at him as he inclined his head at the woman in impersonal greeting, then turned his back on her to face Sophie with deliberate slowness. The unexpectedness of his mouth on hers a second or two later knocked the breath from Sophie’s lungs. He tasted of vodka and lust, and she opened her mouth to let his tongue glide over hers. His lips were firm, his hands even firmer as they held her hips. “Was that another part of the disguise?” she breathed when he released her, her mouth tingling from the vodka and his kiss. “No.” His thumbs massaged her hipbones. “I kissed you because, even though you’re totally overdressed, you’re still the sexiest woman in the room.” He had a way of saying the last thing Sophie expected, of mixing up the tender with the filthy that rendered her speechless. Even here in the middle of this charged, sexual atmosphere, Lucien shone. A carnal beacon. Dangerous. Delicious. “Let’s walk.” He helped her down from the stool and led her around the edge of the dance floor. Sophie tried not to look too closely at people as she passed, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from straying, or her body from reacting to it. A woman wearing a tiny black thong hung upside down on the pole, a guy’s hand between her spread legs. On the sofas, couples groped each other openly. Lucien’s fingers laced through Sophie’s and she held on tight when they passed a couple screwing against the wall, his trousers around his ankles, her legs wrapped around his hips. Lucien’s arm fell around Sophie’s waist. Reassuring. Predatory. “This way.” He headed through an archway at the rear to somewhere he hadn’t shown her on the earlier, tamer tour. “Do you like the movies?” he whispered, and pulled her sideways into a darkened room. It took a few seconds for Sophie’s eyes to adjust to the darkness and realise she was inside a cinema, but not any kind of cinema she’d ever been to. Something told her that they wouldn't be buying popcorn here. The seats were all grouped in pairs and covered in leopardskin, and the movie scrolling across the screen was hardcore porn. Sophie stared at it, transfixed. She’d never really been attracted to any kind of porn, so to see it suddenly so lewd and huge in front of her came as a shock. There didn’t seem to be all that many people in the room, but those that were there made no secret of the fact that they were having sex. Lucien tugged her into a love chair tucked away right at the back of the room. “Lucien, we can’t…” “It’s marked private. No one will look unless invited.” His mouth landed on hers the instant he had her cornered, and the fire in her belly lit with indecent speed. She was surrounded by wall-to-wall sex, and in the arms of a man who wanted her with a passion that bordered on obsession. His lips clashed with hers, and his tongue thrashed and licked inside her mouth as his fingers sought her nipples through the material of her dress. Lust slayed her. Fast, hard need made her crawl over to straddle his lap. His erection burned between them as he dragged her skirt up roughly and pushed his hand between her legs. She cried out, and he clamped his other hand over her mouth. “Don’t make a sound.” He pushed his fingers inside her, and her face contorted with the effort of silencing her pleasure. “People will consider it okay to come and watch if you make a racket,” he whispered, taking his hand off her mouth. She nodded, wide-eyed, afraid he was going to stop, knowing he wasn’t. Operating on instinct, she reached down and massaged his bulging erection, then popped the top button of his jeans. This was the third time he’d touched her intimately, and she wanted to even up the score. She wanted to

feel his length in her hands, in her mouth, inside her body. He moaned and shifted underneath her. “Not here, Princess.” Sophie grumbled in frustration when he caught her wrist. “I want to hear you scream the first time I fuck you.” He pulled her own hand down between her legs and nipped her ear. “Get yourself off.” His fingers still pumped inside her, rhythmic and deep. Sophie could feel her clitoris under her fingers, and she couldn’t resist the urge to do as she was told. He licked the fingers of his other hand and reached around her thigh to stroke her perineum. She tensed, knowing where he was heading. “Behave yourself.” Lucien laughed into her mouth. “I’m fucking you with my fingers. You’re fingering your own clit. Now I’m going to touch your ass, and you’re going to love it.” His wet fingers stroked their way up to play around her anus just like before as his fingers pumped harder into her sex. Sophie moaned. It was filthy erotic, and he bit her lip when she started to lose control of her ability to be silent. “You’re so fucking sexy, Sophie,’ he murmured. He knew how close she was and urged her on with whispered sex words and deeper thrusts of his fingers. Sophie sunk her nails into his shoulders and ground her teeth as her orgasm started to build. Lucien sensed it and pounded his fingers faster into her, dripping words in her ears that embarrassed her with their crudeness and pushed her climax further over the boundaries. It wasn’t lovemaking. It was pure fucking. Sophie stiffened, and Lucien pushed his tongue into her mouth at the same time as he crooked his finger gently into her bottom. Sophie arched violently, full in every orifice, and her entire body shook with the effort of controlling her urge to scream out in dark, sublime ecstasy as she came in his hands. It went on, and on… wave after wave… she ground down on him and held on through the storm. “Aren’t you glad you aren’t wearing knickers now?” he whispered as she stilled. Sophie rested her forehead against his. Yes. Yes, she was. Lucien eased his fingers out of her and straightened her dress over her thighs gently and deliberately. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Shame you didn’t bring that clip board. We could have crossed ‘make Sophie orgasm in a sex club,’ off my list.” Lucien raised his eyebrows at her. “Top of the class, Ms. Black. You’re progressing nicely.” Sophie stood up and smoothed her dress down, unsteady on her high heels. On the huge screen in front of her, a guy had some naked woman bent double over the bonnet of his car, and the camera zoomed in on his cock buried deep between her legs. Sophie’s sex still throbbed from her orgasm, and she glanced back at Lucien behind her. She wanted his cock inside her, wanted him to fill her just like that woman on the screen. “Can we go back upstairs?” she whispered croakily, running her hand over his crotch. A low laugh rumbled in his throat. “Easy, Princess.” He put his hand on her bottom to propel her out of the cinema. Back in the club, Sophie followed close behind Lucien to the staircase at the side of the dance floor. She was aware of other women’s eyes on him as he passed them, and a feather of pride danced down her spine. Hands off, girls. This one’s mine. For this week, anyway. After what had just happened in the cinema, Sophie felt a strange thread of connection to these people, and the beginnings of understanding of why they were there. It was oddly liberating, a sense of belonging. Whoa! What was she thinking? She didn’t belong with these people. Did she? Was Lucien right? Was there a degenerate sex goddess lurking beneath her innocent skin? She was already sure of one thing. She couldn’t go back to her barely -there, suburban sex life with Dan. She physically pushed any thoughts of him out of her head. They hurt too much. He was somewhere

else, probably screwing someone else at that very moment, and just for this week, she wasn’t going to feel guilty about doing exactly the same thing.

CHAPTER ELEVEN Lucien led Sophie through the club. Through rooms full of strangers fucking each other. Past the hot tub, a tangle of naked limbs, a nude blonde woman with three men on her. One behind her. One in front of her between her spread thighs. The third standing over her, his cock in her mouth. She caught Sophie’s eye as they passed through, a silent but unmistakable invitation to join in that had Sophie hurriedly averting her gaze. She might have let Lucien touch her here, but she had no desire to let anyone else. Upstairs, Lucien opened door after door, and a kaleidoscope of x-rated images burned themselves on Sophie’s retinas. The music from downstairs was up here too, a low sexual pulse that underpinned the action. If downstairs had seemed lewd, up here was downright obscene. Couples. Threesomes. Orgies. Lucien opened the door to the room containing the bed Sophie had tested, and this time around it wasn’t empty. Three naked women were twined around each other in a Sapphic triangle. A redhead stood at the end of the bed watching proceedings, one spike-heeled foot propped up on the mattress to give the woman kneeling on the floor between her legs better access. Lucien’s hand massaged Sophie’s behind as she stood rooted to the spot. She could clearly see the woman's tongue working its magic between the other’s legs… flicking her clitoris… unlike most of the women in the club, she wasn’t fully shaved. A triangle of soft red curls covered her sex, and somehow rendered the oral act more intimate, like watching wild animals. “Fucking beautiful, isn’t it?” Lucien whispered, and he moved her hand behind her to cover his bulging erection. Sophie’s throat was parched. She didn’t want to be turned on by lesbians. She didn’t want to enjoy the sensation of Lucien’s cock in her hand while she watched some woman get off on another woman’s face. She wanted to leave, but Lucien was behind her blocking the way, and the woman started to gyrate. She was going to come, right here in front of Sophie. She stepped backwards, but only succeeded in being closer against the hardness of Lucien’s body. “No running. Watch her come. Can you see how close she is, Sophie?” Lucien rocked his cock into her hand against her backside. “See how pink she is. Christ…” Lucien whispered. “You’re even more beautiful, Sophie.” The woman was really moaning now, and splayed herself even wider with her fingers. Sophie couldn’t take her eyes off her glistening sex, her lips spread for that greedy mouth. “So wet…” Lucien breathed. “Are you wet, too Sophie?” Sophie clutched his cock harder. Yes. “Imagine how you’re going to feel when I lick your clitoris like that.” Sophie tensed, too lost in animalistic sensation to feel embarrassed. The woman’s tongue dipped inside her lover. “Imagine how it’s going to feel…” he pushed himself hot and hard against her hand, “when I fuck you, Sophie.” The woman’s hips bucked against her lover’s face, and Lucien’s teeth sank into Sophie’s ear. “Come on. Show’s over.” “I guess we can cross ‘make you watch a live lesbian sex show’ off that list, too,” Lucien said dryly, as he guided her along the corridor. Sophie couldn’t look at him. Her head was spinning. Too many sexual images. Too many positions. Too many emotions she hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle. She was ashamed of her reaction back there in that room, embarrassed by the fact that she’d found it so erotic. Lucien was pushing her too far. She had no clue who she was any more, how to act, how to return to normal after he’d done with her.

“Please, Lucien. Can we go back now?” She turned to him, and his eyes scanned her face for a few silent seconds. “Enough for now, huh?” He cupped her cheek. “More than.” Sophie said, her throat suddenly clogged with tears. This was all wrong, wrong, wrong. “I want to go home.” Sophie gathered her bag from Lucien’s bedroom as soon as they reached his suite. She was weary more than tired, jaded more than enlightened, and she wanted to be alone to keep her own counsel. Lucien seemed to rob her of the ability for rational thought; one touch and her resolve melted like an ice cube faced with a blowtorch. She didn’t want to melt any more. If only she could stay cool and composed around him, then none of this would have happened. Lucien put his head on one side. “You could always sleep here.” Sophie shook her head and glanced away from him. “I need to go home, Lucien.” She knew her voice sounded watery, probably because she’d had to force it past the tears that welled up in her throat. Lucien looked as if he was going to say something but then thought better of it. He reached for his keys off the desk and tossed them up in the air. “That’s all right.” He caught his keys and nodded towards the door. “I’ll drive you now.” Sophie puffed out hard, relieved that he’d chosen not to battle with her. “Thank you,” she mumbled, following behind him as he locked the door and headed for the fire exit again. She gulped in lungfuls of cool night air as she clicked her way down the metal fire steps, beyond grateful that Lucien hadn’t steered her back out through the club. She couldn’t face all of that again tonight. He blipped the car and she slid into the safety of the leather interior, the glass and metal around her a welcome wall separating her from the debauchery beyond. And then Lucien was inside with her, the grandmaster of all of the debauchery, and she wasn’t safe in the car, or anywhere. Because if Lucien was around, she wasn’t safe from herself. They drove in silence, the car eating up the miles like candy. Sophie’s body ached, but her heart ached more. Everything was such a jumble in her head. She loved Dan. She wanted Lucien. Sex with Dan was… she squeezed her eyes together. Sex with Dan was boring. She just hadn’t known it until Lucien had stripped the scales from her eyes. Jesus, she hadn’t even had sex with Lucien, not properly, but he’d still excited her more in the last two days that Dan had in the last few years. Her eyes slid to his profile as he watched the road, handling the sports car with easy expertise. Lights from street signs and shop fronts flashed multi- coloured shadows across the slopes and angles of his face. Neon greens, hot pinks, dangerous reds. Foreign, yet familiar. A beautiful stranger. He’d thrown on a battered leather jacket over his T-shirt, lending him the air of a louche model from an expensive magazine. He wore his beauty with no apology, just as he made no apology for the business he’d chosen for himself. He was a man totally at ease in his own skin, and seemed to live a life without compromise or convention. Sophie couldn’t help but envy him. He eased the car to a stop outside her house; he hadn’t asked where she lived and it came as no surprise that he already knew. He’d taken one look at her and seemed to see her innermost secrets, some of which were so deep that she hadn’t even been aware of them herself. “Home sweet home,” he murmured as he idled the engine. “Are you going to ask me in for coffee?” The idea of Lucien inside her house, inside Dan’s house, horrified Sophie. To see him sit in Dan’s chair… drink from Dan’s cup… it was just too wrong. Inviting him over the threshold blurred all the lines, made him part of their marriage rather than in the distinct space Sophie had set aside for him in her mind. “Or you could just ask me in for sex. I prefer sex to coffee.”

“Lucien…” she sighed and twisted her fingers in her lap. “Lucien, I can’t work for you anymore. This is all such a mess.” She shook her head and stared out of the window, lips pursed. “I can’t believe I’ve done any of this.” He twisted to face her, but she refused to meet his gaze. “You’re wrong,” he said. “The mistake would be for you to scuttle back under your rock and hide from who you really are.” Anger licked hot inside her. “Oh come on, Lucien. What do you really know about me?” This man didn’t really know her, not in any way that mattered. Their relationship had followed none of the conventional routes; he knew her intimately and yet barely at all. But then there was the sex. Oh God, the sex. “I know enough. I know you’ve felt more alive in the last couple of days than you have for a long time. You were on pilot light when you came to me. Now…” he shrugged. “Now, you’re blazing.” Sophie closed her eyes against the tears that threatened. She wasn’t given to crying, but being around Lucien seemed to intensify all of her emotions. He definitely made her come ten times more powerfully than she’d ever known before. She groaned and pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes and rubbed hard. She couldn’t lie. He was right. Maybe she had been drifting through her married life in a state of unknowing unfulfillment, but that didn’t excuse her behaviour. She cringed at the idea of herself in the club, in that room, watching those women have sex, with Lucien’s erection nestled in her hand. “Go inside, Sophie, get some sleep.” He gunned the engine. “We start after lunch again tomorrow. Don’t be late.” Sophie already knew enough to realise that there was little point in arguing with him. She needed to escape into the sanctuary of her own four walls, to get Lucien and his flash car off her driveway. He clearly didn’t believe she could resist him. He was wrong. She wasn’t going back to work at Knight Inc. tomorrow, or ever again. Lucien watched Sophie walk up her garden path, dishevelled and delicious. He couldn’t help her fight the battle that raged inside her head right now; he understood that she needed to be alone tonight to work her feelings out for herself. He turned the engine over and eased the car away without glancing back. She’d be back in his office come two o’clock tomorrow. She just didn’t know it yet.

CHAPTER TWELVE Inside the house, Sophie locked the door and leaned her back against it, unsure her legs would hold her up much longer. She’d changed so much since she’d left home yesterday lunchtime. The flashing red light on the answer-phone caught her eye, and she dragged in a sharp, painful breath. It had to be Dan. She crossed and sat on the floor next to the hall table and pressed the button, her head in her hands. “Hey Soph…” Just the sound of his voice brought a heavy pain to Sophie’s chest. “It’s me… where are you, babe? I really wanted to hear your voice tonight, it’s been a fucking long day… I miss you… it’s all pretty crap here... the usual shit. Bob’s being a dick as usual with unreasonable demands and screwing up the negotiations… anyway..." he sighed audibly down the line, and Sophie squeezed her eyes tight shut. "Wish you were here. Or I was there. Whichever… Love you, babe. See you soon, yeah?” The message clicked off, and Sophie gulped for air as tears streamed down her face. She reached up and pressed rewind, hearing more from Dan’s lengthy silences than his words. He sounded desolate. Where had she been when he’d needed to hear her voice? She checked the recording time on the machine. Eight o’clock. Fresh hot tears of shame coursed down her cheeks. She couldn’t bear to think of Dan standing somewhere, alone, hoping she’d pick up, when all along she’d been at The Gateway Club letting Lucien fuck her with his big silver vibrator. She wanted to scratch her own eyes out with shame as she headed straight upstairs, shedding her clothes as she went and chucking them in a ball on the landing. All except for her knickers, which were still in Lucien’s pocket. She swallowed hard, sick with disgust at herself as she stepped under the steaming shower. For well over ten minutes she stood stock-still with her face turned up into the sting of the spray, hoping it could wash away her shame along with the film of sweat that still lay on her skin from the club. She was sleazy. She squeezed half the bottle of shower gel into her hands and scrubbed herself, gritting her teeth against the sensation of her hands on her breasts. Even touching herself brought back uncomfortable memories of Lucien’s hands on her. "No. No. No." The sound wrenched out of Sophie’s chest, an animal cry of frustration as she thumped her fists against the tiled wall. She refused to let the memory dictate that it had felt good. It should have been hideous because he wasn’t Dan. Tears mingled with the shower spray on Sophie’s face as she soaped her body harshly. She was shabby, and filthy, and she’d made a mockery of her wedding vows. And for what? A fumble with a stranger in a sex club? What kind of woman did that make her? How had Lucien so effortlessly managed to reduce her to her sexual essence, to reveal a woman inside that she didn’t even recognise? A woman with kinks and perversions, a woman without sexual inhibition or respect for the sanctity of her marriage. But then, wouldn’t any woman have crumbled as easily, faced with the Viking force of Lucien Knight and his crusade for the sexual liberation of unfulfilled wives? Wouldn’t the threads of anyone’s relationship have been unpicked by the nimble fingers of such a beautiful, charismatic man? Wouldn’t every woman have discovered her dark, carnal side when faced with Lucien? Or was she just an emotional lightweight? Burdened by guilt, Sophie slid down the wall and let the shower rain onto her bowed head. It was hopeless. No amount of water could cleanse away the self-loathing from her skin and her self. It didn’t even matter at that moment that Dan might be screwing someone else, because the horrible truth was that it would have changed nothing. From the moment she’d kissed that envelope and posted off her job application, Sophie had set the seal on her affair with Lucien Knight.

She passed out soon after her head hit the pillow, exhausted physically by Lucien and mentally by guilt. She’d expected to toss and turn, so was surprised to find herself blinking against the spindly fingers of dull morning light as they crept between the hastily dragged-together curtains. The alarm clock beside the bed informed her that it was a little after nine. She could get up, but her bones and her heart felt too heavy. She wanted to close her eyes and stay in bed, in her own bed, until she felt like herself again. How long would that take? A couple of days? A few weeks? A lifetime? Sophie turned on her side and pulled the quilt over her shoulder, rolling herself into a cocoon against the outside world. She might not be able to spend forever in bed, but she could damn well spend this morning there, and this afternoon too if she felt like it, because she had no intention of going anywhere near Knight Inc. Had Derek already filled her old job? The idea of going back, cap in hand to him, made Sophie burrow even deeper into the quilt with misery, but at least it would be a step towards pulling her life back from the brink of disaster. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe deeply. In. Out. In. Out. Sleep crept back through her bones, and Sophie relaxed gratefully into it. In. Out. In. Out. And that was when the telephone rang. Sophie sat on the bottom stair and pressed rewind on the answering machine for the third time. Dan’s secretary’s panic-tinged voice broke the silence again. “Hi Dan, it’s Elise… I’m so sorry to bother you when you’re on holiday, Bob’s having one of his emergencies.” Elise’s dramatic sigh spoke volumes. “Do you have any idea where the Matteson report is? Please say yes. I can’t find it anywhere and he needs it for a meeting in ten minutes. You know how he gets. Call me if you can. I tried your mobile but it’s off so I was just hoping you might be around at home. Sorry again.” The line clicked as Elise hung up, and Sophie slumped against the wall. Dan wasn’t on holiday. Why would he be on holiday? He was supposed to be in Milan for negotiations. With Bob. But Elise would know that, wouldn’t she? There could be no mistake. There was no imaginable possibility of a misunderstanding. Sophie frowned, and rewound the messages back a few days to listen to Dan. She dropped her head in her hands as his voice washed around the empty hallway. Dan. Her Dan. Someone else’s Dan. He talked of Bob as if he were with him, but now she knew better. She couldn’t explain this away, the conclusion was obvious. He was actually on holiday with his mistress. Shock stole the air from Sophie’s lungs. She might have lost her claim to the moral high ground the moment she’d let Lucien touch her, but this thing of Dan’s… it was different. If they were on holiday, if he was lying to work… it was a proper relationship. Jesus, did he love her, whoever she was? Scalding tears fell down Sophie’s cheeks at the idea of Dan saying those precious, sacred words to someone else. He had always been her anchor, but too many months of burying her head in the sand over suspicions of his infidelity had cut her adrift until she’d floated too far away from him to reach out for his hand. Drifting aimlessly, she’d reached instead for the hand of a big sexy Viking with lust coursing through his veins. A heavy blanket of sadness settled around her shoulders. Her marriage was broken. Images of Dan and some faceless woman scrolled through her mind. A brunette in a restaurant. A blonde on a beach. A redhead in his bed. Who was she? Who was the woman Dan had decided was worth more than their marriage vows? Sadness slid sideways into a solid wall of anger. Boiling hot rage that curdled in her gut like rancid infection.

How dare he? How fucking dare Dan trample on her love, for all these weeks and months, years even, for all Sophie knew. Her own guilt melted away under the heat of her anger. This was his fault. This. Was. His. Fault. Sophie’s eyes flicked upwards towards the clock. Midday. With a resolve she didn’t know she possessed, she turned her mobile off and headed upstairs to change. She didn’t intend on being late for work.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Lucien took one look at Sophie’s face as she came through the door just before two o clock that afternoon and knew straight away that something had changed. For one, she’d obviously been crying. For another, there was a new light in her eyes; something bold and determined. But by far the most telling sign of all was the stuffed-looking weekend bag she carried over her arm. “Well, hello, Ms. Black,” he flicked an eyebrow up. “I like you and all, but I’m not sure I’m ready to move in together.” She didn’t laugh, just dropped the bag inside the door. “You asked me to stay with you until Sunday. I’m all yours.” He nodded and tapped the end of the pencil on the desk as he appraised the challenging jut of her chin and her poker straight back. She was furious with someone, and the fact that she was here meant it wasn’t him. “Are you sure Mr. Tibbles can survive without you?” He flicked a lazy, speculative eyebrow upwards in question. She sighed heavily. “It’s become abundantly clear to me that no one gives a damn where I am this week, Lucien.” Ouch. It would seem that her dickhead husband had grown lazy in his efforts to cover his tracks. Poor Princess. “Sit down, Sophie.” She looked momentarily wrong-footed, and then sat down opposite him. Today she reminded him of a frightened young horse, skittering and wary-eyed, a world away from the woman he’d seduced at the club last night. “Do you want to talk about it?” She sighed again and her shoulders slumped. “There’s not much to say. Yesterday I thought my husband was having an affair. Today I know he is.” Lucien nodded. “Knowledge is power, Sophie.” “Is it?” Her anguished eyes came up to meet his. “It doesn’t feel powerful. It feels like shit.” “Yet here you are.” “I’m not proud of it, Lucien. I’m not proud of the fact that I want to hurt him back.” This wasn’t right. She needed to do this for herself, not her husband. Lucien spoke with feeling. “Don’t do this to hurt him, Sophie. Do it for you. Do it because you deserve better. Do it because you’re beautiful.” He leaned forward emphatically. “Do it because you damn well want to, and then on Sunday, you go back to him and call the fucking shots.” She hadn’t taken her eyes off him as he spoke, and he’d watched the emotions play across her face. Disbelief. Pain. Resolve. Christ, she was exquisite. He was going to screw her ten different ways until she couldn’t stand up, and then send her home to wipe the floor with that man. Sophie went through the motions at her desk, looking for comfort in the familiarity of switching on the computer and clearing emails and post methodically. She’d been so certain that coming into work was the best thing, and now she was here she was almost as certain that it was a huge mistake. Lucien Knight bewitched her. Despite the riot of emotions she’d been through since he’d dropped her home last night, she’d only had to look at him this morning and lust had snaked through her veins.

Jesus, he made her feel good. He had a way of looking at her that wiped out everything else around him, whether they were alone in his office or in the middle of the packed Gateway Club. The computer pinged, heralding the arrival of the chat message box. “Have you taken a vow of silence, Ms. Black?” Sophie shook her head and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m busy.” “And I’m thirsty.” She sighed loud enough for Lucien to hear, and then crossed to the coffee machine. Lucien leaned back on his chair, and Sophie struggled to maintain her relaxed composure while she was hyper-aware of his eyes on her bottom. The cup rattled slightly in its saucer as she carried it through and deposited it on Lucien’s desk. “Is there anything in particular that you’d like me to do today, Mr. Knight?” The lascivious gleam in his sapphire eyes told Sophie of the multitude of answers he was considering. She breathed in heavily and glanced pointedly out of the window, but she still heard the deep rumble of his laughter. “As a matter of fact, Ms. Black, there is, yes.” Sophie dropped her gaze warily back to his and waited for him to elaborate. She couldn’t second-guess him. He was just as likely to ask her for a saucy massage as for last months cash projection. “A new supplier has sent over the demo file of their latest products. Could you review it please?” Sophie nodded with a tight smile. She could do that. She could watch a product video and report back. “Of course.” She inclined her head and backed away towards the sanctuary of her office. “And Sophie? I want you to listen carefully to the product descriptions and pick your three favourites.” Sophie frowned. “Lucien, honestly, please don’t rely on my input to choose stock. I’ve no clue with this stuff.” “I know that. You’re not choosing stock.” He shook his head, that dirty gleam still in his eyes. “You’re choosing tonight’s entertainment.” Sophie’s mouth dropped in a perfect O, and she turned on her heel and scooted back to her desk before he could see the blush on her cheeks. An hour later, Sophie gulped hard and clicked open the file that Lucien had forwarded. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but how bad could it be? It was a corporate presentation, after all. She turned the sound down in the hope that he wouldn’t realise that she was watching it, close as he sat outside her office door. The idea of him knowing she was in here looking at sex toy videos felt wrong, as if she were watching porn at her desk when she should be adding up spreadsheets. Except for the fact that she was paid to do precisely this stuff. She needed to get over her hang-ups, and fast, or she might as well give up and go home. She clicked the volume back up to normal levels and pressed play. The screen went black, then a second or two later the sensuous silhouette of a couple having sex appeared. She glanced sharply towards the door, and then back at the screen. She could do this. It was pretty tame stuff, really. And it was, at least for the first few minutes. Sophie relaxed a little as she watched the managing director of the company talk about reducing their carbon footprint and the natural qualities of their products. Sophie had been expecting lurid neon plastic, so she was pleasantly surprised by the attention that the company had paid to making their toys appealing to the eye and conscience as well as the body. The screen faded to black again, and then three words materialised. Chris and Jeannie. Sophie tipped her head to the side as a different, hotter guy appeared on screen with something pale turquoise and oval shaped in his hand. What was it? Smooth and curved, it lay innocuously along the length of his palm.

A woman slipped onto the seat next to him and slid a finger along the blue petal with a smile, and then leaned in to kiss him on the mouth. She broke away after a few seconds and sat up slightly on the bench to bunch her skirt up around her waist, revealing to the camera that she wore no knickers, and also that she was completely shaved. The guy moved to straddle behind her and dropped a tender kiss on her neck, then looked up at the camera again with a smile. “I love to use the petal with my wife. It looks pretty innocent, doesn’t it?” Jeannie laughed and opened her legs a little wider. “It might look it, but it feels anything but innocent when Chris uses it on me.” Chris’s arms slid around his wife, the petal in one hand, the other hand coming to rest on her inner thigh. Jeannie leaned her head back against her husband’s shoulder and closed her eyes, and Chris looked up at the camera again. “To switch it on, just apply pressure to the centre of the petal.” A low buzzing hummed from the speakers of Sophie’s computer as he turned it on, and Jeannie smiled with a low moan of anticipation. He turned his hand up to the screen to show the petal vibrating lightly, a gentle heart shape that stretched along his palm. Jeannie reached an arm up around her husband’s neck, opening her body fully for his touch. Chris turned his head to kiss her arm, and then touched the tip of the petal between her legs. Jeannie moaned with pleasure as Chris moved the petal down the length of her sex, his other hand fondling her breasts. Jeannie arched into his hands, and he responded, flattening the petal between her lips and covering it with his palm. Sophie watched, mesmerised. Chris rocked the petal with two fingers, the wider paddle top vibrating on Jeannie’s clitoris as the lower tip dipped inside her with every nudge of Chris’s middle finger. He kissed Jeannie’s ear, slowly and tenderly, then glanced up at the camera. “See how the petal fits perfectly over Jeannie? The vibrations are more intense here,” he pushed his index finger against the top of the petal and held it hard against Jeannie’s clitoris, making her gasp and moan. “And here.” He pushed his middle finger against the lower tip instead and the camera tracked in to show a detailed shot of the petal as it slipped inside Jeannie’s vagina. Chris’s fingers rocked the petal expertly against his wife, making her groans heavier and her body arch. “She’s almost there,” Chris murmured, and the camera panned out to show Jeannie with her eyes tight shut and her bottom lip snagged between her teeth. Chris palmed the petal and held it hard between Jeannie’s legs, and she cried out as her body jerked for several moments with the intensity of her orgasm. Chris held his wife fast until she eventually opened her eyes and smiled languidly at the camera, every inch the cat that got the cream. “The petal does it for me every time,” she purred. “It’s good when I’m alone, and even better with Chris.” The camera shot moved out to show the couple content in their embrace, his hand still holding the petal flat against her sex. “Open your drawer.” The message from Lucien popped up in the instant chat box in the corner of the screen, making Sophie start with guilt. She looked at her closed drawer. Then opened it. Pale blue and pretty, the petal sat nestled in its tissue wrapping. “A gift for you.” Sophie swallowed and picked up the petal. It felt even better than she’d imagined. Substantial, but tactile. “Do you like it?” Sophie found she couldn’t breathe as easily as usual.

“Yes.” “I’m imagining you using it on yourself right now.” Dear God. Sophie swallowed, because she’d been imagining the same thing. “Yes.” “Naughty Sophie. You’re at work.” Sophie nodded, more to herself than him. “If I came in there right now and slipped my hand up your skirt, I think you’d be wet and ready for me.” Sophie froze with her fingers above the keyboard. She couldn’t think of a single word to type in response. She heard his low, dirty laugh and had to fight the urge to go through there right now and straddle him at his desk. He continued the exchange without waiting for her to respond. “Hold that thought for later and watch the rest of the video.” She wanted to lay her head on the desk and cry with frustration. “Yes, Mr. Knight.” “And Sophie? Remember. Three things. Make a list. I’m going to make you come harder than Jeannie and more times than you can count.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN A little after five, Sophie heard Lucien’s office door open. He’d been downstairs in a meeting for most of the afternoon, leaving her free to tussle with her conscience and watch the video as instructed and construct her list of three items. She’d squirmed her way through most of it, shocked at times, horrified occasionally, but more than anything else she was turned on and desperate for Lucien. She smiled tensely as he appeared around her doorway. “Good meeting?” He shrugged. “I got what I wanted, so yes.” Sophie drew in a deep breath. It seemed that this man always got what he wanted, in business and in pleasure. “Have you made your list?” Sophie automatically glanced down at the scrap of paper on her desk. She had indeed made the list he’d requested, but not without considerable discomfort. Just writing the words had made her blush. Lucien’s gaze followed hers, and he crossed the room and picked the piece of paper up. He scanned it in silence for what felt to Sophie like at least three hours. “Interesting choices, Ms. Black. A little tame in places, but we can work on that.” He unfastened the top button on his shirt and ran a finger around the collar. For one shocking - no, thrilling - second Sophie thought he was going to start working on it right there and then, but he turned away and headed for the door. “Finish up, Sophie. We’re leaving.” Sophie glanced at Lucien’s profile as he drove. He handled the car with the same mastery with which he managed everything else in his life, and it responded to his touch like a rapt lover. She had no clue where they were headed, but she was relieved from the direction he’d taken that it wasn’t the club again. She could ask him, of course, but it didn’t matter really, because she’d made the decision to give herself over to him completely until Sunday. There was a certain freedom in following his lead; freedom from responsibility, the surrender of all conscious decision. They were out in open countryside now, which surprised her. Lucien was such a creature of the metropolis, he belonged in the dark, throbbing glass and metal heart of the city. He looked out of place here amongst rolling fields and lush hedgerows. He turned sharply along an unmarked road and a pair of black iron gates swung silently open to allow them access. It was a stark contrast to last night when he’d dropped her home in her suburban cul-de-sac. He steered along the sweeping driveway, and as the car rounded the bend, Sophie caught her first glimpse of what had to be his home. The location had lulled her into expecting a country house, so the breathtaking front wall of Lucien’s thoroughly modern country pad was a revelation. An architect’s wet dream of juxtaposed angles and sheet glass, it was more of a sculpture than a home. “Wow.” He turned to look at her as the engine idled whilst he waited for the garage door to slide silently upwards. “Not what you were expecting?” “No… actually, it’s just what I was expecting, but in an unexpected place.” He slid the car inside the garage and climbed out.

“Out here, no one can hear you scream, Ms. Black.” Sophie got out of the passenger side and eyed him across the roof of the Aston Martin. She wasn’t frightened. For some reason she knew she could trust him. She would never have come here if she wasn’t utterly sure that she would be safe. He would protect her, not harm her. He was right about one thing, though. There was every chance he was going to make her scream.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Sophie followed Lucien into the house and found herself in a huge, sunken lounge, which, from the angles of the windows, appeared to be cut into the hillside. Lush, warm wood tones complemented the oversized mink velvet couches. Classy and understated with huge rugs and sleek furniture, it screamed sexy urbanity, with its theatrical mood lighting and floor to ceiling glass. All very in keeping with the man who stood beside her. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a few seconds.” He stroked a hand down the zip that ran the length of her spine as he spoke, making her shiver with anticipation. She’d chosen today’s outfit with care, knowing that she was going to him with the intention of staying. Kara’s royal blue dress fitted her snugly around the bodice, its three quarter sleeves a demure contrast with its scooped neckline. The skirt flared around her thighs and ended just above her knees, and she’d opted for high heels, bare legs and her favourite French navy lace underwear. It felt flirtatious, a deliberate decision to signify her intent to Lucien, and a reminder to herself - if she needed one - not to back out. Left momentarily to her own devices, she glanced around the room for traces of the real Lucien. There was nothing. No photographs, no knick-knacks, no tell-tale little giveaways. It could have been anyone’s home, apart from the fact that it somehow sung out his name from its very bricks and mortar. He sauntered back into the room, having changed from his dark work clothes into battered jeans and nothing else. Sophie closed her eyes and sucked in her breath. He really was beautiful, all broad golden shoulders and hard, lean muscle. He was barefoot, and Sophie knew without needing to check that there would be no underwear beneath those jeans. Lucien placed three items on the coffee table with deliberate care, glancing up at her between each one to gauge her reaction. As soon as the first item appeared, Sophie’s pulse skittered, because she knew exactly what to expect next. A black silk blindfold. A glass dildo, more shimmering art than sex toy. And last of all, a heavy silver acorn-shaped butt plug on a rocking stand. “Your list, I believe, Ms. Black.” Sophie looked at the items. Had she really chosen a butt plug? Jeannie had seemed to love it, and Sophie had been too lathered up thinking about Lucien to consider fully the reality of him working it into her own backside. Lucien crossed the room to stand behind her, and seconds later Sophie felt his fingers slide her zip down in one fluid movement. “You need to relax, Sophie.” He let the dress slip to the floor, leaving her standing in only her underwear and high heels. How could she possibly relax in this state? He’d deliberately pushed her buttons all afternoon, no doubt knowing that she would be putty in his hands by the time he got her here. He turned her in his arms, and she found her stomach against the warm, hard silk of his. His hands slid into her hair as he drew her face up to his, tilting her mouth to take his kiss. His lips went from gentle to insistent to a full on sensual assault in seconds, leaving her reeling when he lifted his head. His eyes burned into hers and his hands stole up to pull her bra cups down. He pinched her nipples into hard nubs. “See? Isn’t that better?”

Frankly, Sophie wasn’t sure she felt any more relaxed, but she didn’t want him to stop, so she pushed her arms together and reached down to massage Lucien's crotch. She looked down at her cleavage, her exposed pink nipples erect and begging for his attention. Lucien eyes closed momentarily as her hands circled his erection, then snapped open and locked with hers. He rocked his denim-clad cock forward into her hands. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t stand up,” he said softly. Excitement pooled between Sophie’s legs as she popped the top button of his jeans. Lucien shook his head and stepped away. “But not yet.” He picked up the blindfold from the table. “I’m guessing this was the first thing you picked.” Sophie nodded and swallowed hard. “Because you thought it was the safest choice.” It was a statement rather than a question. She lifted one shoulder, unable to argue, because he was right. It had felt like the tamest choice compared to most of the items she’d seen that afternoon. “You didn’t think this through at all, Princess,” he murmured as he stepped in front of her again. “Blindfolds are all about control. Or loss of it.” He placed the black silk over her eyes and tied it lightly behind her head. Sophie closed her eyes behind the material, disoriented by the darkness. She could hear Lucien moving, but couldn’t get a fix on where he was without her vision to help her. “Lucien, please. I don’t think I’m ready yet…” she murmured, anxiety spiking through her body. She wanted to reach up and adjust her bra. And then she didn’t want to, because his hot mouth fastened around one nipple and sucked, and his fingers rolled the other hard tip. The shock of not realising he’d been so close made her cry out, and a bolt of lust slashed suddenly through her insides. She reached out for him, but he caught her arms and put them back at her sides. “When you’re blindfolded, you don’t touch me unless I say so.” What? Dan had never been a dominant lover, and Lucien’s authority thrilled her far more than she liked to admit. “This is how it has to be when you’re blindfolded, Sophie.” He whispered, behind her now, and he pushed his hand unexpectedly down the front of her knickers. “Fuck, Lucien!” Sophie gasped, beyond turned on by his erotic game. “That’s not very polite, is it, Ms. Black?” His fingers delved deeper until his hand cupped her sex. “The second rule of being blindfolded,” he whispered as he parted her and pushed two fingers inside her, “is that you must be polite at all times.” Sophie nodded. “Yes, Mr. Knight.” Christ, his fingers felt amazing. She couldn’t help but rock herself against him, and she yelped in shock when his other hand smacked her bottom really quite hard. “Did I give you permission to enjoy it?” Sophie couldn’t get her breath. When he’d smacked her it had forced his fingers deeper inside her, and all she could think was do it again, do it again, do it again. “No, Mr. Knight.” “That’s better.” His hand fondled her bottom to soothe away the sting, then he eased his other hand out of her knickers. “I’m going to take the blindfold off for now. When I put it on again later, I want you to remember the rules. Can you do that, Sophie?” Sophie nodded. His palm slapped her bottom again. “Out loud, if you please, Ms. Black.” Sophie deliberated for a second as he massaged her again. Did she please? If she didn’t say it out loud, it was becoming apparent that there would be consequences. It appeared that hesitation was another forbidden sin, because Lucien tutted under his breath with clear impatience. Sophie braced herself. “You have much to learn, Princess.” His voice was silk against her ear as his palm stung the cheek of her bottom for a third time. Zings of pain and pleasure fired between Sophie’s legs. It felt wrong to want

him to do it again, but every nerve in her body screamed out for more. She almost grumbled out loud in frustration when his fingers slipped the knot on the blindfold open. Sophie blinked as her eyes readjusted to the light, and her body mourned the loss of his touch. When she turned around, she saw Lucien standing with his arms folded across his bare chest and the gleam of triumph in his eyes. “It would seem that blindfolds aren’t quite as innocent as you thought, Sophie.” “I don’t think there were any innocent choices on that video, Lucien.” “Maybe not. Take your bra off.” “Lucien…” Embarrassed, Sophie looked down at her half exposed breasts, wanting to pull the material back into place rather than take it off. He reached out and pulled her against him, shockingly warm, skin to skin, his evident erection hard against her stomach. He looked down at her. “You feel what you do to me?” He traced a slow finger from one puckered nipple to the other, then reached behind her and unclipped her bra. The material fell away, leaving Sophie almost naked and vulnerable in his arms. He dipped his head to claim her mouth, his lips warm and gentle on hers. Slow. Sensual. His arms moved to hold her against him, her breasts crushed against the wall of his chest. Sophie clung to him, wiped out by the tenderness of his kiss. “Princess,” he whispered against her lips, his hands between their bodies to cradle the fullness of her breasts. “Lucien…” she breathed, swept away by how good his hands made her feel. He reached down and lifted her clean off her feet, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as his hands cupped her bottom. She revelled in the sensation of his strength around her softness. They both groaned in response to the way her sex cradled his erection, and he moved her slightly to accommodate him fully between her legs. His mouth never left hers as he crossed the room to lay her down on the plump cushions of the sofa. He covered her body with his own, and Sophie sighed with primal satisfaction at his weight over hers. From the moment she’d met Lucien he’d radiated danger and lust, but right at that moment, cocooned beneath the warmth of his chest, he gave her the last thing she expected, and it turned out to be the thing she needed most of all. He gave her safe harbour. She felt protected in his arms. She hadn’t anticipated how incredibly sweet his kiss could be, or how gentle his hands might be as they slid her knickers down her legs. There was no talk of blindfolds, no glance towards the toys lined up on the table. Sophie sensed that this was probably outside of Lucien’s plan, and she treasured him all the more for understanding what she needed. The breath jarred in her throat as his fingers moved to unbutton his jeans. For all that had happened between them, she’d yet to see him naked. The final barrier. He reached into his pocket for a condom, and then kicked his jeans off. For a few seconds, Lucien simply settled his body over the length of hers and held her, giving her time to accept the weight of his erection against her abdomen. Sophie melted. She wanted him. Christ she wanted him. There was no doubt, there were no second thoughts. Lucien had kissed them all away. He ripped the foil packet of the condom with his teeth and sheathed himself, then settled back between her legs with his forearms either side of her head. “Open your eyes,” he murmured as his knee moved between hers. Sophie lifted her lashes, and Lucien’s clear blue gaze locked with hers as he tipped his hips slowly, his rock hard length stoking delicious friction back and forth over her clitoris. “Feel good?” A lazy half smile touched his lips. Sophie bit down on her lip to hold the cry of pleasure inside. This man was something else when it came to confidence. Jesus, yes. You know it feels good. Lucien’s tender thumbs stroked the rogue tears from her cheeks, and his feather kisses traced her lips as he positioned himself. Sophie clutched him, her fingernails digging arcs into his shoulders. He was strength, and he was magnificence, and as his beautiful hard cock sliced decisively into her, he became her Viking lover.

Sophie cried out his name as he filled her, foreign and mysterious, and each thrust sent lust spiralling higher, tighter, deeper… more, more, more. Euphoria mingled with physical pleasure, building with Lucien’s every stroke and thrust. More. More. More. Boneless and mindless, she was a pool of heat and desire underneath his mastery. His hand cupped her face as his other snaked between their damp bodies, and Sophie gulped in dry air as he thumbed her clitoris. Thrust. Stroke. Rub. Thrust. Stroke. Rub. He set up a trinity of motion, and with every repetition he pushed Sophie closer and closer towards the edge of control. His eyes still held her gaze, and she could see the effort in his clenched jaw as he held his own pleasure back for hers. His thumb was still stroking her clitoris, and his tongue mirrored the movement in her mouth. “You. Are. Fucking. Amazing,” he ground out, punctuating each word with a deeper thrust. Sophie’s fingers curved around his nape as her hips started to buck uncontrollably, and Lucien read her cues well and switched from slow and deep to fast and hard. His tongue in her mouth, his cock buried inside her. Faster, harder, yes, yes, yes! Sophie’s orgasm exploded through her body, making her shudder and jolt beneath him. Lucien threw his head back and pumped his hips, leaving her nowhere to go but further over the top with him. They moved in frenzied, primal unison. Animal. Feral. Sensational. Lucien rested his forehead against Sophie’s, the aftermath of his orgasm still vibrating through his groin. He hadn’t intended this to happen in quite such a vanilla way, but one look at at Sophie’s vulnerable face and his hunter-protector gene had kicked in hard. Most of all he’d wanted to settle her, to comfort her, to gentle rather than shock her into submission. He kissed the tip of her nose. Shocking her was next on his agenda.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Sophie wound the belt of the short, white towelling robe around her waist and knotted it, glad that Lucien had been thoughtful enough to provide it. He had slid back into his battered jeans. The toys still sat central on the coffee table, and she did her best not to look in their direction as she padded through to the open plan kitchen after Lucien. Pristine white gloss and stainless steel units lined the walls in unbroken ranks; it was clear to Sophie that this wasn’t a kitchen that saw much in the way of action. Or not cooking, at least. It was a little after nine, and dusk had turned the sky outside a deep petrol blue and the trees around the house into spindled black shadows. Not quite night time, but almost there. Sophie sensed, with a minute thrill, that it would nonetheless be a long time until bedtime. As she entered the kitchen, Lucien was standing with his back towards her, lit by the soft light from inside the huge stainless steel fridge he was reaching into. She was pulled up sharply by the beautiful monochrome tattoo inked across his broad shoulders. An intricately detailed lone wolf, bound around with ropes and vines stretched from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, enhancing every slope and taut angle of his back. It was stunning, and Sophie longed to go and run her hands over it. Over him. He turned as she approached, and she lost her nerve. “Hungry?” Sophie thought about it and decided that in actual fact, she was starving. “Yes. Yes, I am. Is this where you tell me you’re a crack hot chef?” Lucien lifted a lazy eyebrow. “No. This is the point where I offer to serve you sushi off my navel.” Sophie’s eyes opened wide. Was he even joking? She still didn’t have a good enough measure of him to be sure. She breathed a sigh of relief when he retrieved a huge bacon quiche, a bag of salad and a bottle of champagne from the fridge and closed the door. “We’re in luck. Fran has been today.” Fran? Who was Fran? Lucien heaped food onto two plates without offering an explanation. To be fair, he didn’t owe her one. He was her boss, and her one week only lover, nothing more. The food was delicious, helped down by champagne that loosened both Sophie’s nerves and her tongue. Was Fran his girlfriend? His lover? His mother? She burned to know. Jesus, was she his wife? No. He wasn’t married. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but he was most definitely single. Unlike her. Thoughts of Dan on holiday somewhere with his lover encroached on her mind, and she began to push her food listlessly around the plate. “Stop it,” Lucien said softly. Her eyes flickered up. “Ditch the guilt, Sophie.” Boy, he was good. He might be unreadable to her, but to him, she seemed to be an open book. “It’s not that easy.” She picked up her champagne glass and drank deeply, trying to wash away the melancholy. Lucien filled up her glass again. “Your husband doesn’t seem to struggle with it.” The melancholy twisted into anger. Lucien was right. Dan hadn’t given her a second thought when he’d planned his clandestine holiday. Christ… what if he wasn’t coming back? Had he left her and just couldn’t find the balls to tell her?

She shut her eyes. What a mess. Why was she here? What did it prove, really? That anything Dan could do, she could do better? Because one thing was for sure. Whatever Dan had done, she was going to do far worse before Sunday rolled around. “So, Sophie. I’m intrigued.” Lucien said conversationally, breaking her train of thought. “Why the glass dildo?” Lucien directed Sophie upstairs to his bedroom whilst he grabbed a fresh bucket of ice and a bottle of vodka from the freezer. He pocketed the blindfold and the metal acorn as he passed through the lounge, plunging the glass dildo into the ice bucket as he headed for the stairs. In a late night bar in Greece, Dan ordered another brandy just to annoy Maria. She objected to him drinking too much in case he couldn’t perform in bed. Nothing like Sophie, who happily matched him drink for drink then loved to slide tipsily into a late night game of strip poker. Or else she used to, back when they were happy. Where had it all gone so wrong? He looked up as Maria wound her way back across the bar. Brunette instead of blonde. Gym-firm instead of softly curved. She smiled when she caught his eye, and then pinched her brows together when he saluted her with his refreshed brandy glass. Whatever. Sophie lingered in the doorway of Lucien’s vast bedroom. More floor to ceiling glass, but by now the view was hidden beneath the velvet cloak of the black night sky. A huge, metal-framed bed dominated the central space of the room, covered in snowy white sheets, plump cushions, and throws fashioned from neutral velvets and furs. Den-like. The hairs on the back of Sophie’s neck prickled at the thought of spending the night in it with Lucien. The rest of the room was almost clinically tidy, the sleek wooden walls and floors disrupted only by a huge sheepskin rug. This was very much Lucien’s lair, and Sophie felt for a moment as a lamb to the slaughter. She moved across and perched on the edge of the bed at the sound of Lucien coming upstairs, and noted with apprehension that there were mirrors on the ceiling over his bed. It seemed curiously old hat, a kind of borderline lazy way for a love god to mark out his territory. “Refreshments,” he said, placing the ice bucket down. “And entertainment.” He dropped the blindfold onto the bedside table and laid the silver acorn next to it. He flicked a lighter to a candle, then turned to face her. His eyes skimmed down the terry gown still wrapped tightly around her body. “You’re overdressed.” Naked beneath the robe, Sophie’s pulse accelerated. He watched her in silence for a long few seconds, and when she didn’t move to undress, he reached down and flicked the top button of his own jeans open instead. Sophie blinked hard, her eyes following his fingers as he worked the second button open. She cleared her throat as he went for the third. His golden, sculpted navel gleamed in the candle glow. As he released the last button, he pushed his jeans down and stepped free of them, then straightened, buck naked and utterly nonchalant. “See? No clothes. Easy.” He spread his hands wide, and Sophie gorged on the visual feast he was offering her. He was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, in real life, or in magazines or movies. All gleaming hard planes and athletic, lean muscle. Sophie’s eyes strayed lower, beyond his navel. Christ. His cock. She pulled in her breath hard as she stared at the thick, long curve standing rigid against his abdomen. Despite the fact that she’d experienced him so intimately inside her, this was the first chance she’d had to see him fully naked. He took her breath away. When she eventually dragged her eyes back up to his face, she found that cocky half smile back in place

on his lips. He knew the effect he was having on her. He turned away. God, how her fingers itched to touch those broad, inked shoulders, to trail down the length of his granite spine to his perfectly curved backside. Sophie puffed her fringe out of her eyes. If Lucien had been around in the Renaissance period, sculptors would have gouged out their own eyeballs for a chance to sculpt him. He turned back around and tipped his head to one side. “Your turn.” Sophie caught her bottom lip between her teeth, trapped between nerves and the desire to comply. Desire won. She got slowly to her feet, and Lucien moved around her to take her place on the edge of the bed. He planted his hands on the fur throw behind him, his cock looming large and shameless in front of him. Sophie licked her dry lips and reached for the belt of the gown. “Turn around.” She hadn’t expected instruction, but accepted his request with a tingle of lust in her groin. Her back turned, she released the belt. “Go slow.” His low command made her revise her plan to drop the robe, and she shimmied it just one shoulder off instead. “Good girl.” Encouraged, she slid the other shoulder down, but kept hold of the robe as it slipped down her spine, holding it as a seductive cover over her bottom. She turned to throw a saucy glance at Lucien over one shoulder and found him slowly stroking the length of his hard cock with one hand. Her jaw dropped and she turned away quickly, letting the robe fall to the floor. The knowledge that he was behind her, lazily masturbating, turned her knees to jelly, and a snake pit of nerves writhed in her gut as she willed herself to be brave. She turned back around to face him. He didn’t take his hand away from his erection as he nodded slowly, his eyes sliding from her face to her breasts. Sophie felt her nipples pucker into ripe beads under his scrutiny, and she could barely get her breath as his eyes travelled lower. Her hands were awkward at her sides, and she knew her cheeks were pink with discomfort and desire in equal measure. Lucien stared at her crotch and stroked himself for a second longer, then licked his lips and stood up. His height above hers struck Sophie anew, further enhanced by the vulnerability of being naked. “You see?” He gestured to their bodies with his hands. “Man.” He touched his fingers to his chest and raised his eyebrows. “Woman.” He brushed his fingertips over the base of her throat. “Sex is natural.” He trailed one finger down the valley between her breasts to her navel, making her stomach muscles jitter in response. “And fucking beautiful.” His clear blue eyes held hers. “Now, forget everything else,” he said, “And Get. On. That. Bed.” He punctuated his words with heavy pauses, turning his invitation into a desire-laden demand that Sophie was powerless to resist.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The fur throw was warm against Sophie’s naked back as she reclined, and the softness of the mattress beckoned her in. What a blissful bed. Even in her heightened state of sexual anticipation, Sophie couldn’t help but notice its cocoon-like warmth and comfort, in direct contrast to the dangerous man stretched out on his side next to her, holding a blindfold in his hand. His body was close enough to touch along the length of hers from shoulder to knee, his erection heavy on her hip. If he chose to move he could be inside her within a second, and the thought set a pulse throbbing between her legs. He trailed the silk blindfold over her skin. Across her breasts, over her stomach, hipbone to hipbone. Sophie sighed, relaxed by the whisper tease of the silk’s caress. “You remember what we said about this blindfold, Sophie?” Lucien stroked the black silk lightly between her legs, and she opened her thighs a little. The feel of his hand hovering but not quite touching her made her breath catch in her throat. Sophie closed her eyes for a moment, and then nodded and lifted her head. Lucien reacted immediately, placing the blindfold across her eyes and knotting it carefully in place. When she opened her eyes and saw only darkness, for a moment panic threatened to engulf her. “Lucien?” She spoke his name out loud, and his finger touched against her lips to calm her. “Sshh.” His lips brushed hers. “Your eyes will adjust to the darkness.” Sophie drew in a shuddering breath and found he was right. “Do I need a safe word?” she breathed anxiously, drawing something suspiciously like a laugh from Lucien. “No, really, you don’t. If you want me to stop, just say stop. But for the record… you won’t.” He was too confident. His finger stayed at her lips, tracing them gently, and she opened her mouth and nipped him. He took her jaw between his fingers and held it hard. “Don’t bite me,” he murmured warningly, and his hand strayed lower to encircle her throat. Sophie sucked in a breath then exhaled as she felt him lean across her body towards the bedside table. Lord, he was warm and heavy. She could hear a drawer scraping open. Was he reaching for a condom already? And then he was back beside her again and placing something unexpected in her hands. Sophie frowned behind the blindfold as her tentative fingers learned the outline of the two slender, smooth leather circles he’d given her. They were linked by a short, cool metal chain. Cuffs. “Lucien… I’m not sure about…” she whispered, but even to her own ears, her protests sounded hollow. The weight of the cuffs in her hands brought back memories of how he’d clamped her arms behind her back in the club, and she couldn’t deny the fact that she’d got off on the sensation. Her fingers traced the body-warm leather, discovering the cool metal stud on each bracelet that she guessed must adjust their size to fit. “Put your arms above your head,” Lucien ordered softly. Sophie trembled inside, but willingly offered up her hands. The first leather circle slipped over one of her wrists and Lucien’s careful fingers adjusted it so she couldn’t wriggle her hand free. Anxiety prickled through Sophie’s mind as she heard the chain rattle against metal, then Lucien’s fingers enclosed her other wrist. She pulled back a little, feeling the effect of the restraint. “Trust me.” He murmured, and brushed his mouth over hers before returning his attention to securing the second cuff. “There.” He finished his work. “Now test them. Make sure your hands don’t slide out.”

His words came out as a dark, delicious order, and Sophie wriggled her wrists. Not only could she not get the cuffs off, but Lucien had passed the chain behind the metal fretwork of the bed, locking her arms in place. Captured, she gasped and arched her back, feeling the combined thrill and shock of constraint. Lucien's low laugh rumbled in her ear. “I’ll take that as a yes, shall I? Try to relax.” Sophie wished she could. She knew her breasts must be jutting crudely upwards, but the restraints turned her on so much that she couldn’t soften her spine. She really wished she could see him. The double whammy of the loss of free movement and vision left her defenseless, and her body thrummed with erotic anticipation. Lucien was unpredictable at the best of times. With the deprivation of two of her senses, she upgraded him to downright lethal. Endless silent seconds stretched out without him touching her, and Sophie spun round a wheel of emotions… lust… fear… anxiety… back to delicious lust again. Her body screamed for his touch, and with every moment he made her wait, her nerves tightened to snapping point. And then came her reward. His warm, wet mouth fastened over one rock hard nipple as he traced an ice-cube around the other. She gasped out loud and arched forward even further, greedy for more. He sucked harder on her nipple until she felt it elongate in his mouth, while his fingers circled her other nipple with the ice cube. His mouth was hot. His fingers were icy. She squirmed, but the leather cuffs held her wrists firmly in place. Sophie jangled the chain against the metal bed like an unwilling prisoner, getting a sensual thrill from the rattle and the feeling of entrapment. She felt chained, totally at his mercy, and the submissive in her revelled in it. She wanted this man to do whatever he saw fit, to touch her everywhere, to possess her body in any way he wanted to. An ice cube slid into her navel, making her suck in air sharply. “Be still,” he said, the first time he’d spoken since he’d cuffed her. “Let it melt.” His hands were on her breasts, warming where she was chilled, cupping her fullness, massaging her as his tongue slid into her mouth. The ice cube started to melt against the heat of her skin and tiny rivulets of freezing water trickled around her waist. She tried to flex her body against the ticklish drips, but Lucien moved his knee to cover her legs and hold her down. “Be. Still.” Sophie found that she wanted to know what would happen if she disobeyed him. She breathed out hard, forcing her stomach muscles upwards in an effort to dislodge the melting cube. “Sophie…” he warned, low and sultry. A salacious thrill unfurled in her belly. He’d warned her twice. She had no clue how to play this game. Should she obey, or should she stray from compliance? What were the rules here? Dan had never lashed her to the bed and ordered her not to move while he melted ice in her belly button: this was all uncharted territory for her. The impulse to be naughty won out. She pursed her lips and flicked her hips. The ice cube flipped off her body, and she waited with bated breath. Lucien sighed, heavily and audibly, so she couldn’t miss it despite her blindfold. “Sophie. Do you want me to punish you?” She bit her lip, genuinely unsure. “I wasn’t planning on it, but you’re making my fingers itch to reach for the paddle in the drawer next to you.” Paddle? Okay… so maybe she should have obeyed him after all. “No paddle,” she breathed, and held her body stock still as his mouth drifted from the base of her throat to her pubic bone and back up again, his hand heavy on her thigh. “Better,” he murmured, and licked each of her nipples in turn. Long, slow sweeps of his tongue that made her moan with pleasure. “Better still.” He cupped her breasts in his hands and pushed them together with a guttural sound of

appreciation. The effort of holding still was worth it to feel and hear his approval. He had a way of taking charge of her and managing to make her feel invincible at the same time, and it was a heady combination. When he moved away from her her anxiety levels spiked again. She jumped as his hands grasped her ankles and swept them apart, then he moved to kneel between her calves. “If you could only see what I can see right now," he murmured. Sophie closed her eyes behind the blindfold. He must have an x-rated view, she could feel her sex opening for him. She must be all heaving breasts and pink flesh. Am image of the lesbians from the sex club crept back into her mind and Sophie was glad of the blindfold to hide her abashed eyes from Lucien. His palms swept up her legs, long slow strokes that ended tantalisingly close to her sex. He paused and reached across her body to the table again. “I’m going to pour warm wax on you.” Sophie yanked hard on her restraints in shock. She’d seen Madonna do something similar in a kinky movie and it had looked painful. Lucien splayed his hand on her stomach to still her, and the remaining melted ice water in her navel spilled over her body. “Didn’t I tell you to trust me?” Before she could find her voice to protest, Lucien had trailed a ribbon of warm droplets across her abdomen from hip to hip. She released the breath she’d been holding in. The wax was hot but not scaldingly so, and Lucien’s hands had settled over her pubic bone, a huge warm butterfly pressing gently on her flesh. “It melts into oil,” he said as his hands started to glide over her skin, his thumbs occasionally brushing the tiny landing strip of hair spared by her beauty therapist. His fingers warm and slick on her inner thighs, Lucien massaged the oil everywhere apart from where she really craved it. She splayed her legs wide and lifted her hips into his hands. Could he see her clitoris? He must be able to. She was as open as she possibly could be to him, throbbing with lust for his hands to zero in on her sex. Instead, he licked her. The feel of his head nestled between her legs had her gasping his name, and in response his hands settled on her hips to hold her steady. Sophie’s head thrashed from side to side, her eyes squeezed shut beneath the silk of the blindfold. The chain on the cuffs scraped against the bed as she writhed, restless for release. Jesus. The man knew what he was doing. His tongue was everywhere. Slow and easy over her clitoris. Long and firm as it dipped inside her. She was hot, and wet, and wanting. He was strong, and giving, and so mind-numbingly sexy that Sophie started to tremble from her tied up hands to her toes. She was going to come. She was going to come. And that was when Lucien stopped. “No!” she cried out and bucked her body towards where he had been, desperate for him to come back. And then he did, making her jump violently as something cold and hard whispered over her nipples. She felt them stiffen instantly under its icy ministrations. What was that? It was too solid for ice. She was hot, and whatever it was, it was beyond cold. Her brain reeled with lust as he stroked the object across her mouth. It was cold. And hard. And glass. And then she knew, even as her lips parted to allow the bulbous end of the glass dildo into her mouth. She heard Lucien groan, and could only imagine how sluttish she must look tied to the bed and letting him fuck her mouth with the big glass cock. It was so, so cold. Lucien slipped his other hand between her parted legs and pushed his fingers inside her, then eased the

dildo out of her mouth and touched it against her clitoris instead. Ice-cold and mouth-warm all at the same time, and hard. So very, very hard. Sophie moaned in appreciation of the brand new sensations Lucien had exposed her body to. Cold, heavy glass against fever-hot flesh. He leaned forward and slipped his tongue into her mouth, then reached behind her head and untied the blindfold. “Open your eyes, Princess.” Sophie blinked as her restored vision adjusted to the light, and she saw her own image reflected in the ceiling mirrors. Naked. Splayed. Chained. A Viking knelt between her knees. The glass dildo looked even more erotic in his hands than it had on the film. Clear crystal, with a raised ribbon of glittering Aurora Borealis glass helter-skeltered around the outside… delicious ridges of friction every time he turned it, and a bulbous, cock-like end. Lucien screwed it slowly into her, and the nuances of the rippled glass bounced a million tiny rainbows of colour around the walls of the candlelit room. Still cold, Sophie felt every delicious ridge of the dildo slide in, unyielding and rock solid. Her eyes devoured the erotic tableau. Lucien, naked and kneeling, the beautiful wolf tattoo alive across his muscular back as he worked between her legs. Soft fur at her back. Crystal rainbows on the walls. Leather cuffs around her wrists. Sophie revised her opinion on mirrored ceilings. They weren't old hat. They were a classic for a reason. When Lucien dipped his head to suckle her clitoris, the early warning signs of Sophie’s oncoming orgasm started to tingle through her body like electricity. Lucien, Lucien, Lucien… Lucien glanced up Sophie's taut curves and caught her eye a second before his tongue touched her clitoris again. He’d had countless women over the years, but Sophie Black, naked and shackled to his bed, was up there with the most erotic encounters of his life. Watching her bloom made his cock ache. She was so ready, he could feel her clitoris quivering and swollen. It was time. He screwed the glass dildo as deep as it would go inside her and traced letters on her clitoris with the tip of his tongue. P… she shuddered R… she arched I…she moaned N…she gasped his name C… “Lucien...” E… she came S… and came S… and she came.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN According to the luminous clock on Lucien's bedside table, it was a little after four a.m. Sophie blinked as her eyes adjusted to the shadowed room, half awake and very aware of the weight of Lucien's arm across her body. She turned her head on the pillow to look at him, and her fingers ached to reach out and stroke the proud slant of his cheekbone. Sleep had robbed him of his trademark cocky smile and easy confidence, leaving him stripped bare and vulnerable as a child. There was a sweetness to the sweep of his lashes on his cheek, and an innocence to the cupid bow of his top lip. Studying him, Sophie could almost see the carefree, tearaway child he must have been. Who was he? How had he gone from child to man, from innocent boy to self-styled leader of a movement for sexual liberation? His home offered no clues to his past, and the internet had proved equally unforthcoming when it came to revealing the boy behind the man. He sighed in his sleep, and Sophie turned her body fully into the circle of his arms. He gathered her closer, and she breathed him in. Whoever he was, right now she was just glad to have him in her life. She slept. Lucien clicked off his mobile. All of the arrangements were in place, the work of minutes. It was one of the things he appreciated most about his wealth - it waved a magic wand and made anything possible. He needed his private jet readied for take-off with three hours’ notice? No problem. He wanted the lodge prepared by lunchtime? Consider it done. Money talked, for sure. But right now the only conversation he was interested in using it to facilitate was the one where Sophie realised that she held all of the aces, not her husband. As far as he could see, marriage was all about power. His own father had held all of the cards in his parents’ marriage, his mother perpetually playing a losing hand. When Sophie had walked into his office last Monday evening, the defensive look in her eyes at the mention of her marriage had stirred deep-seated memories, decades-old echoes of a similarly haunted look in his mother’s eyes. But then, last night, that look had been nowhere to be seen on Sophie's face, especially not in the seconds before she'd come. By the end of the weekend the look would be banished forever. A grim smile touched the corners of his mouth at the thought of Daniel Black returning home on Sunday. The man was in for one hell of a shock. Sophie dashed around her suburban semi, throwing clothes and her passport into the overnight bag that lay flung open on the bed. Her home felt like a doll’s house after Lucien's mansion, and just a couple of days of standing empty had lent it a forlorn air that she was anxious to escape from. Lucien had given her exactly ten minutes, and then he was turning off the engine and coming in to get her. This she did not want. He had no place here, in her home. She had no idea where they were headed or what to pack, but instinct had her throwing in her prettiest underwear and her favourite dress and heels. Lucien had suggested she also bring a coat, so she zipped her bag and laid her cherry red wool coat on top of it. She was ready. In her haste to get into the car before Lucien got out of it, she never noticed the flashing light on the answering machine in the hallway.

Sophie had only ever flown in economy class, so climbing aboard a private jet an hour or so later was something of a culture shock. There had been no duty free shopping or check-in queues, just a uniformed driver to take Lucien's Aston away for him as they moved straight from the car to the steps of the pristine black aircraft emblazoned with the Knight Inc. logo. The captain greeted Lucien warmly; wherever the destination was, it seemed to be a journey Lucien made regularly. Inside the cabin, the aircraft was the last word in aviation luxury. And what else would she have expected? Deep leather recliners, gleaming wooden panels and expensive fittings surrounded her, and it came as no surprise that they were the only passengers. Lucien dispensed with his black leather jacket as soon as the doors were closed. "Is this your jet?" Sophie asked. Lucien shrugged. "I fly a lot." She glanced behind her. "Are there any cabin crew?" "Do you want there to be?" Sophie's brows knitted together. Did she? Was she content to be alone in the skies with Lucien? "I don't think I do," she said eventually. Lucien nodded, and waved an arm towards the seating area. "We're going to be in the air for around five hours. Make yourself comfortable." Five hours? That was far more than Sophie had anticipated, and worry prickled over her skin. She was flying God knows where with a man she'd only known for a few days. What if she didn't make it home on time? Guilt swooped in and landed heavily on her chest. She was thinking like a deceitful lover. Did Dan feel this way every time he met with the woman he'd decided was more worthy of his attention that she was? Did he worry about covering his tracks? She thought about it, and much as she tried to retrospectively apply guilt and remorse to Dan's behaviour, she drew a blank. What did that tell her? Either her husband wasn't bothered if she uncovered his infidelity, or else he genuinely believed that she was too stupid to join the dots. Neither option gave her much comfort. "Don't worry, Cinders. You'll be home by sun-up on Sunday." Sophie nodded and sank down into the nearest recliner, grateful once again for Lucien's perceptiveness. She needed to think like a man, to compartmentalise her life. She could do that. She could lock her marital problems away in a sealed file marked with Sunday's date. She visualised herself closing the file and setting the seal, and then storing it away in the recesses of her head. Dan no doubt had none of these problems, but then wasn't he so much more practised in the art of deceit? "Where are we going?" she asked, as much to fill her head with something new as from genuine curiosity. "We're flying north." Lucien settled into the seat next to hers. That really wasn't much help. Geography wasn't Sophie's strongest point. "North?" "Stop asking questions and trust me." Sophie leaned back and closed her eyes. Being with this man was so easy, he was a born leader and she found herself more than content to follow. It was a thrill to be around someone who always knew exactly what to do. Someone who right now had just tipped her chair back to full recline and was undoing the buttons of her filmy black chiffon blouse. She kept her eyes closed, even though her body was screamingly awake to his touch. It was barely breakfast time, yet it seemed that Lucien was hungry for something other than bacon and eggs. "Flying makes me horny," Lucien said as he finished her buttons and pulled her blouse out of her

waistband. Sophie bit her lip but didn't open her eyes. "Are you sure the pilot can't see us?" Lucien slid down the side zip of her skirt. "If he’s watching us instead of the skies, we'll know about it soon enough. There are mountains up ahead." She lifted her hips a fraction to allow him to slide the skirt off. Black underwear had been a necessity with her choice of blouse. The delicate, raw-edged lace of the balconette bra and high cut knickers made her feel feminine and voluptuous, and from Lucien's low, appreciative whistle, it seemed that he approved too. Up to then she'd never had the remotest interest in joining the mile high club, but if she had, then being seduced in a private jet by a Norse love god certainly beat being ravaged in the cramped loo on Easyjet, hands down. Sophie opened her eyes and looked into Lucien's piercing blue ones. She saw lazy lust, and could almost hear the cogs of his mind whirring as he debated what to do with her first. So why did he have to make all the decisions, all the time? Suddenly brave, Sophie flipped her seat back into an upright position. With satisfaction, she noted the flicker of surprise in Lucien's eyes, and then the shift from surprise to anticipation when she stood up and dropped to her knees in front of him. What next? Sophie licked her lips. Lucien sat still and watched her, one eyebrow slightly raised. Nerves danced a tango in her belly. Did she have what it took to be in control of this man at this moment, to make him feel the way he did her? There was only one way to find out. She reached out a hand to the shirt button at the base of his throat and pushed it open. His eyebrow inched a little higher, while her fingers inched a little lower, opening the next button. Pop, pop, pop, and suddenly he was bared to his washboard abs. Sophie sighed with satisfaction, struck all over again by how perfectly sculpted he was. How could someone so gorgeous not be vain? Because he wasn't. He was cocksure and verging on arrogant, but he didn't use his beauty as a weapon in the way many would be tempted to. It was just there, ready to scorch the eyeballs off anyone whose gaze lingered on him for more than a few seconds. Right now, Sophie was on fire. She grazed her nails down his hard chest, through the smattering of golden hairs all the way to the barrier of his belt buckle. It was in her way. She worked it open in a couple of seconds, and as soon as she released it she could feel his erection straining for release from his jeans. Knowing that she'd excited him excited her too, and she leaned in, wrapping herself around him to claim the kiss that waited for her on his lips. Slow and intensely sexual, the lingering caress of his mouth wiped out any doubts about her ability to take the lead for a while. With a little regret, she braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back against his seat. He took it well. Rolling his shoulders and settling in, he lifted himself for her when she put her hands on the top of his jeans and dragged them down to his feet. How come he was the one in the compromising position, yet she was the one who felt more exposed? His cock rose between them, hard, proud and mouth-watering. Sophie closed her eyes for a second and swallowed, then looked into Lucien's eyes and ran her tongue over her top lip. "Tell me what you want me to do, Lucien," she breathed. "I won't do it unless you tell me." He reached out and tapped her nose lightly. "Touché, Ms. Black. Now stroke my cock." A tiny smile flitted across her lips as she reached out and circled him with her fingers. He shifted in

response to her hands on him and watched, mesmerised, as she brought her hands up to her lips and dampened her fingers with her own saliva. His cock was solid silk underneath the slick stroke of her hands, his balls warm and heavy as she cupped them. She flicked him one of his almost imperceptible trademark winks. She was enjoying this, the shift in power, using the skills he'd taught her to turn him on. Leaning in, she tongued his nipples then glanced down at her hands around his erection. "Like this, Mr. Knight?" she asked, then leisurely licked her fingers again and interlocked her hands around him. Jesus, he was hard. She stroked his length, letting her thumbs slide over the throbbing head with every upward sweep. Lucien responded with a heavy groan and pushed his cock harder into her hands. "Come on, Lucien," Sophie whispered, giddy with lust. "Spell it out for me." His eyes were so dark that she could barely make out any blue, and his chest rose in tell-tale shallow rasps. "Suck my cock, Sophie. Slide your gorgeous mouth all the way over it."

CHAPTER NINETEEN Sophie moistened her lips and settled her bottom on her ankles between his knees, then leaned in close and ran the tip of her tongue around the head of his cock. Holding him firmly, she took him in her mouth and swirled her tongue around him until he moaned and one of his hands snaked into her hair. Lust blazed a trail through Sophie all the way down to her sex, ignited by the thrill of kneeling in front of him and being held down. He was a feast, and she gorged on him. Every slide and swirl of her tongue, every bob of her head pushed him closer, made him harder, until he wasn't stroking her hair so much as grasping her head in both hands and thrusting into her mouth. Sophie stepped up the co-ordinated speed of her slippery hands and her sliding mouth, feeling him hot and hard and about to burst. She glanced up the contours of his body to find him watching her, and the intimacy of the eye contact was all it took to send him over the edge. His hips juddered and salty hot semen pumped into the back of her throat, evidence of what she'd done to him. What she'd done for him. She swallowed it down, his cock still throbbing in her mouth, his hands gentle now on her hair and shoulders. Sophie closed her eyes and laid her cheek against the firmness of his thigh, her lips lazy over his balls as she listened to his breathing turn slowly from ragged to steady. "I guess that's another one you can cross off that list of yours. Or two actually," she said, drawing herself up on her knees to face him. "Two?" His arms slid around her and pulled her close against his naked body. "Two." She nodded for emphasis, enjoying the heat of his chest against hers. "For one, I've joined the mile high club." His mouth twisted. "It's a tacky reference, but I’ll accept it. And the second?" "I've blown my boss." Sophie felt her cheeks flare pink as soon as the words left her mouth. Lucien nodded. "But we still need to work on that blush." He reached around her and unclipped her bra, then slid it off her body. "You're still blushing." What did he expect? She was kneeling between his thighs wearing nothing but her underwear as his private jet bore her through the skies, destination unknown. This was not her average Friday morning. "You're pink all the way from here..." - he touched his fingers to her warm cheeks - "To here." He swept his fingertips down her neck to hold her breasts in his palms like a fruit seller might cup oranges, his thumbs playing with her nipples. He ducked down to suck each one in turn, then licked her lips before sliding his tongue into her mouth. "Stand up." She heard his quiet command, but faltered with a fresh attack of nerves. "Sophie..." his tone was quiet but brooked no argument. Still hot-cheeked, she got to her feet. She felt intensely exposed, standing in the cabin of the jet in just her knickers. And then she felt even more exposed when Lucien peeled them down her legs. "Step out of them." She lifted one foot and then the other for him to remove them over her high heels. "And stop blushing." "I can't," she said, and clamped her hands to her cheeks. She was completely nude and Lucien's head was level with her crotch. "You're certain the pilot won't come in?" Lucien looked up from between her legs and ran one fingertip all the way from her perineum to the front of her sex. "I'm certain." His finger swept back along the same path. "I couldn't swear for the co-pilot though."

Sophie gasped. "There's more than one of them through there?" She glanced towards the cockpit doorway and tried to step back, but Lucien's hands landed on her hips and held her captive. "Lucien, I..." Sophie's protest died on her lips at the first touch of his insistent tongue. However much she feared being caught naked by the co-pilot, the wicked anticipation of what Lucien was about to do was more compelling. He scooted forward to sit on the edge of his seat, his beautiful face upturned between her spread legs. Sophie couldn't recall ever feeling more sexual than at that moment, standing in stiletto heels, naked, with her incredible lover gazing right up into her sex. And then she felt more raunchy still, as he spread her open with his fingers and stroked the tip of his tongue over her clitoris. He looked up her body and locked eyes with her. Sophie sucked in a deep breath, beyond turned on at the sight of him buried nose deep in her sex. She jittered deliciously, not knowing where to put her hands. She'd tried them on her hips but the stance felt too contrived, flaunting herself overtly. Flaunting overtly was about right, there was no getting away from it. "Play with your tits," he said, close against her clitoris, and the vibrations of his voice on her flesh made her quiver. She cupped her breasts as he watched, and he rewarded her by pushing two fingers inside her and pumping them slowly. Sophie lost any lingering inhibitions and threw her head back in abandonment as Lucien made a thorough exploration of her sex with his tongue. He fucked her with his fingers and her orgasm came inevitably hard and fast. She reached down and clutched his head to her as he relentlessly swirled his tongue over her clitoris. His mouth stilled slowly as her fingers loosened in his hair. He looked up and inclined his head towards a door at one end of the cabin. "Just for future reference, Princess... there's a bedroom through there." Sophie looked at him incredulously, but he just lifted a nonchalant shoulder. He'd deliberately placed her in a position where they might be seen rather than retire to the privacy of the bedroom. "You could have said." "Why? So you could hide? Be honest, Sophie. Knowing someone might walk in on us made it even hotter, didn't it?" Challenge lit his blue eyes. Sophie bent to step into her knickers and thought about his question. 'Be honest', he'd said. Honesty was the one thing her marriage was woefully short on, so Lucien's demand of it in every aspect of his life was something she was coming to admire greatly. He was the Svengali of his own sexual honesty cult, and she was a willing handmaiden. "Honestly?" She snapped her bra back in place as he fastened his belt. "Yes. It added something to think someone… someone in uniform… might come through and discover us." There was a thrill in just admitting it. She paused, trying to find the words to express herself. "It felt... naughtier." He raised his eyebrows at her. "You have a thing for uniforms then, Ms. Black?" "What? No!" Sophie buttoned her blouse out of sequence and had to unbutton it and start again. "I just mean that I see what you mean. The possibility of being caught was... umm... sexy." Lucien nodded. "I think you've just added a new item to the list for us to work on." She looked up quizzically as she zipped her skirt. Lucien shrugged his shirt back on. "Voyeurism." Fully dressed again, Sophie shook her head firmly. "Wherever we're going, Lucien, I'm not having outdoor sex while people watch." Lucien pushed a hand through the hair she'd recently been clutching onto. "For the record, voyeurism doesn’t have to mean being outside. And anyway, I wouldn't recommend too

much outdoor sex where we’re headed, Princess. It's inside the Arctic Circle."

CHAPTER TWENTY The Arctic Circle? As in snow, and glaciers, and polar bears? Sophie glanced down at her filmy blouse in alarm. This outfit was not going to cut it. She was going to freeze to death. "Don't worry, you'll be fine, it's not much different to an English winter up there at the moment. You've brought a coat, yes?" Sophie nodded, unconvinced. Her beautiful wool holly berry red coat kept her cosy enough at home, but it wouldn't be the choice of your average Eskimo. Lucien crossed to the self-service galley and returned with a platter of croissants, pastries, cheeses and continental meats. "Breakfast is served, madam." Sophie looked at the array of foods and realised she was starving. Being with Lucien made her forget the most basic things, eating included. Her husband should probably be added to that list too. "Is your life always like this?" she asked, after she'd loaded her plate. "Private jets, any woman you want, champagne on tap?" Lucien studied her over the brim of his steaming coffee cup. "Pretty much." He was utterly unapologetic, but then why wouldn’t he be? It was a dream lifestyle, and Google had reliably informed her that at thirty-one, Lucien Knight was the complete self-made man. His business acumen was much documented and lauded, even if his history before Knight Inc. was a blank page. "Don't you ever want more, though?" "More? One private jet is enough, even for me," he said dryly. "No... I didn't mean..." - she waved an arm around the luxurious cabin - "…this. What about family? What about love... kids one day, maybe?" Lucien blew out a breath and shook his head. "Not my bag, Princess. Ties don't do it for me." "Everyone needs love, Lucien." "Yeah, and Santa really exists." Lucien pushed his plate away. "Where's love got you, Sophie?" Sophie dipped her head, stung by his words. Or stung by the truth behind his words. Love had got her precisely nowhere. Maybe he was right. He'd built a life for himself that was all about fun without heartache. What was so bad about that? "But don't you get lonely sometimes?" Lucien shrugged. "I own seven clubs and twenty nine retail shops around the country, and I have a staff of over five hundred, including a terribly distracting PA. I don't have time to be lonely." Much as Sophie wanted to dig deeper, something in Lucien's face had shut down. His glittering eyes had dulled to a flat blue, and a muscle twitched along the hard set of his jaw. His answers had told her precisely nothing, and she got the distinct feeling that they had been structured to have exactly that effect. The man should be a politician. Who are you, Lucien Knight? However intimate they had been over the last few days, in any way that counted, the man sitting opposite her was a complete stranger. Lucien closed the bedroom door quietly, relieved that Sophie had accepted his suggestion that she change into jeans and try to catch up on some sleep for the rest of the flight. Her questions over breakfast had unsettled him. He wasn't lonely, and the last thing on his agenda was being shackled to someone else. Why did anyone ever think monogamy was going to work? It wasn't natural. People were sexual beings,

marriage artificially suppressed nature’s desires. It warped those who tried to conform to the rules, and made villains and victims out of those who failed. Sophie's marriage was a case in point. Her husband was half way around the world enjoying the carnal pleasures of another woman's body, while his wife lay in bed recovering from her latest orgasm en route to the Arctic Circle. Where was the honesty there? Where was the love, and the much fabled respect? Lucien glanced towards the bedroom door. He was determined that Sophie would enjoy far more carnal pleasures before she went home and into battle with her cheating husband. Daniel Black was a worried man. He couldn't get hold of his wife. He could hardly make a scene about it with Maria, but Sophie's silence could only mean one thing. He wasn't a dramatic man, it didn't occur to him that anything untoward might have happened to her. Gut instinct told him that Sophie was choosing to avoid his calls. Cold fear wrapped clammy fingers around his heart at the thought that she knew about his affair. Never in a million years did he entertain the idea that Sophie herself might be too busy in the arms of another man to listen to his ever more desperate pleas for her to pick up his messages. Back in suburbia, their ordinary little semi stood neglected, the flashing red of the answering machine the only light in the place. Red for hazard. Red for danger. Red for trouble ahead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE "Are you sure I’m not going to die of hypothermia?" Sophie cast an anxious glance at Lucien as the jet taxied to a halt on the small runway. Lucien had yet to elaborate on exactly where they were, but by the looks of the dramatic, snow-peaked landscape they'd flown over, they were somewhere extremely cold. Lucien wound a soft black woollen scarf that smelt deliciously of him around her neck, having reached it down from an overhead locker. "You'll be fine.” He cast a doubtful look at her feet. “Your shoes wouldn’t be most people’s choice for the Arctic Circle, but you'll be fine." He pulled his leather jacket on and opened the aircraft doors with the ease of someone who did it often. "Welcome to Norway, Ms. Black. Mind your step." He paused momentarily at the top of the steps, inhaled deeply, then headed down onto the tarmac with his head bowed. Sophie followed, relieved to feel the cool but by no means freezing wind on her cheeks as she breathed in the fresh crystal air. Norway. Once again, Lucien had managed to do the last thing she'd expected. Any other playboy might have chosen Paris, or perhaps Venice. Not Lucien. For some unfathomable reason, he'd decided that the Arctic Circle was the appropriate setting for seduction. He hustled her straight into the warm leather interior of a waiting limousine, and within seconds they were easing out of the small airport and onto the open road. Sophie watched in wonder out of the window, exhilarated by her first glimpse of Norway. Snowpeaked mountains reared up into pale blue skies, fringed all around with lush early autumn greens and golds. It looked like a scene out of a picture book, too perfect to be real. "It's breathtaking," she breathed, as much to herself as Lucien. "Those are the Lyngen Alps.” Lucien gestured out of the window at the majestic mountains. "We're up in the very north of the country, high above the Arctic Circle." "It's very beautiful." Sophie murmured. "I feel like Maria from The Sound of Music." "Wrong country – that’s Austria," he corrected her, and slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him in the plush rear seat of the car. "You can dress up as a governess if you like though. Or a nun." Sophie rolled her eyes. "Do you ever not think about sex?" "Where's the fun in that?" Sophie looked back out at the beautiful scenery. He'd been joking, but she envied Lucien his outlook. He worked hard, played hard, and he never had his heart broken. As far as she knew, anyway. Wasn't that a better plan than most people's? Do a job you hate, watch too much TV, and lay yourself open to the devastation of love and loss? "Do you come here often?" As soon as the words left Sophie's lips, she regretted them. She'd intended to ask a genuine question and managed to make it sound like a come-on. But Lucien didn't pull her up on the innuendo. "Less often than I'd like." It was his turn to gaze out of the window. Sophie frowned, unsure what she'd said to make him close off. From the way he'd clammed up in the jet earlier and the way his face had hardened just now, she could tell that he didn't appreciate these kind of questions. What did he mean, not as often as he'd like? Did he have personal obligations here? "Do you have clubs in Norway?" "No."

Lucien pressed a button and the privacy glass between the driver and the rear of the limo slid into place. "Stop asking questions and get over here." He pulled her onto his lap and glanced at his watch. "We have approximately fourteen minutes." His hand slid along her thigh. "I bet I can make you come within three." Exactly fourteen minutes later the limo eased to a stop, and Sophie straightened her blouse before the driver opened her door. She stepped outside and stood beside Lucien, still throbbing from his ministrations. Wow. They'd pulled into the driveway of a gorgeous, low-slung wooden lodge, the mother of all log cabins. The undulating timber facade and white-washed window frames were in perfect harmony with the surroundings, all the way up to the slopes of its grass-covered roof. It looked organic, as if it had grown from the earth around it rather than been crafted by man. But however beautiful the building was, it paled in comparison with the scenery that surrounded it. Set on the shores of a glittering fjord, whose waters reflected the pale sunlight, the house stood against a backdrop of soaring granite mountains, their tips blanketed with snow. The whole vista exuded Nordic health and understated wealth, a luxury, boutique getaway for those lucky enough to be able to afford it. Sophie scanned around for other people. There were none. "Is it a hotel?" she asked, doubtfully. "No. It's mine." "Yours?" It shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it did. Lucien was such an urbanite; it seemed at odds with his lifestyle that he should choose to own a home here amongst these pristine, quiet mountains. Sophie realised she’d had the same kind of thought when she’d first seen his UK home. He refused to conform to easy stereotypes, she reflected, and he was all the more unreadable for it. The car slunk away as Lucien led her through the main door directly into the living area of an airy, open plan lodge. Sophie slowed to a halt, drinking in the way nature blended with luxury to create a space just as breathtaking as Lucien's other home. It was very different, and yet it had similar nuances of clean style and elegance that made it uniquely, subtly, and totally Lucien Knight. Soft wood juxtaposed with exposed stone complemented the soft white walls. Uncluttered but never stark, cool but not cold. One side of the sunken lounge area was almost entirely made up of glass; huge picture windows paid appropriate homage to the glorious views beyond. Sophie found herself drawn towards it, struck by the ambient warmth inside compared to the crisp freshness outside, as she laid a palm against the glass. "You've surprised me," she said, and turned to face him. Lucien rested his arm on the mantel of the massive stone fireplace. "Why so?" "This place... the Arctic Circle... it's so, umm..." Sophie paused as she fished around for the right phrase. "So, well, unexpectedly wholesome," she finished eventually. "I see." Lucien reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. "Wholesome." He placed the object from his pocket in the centre of the wooden mantel and turned back to watch Sophie suck in a surprised breath. Sunlight glinted off the silver, acorn-shaped butt plug. "Before nightfall, Ms. Black," Lucien promised. "You're blushing again." He sauntered over and admonished her with a tap on the end of her nose. "Let me show you around." Notes of pride slid into his tone as he gave her the guided tour, and Sophie could well see why. The whole place had been engineered around the stunning mountain views, and each room flowed organically into the next. Dove-grey flagstones lined the floors underfoot, and soft suede fabrics and fur throws added warm, welcoming touches to sofas that begged to be lounged on. The whole place exuded comfort and warmth, and Sophie found herself utterly enchanted.

"Lunch?" The normality of Lucien's question caught her unaware. It was disorienting to shift constantly from the plane of near-fantasy - this movie-star lifestyle, the ever-present undercurrents of desire - back to ordinary reality, but on reflection she found she was more than ready to eat. He led her back through to the dining room, which on previous inspection had been empty. Not any more. An older woman dressed smartly in an understated black trouser suit looked up and smiled warmly at Lucien as she put the finishing touches to the feast she'd laid out on the dining table. "Everything is ready for you, Mr. Knight." She spoke in lightly accented English and inclined her head towards Sophie to include her in the conversation. "Enjoy." And they did. Sophie was blown away by the array of fresh seafood, some warm and some cold, all served with dips and bread. It was delicious, and she sampled a little of everything as Lucien explained how he'd had the lodge designed and built five years back. "Why here?" she asked, as he topped up her wine glass with crisp, chilled Chablis. "Why Norway? It seems such an unusual choice." "Where would you expect?" Sophie shrugged. "I don't know. If I could choose anywhere, I’d probably go for somewhere with sunshine." "We have sunshine in Norway." Lucien gestured towards the window and the undeniable gleam of sunlight off the fjord. "We?" Lucien paused momentarily. "We. They. What difference does it make?" "Nothing, really... you just sounded… territorial." Lucien swirled his wine around in his glass, and his downward glance felt like the curtain falling on the conversation. It was too late though. Sophie suddenly knew exactly why here, why Norway. This was more than a holiday home for Lucien. This was his homeland. Lucien glanced at her empty plate and finished his wine. "Come on. I'll show you outside." Sophie snuggled deeper into her coat, Lucien's black scarf wrapped around her neck as he took her hand and led her around the outside of the cabin. She was utterly smitten with the majesty of the mountains, and breathed in deeply to fill her lungs with invigorating air. Her earlier realisation about Lucien's heritage seemed so obvious in retrospect, he looked every inch a proud Norwegian now she'd made the connection. He was the most enigmatic man she'd ever met. On the one hand he was a Thor-like sex warrior, perfectly at home slinking around the debaucherous outposts of his commercial empire, and on the other hand he was a man who craved his solitude and privacy and loved this rare and extra-ordinary setting. It was a heady combination, and it left Sophie wanting very much to know the roots of this man who existed between the two extremes. "And this is the jacuzzi." Lucien's words broke her reverie, and she refocused on the wrap-around deck that surrounded the cabin. They were at the back of the lodge now, facing directly out over the lake and distant mountains. A large, steaming hot tub squatted square in front of her, and a smile of pure bliss touched her lips at the idea of climbing into the warm bubbles and looking out at that view. Lucien splayed his hands to the side, obviously especially proud of this extra special touch. "Fancy a dip?" she asked, saucily echoing the question he'd asked her back in the Gateway Club. "Maybe later." "Touché." Sophie trailed her fingers in the warm water.

"I can't anyway. I didn't bring a bikini." Lucien rolled his eyes. "As if I’d let you wear one." He pressed a button and the jacuzzi stopped bubbling. "Until tonight." The sudden silence on the deck was deafening. "Let's go inside." Lucien took her still damp hand in his own warm one. "There's something we need to do."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Back in the lounge, Sophie was gladdened to see the freshly laid fire crackling in the fireplace. The air outside held a wintry nip, and she kicked off her shoes and moved to stand in front of the flames to warm her bottom. Lucien shrugged out of his jacket and crossed to stand in front of her to unwind her scarf, then unbuttoned her coat and eased it down her arms. Despite the loss of a layer, Sophie felt warmer rather than chilled, a combination of the effect of the fire and the heat of desire that always found her when she looked at this man. "The staff have all gone home." He stroked a fingertip over her collarbone. The meaning behind his words was clear. We're alone here, we can do whatever we like. The fire that warmed her backside was nothing to the blaze his words sparked in her belly. Lucien's eyes slid over her shoulder, and without turning around she knew what he was looking at. The acorn. His eyes moved back to hers, a glint of amusement in them as he ran a hand behind her and fondled her bottom. "Now strip off and bend over." Sophie's eyes widened in alarm, but Lucien shook his head. "I'm joking, Sophie." His hand still stroked her denim-clad backside. "Haven't you learned yet to trust me?" His other hand moved to play with the top button of her blouse. "By the time we get around to using that acorn, you'll be begging for it." Sophie's gaze lingered on his mouth. She didn't doubt him for a second. His lips parted a little, and she leaned in close. Nose to nose, breath to breath, until she watched his eyelids drift down a second before his mouth touched hers. Desire coursed through her as he took his own sweet time with the kiss, his hands stroking her body as his tongue danced a slow tango with hers. Sophie felt her nipples peak as his palms brushed her breasts, and she reached for her buttons to remove the barriers of clothing. She wanted his hands on her skin. "Too warm, Ms. Black?" Lucien helped her off with her blouse and shed his shirt too, then paused to run a finger down the strap of her lace bra. "Shall I take this off too?" Sophie got the distinct impression that the question did not require much of an answer, but she played along. "I am still rather hot," she supplied, and all but batted her eyelids. Lucien unsnapped it in one assured flick. "Better?" He slid the straps down her arms, leaving her naked from the waist up. "I've decided you can keep the blushing," Lucien said. "You’re more like a ripe peach than ever. Creamy flesh..." his fingers drifted down her throat and arrived at her nipple. "And rose pink just here." He circled his thumb around it. "And here." His other hand touched her other nipple, and he played with them delicately. Sophie watched him, getting a kick out of the carnal pleasure in his eyes as he looked at her body. And then her eyes roved down the cords of his neck, over the beautiful definition of his shoulders and the granite contours of his abdominal muscles, and it was her turn to be seduced. He was eye-wateringly sexy, and her fingers found the top button of his jeans all of their own accord. She flicked her eyes back to his face and saw him appraise the situation, then he reached for her jeans and mirrored her action. She freed his second metal stud from its buttonhole, and Lucien did the same with the slightest flick of his eyebrows. When she popped the third she knew what to expect, and seconds later they helped each other out of their jeans. Lucien went the whole way and shed his underwear at the same time, and even though she'd

seen it before, Sophie swallowed hard at the sight of his cock. He was rigid and ready, as she'd known he would be. Was he ever anything else? She left only her little black knickers on, as much for the thrill of having Lucien remove them as out of modesty. "Do you need a little help with these?" Lucien's thumbs slid under the sides of them. Sophie nodded and chewed her lip. "I think I might." He ran his hands over the material, smooth over her bottom, exploring between her legs. Sophie closed her eyes and willed him to take them off, yet he seemed in no hurry. Her eyes flew open in surprise when he placed one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back and swept her off her feet into his arms. It was so entirely primeval, and so entirely sexy to find herself held against his chest, that she looped her arms around his neck and clung on. He held her as if she weighed nothing but air, and for a second she felt every inch the damsel in distress being rescued from disaster or the jaws of a dragon. Except no disaster movie she'd ever seen featured the hero stark naked with the head of his erection skimming the damsel's backside. His mouth was a temptation, right there and ripe when she tilted her face up. She tightened her arms around his neck and pulled his kiss to her, a gentle, slow graze of his mouth that left her wanting, a languid hint of tongue that sent her reeling. Her fingers crept into his hair and held his mouth to hers, and she shifted in his arms to feel his cock rub against her bottom a little more. It was a prelude, and already he had her gagging for the main event. He eased down onto his knees and laid her on the huge sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace. She wriggled her back against the soft sensation. Lucien turned briefly to the large coffee table and opened the drawer underneath to extract something. When he turned back, Sophie saw it was a little bottle. "Turn over." She sat up, then paused, as his cock was right there and irresistible. She dipped her head and licked him, then slid her mouth over him and took his length into her mouth. He groaned in appreciation, rocked his hips and stroked a hand over her hair. She felt him grow harder still, and then he wound her hair around his fingers and eased her head off him. "Not yet, Princess." He leaned down and kissed her disappointment away, then released her hair down her back. "Lie down and turn over." Sophie dropped back onto the rug and flipped over onto her front, her hands a pillow beneath her forehead and the heat of anticipation between her legs. Lucien brushed a fleeting kiss against the small of her back, then moved to straddle her thighs. As he settled, the tip of his erection nudged against her silkcovered backside, a reminder of what was to come. Droplets of massage oil dripped one, two, three, down her spine, and then the same drip, drip, drip was over her shoulder blades. The lush scent of orange blossom tinged the air as Lucien placed the small glass bottle on the floor near to her face, and Sophie’s eyes wandered over the black label. Neroli Sensual Massage Oil. The now familiar silver Knight Inc. logo was discreetly imprinted across the bottom, a tiny shining star over the 'i' in the name. In his name. Lucien Knight, the man behind the logo, and at that moment the man behind Sophie. His hands swept down her back, making long, sure strokes to work the oil across her skin. He was feather light across her shoulders, and his thumbs rolled in rhythm up each bump of her spine, then back down again one by one to the top of her knickers. He hitched them down so they lay across the tops of her thighs, and Sophie instinctively wiggled her bared bottom. The act of having her flesh exposed felt far more indecent than simply being naked. Lucien's warm, slippery palms closed over her buttocks and squeezed, his thumbs sinful as they slid

inside the seam with every new contraction of his fingers. Each time he passed over the tight little entrance he paused for a breath, and Sophie held hers. Each time he moved on she released the breath, for the most part in relief, and a tiny part in regret. The knowledge sat between them that he intended to use the butt plug at some point before nightfall and it had her on edge, waiting, half anxious, half excited. He applied a tiny amount of pressure with his thumb on the next pass, and she tensed, gasped a little. In response Lucien leaned his head down and nuzzled her neck, his breath a warm tickle against her ear. "Relax, Sophie." His chest blanketed her back, his hand still on her bottom. The fire had her warm all over, and his body was slick on hers thanks to the neroli oil. "It's not time yet." His thumb traced slow, secret circles as his teeth grazed her ear. "But you like this, don't you?" Sophie closed her eyes, breathed in deeply through her nose, and nodded. She did. She really, really did. "Good." She heard rather than saw his smile. He shifted his hand a little, replacing his thumb with his index finger. Sophie moved against his hand. The flat of his thumb had felt sensual. The pad of his crooked index finger felt predatory as he stroked her, his touch more purposeful. "You've tensed again." He kissed the nape of her neck. "Remember back to the club, Sophie. In the cinema?" Sophie remembered it in glorious technicolour, and yes, she remembered how his finger inside her backside had made her come. But this was different. That had been quick and dirty. This was slow and sensual, and the anticipation of the silver acorn had her gasping as Lucien pushed his finger just inside her, a gentle preamble. His lips trailed her shoulder as he slid his finger out again, and then in a little bit further second time around. He had her, and he knew it. She felt him laugh softly against her neck when she pushed her bottom upwards, an instinctive attempt to make herself more available to his touch. He gave her what she craved, pushed deeper into her and crooked his finger a little. "You have no idea how much I’d like to fuck you here," he whispered, his mouth hot on her neck. If he had sheathed himself and done exactly that, Sophie wouldn't have stopped him. His fingers were magic, and she was under his spell completely. But he didn't. He eased his finger out instead and sat up. "Turn over." He pulled her knickers down her legs and flung them aside, then straddled her thighs again. Sophie sucked in warm air as she looked up at him, big and bronze in the golden firelight. His thighs held hers closed, and his erection rested against her hip. His eyes moved over her and lingered on her breasts. "You're very beautiful." Compliments were thin on the ground in her everyday life, and Sophie usually found them hard to accept, but in that moment she had no doubt about Lucien's sincerity. His eyes told her anyway, without the need for words. He tipped a little more neroli oil into his hands and rubbed them together, then cupped his hands over her shoulders and massaged them lightly. His erection pressed against her stomach as he leaned forward, and Sophie sighed with pleasure. It was beyond sensual, being naked and warm here with his oiled hands on her body. He took his time, sliding his hands down the lengths of her arms, transferring the oil all the way to her fingertips. Her fingers curled around his, and he squeezed them lightly before moving his hands to span her ribcage. Sophie closed her eyes and let her emotions wash over her. Peace. Desire. Gratitude. Passion. Contentment. And then Lucien's hands moved down to massage the apex at the top of her legs, and the only emotion there was room for was desire.

Lucien cupped her sex and worked an oiled finger inside her lips. Jesus, she felt good. Hot, and wet for him already. Sophie seemed to have no idea just how sexy she was, especially times like this when she gave up her inhibitions and just let go. Her body gleamed in the golden light from the fire and her clitoris blossomed as he ran his finger down the length of her sex. Her breath quickened to shallow, as did his when she sunk her teeth into the side of her hand to stop herself from crying out. He leaned in and sucked her candy pink nipples in turn, gratified by the way her fingers delved into his hair and raked his scalp. He leaned back again, one hand still between her legs, the softness of her breast in the other. Watching her give in to her body's desires was just about the sexiest thing he'd ever seen, far better than porn made for the purpose. She was all curves and softness, and every time he touched her clitoris her thighs pressed against his as she tried to open her legs. He could so easily let her come right now, but he didn't. His eyes slid from Sophie to the silver acorn on the mantel. The next time Sophie orgasmed, it would be nestled in her bottom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Sophie opened her eyes when Lucien eased his hands and his weight off her. Come back! Her body thrummed, right on the edge of orgasm, desperate for him. He stood up. From her vantage point on the floor, he looked huge towering over her. She pushed herself up on her elbows, and reached for his hand when he held it out to pull her up. If he wanted her to stand up, she had no objections. If he'd told her to do five laps of the building naked, she would have done, utterly in his thrall now. But that was clearly not what he had in mind, so instead, she wrapped her arm around his waist and circled his cock with her other hand, her head laid against his chest as he reached for the silver acorn. He braced his arm against the mantel as she stroked his shaft, her hands still slick with oil he'd massaged into them. His heart hammered faster against her ear, and she turned her face into him and mouthed his nipple. His arms folded around her, and this time when he lifted her off the ground his hands cupped her bottom, and she could feel the cold steel base of the butt plug against her cheek. There was no room for fear, white hot desire eclipsed it. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, and Lucien held her close and kissed her deeply. Sophie opened her mouth to his tongue, lost in the intensity of being held, of being adored. He carried her across the room and sat down on a straight backed wooden chair by the windows. "Tell me you have a condom in your hand," she whispered, and rocked her body against his hard cock. "I want you inside me." Lucien opened his hand to show her the items he'd collected from the mantelpiece. A condom, a little pump of lube, and the silver butt plug. "Wrap your legs around the chair. I want to touch your beautiful arse." Sophie's lust spiralled as she obeyed his softly spoken demand, the wooden struts of the chair hard anchors against the back of her knees. She was spread for him, and he pumped a little lube on his fingers and placed the things in his hands on the low ledge behind him. His eyes locked on hers. "I'm going to touch you everywhere." His hands moved down her body. They lingered on her breasts, brushed her stomach, and then settled beneath her spread sex, one arm behind her, one in front as she rested over his thighs. For a few long seconds he held perfectly still, and Sophie stopped breathing. She couldn't get her breath out past the heavy weight of anticipation. He made her wait with his eyes and his body, and then his fingers all touched her at once. It was a sensory assault. Firm, massaging, sliding in and out and up and down, slippery with lube and Sophie's juices. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders and leaned her forehead against his, her eyes on his cock as he pushed two fingers inside her. His other hand smoothed up and down the crevice of her bottom, massaging lube over her tender skin. He was beyond good at this stuff. He'd taken her from feeling fearful to wanting him to push his finger in, to wanting to know how good that silver acorn was going to feel. She reached down onto the ledge and pumped lube onto her own fingers. He'd played it so cool, so in control. She wanted to push him a little, to give something back for the riot of feelings he'd unleashed in her. When she closed her hand around his firm cock he dragged air down sharply into his chest, and at the same time he pushed his finger deeper into her bottom. His hands were everywhere, filling her up as she pumped his lube-slippery shaft. Jesus, she wanted him inside her. He tipped his head back in pure pleasure for a second, and the cords of his neck glistened with a sheen

of sweat. Christ. He was her perfect Diet Coke man, and she couldn't resist leaning in and licking the hollow at the base of his neck. She felt rather than heard the low rumble in his throat, then he tipped his head down and kissed her, his tongue hot and searching in her mouth. "Pass it to me, Princess." She had no need to ask what he meant. His finger still slipped slowly in and out of her bottom as she reached for it. "And the lube." The acorn was heavy in her hand, plum-sized and cool. She raised her eyes to his, unsure what to do next and utterly distracted by his gentle fingers in her bottom. "Lube it in your hands." They both looked down as she followed his instructions. "Slide your fingers around it." He eased his hand from between their bodies and covered her slippery fingers with his own. "Make it warm." Sophie's heart beat hard against her breastbone. The silver acorn slid around in their hands as he took it from her, and he kissed her mouth slowly and moved his hand away from her bottom to gather her against him, skin to skin. His tenderness melted away any lingering echoes of anxiety, and when he touched the solid tip of the acorn against her bottom... she was ready.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Lucien held Sophie in his arms and willed himself to go slowly, to give her the very best of this new experience. She'd handed him her trust, and unlike her fuckwitted husband, he wasn't going to break it. Her skin was warm silk in his hands, and her tongue stroked over his. She was so much more bold now, and her burgeoning courage moved him in a way very few things ever had. He could feel the tremble in her body as he touched the tip of the acorn against her bottom. She was slick with lube and her own excitement, he knew the acorn would slide inside her if she just relaxed and let it in. "I wish it was my cock right here," he said as he worked the tip of the acorn inside her. She tensed, and then slowly relaxed her muscles. "That's it, Princess... let it in..." Sophie's eyebrows furrowed over her squeezed shut eyes, and her teeth sank into her bottom lip. He nuzzled the tender spot beneath her ear, giving her time to get used to the new sensation. "More?" She rolled her hips gently and nodded, and he touched his lips against her eyelids as he pushed the acorn deeper inside. When she took the widest part her she cried out, and he gentled her with his mouth over hers. "Feel it Sophie, full and solid inside you." She was panting, and he was finding it almost as hard to breathe himself. His cock strained to be buried inside her, but this moment was all for her, not him. Sophie opened her eyes wide and stared into Lucien's, the butt plug buried to its flared ends in her bottom. She wanted to say something, to tell him how intense the acorn felt nestled inside her, but she couldn't find the words. She felt full, and filthy, and euphoric. Lucien's hands curled around her waist. "Stand up." His hands urged her up, so she stood. He did the same and fondled her bottom. "This feels fucking amazing," he said, as he rocked the curved metal end of the butt plug. Sophie gasped and arched into the additional pressure. He was right. It felt even more amazing for her. "Now sit on the chair." She looked down at the hard wooden seat of the chair, then uncertainly back up at Lucien. Trust me, he’d said. She closed her eyes as her bottom made contact with the unyielding chair, and the pressure inside her increased ten fold as the plug pushed against her vagina. Lucien dropped onto his knees and parted her legs, and then, with a speed that took her breath away, he ducked down and sucked her clitoris into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over her, and Sophie gasped and pushed her feet down hard onto the floor in erotic shock as a sudden and intense orgasm ricocheted through her body. "Oh Jesus... Lucien..." Sophie clutched his shoulders as her muscles contracted. Her entire body throbbed, and her muscles tightened deliciously around the acorn. Every sensation was magnified. Every wave of her orgasm became more intense with the new fullness. He slid up her body and kissed her hard, the taste of her sex on his lips, her body still pulsing with pleasure. She reached down behind her on the ledge for the condom, crazy with need for him. "Fuck me, Lucien." He took the silver foil from her fingers, his eyes blue-black with lust. "Get on your knees, Sophie. I want to look at your beautiful arse when I screw you." Sophie dissolved into him as he pulled her down to the floor. Lucien had tapped deep into the essence of her womanhood in a way Dan had never dug deep enough to discover. He made her feel more intensely female than ever before, more sexy, more aware of what she wanted and of what she had to give. He wanted her from behind. She wanted him to take her from behind. But she wanted it her way, and she

felt confident enough to take the reins for a moment, certain that he’d be even more turned on if she did. She was on all fours, and as she crawled the few feet to the grey velvet couch, the butt plug moved inside her, a filthy thrill that caught her by surprise and made her gasp. When she reached the sofa she turned and threw a wantonly inviting glance over her shoulder at Lucien, then turned back to rest her elbows on the sofa and rounded her bottom provocatively out at him. “That’s a mighty fine view, Ms.Black.” He was behind her and kissing the cheeks of her ass in seconds, his mouth hot and his tongue wet as it trailed around the butt plug. Sophie sucked in air as she heard the tell-tale rip of foil, and his fingers moved forwards to caress between her legs. Yes, God, yes. She was open and desperate for him, and she cried out with pleasure when he finally pushed himself inside her. Slow and easy, he instinctively took his time as he introduced her to yet another new experience, and any lingering fear melted away as the incredible sensations took over. Jesus. He pulled back slowly, and then rocked into her until his hips touched her body. He was so deep inside that she could feel his cock push against the butt plug. Ecstasy had her trembling, instantly on the edge of coming again, closer with every satisfying thud of Lucien's body into hers. His fingers were everywhere... putting gentle pressure on the plug in rhythm with each plunge of his cock... stroking her clitoris, making her whimper with the need for release... tightening in her hair as he neared orgasm himself and banged her harder, faster. Sophie's orgasm began in her fingertips and toes, violent volts of pleasure so intense that she physically jolted and screamed out as it engulfed her. Lucien wound her hair around his hand and pulled her head back, and she slammed herself harder onto his pumping cock until his orgasm ripped out of him; long, pulsating and powerful. Sophie sagged down onto the sofa, exhausted, Lucien's hands gentle now on her hips. He eased out of her as her breathing slowed, then pulled her up with him onto the pillowy depths of the sofa. She was boneless, spent - half way to sleep already, as he tucked her into the crook of his arm and tugged a fur throw off the back of the sofa to nestle around them. It was utter bliss. She sank into the warm circle of his arms and closed her eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Darkness had fallen when Sophie opened her eyes again, and firelight filled the room with dancing golden shadows. She was incredibly comfortable, cocooned in fur, and a small but delicious stretch confirmed that the acorn was still tucked inside her. Where was Lucien? She propped herself up on one elbow and glanced around the empty room. Their clothes were still on the floor, and the little glass bottle of neroli oil sat on the coffee table. A crumb trail to the most sensational sex of her life, right there. The door opened and Lucien appeared with two steaming mugs in his hands. "I was just about to wake you. Do you always sleep so soundly after sex?" Sophie pulled herself up to sitting and tucked the blanket underneath her armpits. The hot mug Lucien handed her was topped with cream and chocolate shavings, and delicious wafts of alcohol-laced hot chocolate filled her nostrils. "You exhausted me." She dipped her finger into the cream and sucked it. "Naturally," Lucien shrugged. He was wearing his battered jeans and nothing else, and Sophie admired the way the firelight enhanced the lean muscles across his shoulders. Why her? He was a man who could take his pick, so quite why he had zeroed in on her was a mystery she wasn't brave enough to try to solve. Was it just that she had wandered into his main beam? The idea that whoever had landed the job as his PA would be here right now flitted into her mind, but she dismissed it. Whatever else Lucien might be, he didn't seem the kind of guy to just fuck for the sake of it. For pleasure, certainly, but just because there was a woman around him whom he hadn't had yet? No. She wasn't harbouring romantic hopes or feelings of love, but they had an undeniable connection that was more than just physical. Sex with Lucien was... immersion. She felt saturated in him, drenched to the skin with lust whenever he touched her. He was touching her now, massaging her ankle as he sat down on the end of the sofa with his mug in his hand. Sophie sipped her steaming chocolate and watched the fire. When his hand moved a little higher to rub her calf muscle, she stretched her leg out onto his lap. "Thank you," she said, softly. Lucien turned to study her. "For what?" She inclined her head, encompassing the room, the moment, the setting beyond the dark windows. "For this. For here." Lucien stroked the tender skin at the back of her knee. "It's my pleasure. And yours too, if I’m not mistaken." She sipped her chocolate, the brandy in it strong and fortifying. "I've never known pleasure like this." "Good." He nodded. "As it should be." His eyes didn't meet hers as he massaged her knee absently, and for a few quiet minutes he seemed a world away. "Drink up. There's something you should see." Sophie stood on the deck overlooking the fjord, her head tipped back to the skies in wonder. Wrapped in the fur blanket to protect her from the cold air, the only thing she noticed was the astral majesty overhead. The dark night sky was alive with magical streaks of colour. Ethereal white wisps sprinkled with pink glitter swirled around luminous green ghost dancers, great streaks of light that bubbled and rolled as if being stirred from above by an invisible witch. It was easily the most stunning thing Sophie had ever seen.

"Wow," she whispered. It was inadequate, but the sight left her almost speechless. "Wow." "Pretty special, huh?" Sophie wanted to answer him, but found she couldn't. Standing there beneath nature's glorious slideshow, words failed her. This world was so far from her own, a bigger, better place where unfaithful husbands and broken marriages didn't matter. These vast, rolling skies reached out and touched her heart, performing their graceful dance just for her. She didn't realise that there were tears on her face until she tasted salt on her lips. Finally, she turned to Lucien behind her. "Is it always like this?" He shook his head. "This is quite early in the year for us. The nights are drawing in fast here now, we only see the Aurora in the colder months." Sophie looked up again, eager to see more, then looked back down as a whirring noise started up behind her. The previously still waters of the jacuzzi had fizzed into life, the warm, steaming bubbles lit by underwater illuminations reminiscent of the skies above. Lucien stood beside it, a bottle of champagne and two glasses in his spread hands. It was an invitation that no woman could refuse. A beautiful man, and a warm jacuzzi beneath skies painted with an ever-changing palette by Mother Nature’s paintbrush. Already bathed in a heady sense of liberation, Sophie let the fur blanket fall to the floor and walked across the deck towards him. Lucien watched Sophie cross towards him, naked and free, perfectly framed by the mountains and the neon-flashed skies behind her. She reminded him of a mystical nymph, as if she'd just walked out of the waters of the fjord and onto his deck. A living fantasy. She had no inkling of how glorious she was - and how much more so now that she had shaken off the grey shroud of unhappiness that she'd worn around her shoulders like an invisible cloak the first time she'd walked into his office. He had her for one more day, and he was going to make every second count. Sophie sank into the heavenly bubbles as Lucien stripped off his jeans. He looked so perfectly at home in the nude, it was his default setting. She settled onto the dipped seat beneath the water, reminded again of the butt plug’s presence as it moved a little deeper inside her. She fidgeted, enjoying the dark new sensation of fullness, the way it pressed against the back of her vagina. It was no-hands foreplay, made all the more sexy by the fact that the look in Lucien’s perceptive eyes told her that he knew exactly what she was feeling. As the tingle of sexual excitement began again, Sophie marvelled at how her body continually craved more of this man. He made her insatiable. “So, tell me. What do you think of the acorn?” His fingers slid lightly over the back of Sophie’s neck as he settled into the warmth of the water alongside her. Sophie wriggled in her seat, hyper-aware of his touch and the warm jets of water bubbling underneath her. When she moved, it sprayed directly between her thighs, and she couldn’t help but spread her legs a little. It felt so damn good, like a secret, intimate massage. She moved again and the water pummelled her clitoris. Lucien licked her ear, his fingers playing idly with her stiff nipples. His open mouth slid down her neck. “Just let it happen.” Sophie closed her eyes as Lucien stretched behind her and powered up the intensity of the jets. Jesus. The anticipation of her climax tightened her body. She dropped her head back on Lucien’s arm, enjoying his hands over her breasts as she built towards the release only an orgasm could give her. She rocked her body in the seat, restlessly searching for enough intensity to push her over the edge. The butt plug moved inside her, a sexy fullness that was all the more delicious for still being unfamiliar. Lucien met her gaze and held it, then ran his tongue over his slightly parted lips. It was all it took.

Sophie moaned softly as she came hard and fast, ecstasy all the more intense for sharing it eye to eye with Lucien. He moved in close and kissed her, slow and open mouthed as her body softened from taut to relaxed in his arms. Sophie closed her eyes and surrendered to the sensations. The ripples and bubbles of the warm water. The stroke of Lucien’s tongue in her mouth, and the rhythmic pressure of his thumb, back and forth over her ribcage. The feeling of her hammering heart slowing in her chest as her body settled against his. The kaleidoscope skies that would be there when she opened her eyes and looked up. It was a fairy tale, albeit a very grown up one. A fantasy, maybe. Not real life, anyway. Sophie couldn’t imagine how her old life could possibly still be waiting for her in the UK, a comfortable pair of slippers compared to the sexy stiletto lifestyle she’d led at Lucien’s side this past week. Much as she didn’t want them to, the bony fingers of reality poked at her, sharp digs that made her sigh heavily. She opened her eyes and found him watching her. “What am I doing here, Lucien? I don’t recognise my own life any more.” “Is that a bad thing?” Sophie twisted her damp hair into a rope over one shoulder. “This week has been…” She cast around for the words to sum up what a cataclysmic shift the past week had been for her. “It’s been amazing, but I have to go home and face reality on Sunday.” Lucien twirled the coil of her hair around his own hand. “You do. But at least you know that there are other options now.” “Are there, really?” She searched his open expression for answers. “How can I carry on working for you after this?” She gazed around at the celestial beauty overhead, and the shadowy mountain ranges. “This is your world, Lucien. It’s real to you. For me, it’s a one week fantasy.” “Only if you want it to be. I still need a PA, Sophie, and you’re shaping up to be pretty good at it.” “I’ve barely done any work,” she pointed out softly. “On the contrary. You’ve exceeded my expectations by quite some way.” Lucien’s eyes glinted with amusement at her as he uncorked the champagne and poured it. “Was this always your plan?” she asked. “Did you employ me because you saw me as a bored wife ready to stray?” He laughed low in his throat and laid his head back on the ledge of the jacuzzi, his eyes on the moving skies. “No. I employed you because you kiss envelopes before you mail them, and because you surprised me.” He paused and closed his eyes. “I like people who surprise me.” Sophie frowned at his profile, aware that she knew practically nothing about this enigmatic man. With his eyes hidden and his head tipped back, he looked thoroughly relaxed, at one with his surroundings. But then again, that wasn’t all that surprising if her hunch about him was right. “Why Norway, Lucien?” Her fingertips trailed over the defined curve of his shoulder as she sipped her champagne. “Why not here? I like the privacy.” The imperceptible tightening of his jaw belied the lightness of his tone. “It is gorgeous,” Sophie murmured. “But is there more to it than that?” “What are you asking, Sophie?” Lucien opened his eyes and met her direct gaze. “Is this place home for you? I mean… did you grow up here?” Lucien took a long drink from his champagne flute then placed it down with deliberate care. “I left Norway on my eighteenth birthday. London is my home now.” Sophie wished he’d look at her, but his eyes were trained on the scrolling skies. She’d already sensed that this place, this country - both were integral to the man he was, but she couldn’t work out his feelings for it. He had this beautiful home here, so surely he had to be fond of it, yet there was a toughness to his

stance and a steel to the set of his jaw that suggested otherwise. “Do you miss it when you’re in the UK?” Sophie assumed he must. It was way too beautiful not to. Lucien reached for the champagne bottle. “I didn’t, not for a long time.” “So what changed?” “I did, I suppose.” He shrugged non-committally. “I grew up.” “So I guess you must have family here? Parents, brothers and sisters…will you visit them while you’re here?” She trailed off uncertainly, aware that she was pushing him for information he wasn’t necessarily willing to share. “No. This visit was only ever about fucking you.” Sophie shook her head and laughed lightly, despite the fact that he was blatantly trying to throw the conversation off course. “We could have done that back home.” “Yes, but here you can’t escape me.” “Who said I’d want to?” “I do. You’re still that good girl deep down, Sophie. Home would have pulled you back to it every moment. Here you’re free to be the person you want to be, the amazing woman you can be.” Sophie nodded slowly. His reasoning was sound. Being here had severed her attachments to home - at least for the present - and absence had not made her heart grow fonder. “It’s all still there waiting for me though.” She sighed heavily. “What am I going to do about everything, Lucien?” “What do you want to do?” Sophie exhaled slowly and shook her head, her mind far away in the UK. “I don’t know. I have to talk to Dan I guess, about his affair, and now about my affair.” Lucien’s mouth twisted to one side. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you are the same as he is, Sophie. If he’d been a real husband, you wouldn’t be here now.” “How can you know that?” “Because you’re soft, and kind, and good. All the things he isn’t.” Sophie registered each compliment, but she didn’t feel any of those things. She was an adulterous cheat, every bit as much as Dan. “You don’t know him, Lucien… he’s not a bad person.” Lucien shrugged. “I don’t need to know him to understand him.” Sophie reached for her glass and swallowed a big gulp of champagne, but the sparkling wine and dazzling views couldn’t calm the swirl of emotions inside her. Lucien looked at Sophie’s profile, at the dejected set of her mouth, and that same dull, haunted expression in her eyes that he’d seen the first time he’d met her. Just talking about her husband had been enough to instantly paint shadows on her face. What was seeing him again going to do? What was hearing his confession of an affair spanning more than two years going to do? The only thing he wanted to do right at that moment was put the sparkle back in her eyes. He reached out and topped up her glass, then slipped under the bubbling water and resurfaced on his knees face to face with her. “I think it’s time I removed that acorn for you.” Unshed tears still glittered on her eyelashes, but a trembling laugh bubbled from her throat at the broken tension. He could see her turmoil, and he could feel her fear, and he just wanted to make her stronger, tougher and ready to fight. If it was up to him, he’d have had her husband taken care of, one way or another, and be done with it – and he could have made it happen - but he knew that that wasn’t the type of

resolution Sophie wanted. Her nipples bobbed rosy and pert in front of him, and he dipped his head to take one into his mouth. Christ, she was sexy. He rolled his tongue around the pink nub, enjoying her gratified moan when he closed his lips over it and sucked. His cock stiffened as her nipple turned to rock in his mouth, taut and straining for more attention from his flickering tongue. When he glanced up, he found her eyes closed, damp tears on her cheeks and her lower lip snagged behind her teeth. She looked trapped somewhere between rapture and despair, and he needed to tip the scales in the right direction. He moved up her body and covered her mouth with his own, a slow kiss designed to chase the lingering demons from her mind. From the way her tongue responded to his and her hands crept into his hair, he knew he’d succeeded. She arched into him now, her breasts against his chest, his cock between her legs. It was all about her. About making her feel wanted, about making her eyes shine with satisfaction instead of tears. When she rocked her hips forwards and invited him inside, Lucien accepted without thought or question. He cradled her body in his arms and thrust slowly, feeling her tightness enfold every inch of him. She closed her eyes, and he kissed them. Sophie’s body flowed around him like silk, and it didn’t feel like fucking. It felt like connecting, and soothing, and like other feelings that he didn’t care to give a name to. He slipped his arms around her body under the water as he sensed the beginnings of her orgasm, and as she came he stood and thrust hard, his deft fingers massaging the acorn inside her. Lucien lost control as Sophie’s hips ground hard against his, as the frantic, erotic pulse of her orgasm around his cock had him coming with her. Water cascaded from their hot bodies as they stilled, and Lucien gently eased the acorn out of her splayed bottom. Sophie buried her face in his neck, exhausted, and for a few seconds, Lucien just held her warmth close against his and watched the light show overhead. He wasn’t a man given to romance, but the perfect weight of this woman in his arms and the majesty of the skies above them filled him with an unexpected sense of peace. Moments later he carried her through the quiet rooms of his home with her head on his shoulder, and by the time he lowered her down onto the bed, she was asleep, tear tracks still just visible on her cooling pink cheeks. When he brushed a blonde strand of hair out of her eyes she sighed and turned her face into his palm, looking for comfort in his touch even as she slept. Long buried emotions forced their way to the surface as he curled around her and spooned her body into his. Comfort, sweeter than he’d ever found from a woman’s touch. Fear, spikier than he’d felt for anyone since the day his mother had died. Anger, sharper than he’d sensed it since the last time he’d laid eyes on his father. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of the man whose actions had driven his mother to her death. How dare Sophie’s husband push her to this? How could he put her at risk for the sake of a cheap thrill? As Sophie’s husband and Lucien’s father meshed together in his mind, he tightened his hold around her pliant, sleeping form. The quilt settled soft and warm over their shoulders, and he fought to match his heartbeat to her slow, steady breathing pattern. There was only one thought in his mind as sleep claimed him. He would protect this woman. He wouldn’t fail again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Sophie opened her eyes in the half-light of early morning, disorientated by the unfamiliar bed linen and the unfamiliar man sleeping beside her. With one arm flung over his head and the other splayed out to the side, Lucien was utterly peaceful, quite the opposite of his wakeful state. She watched him for a while, trying not to let guilt and dread impinge on the tranquillity of the silent Norwegian dawn. It was something she was never likely to see again. After today, she’d never wake up next to Lucien Knight again. Real life seemed a world away, but within twenty-four hours she’d be back in her own little house with her own big problems. She closed her eyes for a minute and breathed deeply, then opened them again slowly. She was ready. Now fully awake and resolved to make the very best of the day, she slid out of bed and into the white towelling robe that hung on a hook on the back of the door, then headed downstairs in search of coffee. Twenty minutes later, Lucien found her sitting on the deck with a fur blanket around her shoulders and a steaming mug of coffee cradled in her hands. “You’re up early.” His breath crystallised in the cold morning air. Sophie nodded and reached for the cafetière and extra mug she’d prepared for him. He looked lethally gorgeous in black lounge pants and nothing else, the tight buds of his nipples the only indication that he felt the chill on his sculpted body. “Coffee?” “Swim?” He inclined his head towards the still, glittering waters of the fjord. “Are you kidding? It’s freezing out here.” In answer, he dropped his lounge pants and stood naked on the deck. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Sophie stared at him, dry mouthed with surprise and lust at the sight of him naked. His cock sprang to attention despite the temperature. She was fast learning that it always did. She ran her tongue over her lips, and Lucien’s appreciative eyes flickered, assessing her reaction. “Hold that thought, Ms. Black.” He turned and strode out on the small jetty that butted into the water from the decking, giving Sophie the chance to admire his taut rear and the wolf lounging across his shoulder blades. Without hesitation or a backward glance, he executed a perfect dive and sliced into the icy waters of the fjord. Sophie breathed in sharply as he surfaced and shook the water from his hair, droplets shimmering all around him in the pale morning sunlight. Jesus, he was magnificent. She watched the water sluice over his muscles as he carved through it with long purposeful strokes that barely rippled the surface. When he climbed back onto the deck a few minutes later and strode towards her, Sophie was quivering in anticipation. She set her cup down, for fear of giving herself away with spilled coffee. Watching Lucien emerge from the lake deserved one hundred percent of her attention. Move over Mr. Darcy, there’s a new man in town. “Coffee?” she croaked, repeating her earlier question, now unable to look away from his fast approaching washboard midriff. In answer, he pushed the fur blanket away from her body, lifted her clean out of the chair, and threw her over his shoulder. The shock of his unexpected move made her yelp and bang her fists on his back. No! Was he going to throw her in the water?

“Lucien, put me down! I can’t swim!” She wriggled ineffectively, and he paused to lift her robe and lightly smack her naked, exposed bottom. “Behave. You’re not going in the fjord.” Sophie stilled. “Where are we going then?” Lucien’s fingers caressed where they had stung her a moment before. “Back to bed. I want you for breakfast.” After a second, more nutritionally though less sexually satisfying breakfast of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, Lucien suggested that Sophie might like to go and choose some walking boots from the boot room by the entrance door. She looked up, surprised. “Are we going out?” “You seemed captivated by the view outside earlier. I thought you might like to see it close up.” He was right; she’d been thoroughly entranced by the view, especially when it involved a soaking wet, naked Viking. She wasn’t much given to hiking, but for him, she’d give it a go. Lucien glanced at his watch and pushed his chair back. “I have a couple of business calls to attend to first, though – I’m afraid they can’t wait.” He picked up his coffee cup and pushed back his seat. As he passed her chair he leaned down and kissed her full on the lips, unhurried and laden with desire. “Dress warm, Princess,” he murmured, and her heart softened at his solicitude. “But don’t wear any knickers.” “I can’t believe how beautiful it is out here.” Sophie turned her head and shaded her eyes to watch a bird of prey swoop down to catch something it had spotted in the undergrowth. They’d been walking for a little over half an hour, and already they seemed to be in a wilderness created just for them. Vibrant, autumnal russet reds and mustard golds covered the ground of the forest they walked alongside, and across the fjord the towering, grey-granite faces of the Alps donned jaunty white snow caps against the pale blue sky. Back home in England, Sophie was accustomed to being hemmed in by the dense buildings and the bustle and traffic of city life, but out here she found she could really breathe. It was vast, and clean, and gloriously devoid of anyone but them. She snuggled her face into the soft, striped scarf she’d found in Lucien’s boot room, glad of its warmth against the chill in the air. Even under the wide, blue skies and pale, watery sunshine, there was no denying that the Arctic air held more than enough bite to turn cheeks pink and unprotected fingers cold. She’d dressed carefully, hyper-aware of Lucien’s parting words as he’d left her after breakfast. She’d deliberated over whether to defy him and wear knickers, stepping in and out of them at least twice before making her final decision. She’d settled on comfortable jeans with her favourite super-soft, slouchy, black sweater, then added a well-padded red ski jacket and winter woollies from Lucien’s boot room. She’d left her hair loose and gone for minimal makeup - the barest flick of mascara and lip-gloss. This environment screamed out for naturalness, and Sophie willingly complied. Lucien was similarly attired for the elements: he even managed to make winter-wear sexy. His faded jeans clung to his lean muscles and his black windproof jacket worked to highlight his golden skin and steel eyes. He turned to look at her. “It’s this way.” He reached for her hand and led her into the forest, leaves and twigs crackling beneath the weight of their boots. “Are we headed somewhere particular?” she asked, as they moved deeper into the canopy of the trees.

Lucien’s mouth crinkled at the edges. “Yes.” “Is it a secret?” “No.” Sophie rolled her eyes. They appeared to be playing the yes and no game. “Is this non-secret place much further?” In answer, Lucien put his hand on the small of her back and propelled her forward. Sophie found herself emerging from the cover of the trees into a circular clearing. Sunshine slanted down onto the glass-like surface of the pool at its centre, but it was the spectacular waterfall that stole Sophie’s breath away. Crystal clear, it streamed down the craggy rock face that towered along the side of the clearing, its splash a musical backing track in the otherwise silent afternoon. It was the mystical cascade from all the fairy stories she’d loved as a child; a magical, secret glade. “If Hansel and Gretel came out of the woods right now, I wouldn’t be surprised,” she murmured, enchanted. Not that there was anything childish about the man beside her, nor about the sensations happening between Sophie’s legs, thanks to the friction of jeans worn without knickers. “Nobody here but us, Princess.” Sophie accepted Lucien’s outstretched hand as he led her to the water’s edge, so clear that she could see the stones on the bottom of the pool and the tiny fish darting close to the surface. She reached down and trailed her fingers in the ice-cold water. “You’re not planning on skinny dipping again, are you?” she asked. “Because gorgeous as this is, there’s no way you’re getting me in there.” “Relax. No swimming required.” They walked around the clearing and came to a halt near the waterfall. Sophie watched it, mesmerised, but when she turned her face up to speak to Lucien, the expression on his face stole the words from her lips. He was somewhere far away from her, and wherever his memories had taken him, it wasn’t a happy place. She reached a tentative hand up to touch his cool cheek and found him as graven as the rock face behind him. “You look miles away.” His eyes were clouded with emotion when he refocused and looked down at her. “No, I was right here, just on a different day.” “This is a regular haunt of yours, then? Don’t tell me… this is where you bring all the girls?” Sophie wanted to blow away the shadows from his eyes, hoping he’d smile at her teasing. “I haven’t been up here in almost twenty years.” “A childhood hide-out, then?” She saw the shutters roll down on his emotions, and a predatory light replaced the dullness in his eyes. “Too many questions, Ms. Black.” He backed her against the nearest tree and lowered his head, his kiss hot and heavy on her lips. His tongue plunged into her mouth and flipped the kiss from sensual to sexual, and his clever fingers unwound the scarf from her neck, freeing more skin for him to stroke and kiss. Swept up in his sudden switch from contemplative to sexy, Sophie didn’t register anything unusual about the way he linked her hands together behind the tree trunk. It was only when she felt the knotted scarf tighten around her wrists that she realised what was happening. He’d tied her to the tree. An instinctive tug revealed that she was well and truly bound.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN “Would now be a good time to tell you I used to be a boy scout?” Lucien asked. Somehow, the idea didn’t ring true. “Why have you tied me to a tree?” she demanded. He plucked the woollen hat from her head and unzipped her jacket. “It’s a game.” “A game?” He nodded. “You’ll like it.” He lifted her hair so it fell behind her shoulders and kissed her exposed neck. “It’s called Let’s show Sophie how fucking beautiful she is.” Sophie’s breath caught in her throat. “Lucien…” He lifted her sweater and fresh, cold air hit her midriff, then he bent and kissed her navel and all she registered was heat. He straightened and kissed her parted lips again, leaving her breathless. “Your husband is cheating on you.” Sophie frowned, blindsided by Lucien’s strange combination of serious conversational matter with sexual stimulation. He moved her sweater higher to reveal her bra. His gaze scorched her skin even as the air cooled it. He reached out and covered her breasts with his hands. “Shall I have him killed?” He pinched her nipples, already stiffened by cold air and desire. Sophie squirmed, but the soft scarf held fast. “No!” She hoped he was joking. Was he? “Lucien, do we have to have this conversation while I’m tied to a tree?” “Yes.” He pulled down the nude-coloured lace cups of her bra and exposed her nipples. “The stupid bastard doesn’t appreciate the fact that you have perfect tits.” He lowered his head and sucked on first one nipple then the other. His hot mouth fastened hard over her, and the cold breeze on her lick-dampened flesh served only to heighten the incredible sensation. When he popped the top button of her jeans, she gasped. “Lucien, don’t. What if someone walks by?” He looked up at her from between her breasts. “They probably won’t.” “Probably isn’t good enough. Please … can’t we just …” The flustered words died on her lips when he stood and pressed his body firmly against hers and the cold material of his jacket crinkled against her skin. “If anyone came by, which they won’t, they’d be fucking lucky to see you like this. Yet another thing your husband seems to take for granted.” Even his fingers on the waistband of her jeans couldn’t take the sting out of his words about Dan, mostly because she knew he was right. “It’s complicated, Lucien.” “Why so?” His thumbs drew circles on her hipbones. “Because…” she struggled to hang onto her train of thought. “You wouldn’t understand. He’s just not like you.” She felt him exhale scornfully. “You mean he’s dull, short and wears fuck-awful suits?” Inappropriate laughter bubbled in her throat. “No, he’s none of those things. He’s …” Lucien’s fingers unpopped the last of her buttons, and the brush of his fingertips against her pubic bone rendered her speechless.

“He’s what, Sophie?” he whispered against her throat. She shrugged, pained, and excited. “I don’t know… he’s bored… with me… I guess?” Lucien swore under his breath and dragged her jeans down her hips. “Don’t justify his fucking appalling behaviour by blaming yourself.” Sophie looked down at him, shocked by the roughness in his voice and his hands, and ridiculously turned on by the lewd feeling of her jeans around her knees and the cold breeze between her legs. He leaned against her as he stood and cupped her bottom in his big, warm hands. “Why do you think he fucks someone else when he should be fucking you?” Sophie dragged cold air into her lungs, unable to breathe properly. Lucien’s words lay like acid on her heart, yet his fingers soothed away the pain of the burn. “I guess I’m just not enough for him anymore,” she whispered. It was the fear she’d kept hidden even from herself. Lucien’s game was turning out to be one with high emotional stakes, and she was pretty sure it was a game she couldn’t win. She jolted as his fingers bit into the flesh of her bottom. “Bullshit. Where’s your backbone?” He slid his arm between their bodies and touched between her legs. When his mouth covered hers, his breathing was as laboured as her own. “I’ll tell you why he does it, Sophie,” Lucien whispered as his deft fingers found her clitoris. “He does it because he can. It’s no more complicated than that.” His words were in her ears and her head, yet her mind was unable to process them over the sensations of his hand between her legs. “Monogamy isn’t natural. Not for men, anyway.” He pushed two fingers deep inside her and her knees buckled. “For women, maybe, but not for men.” He dragged his open mouth up the curve of her neck as his fingers worked between them. Sophie found she wasn’t bothered any more about the possibility of strangers discovering them in the clearing, because she so much wanted the orgasm Lucien was pushing her towards. Yet something in his words stopped her from giving herself over to it. He was wrong. After the week she’d just spent with him, she knew very well that women were every bit as capable of cheating as men. “I never thought I’d cheat, yet here I am, tied to a tree by a… a… Norwegian sex mogul.” Jeez. Where had that come from? “Sex mogul?” he muttered incredulously. He shot her a look, then shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.” He dropped to his knees and pushed his face into her sex, making Sophie moan as he flicked his tongue over her clitoris. She wanted to open her thighs wider but her jeans held her in constraint. Something about the awkwardness served only to increase the sexiness of the act, and it certainly didn’t impede Lucien’s skill or concentration. He parted her lips with his fingers and buried his tongue inside her folds, sucking and fingering her swollen clitoris until her body started to shake with pleasure. He unzipped his coat and slid up the length of her body, unbuttoning his jeans as he did so. “Sex mogul,” he repeated under his breath. “A sex mogul who’s about to fuck you.” He had his jeans down and a condom on in a matter of seconds, then positioned himself against her and thrust hard. Sophie cried out at the swift intimacy of the act, at the searing fullness of him, at the relentless friction of his cock sliding against her clitoris. It wasn’t gentle. It was pure, hard fucking, and she orgasmed with a scream almost as soon as he was inside her. Lucien’s eyes blazed bright with hot lust, and Sophie found herself desperate to hold his face in her hands, to soothe away the tension from his jaw. He pulled back. “Does it feel this good when he screws you?” His voice came out as a harsh rasp as he slammed into her, making her gasp. Sophie shook her head, unable to say out loud that no, no one in her life had ever made her feel like this. His mouth was all over hers, clashing teeth, sliding tongues, and his fingers curled possessively around her hips to hold her steady as he pumped.

“Does it?” he ground out, his eyes boring into hers. “Answer me, Sophie. Say. The. Fucking. Words.” She closed her eyes as he tipped his hips and almost lifted her feet from the forest floor, his cock deeper inside her than she’d ever experienced. Tears constricted her throat and made it difficult to speak. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t hear you.” “No. No. No!” The words wrenched from her throat, a raw, emotion-filled admission to herself and to Lucien that no, Dan never made her feel this way. That no man had ever made her feel so soaked in lust, or so filled with dark desire, or so powerful and revered and beautiful. Lucien’s animal, triumphant moan filled her ears, and in answer, a second, even more intense orgasm tightened her body. Slam. Slam. Slam. He clutched her as he came, and she bucked against the base of his shaft as her own release overcame her again in a glittering explosion of pleasure. Instantly gentle now, Lucien loosed the scarf from her hands and folded her against his chest. She wrapped her arms tightly around him inside his coat and buried her face in his neck, unsure whether he was holding her, or she was holding him. In the woods, their sex had turned primal. It had certainly brought out the beast in Lucien, brutally dragging the admissions about Dan out of her. But now it was over, Sophie found she was glad of it. He’d freed her from the fear that she’d driven Dan into the arms of another, that she just wasn’t woman enough to hold him. Lucien had made her realise that she couldn’t fix her marriage on her own, because she wasn’t the one who’d broken it in the first place. More than that, he’d let her see how much power she had within herself: that she, Sophie Black, was enough to drive a man wild. If Dan didn’t see that, then he didn’t deserve her love. She instinctively tightened her arms around Lucien, holding him in wonder for giving her the most intensely erotic sex she’d ever known, and in gratitude for giving her the confidence to step back into her old life again as a woman to be reckoned with. She didn’t pretend to understand what made Lucien tick. He might run a string of sex clubs and adult stores, but in his own way he was turning out to be just about the most moral man she’d ever met.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Back on the threshold of the lodge, Lucien was hailed by his groundsman. It was clear from his expression that he was keen to have a detailed discussion with his boss. Sophie waved Lucien away when he threw her an apologetic glance, happy to make her own way to the kitchen in search of coffee. And that is where she’d fully intended to go, at first walking straight on past the open door of Lucien’s study. But then she hesitated. It had been closed when he’d given her the guided tour and she hadn’t given it a thought, but now it stood open and there was a chance to peep behind the curtain. Lucien gave away so little of himself, yet he seemed to know so much of her. Maybe gathering a little more information, understanding a little more, would help her to see behind the façade he’d chosen to reveal. She glanced uncertainly up and down the deserted corridor, acutely aware that an open door was not necessarily an invitation to enter. Then her curiosity overcame her scruples and she stepped inside. The room was similarly furnished to the rest of the lodge, yet subtly different. More spartan, more pared down, distilled to reflect the essence of the man who used it. A large, sleek desk dominated the space, and Sophie slid into the oxblood leather swivel chair behind it to survey the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows created a glass wall looking out over the fjord, more expressive than any mural or expensive artwork could ever have been. Sophie was fast learning that this building was all about making the most of that beautiful vista: every room paid homage to the slice of alpine heaven beyond. Her eyes moved back into the confines of the study, hungry for knowledge, now that she’d allowed herself to trespass into Lucien’s sanctuary. It was bereft of ornament or art, which served only to highlight the one personal possession in the room. Sophie reached out and touched a finger against the silver frame of the large black and white photograph on Lucien’s desk, recognising straight away the unmistakable features of the blonde child with the shining eyes. He couldn’t have been more that ten in the picture, but even as a young boy, Lucien had been breathtaking. His defined cheekbones were softened by the bloom of youth, and laughter lit up the smile that cracked his face wide open. But it was the innocent look of love in his eyes that made Sophie’s heart contract with emotion. Lucien’s laughter and adoration were all directed towards the woman alongside him in the shot, her arms wound around his slender shoulders. She was elegantly dressed in black, with her blonde hair drawn away from her face. Discreet diamonds glinted in the delicate bracelet around her wrist. Her gaze was focused on Lucien as she looked down, and even without the benefit of her full features turned towards the camera it was obvious that the woman could only be Lucien’s mother. The connection between them jumped out from behind the glass, and the private joke they shared excluded the world around them. Sophie sighed at the tenderness of the picture, the unbreakable bond of love between a devoted mother and son. Holding the frame in her hands, Sophie studied the relaxed set of the boy Lucien’s shoulders and the carefree expression on his face. The man she’d come to know over the last few days was all hard angles and taut muscles, but more than that, he was all about being in control of himself and in charge of those around him. He radiated a low frequency of danger at all times, and Sophie sensed that if he needed to be, he would be utterly ruthless. What had happened to him? Where had his softness gone, the openness she saw in the picture? Sure, everyone grows up, but the child in the photograph was a world away from the man whose arms she’d just left. “What are you doing in here?”

Sophie’s head jerked up guiltily at the sound of Lucien’s carefully controlled voice from the doorway. She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard his approaching footsteps, or realised that he was at the door watching her. “I just… I wanted to…” She was thoroughly flustered, and well aware that the more she stumbled over her words, the more guilty she made herself sound. “You wanted to what, Sophie?” She hadn’t heard that tone in his voice before. Dead flat, and all the more predatory for its quietness. Sophie glanced down at the frame still in her hands, and carefully set it back on the desk. So she was in his office. It wasn’t the crime of the century, he hadn’t expressly asked her not to come in here, and she hadn’t snooped around. Not really. The photograph was easily the most arresting thing in the office: the austerity of the room seemed designed to draw the eye to it, so looking at it had been a natural response. She settled her shoulders back and met his eyes. “The door was open. I didn’t realise it was off limits.” Lucien’s unreadable gaze slid to the photograph frame, and then slowly back to Sophie. “It’s a beautiful shot,” she said softly, watching him for a reaction. Practised as he obviously was at hiding his emotions, Lucien couldn’t stop the pulse that flickered along his tense jaw, nor the way his throat moved as he swallowed hard. Several seconds passed before he spoke again. “Yes.” He paced across the room to the windows, his face in profile as he watched the fjord beyond. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t come in here again.” It was a clear and direct dismissal, and it frustrated the hell out of Sophie. He’d employed the same tactic last night in the jacuzzi, slamming the brakes on in the face of any questions that went beyond the here and now. “Is it your mother?” She saw his throat move again, but his eyes remained fixed on the view. “It is.” “She’s stunning.” Lucien nodded slowly. “She was.” Sophie drew in a breath. “I’m sorry.” “What for?” “You obviously…” Sophie glanced back at the picture with new comprehension, then up at Lucien’s deceptively passive profile. “You must miss her.” “Must I?” Sophie frowned, aware that he was deliberately making the conversation as difficult as possible. He turned to her. “Look, I need to make a couple of calls, Sophie. Would you mind…?” His eyes strayed to the door. “Why do you do that?” Sophie asked, making no move to rise from his chair. Lucien audibly sighed. “Do what?” “Change the subject whenever I ask about personal stuff.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes, a deliberate display of nonchalance that didn’t fool Sophie for a second. “I don’t. There’s just nothing to say.” “But surely you have family here in Norway?” His jaw set hard again and his nostrils flared slightly. Sophie knew she was pushing him, but she wasn’t ready to stop. The scales of knowledge were currently tipped too far in his favour and she wanted to redress the balance. He shrugged. “Some.” “Brothers… sisters?”

“Why does this matter?” “Because it does, Lucien. You’re happy enough to delve into my marriage. Surely I can ask questions, too?” His eyes darkened as he considered his response. “Fine.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive wall. “No brothers. No sisters. My mother is dead. Anything else?” Sophie baulked at the blunt delivery of his words, and the bleakness that lay behind them. “I’m sorry,” she murmured again. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago and I’m a big boy. I can look after myself.” She didn’t doubt it. But still something held her in the chair, even though he’d made it clear he wanted her out of his office and for this conversation to be over. “And your father?” Lucien’s eyes narrowed, and Sophie noticed the way his fingers bit into his upper arms. “Enough, Sophie.” So that was it. “Is he here in Norway?” Lucien placed his palms down on the desk and fixed her with a fierce, unwavering stare. “I said that’s enough.” Sophie drew herself up to a standing position and met his gaze squarely across the expanse of the desk. His breathing was infinitesimally too fast, and his eyes glittered with suppressed anger, although his tone remained even. “We can talk about it, if it would help,” Sophie said softly, sensing that they were dancing around something at the very core of Lucien’s psyche. He laughed harshly. “And suddenly she’s a psychiatrist. It’s a big leap from a PA, Princess.” Sophie flinched inwardly, hating his sarcastic use of the endearment that up to now had seemed so intimate. “I was just trying to he…” “I don’t need your fucking help.” Lucien’s words clipped across hers and shocked her into momentary silence. They faced each other across the desk. “Yet you think I need yours,” she said. “That’s different and you fucking well know it.” “Is it?” She leaned towards him. “Why? Because you say so?” “Yes, damn it.” Lucien thumped the desk for emphasis. “And because you needed my help, and I don’t need yours, or anyone else’s.” His eyes burned into hers, and his tightly balled fists told her that he was every bit as tense as she was. “He’s dead, Sophie, okay? All of this was too long ago to matter, and it’s no one’s business but mine, but just for the record, my father is dead. Happy now?” Stricken, Sophie searched Lucien’s face for traces of any expression but anger, but it was all there was. She didn’t understand what lay behind it, but something had happened to this man. Somewhere along the line, something big and ugly had happened to burden him with this heavy chip of utter self-containment he carried around on his shoulders. She glanced down at the photograph one last time, then up again at the man the laughing child had become. “No. I’m a long way from happy, Lucien,” she murmured. “I’ll leave you to your calls.” She turned to walk out of the room. He was behind her before she made it to the door. He crushed her body against the wall with his own, his hands pushed into her hair. “I’m sorry, Princess. I’m sorry.” Sophie closed her tear-filled eyes and held him, wishing her touch could melt away the iron tension from his shoulders and the bleak sadness from his eyes. She’d leaned on him hard to find out more about

him, and all she’d succeeded in doing was unearthing memories that obviously hurt him to talk about. She gentled his harsh breathing with tender hands and smoothed her fingers over the silk of his hair, until finally he lifted his head and kissed her. His lips moved slow and sweet over hers, balm to soothe the sting of his earlier harsh words. “I’m sorry too,” she whispered into his mouth, opening her jaw to let his tongue slide in. She could feel his heartbeat strong against her own, and his erection hardening against her belly. Shaky fingers pulled at clothes in search of the comfort and warmth of naked skin, and they dissolved the tension in the only way they knew how, meshed together on Lucien’s office floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Lucien refilled Sophie’s wine glass after lunch, then pushed his chair back. The meal his housekeeper had prepared for them had been delicious, yet they’d both been subdued after their tempestuous morning. “I need to go out for a while this afternoon.” Sophie nodded, oddly relieved at the prospect of some time alone. Every moment with Lucien was full throttle, and the experiences of the day so far had left her feeling raw and exposed. Her body ached, and her heart ached even more. She needed a deep bubble bath to soothe her muscles, and some precious space to think. In less than twenty-four hours she’d be back in London with Dan, and as yet she had no clue what on earth she was going to do. All she knew was that the next few hours felt like a stay of execution. Lucien rested his forehead against the cold side window of the car and stared at the plain, red brick university hospital building. This wasn’t his intended destination this afternoon, yet he’d instinctively turned along the drive anyway rather than pass on by. He had no intention of going inside. His fingers closed around the letter inside his jacket pocket, not caring about the fact that he was screwing it up to a point where reading it again would be nigh on impossible. He knew what it said without looking at it anyway. Dear old papa was in here once again for alcohol abuse, only this time around there was every chance he wouldn’t make it out again. He’d been a dead man walking ever since his wife killed herself; Lucien was only surprised that it had taken him this long. He had no feelings to offer except disgust and hatred, and what use were they to a dying man? Let the chaplain hear his father’s pleas for forgiveness. Let the cold hand of a stranger be his comfort. Lucien had nothing to give him. He studied the building and wondered which window sheltered his father. How would he look these days? Lucien had cut all ties with him after his mother’s death, choosing to stay with relatives who bore his troubled presence like a cross rather than stay with the pitiful father who pleaded daily for his son’s understanding. Yet wherever Lucien laid his hat, the letters stubbornly followed. His father had tracked his progress around the world and stayed in contact every few months, despite the fact that he never received any acknowledgment that his words had reached his son. Lucien didn’t want to read them, and for many years, he hadn’t done so. He chucked them, unopened, one on top of the other, into an old box, unsure why he wasn’t just hurling them into the fireplace instead. As the years slipped by and the letters continued to arrive, Lucien’s protective shell hardened enough for him to be able to open them without being engulfed by fury. He wasn’t that frightened child anymore. The letters brought him news of his homeland, of family deaths, and of babies being born who shared his bloodline. Letter by letter, those paper windows onto the minutiae of day-to-day life in the Arctic Circle rekindled his love for Norway, a bone-deep homesickness to lie on his back in the clearing and watch the skies dance once more. And so he’d rebuilt his relationship with his motherland, made his peace with the beautiful, cold kingdom that held such bittersweet memories. Returning to Tromso as a successful man had calmed the roar of injustice in his heart. He’d come full circle, and after years of running away, it was fitting that Norway offered him the safe harbour and solace missing from his life in London. Yet still he didn’t contact his father.

He couldn’t do it. When all was said and done, the man was responsible for his mother’s death, and all the talking in the world could never change that. He flung the balled up letter onto the passenger seat and threw the car into reverse. He put his foot down as he hit the open road, disgusted with himself for even being there in the first place. There was somewhere else he wanted to be. Sophie lounged in the steaming bubbles and closed her eyes. If she could freeze time, she’d push the button right now. Lucien had transported her into this fairytale of magical skies and sublime sex, but the adventure had to come to an abrupt end tomorrow. Grey skies and marital discord waited impatiently for her, back in London, and the idea of seeing Dan again made her stomach roll with dread. Her whole world had revolved around him for her entire adult life; he was all she’d known of love. But did she still love him now? She turned the question over in her head. Before she’d met Lucien Knight, she’d have answered yes in a heartbeat, but would it have been the truth? Loving Dan was her default setting, but this week with Lucien had forced her to take an honesty pill when it came to her own emotions. Sophie reached for the dark glass of Shiraz balanced on the ledge beside the bath and drank deeply. The wine warmed her veins and fortified her with Dutch courage to continue her long overdue personal therapy session. It was curious really, to stand back and look at the bare facts. Sophie had had an idea that Dan had been seeing someone else for more months than she’d care to admit, yet she’d allowed herself to ignore the mounting evidence. It had been alarmingly easy to consider his alternative explanations plausible rather than face the possible truth and all of its associated ugliness. Was he aware that she knew? Did he take her lack of challenge as tacit acceptance? Hot shame flushed her cheeks warmer than the steamy bath water. How little must he think of her if that was the case? She knew in her heart why she’d held her silence. It was simple, really. She’d wanted him to choose her. Then along came Lucien Knight, and at one look from him, Sophie had stopped waiting. With one touch, the scales had fallen from her eyes. Lucien had reminded her how it felt to be adored, and how much she’d missed it. Memories of Dan tumbled through her mind, and she let them in. Memories of the times he’d been the one taking the time to make her feel adored. At sixteen, laughing as she rode on the crossbar of his bike all the way home from school. At eighteen, his hair too long and his big easy smile that lit her heart. And on her twenty-first birthday, nervous and down on one knee in the damp leaves as they walked through the park. Tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids. Tears for Dan, and for their love that once upon a time had felt too big to break. Lucien shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed his chin down into his jacket. The cemetery was suitably bleak, and there were no flowers to cheer the grey stone that bore his mother’s name. Would she be proud of the man he’d become? Would he have trodden the same path if she’d lived? He didn’t have any answers, or anyone to ask. She’d been gone from his life for more years now than she’d been there, and his recollections of her were all wrapped up in childish memories of wiped tears and goodnight kisses, of scraped knees and snowy Christmas mornings. It hadn’t been a conscious decision to wrap his heart up and bury it along with his mother, yet it had somehow happened anyway. He’d stood at this same graveside all those years back, a man-child, barely a teenager, suddenly alone and bereft of love. No one had come close to melting the ice around his heart since then, though many had tried.

He’d grown up beautiful and rebellious, trouble to everyone and desired all the more for it by the girlfriends who’d littered his past. Lucien reached out a hand and laid it against the cold, hard stone. Her face was indistinct in his mind now; she was more a feeling than an image. Her memory had kept him safe as he’d grown. She was the only person who’d looked at him and understood his heart. He scrubbed his hands over his face. He’d come here because he needed to talk and there was no one else to listen. What was he doing with Sophie Black? Why was he trying to save her? What the fuck did he think he was: Knight by name and Knight by nature? And if that was it, why did he feel more and more like she was the one saving him? Without even trying, Sophie had gotten under his skin in a way that the many polished and predatory women who’d populated his life and his bed before now had never managed. Her softness and her bravery impressed the hell out of him, and finding her in his arms when he woke seemed to still his everpresent need to get up and fight. He closed his eyes for a second in silent remembrance, and then turned and walked away.

CHAPTER THIRTY All cried out and resolved to make the most of these last stolen hours, Sophie returned to Lucien’s bedroom and noticed the note he’d propped on the bedside table. “I’ve fired up the saunarium for you. Try it, I think you’ll like it.” Sophie wandered back into the bathroom, the note still in her hand. Saunarium? Was that the same as a sauna? She’d noticed the wooden door in there yesterday, but the tiered, planked room had been cool and dry when she’d peered in. It wasn’t cool in there anymore. She glanced down at the white fluffy towel wrapped around her body. Her own private spa session was too good an opportunity to pass up. She grabbed a glass of cold water then stepped inside, instantly aware of ambient heat, and thankful that she was able to breathe easily thanks to the clever mix of heat and humidity. So a saunarium was something between a sauna and a steam room, she realised. Trust Lucien to have the best of both worlds. Sophie breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, then settled herself into the corner of the lower bench opposite the door. Her whole body felt infused with heat, as if the warmest sunshine was kissing her skin. Low lights glowed in the ceiling, turning the room into a blissful cocoon. A sigh of pleasure left Sophie’s lips as she leaned back and willed herself to relax. Her tearful session in the bath had proved cathartic on many levels. She’d cried out of regret for the loss of trust in her marriage and sadness at her trampled hopes of forever love with Dan. She’d finally taken off her rose tinted glasses and, come tomorrow, she was ready to grab her life by the scruff of the neck and shake it, hard. She had no idea where the jumbled pieces would fall, but she refused to allow herself to be cowed by fear of the unknown. Hadn’t this week shown her that life could be bigger and better than she’d ever imagined it to be? This fantasy interlude with Lucien wasn’t real life, but it would be a lie and a disservice to him to deny that every minute had been anything other than breathtaking. Still, she had no idea how she could continue working for him after this week. He was hands down the most charismatic, fabulous man she’d ever met, the stuff of every woman’s daydreams, but life with him in it felt rather like having her foot jammed on the accelerator. He left her breathless and giddy, and he did things to her body that she didn’t even know could be done. She barely knew him, yet he seemed to know her inside out. She’d climbed out of the bath, and like a snake shedding its skin, she’d left the old Sophie behind. The girl gazing back at her in the steamed up mirror was all new and shiny-eyed, and ready to rock her own world. Sophie breathed in deeply as she relaxed back onto the saunarium bench. She was warm to the bones. Hot, in actual fact. She opened her eyes and glanced down at her towel, then up again at the doorway. She was certain no one would come in here aside from Lucien, and he was still out pursuing his mysterious business ends. Her fingers unworked the towel from beneath her arms, and with a last glance towards the door, she unwrapped it and let it fall open on the bench. She was naked in Lucien’s saunarium. Feeling suddenly exposed, even though she was alone, Sophie took a long slug of cold water and pushed her damp hair back from her forehead. Thoughts of Lucien in the woods earlier crept unbidden into her mind when she closed her eyes. Her wrists still tingled from where he’d tied her up, and her body still fizzed with the memory of her orgasms. She glanced down at her body, flushed and glistening damp, and wondered what she’d do if Lucien were

to open the door at that very moment. Would she grab for the towel to cover up, or would she invite him in? Easy. Her feeling of ultrarelaxation morphed slowly into nerve-tingling arousal as she imagined him. Yes, she could well imagine Lucien using this room… big, bronzed and butt naked. Her hands smoothed down the length of each of her damp arms, and then settled lightly over her breasts at the thought of him undressed. She closed her eyes and massaged her own warm flesh, slick with a sheen of moisture from the damp heat. Her nipples peaked beneath her sliding thumbs, the imprint of Lucien’s mouth fastening over them in the woods that morning seared clear on her memory. She sighed as she laid her head back against the stepped wooden bench behind her, caught up in the heated recollection of Lucien’s hands on her body. That little moan of appreciation he’d made low in his throat when he’d discovered she’d obeyed his command to leave her knickers at home. The way he’d licked her lips as he slid his hand inside her jeans and found himself cupping her bare sex. She cupped it herself now, mirroring his actions to recreate that throb of anticipation between her legs. Sophie caught her lip between her teeth and gasped softly as she slipped her fingers inside her slick folds, one knee lifted on the bench. She was so warm, and so open, and completely caught up in her own private re-enactment of the morning’s events beside the waterfall. Jesus, he’d tied her up, anyone could have seen. Her fingers sought her clitoris as she recalled Lucien on his knees pushing his tongue into her sex. He’d licked her here… it had felt like this… Sophie arched as she touched herself, her fingers as insistent as Lucien’s dexterous tongue had been. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the sensations intensified. “Need a hand, Princess?” She yelped with surprise as her eyes flew open and her fingers jumped away from her body. She’d been too far down the line to ecstasy to notice the door opening. She ought to be mortified – the old Sophie certainly would have been - but he was naked, and the molten heat in his eyes told her not to be, as did the erect curve of his cock against his hard, smooth abdomen. Had she conjured him up by the power of thought alone? He stepped inside and dropped to his knees between her legs. “Carry on.” She looked down into the dangerous gleam of his eyes as he laid his head against her inner thigh. Gold on cream. He was close enough to reach out his tongue and lick her, yet he didn’t. “Tell me what you were thinking of just now.” Sophie took a huge fortifying gulp of water. Just a few days ago she’d have played things differently, but right now she willed herself to match his boldness. She tipped a little of the cool water onto her fevered skin and they both watched the rivulets run down between her breasts. “I was remembering.” She let her hand fall casually back between her legs. He dropped a languorous kiss onto her thigh. “Hmm. Tell me more.” “I was thinking about this morning… in the woods…” She watched him run his tongue over his lips as she opened herself with her fingers. She could feel his breath on her clitoris. “Which part?” She reached out a fingertip and traced the full, damp curve of his lower lip, then touched herself. “The part where you put your hand inside my jeans to check if I was wearing knickers.” He lifted an approving eyebrow. “I liked that part too.” He kissed the back of her fingers. “What else?” Sophie could barely get her breath. She was hot, and wet, and desperate for him. She kept her voice steady, with an effort. “I was thinking about how your tongue felt on me.” She circled her clitoris with her fingers as she spoke. “I was imagining you licking me. Right here.” “Here?” He followed the movement of her fingers with the faintest trace of his tongue, making her

shudder with pleasure. “I love the taste of you,” he murmured. “Keep talking.” That wasn’t so easy with his mouth a whisper away from her sex. “I was thinking about your hard, beautiful cock inside me.” He groaned, his heated mouth so close to her, letting her know how much her words were turning him on. It was a heady feeling. “About you fucking me hard against that tree.” His control snapped, and he replaced her hands with his own between her legs, his fingers splayed on her thighs to hold her open. His thumbs slid inside her as he lowered his head to make slow, hypnotic love to her with his mouth, shockingly intimate and mind-numbingly erotic. She wanted it to last a lifetime, but he had her in seconds. Breathless with exquisite pleasure, she watched and felt him worship her. His eyes flickered up and connected with hers as he held her in his mouth while she came. Dangerously dark and glittering, their grey-blue depths were heavy with the promise of a long night ahead.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE They dressed for dinner. Lucien looked like James Bond’s sexier brother, lethal and dripping with sex appeal. Sophie felt as if she’d stepped onto a film set and been unwittingly cast as his lucky love interest. But of course, as in all the best Bond movies, she was only Lucien’s leading lady until the adventure ended. The food was divine, yet they barely tasted it. Her knee touched his as she reached for her wine. His fingers brushed hers as he refilled her glass. His gaze lingered on her lips as she tested the golden cloudberry puree drizzled around the perfectly set pannacotta. “This is delicious.” She savoured the chilled, velvet cream in her mouth. Lucien inclined his head as he sampled his own dessert. “It’s missing something.” He pushed his chair back and headed around the table with his dessert plate in his hand. “What do you think?” He spooned a little of his pannacotta into her mouth, his eyes on her lips. He was in full-on predator mode, and a thrill of anticipation rippled down Sophie’s spine. He rested against the table, and she placed a deliberately casual hand on his leg as she swallowed her mouthful of the faultless dessert. “Mmm. I see what you mean…” Lucien’s eyes dropped to watch her hand slide up his thigh. In seconds, he pulled her onto her feet against his body. “You know, I think it needs to be sweeter,” he said, and slid down the zipper on her dress. It pooled on the floor, leaving Sophie outrageously turned on and wearing only her knickers and black suede high heels. His eyes roved over her body, and his tongue touched his lip in concentration as he switched her around to perch on the table. Lucien’s fingers were already working open the buttons of his shirt, and he threw it aside a moment later and shifted her to sit more securely on the edge of the table. It was cold and smooth beneath her bottom, even more so when Lucien dispensed with her knickers a second or two later. He moved in close between her legs, his mouth over hers. “You should tell the cook to add a little more sugar,” she said, massaging his erection through his trousers. “Hm.” Lucien dipped his finger into his dessert and wiped it across Sophie’s lower lip. She snaked out the tip of her tongue to taste it, and met his tongue there already doing the same thing. His arms were braced either side of her body as she tilted her head back to let him do a thorough job on her mouth. “That tastes a little sweeter already,” he murmured. “Not enough, though?” she asked, fully aware that it wouldn’t be. He shook his head, rueful. “Not quite.” Sophie nodded, then dipped her own fingers into the pannacotta and painted her peaked nipples until they resembled the Alps outside the windows. “Would this help, do you think?” He lifted an approving eyebrow. “Let me check.” He lapped each of her nipples clean, and the connection between his hot tongue and the cold dessert on her flesh made Sophie sigh with pleasure. His cock was as hard as rock under her hand. “Well?” she whispered, besieged by the rampant lust in his eyes when he straightened. “It’s almost there.” He reached behind her, and in one swift move he swept the entire contents of the dining table onto the floor. Everything besides his pannacotta.

His warm hands spanned her waist and shifted her backwards on the table, and he spread her legs wide. Sophie knew full well where he was headed, and her body trembled with anticipation. She bit her lip as his fingers dipped into his dessert, and her body tightened with erotic shock as he smeared the chilled cream between her legs. He paused momentarily to admire his handiwork; a layer of thick peaked swirls that covered her modesty in the lewdest possible way. “Taste me.” She was halfway to begging, and that cocky half grin touched Lucien’s lips. “Say that again.” “Please, Lucien. Taste me.” Lucien dropped his head, a slow drag of his tongue up the entire length of her sex. Sophie’s stomach twisted as she watched the cream transfer from her body to his tongue. “Better?” His hand splayed on her stomach. “It’s fucking delicious.” His thumb massaged the cream into her pubic bone, a whisper away from her clitoris, and when he finally dropped his head and devoured her, the switch from playful to deadly serious had her almost coming on the spot. His tongue and lips were all over her sex. Sucking, lapping, licking her clean. Sophie dropped back onto the cool tabletop and pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, closer to orgasm with every stroke of his tongue. He pulled her to the edge of the table and unbuckled his trousers, then thrust his sheathed cock inside her without any need for preamble. Sophie was hot, wet and ready, and he was gloriously hard, fast and filthy. She came almost as soon as he slammed into her, and Lucien came seconds after. It was too intense to last more than that couple of moments, but they were easily the sexiest moments of Sophie’s life. Lucien threw a log on the fire and settled down alongside Sophie, their backs leaning against the sofa. She was all golden curves and warmth in the amber glow of the flames, one leg folded in front of her, supporting her elbow, the other stretched out so she could wriggle her toes into the sheepskin rug. She’d slipped her knickers back on and half buttoned his shirt over her body after dinner, typical gestures of bashfulness despite the fact that she’d let him screw her senseless on the dining table. “You okay?” he murmured, twisting a strand of her hair lightly around his finger. She sipped her generous measure of brandy and nodded, eyes fixed on the dancing flames. “I think so.” Her features were melancholy in profile. “Just sad that this is the end.” He wasn’t sure if she was referring to their time together or her marriage. Or both. He slipped his hand beneath the weight of her hair to massage the back of her neck. She tilted her head forward a little to take full advantage of his ministrations, then sighed and rolled her shoulders. “I just wish I could press the pause button, I’m dreading tomorrow.” “I’d prefer the rewind button,” Lucien said, pleased by the gentle smile that tilted her lips as he glanced up at the clock. It was a little after ten. “Anyway, we don’t need to leave for a few hours yet, and I’m not planning on sleeping.” She leaned back and turned to face him. “Thank you for bringing me here, Lucien.” Her eyes were round and serious, and twin pink apples kissed her creamy cheeks. Everything about her spoke of goodness and wholesomeness, which made the erotic kick of unbuttoning her inhibitions all the more addictive. She glowed, and he basked in it. “You’re welcome any time, Ms. Black.” Shadows dulled the brightness of her eyes. They both knew she wouldn’t come back here again after tonight. Their worlds were poles apart, and this had only ever been about one week. All of that could wait for another day, though. Right now he wanted to banish those shadows, and fast. “The way I see it, we can spend tonight talking, or we can do something else.” He leaned forward and trailed a finger down skin exposed by the deep open V-neck of his shirt. “Personally, I think talking is overrated.”

Her eyelids drifted down and her plump lips parted with a soft sigh. His cock stirred in his jeans. Sophie Black’s unintentional mix of innocence and sultriness was a lethal combination that had him half way to hard every time he looked at her. It was the main reason he’d given her the job, and the whole reason he’d brought her with him on this trip to Norway. The latest letter from his father had pulled him back here as surely as if he’d yanked on an invisible string, but having Sophie along for the trip had turned it from an instinctive obligation to a very adult pleasure ride. He leaned in, and her mouth opened like a flower when he covered it with his own. She tasted of honey laced with brandy. The trace of her tongue over his had his hands moving into her hair to draw her closer, to open her mouth wider, to let him drink more deeply. A tiny sigh of pleasure escaped her throat as she tipped her head back and let him lead her, and he couldn’t resist sliding his hand inside his – now her - shirt to cup the softness of her breast as her tongue slid over his. Christ, she made his cock ache. Her nipple instantly ripened from velvet soft to a stiff peak when he brushed a slow thumb over it, and he was gratified by the catch in her breathing and the fractional arch of her back. Her body was alive with sensual desire, and he was going to take his sweet time satisfying her tonight. Sophie felt her breast swell into Lucien’s hand as every fibre in her responded to his touch. His unhurried tongue explored her mouth as his other hand smoothed flat over the back of her hair. He was oh so thorough, and all she could think of was right here, and right now. Indistinct music played in the background; late night, laid back sounds that conjured up hazy images of backstreet Parisian bars. One by one, he opened her shirt buttons, and she shivered with expectation when he eased it off her shoulders. Naked aside from her knickers, she snaked her arms around him and closed her eyes. When he hauled her over to straddle his lap her breasts flattened against his bare chest, finding him firm and warmed from the fire. His hands swept up her spine to twist into her hair, easing her head back to expose her throat to his trail of open-mouthed kisses. She could feel his erection pressed between her legs, separated only by denim and silk. Hard against soft. Lucien’s hands ran down Sophie’s spine again to mould her bottom as she conducted her own exploration of his back, committing the smooth planes and taut curves to memory. She couldn’t see it, but she knew that the predatory lone wolf slumbered beneath her hands as she stroked his shoulder blades. He held her breasts in his hands, then lowered his face to them and breathed in deeply. Sophie arched, greedy for his mouth all over her, his tongue on her nipples, his five o’clock shadow prickling deliciously against the tender undersides of her breasts. His hair slipped through her fingers, and when he came back up to claim her mouth, his kiss sent her senses reeling. “Kiss me all night?” She sank her teeth into the fullness of his bottom lip. “Where?” He tweaked her nipple. “Here?” He ran his finger down her stomach. “Or here?” He traced a barely there line across the top edge of her knickers. “Or do you want me to kiss you here, Princess?” His fingers scorched against her sex, warm and massaging through the flimsy silk. Yes, yes, and oh God, yes. She wanted his mouth everywhere. She lifted her hips, and he surprised her by slithering down to lie on his back beneath her, nuzzling between her legs. He was more insistent now, she could feel his tongue probing her through the material. Oh, he was so, so good. He moved her knickers aside with his fingers, and Sophie had to hold back the orgasm that hovered ready for him to claim. She wanted it to last, but the slow, insistent stroke of his tongue along her sex was

beyond thrilling. Hot… wet… and when he fulfilled her wish and kissed her clitoris, his tenderness overwhelmed her efforts to hold it back any longer. He kissed her through the long blissful tremors, and then slid out from beneath her and hauled her down to sit between his legs. His bent knees bracketed hers as she leaned back against his chest. “More relaxed now?” She could feel his smile against her ear as he crossed his arms over her body and held her breasts in his hands, the relaxed embrace of comfortable lovers. “Just a little bit,” she laughed shakily, her heart still pounding. Sex with Lucien was a cross between the most sweeping romantic movie and the filthiest porn flick; he was feather gentle and filthy erotic all at the same time. Sophie had never known such a generous man. He seemed to get off on getting her off, and right at that moment she could feel his still raging erection pressing against the base of her back. She reached a hand behind her and covered his denim-clad crotch. “You don’t seem quite as relaxed yourself, though.” “It’s what you do to me.” He lifted her hair over one shoulder and kissed the nape of her neck. After the week they’d spent together, Sophie knew they weren’t just empty words. She slipped her knickers off and scooted around to face him, her hand back on his crotch, her mouth on his. He moaned low and cradled her face in his hands as she unfastened his buttons. He was naked beneath his jeans, as she’d known he would be, and his cock sprang out of its confines, thick, ridged and begging for her attention. Sophie pushed his jeans clear and circled him with her hand between their bodies. He was so ready, she could feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest against her breasts. “Jesus, Sophie…” She kissed his closed eyelids, and the sensitive skin beneath his ear as she palmed his length. He was golden and sculpted in the firelight. Beyond beautiful. “Condom?” she breathed, increasing her speed a little and getting a kick out of the look of almost agonised pleasure on his face. “In my jeans,” he muttered, and she reached behind her into his pocket. He ripped it open and sheathed himself, then pulled her back into his lap. “Sit on me.” Sophie laughed softly into his mouth. “Say that again.” He rocked his hips, rubbing the head of his cock over her clitoris. “Sit on me.” She raised herself up and impaled herself on every glorious inch of him. She sighed with pleasure, holding him as deep inside her body as he could possibly be. Utterly connected, totally lost. “Fuck… fuck…” Lucien repeated his mantra, his face a study of erotic concentration as Sophie dictated the slow pace of their sex. She mouthed his neck when he tipped his head back, and he licked her nipples when she hollowed her spine. His hands spanned her waist, and she could feel him holding onto his control as she rocked herself on him. Lust darkened his blue eyes and tensed his jaw, yet he was iron hard and unhurried in his quest to make the moment last for both of them. It was exquisite, and deeply erotic, and Sophie knew it was a memory that would stay with her forever. Her hand on his jaw, she increased the tempo, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to hold back any longer. His fingers bumped up her spine to curl over her shoulders, holding her down on his jerking hips as he climaxed with a shudder that shook his whole body. Sophie watched Lucien’s face as he came. She saw his teeth clench, and when he opened his blue-grey eyes, she saw raw vulnerability there that was all at odds with the self-assured sex god he usually let the world see. She laid her hand on his cheek, and he turned and placed a tender kiss against her palm. Then, instinctively, she wrapped her arms around him and drew him against her breast. Of all the emotions Lucien Knight had aroused in her over the last few days, the one thing she hadn’t expected to feel was protective.

Lucien drew in a deep breath as his orgasm ebbed. Somehow, Sophie had turned the tables on him. He’d never felt anything like the orgasm she’d just given him, and over the years he’d had more than his share of beautiful and accomplished lovers. A butterfly from her chrysalis, she’d emerged even brighter and more spellbinding than he’d imagined. She’d used her body to pleasure him, and in her arms he’d found far more than physical release. The world had seemed a pretty bleak place standing in the cold graveyard that afternoon, but right now, anchored inside Sophie’s naked body with the warmth of the fire on their skin, it seemed pretty damn close to perfect. Some time just after one and somewhere in between awake and asleep, Sophie moved beneath him again. Tangled limbs. Entwined fingers. Damp cheeks. Bruised hearts.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Sophie settled into her leather recliner on Lucien’s jet as it taxied for take off. The velvet black skies of the early hours outside matched the colour of her mood. Her stomach churned with dread, her mind already hundreds of miles ahead in London, playing through possible ways the day might play out. Where would she be come nightfall? If only she could rewind the clock and live last night over and over. Lucien had taken her breath away so many times it was a wonder she was still standing. He’d been rampant and rude at the dinner table, and later on he’d been tender because she’d needed him to be. She’d felt like crystal in his hands. She glanced up as he buckled himself into the seat alongside hers. “All set?” he asked. Already she could feel the gulf between them widening as reality intruded on their interlude. There was an awkwardness to his tone, and a detached look in his eye. Or was she imagining those things in him because she felt them herself? With every passing minute she felt more like the old Sophie, as if she were sliding back into her old, dull skin after a borrowed week covered in burnished gold. “Ready to go,” she murmured. What other choice did she have? No, I’m not all set? No, turn this plane around, I don’t want to go home? This had only ever been a one week deal. Now it was over and time to get on with the messy business of real life and cheating husbands and ruptured marriages. Sophie closed her eyes and swallowed the lump that rose in her throat as the plane took off from Norwegian soil. It was a country she’d never imagined that she would even see, yet within a few short days, she’d fallen completely under its spell. Its sweeping vistas, soaring Alps and mystical skies had imprinted themselves on her forever, as had the big, beautiful Viking at her side now. Warm fingers covered her own clenched ones, and she opened her eyes. “I’m all right, really. Just sad to leave.” He nodded. “Today will be okay, Sophie.” “Will it?” She searched his eyes with her own as panic rose in her chest. “I don’t think I can face him.” “It’s not too late for me to have him taken care of,” Lucien said, deadpan, but his eyes were gentle and concerned. “I just feel so guilty, Lucien.” Lucien shook his head. “Tell me this, then. Would you be here now if he had treated you properly?” Sophie looked down and studied her wedding ring. Would she? Could she have resisted Lucien if she’d have been blissfully happy with Dan? She’d have liked to say yes, but she wasn’t so sure. It was a big ask. After a week in his company she was under no illusion about the power of his allure. He reached out and held her shoulders, forcing her eyes up to meet his. “Why should you be the one with moral fibre, when he’s the one who has been screwing someone else for months?” But much as he had a point, this wasn’t just about Dan, Sophie thought. It was about her, too. It was about the trail of destruction she was about to wreak on her own life. “Lucien, I’m going home, and I’m probably about to leave my husband. And I can’t work for you any more, not after this. By the end of today I’ll most likely be single, possibly homeless, and jobless.” “You aren’t going to be jobless. You have a job.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” She stared at him. How could he think it tenable for her to continue as his PA? “Obviously I can’t carry on working for you after this.” “Why not? We haven’t lied to each other or made any false promises. We’re not kids. We can separate

work from play.” Sophie shivered. Wow. He really was as ice-cool as the land they’d just left behind. So analytical, so free of emotional bonds. “I’m not like you, Lucien. I can’t neatly compartmentalise my life into work, and sex.” She shrugged. “I’m not a man, I guess.” Something about her words pierced through the ice. She saw it in the narrowing of his eyes and in the sudden stiffness in his jaw. “Don’t throw me in with the likes of your husband, Sophie. Yeah, I like sex, but I’m honest about what I do, and who I do it with. I don’t run around behind closed doors getting my kicks from hurting the people I profess to love.” Whoa. Where did that come from? “Love.” She repeated the word distractedly as if she’d never heard it before. It was something she felt she knew very little about these days. “Yeah, love. That thing that causes nothing but misery and heartbreak, then makes people grow fat on too much ice cream and get ill-advised haircuts when it goes wrong.” Ouch. She was alert again now. What on earth was behind this? “Have you never been in love, Lucien? Have you never wanted someone so much that your heart roars when you’re with them, and every bone in your body aches for them when you’re not?” “No.” “That’s it? Just, no?” “What did you expect?” He shrugged and splayed his hands out to the sides. “Some sorry tale of my poor broken heart? Sorry, Princess.” Sophie shrugged, at a loss. He’d managed to turn his term of endearment into a sneer once again. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I just…” “I don’t need to label my feelings as love, or shackle some woman to me just for the sake of a big fucking party and a meaningless piece of tat.” He glanced down at her wedding ring and she covered it instinctively. It had never left her finger since the day Dan had slid it into place, and however much of a sham it seemed right now, the idea of taking it off felt like removing a piece of herself. Like her whole identity being scraped off with a scalpel. “Don’t say that.” She defensively touched the gold band on her third finger. “Why not? Because the truth hurts?” Lucien’s mouth twisted in distaste. “I bet your husband takes his off when he fucks his lover.” Sophie felt his words land like punches. “Do you have to be so blunt?” she shot back at him. “Yes. Yes I do. Because if I’m not, you’ll walk back in there and listen to his platitudes and lies.” “But isn’t that my choice? Why does it matter to you what I do, Lucien?” Lucien thumped the arm of his seat in anger and frustration. “Why are you doing this now, Sophie? Why are you doubting all the things you’ve said and felt this week?” Sophie sighed heavily. “Because this is my whole life we’re talking about Lucien, not an episode of some TV reality show. I have to listen to him, to at least hear his side of the story.” “His side of the story?” Lucien’s laugh held no humour. “Is that the part where he falls on his knees and you forgive him?” He gazed at her intently, and Sophie glared right back, noticing the way his throat moved as he swallowed hard. “I’ll show you his side of the fucking story.” He reached for his laptop, opened it up, and after a few key-presses, angled the screen towards Sophie, who found herself staring at a series of photographs. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of the images in front of her. But they didn’t make any sense. Not here, not on Lucien’s laptop, not in Lucien’s private jet. Her husband, in an airport with his lover.

Dan laughing in a bar, draped over his lover. Again on a balcony, his naked lover wrapped around him. Not wearing his wedding ring. Sophie couldn’t breathe, her lungs were suddenly too tight. Unable to take her eyes off the screen, her hands flew to her cheeks in shock. After the days she’d just spent with Lucien, she’d forfeited her right to play the victim, yet still her heart shattered into a million pieces at the sight of Dan’s arms wrapped around another woman. She wanted to reach inside the screen and touch his smile, to twist his head away from that woman and make him look her way instead. Those were the arms she’d planned to spend the rest of her life in, and his kiss was the only one she’d ever wanted on her lips. Tears dampened her cheeks, and a great sob wrenched itself out of her body. Knowing about Dan’s affair was one thing. Having images of it forever burned onto her retinas was another. She dropped her face into her hands and cried her heart out. Lucien closed the screen slowly and placed the laptop back on the table beside him. Watching Sophie cry was excruciating. His every instinct was to reach out and hold her. “Sophie… Princess… I’m so sorry.” She flinched when he touched her, and the look in her eyes when she raised her head chilled him to the bone. “You’re sorry? Which bit are you sorry for, exactly, Lucien? The bit where you stalked my husband, or the bit where you used my marital problems to get me into bed? Christ, you must think I’m so stupid.” Her words came out in a jumble of tears and shaky breath, but anger held her frame ramrod straight. “You planned this. You knew Dan was cheating, and you saw an opportunity to take something that wasn’t yours.” Lucien’s mind scrambled to keep up with Sophie’s train of thought. She’d got it all very, very wrong. “Sophie, no.” He reached for her hands but she wrenched them away. “That isn’t what happened…” “Really? Because that’s exactly what it looks like from where I’m sitting. Why, Lucien?” She dragged her hands furiously across her cheeks, smearing mascara tear tracks into zig-zags on her face. “Don’t even bother to answer. You’re no better than Dan. You’re worse in fact, because you’re fucking sanctimonious with it.” Sophie’s lip curled. “Is that your thing? Lucien Knight, honourable Viking seducer, ready to swoop in and rescue damsels in distress? Is that it?” Her fists were balled so tightly that her knuckles gleamed white. “Is it?” “Yeah. Because I’m a regular Thor.” Lucien’s attempt at levity fell on stony ground. He paused, sighed. “I just wanted to make it better for you, Sophie.” Her bitter laugh echoed around the cabin. “Well, guess what? I didn’t need your fucked up version of a fairy story to save me.” Desolation settled on his shoulders like a weightlifter’s barbell. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t say that something about her brittle, defensive answers about her husband at her interview had rung alarm bells in his head, or that he’d been operating on pure instinct when he’d given the order to have Daniel Black investigated. He couldn’t tell her that she’d given him so much more than he’d bargained for over the last week, or that she’d changed his life just as much as he’d changed hers. So he shrugged instead, retreating into his habitual cool demeanour. “It’s better that you know. Best that you hold all the cards.” “Best?” She sprang out of her seat, backing away from him. “Best?” her voice shook as she opened the bedroom door. “Fuck off, Lucien. I don’t need lessons in love from someone who knows nothing of it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Sophie stared fixedly out of the window as Lucien eased his car to a stop outside her house. It looked somehow unfamiliar and ominous rather than like the haven it used to be. It was a little before ten, and thankfully the street seemed to be treating itself to a Sunday morning lie-in, curtains resolutely closed against the inevitably grey morning. Sophie was grateful. The last thing she wanted was an audience. Lucien in his Aston Martin stood out like a flashing beacon amongst this suburban landscape of paunchy men walking their dogs with family saloons parked on their drives. She had no clue what to say to him. The latter part of the flight home had been hellish. After she’d seen the photos of Dan with his mistress, all she’d wanted to do was to run away and scream: instead, she’d been trapped. Lying huddled on the bed, she’d turned the events of the last week over and over in her mind. Everything she’d come to think she knew about Lucien had been wrong. He’d used her. He’d identified her as a vulnerable target and taken advantage of her to get his own sexual kicks. “Sophie, I really am sorry.” Lucien’s voice was low and loaded with regret. “Upsetting you was the last thing I wanted to do.” She closed her eyes against his empty words. How could he have expected those photos to do anything but hurt her? Except it wasn’t just the photographs of Dan that had hurt. Now, the fresh pain of Lucien’s deceit hurt like hell on top of it all. She’d been a prize fool to let him flatter her into bed. Any last vestige of self-esteem she’d managed to hang onto had dissolved at the thought of how easily she’d been corrupted, of the things she’d allowed to happen. “I thought it would help you.” “Help me?” She repeated his words slowly, turning them over in her mind. Because they made no sense. “Tell me, please - because I’m dying to know - how did you think showing me pictures of my husband with his mistress would help me, Lucien? Don’t you think that knowing he’s been seeing someone else hurts enough already?” He sighed heavily and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I made a mistake.” “No, I made the mistake, and I’m sorry.” Sophie heard the quake in her voice but she couldn’t hold it steady. “I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on you.” She shook her head in disgust. “As if it wasn’t bad enough that my husband is having an affair. Now I’ve lost the only advantage I had. I’m as bad as he is.” A bitter laugh rattled through her chest. “And you know what makes it even worse, Lucien? At least Dan looks as if he has feelings for her. He might even love her for all I know.” Her voice cracked and fresh tears tumbled uninvited down her cheeks. “What I’ve done is far, far worse. I’ve let some cold, calculating stranger screw me out of revenge.” She choked the words out. “Screw me over, more like.” Lucien stared at her, dull-eyed, his golden skin paler than she’d ever seen it. “You didn’t do this out of revenge Sophie, you’re so much better than…” “Don’t tell me what I am, Lucien,” she cut across him. “You don’t really know me at all, not in any way that matters. I did this to hurt my husband. It could have been anyone. It just happened to be you.” “That’s a lie and you know it,” he said, quietly. “No, it isn’t. Why pretty it up? You saw me as easy pickings, and I saw you as a way to get my own back. No more, no less.” She reached for the door, but his hands clamped around hers. “Okay, Ms. Black. You’ve had your say. Now I’d like mine.” She stilled because he left her no other option; his hands held her, vice-like. “Believe it or not, I really am sorry for showing you those pictures, but I’m not one bit sorry for having sex with you. You are fucking beautiful, Sophie Black, and you needed someone to remind you of it.”

Sophie met his eyes in silence. Fierce frustration turned his blue irises smoky, and his body angled towards hers was rigid as stone. Only his thumbs moved, sliding over the pulse points of her wrists. “You had sadness written all over your face the first day you walked into my office,” he said softly. “I wanted to take it away. ” She wanted to look down but his eyes demanded hers. How did he do that? Sincerity came so easily to him, but after this morning she had no way of telling if he was just a damn good liar. Lucien had a way of looking at her that made her want to fall back in to his arms again, but wasn’t that exactly what his clever words were designed to do? To reel her in then make a fool of her? “Newsflash, hero. You haven’t made things better. You’ve made them ten times worse.” She saw him flinch and tried to pull her hands from his, but he held her fast. “Can you tell me you didn’t enjoy all those things we did? Because I know better.” He leaned closer, and Sophie stiffened. She didn’t want him near her. She did want him near her. “’I know because I watched your eyes, Sophie. I watched them every time you came, and I didn’t see sadness any more.” His massaging thumbs were driving her crazy. “I saw joy, and I saw beauty. I saw you shine.” His raw honesty melted her anger and left her defenseless. She was suddenly tired beyond endurance, and her heart ached with sadness. “How exactly was this supposed to end then, Lucien?” He sighed and shook his head. “I figured I could screw you happy, I guess.” It was up there amongst the craziest, sweetest things Sophie had ever heard. How could someone so devastatingly sexy and masculine be so childlike? “And then what? Are you planning to drop down on one knee and declare true love?” Sophie saw his jaw harden and his eyes flicker. “No, I thought not. So, let me guess… I’m supposed to go home and give Dan what for while you move on to rescue the next spurned wife?” A pulse was visible in Lucien’s clenched cheek. “Am I supposed to turn up for work on Monday as if nothing happened?” She looked out of the window at the spattering rain. He really hadn’t thought this fairytale thing through. In all the stories she’d loved as a child, the knight didn’t rescue the princess and then hand her right back to the evil prince. Lucien opened his mouth to answer when she turned back to him, but then seemed to change his mind and simply shook his head with a resigned half-shrug. It was just as well. There was nothing he could offer in the way of justification. “Grow up, Lucien. Life isn’t like that.” Lucien didn’t try to hold onto Sophie’s hands when she eased them out of his and opened the door. He stepped out of the car too, cold drizzle dampening his face as he lifted her bag out of the boot. He saw how Sophie’s eyes were drawn to her front door. She was obviously desperate to get away from him. He couldn’t blame her. Her cheeks were colourless and her eyes brimmed with regret so poignant that it hurt to look at her. “I’ll call you later?” He reached out without hope and touched the sleeve of her cherry red coat. She shook her head, dashing the back of her hand across her eyes. “Come to work tomorrow,” he tried again, unable to keep the edge of urgency out of his voice. He needed to see her soon, just to know that she’d made it through whatever she now had to face with Dan. “I can’t, Lucien,” she whispered. “You know I can’t.” He touched his fingers against her cheek, wet with tears and rain. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

“You’re not leaving me.” Her voice steadied as she took the bag from him and stepped back. “I’m leaving you.” Lucien shoved his hands through his hair as he watched her go. He’d screwed up. What the fuck had he been thinking? He should never have showed her those photographs. He’d have given anything to go back and change the last few hours. The pain in Sophie’s eyes when she’d been confronted with the technicolour truth had all but torn his heart out of his body. He now knew how his mother’s face must have looked when she’d walked in on his father bent over his secretary: he’d felt like a bastard watching Sophie crumple. A heavy sigh escaped him as he glanced at her resolutely closed door. She’d crossed back into her own world. He thumped his fists down hard on the steering wheel as he climbed back into the driver’s seat. He’d intended to send her into battle ready to rip her fuck-wit of a husband to shreds, but his shock-jock brand of pep talk had backfired badly. She wasn’t battle-ready. Sophie was battered and broken before she’d even stepped into the ring, and it was all his fault.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Sophie walked through the cold, silent rooms of her house, still wearing her coat and carrying her weekend bag with the air of a visiting hotel guest. She remembered the first time she and Dan had viewed the house, six months before their wedding. They’d fallen head over heels for it the moment they’d walked through the door. It wasn’t the biggest or the flashiest, but they could make it into the perfect nest for two - or three, given time - Dan had grinned to the estate agent. The black marble work surface in the kitchen was cool beneath her fingers. It had been beyond their modest budget really, but Dan had broken the bank to get it because Sophie had loved it so much. She paused in the living room to study the photograph of them, taken on their wedding day. It wasn’t the best photo of Sophie, but she’d awarded it pride of place because it had captured a smile of pure joy on Dan’s face. Looking at it now, all she could see was that same smile on a different photo, being bestowed upon another woman. In the bedroom, she dropped her bag on the end of the neatly made bed and perched awkwardly beside it. Of all the rooms in the house, this one felt by far the most foreboding. Had Dan ever brought that woman here? Had they made love in her bed? Sophie stood up at the unsavoury thought and unbuttoned her cherry red coat slowly, then unzipped her bag. She needed to unpack, to wash Norway and Lucien Knight out of her clothes and her mind. She shook out her best dress and held it against her. It needed to be dry cleaned to remove the flecks of creamy pannacotta that stood out starkly against the black silk. Sophie gripped the dress, winded by the memory of last night in Lucien’s dining room. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours ago? It felt like a lifetime. When she reached down into her bag again, her fingers bumped against something she didn’t expect to find there. Something hard. She frowned and pushed the clothes aside, then gasped softly. A shallow, black box about the length of a shoebox lay at the bottom of her bag. A box with the all too familiar Knight Inc. logo engraved in gunmetal grey on the top. Sophie sucked in a sharp breath and sat down again. What was inside? She drew it out and balanced it carefully on her knees. It was heavier than she’d expected, and she was sure that whatever it held wouldn’t help her to put Lucien out of her head. She should hide it in the bottom of her wardrobe without looking inside. Or even better, throw it straight into the bin. She opened the box. Her fingers shook as she peeled back the crisp black tissue paper within. A card lay on top, thick, creamy and inscribed with Lucien’s bold black handwriting. Your three wishes. 9am on Monday. Be there. Lucien Sophie knew exactly what lay amongst the folds of the tissue paper, but withdrew the objects one by one anyway. A wisp of black lace and silk. The heavy silver acorn, suddenly duller and tawdry.

The aurora glass dildo, robbed of its rainbows and glitter by the oppressive London skies and Sophie’s mood. They all looked so ordinary, so mundane, here in her orderly bedroom. Maybe Lucien had been the magician whose touch had brought them to life. As she sighed and folded back the tissue to return them to their box, something else caught her eye nestled at the bottom. She picked up the small, gold velvet box, vintage, if the well-loved condition of the fabric was any indicator. Soft and worn, Sophie knew instantly that somebody had cherished its contents enough to hold it often. Her fingers curled over the edges and clutched it tightly. Warm and tactile in her palm, Sophie could only wonder at what lay inside, and why Lucien had wanted her to have it. She unfurled her fingers and lifted the hinged lid slowly. A folded slip of paper fluttered onto her lap, then she saw that inside the box lay a delicate gold bracelet, its links interspersed every now and then with a small round jewel. Each diamond flashed aurora-bright as she held it up to the light to study it. She caught her breath. It was stunning, as if someone had reached up and captured tiny flecks of the brilliant Norwegian night sky. But it wasn’t just the beauty of the bracelet that mesmerised her. Sophie recognised it. She’d seen it once before. Or rather she’d seen a photograph of someone wearing it. Lucien’s mother. It had been around her wrist in the photograph on Lucien’s desk. Sophie held back the tears that threatened to start again as she looked at the delicate, treasured jewels. The sex toys had been unexpected, but she wasn’t really surprised to have found them there. But this… why? It must be precious to him. She laid the bracelet carefully back in its box and reached for the note. Another strong and beautiful woman loved this very much. May it always remind you how big the world is, and that you always have a choice. Remember, Princess. L x Sophie read the words over again and shook her head gently. Just when she thought she had Lucien Knight all figured out, he turned right around and did something so unashamedly romantic that she wished he was there so she could look into his eyes and see the truth he wouldn’t have been able to hide. She fastened the clasp of the bracelet around her wrist, watching as the tiny stones cast rainbow shades on her skin. And then, second by second, minute by minute, Sophie simply sat and remembered. She remembered vast kaleidoscope skies, snow-capped mountains, and glittering fjords. She remembered warm fur at her back, and cold champagne on her tongue. And she remembered the dark, intricate lone wolf that slumbered across the beautiful shoulders of the man who’d taken the time to shown her how big the world truly is. Lost in her thoughts, Sophie flinched at the sudden sound from downstairs of the front door banging shut. Footsteps and a dragged suitcase on the wooden hall floor heralded Dan’s return. She caught her breath and quickly packed Lucien’s three wishes away in the black box. It was time to go into battle. In the blue corner, her husband. The man she’d planned to love forever. In the red corner, her lover. The man she hadn’t planned on loving at all. Sophie faltered, feeling exposed and alone. Did she actually love either of them? Did either of them love her?

“Sophie? Dan’s urgent voice carried up the stairs. “Soph, are you up there?” She crossed to the wardrobe and quickly slipped the black box into a space at the back, then clicked the door quietly closed. “Just coming,” she called, amazed that her voice sounded calm and clear. With one last glance down at the bracelet on her wrist, she opened the bedroom door and headed for the stairs. And that was when someone banged hard on the front door. Sophie froze, halfway down the staircase, her eyes on her husband’s familiar suit-clad back as he turned the latch on the door. Fleetingly, she admired his thoroughness in remembering to wear business dress, even though she knew he hadn’t been near a meeting. Very convincing, Dan. She knew who was outside. It was inevitable. Dan swung the door back and glared at the stranger lounging cross-armed against the doorjamb. “Whatever you’re selling, we don’t need it,” he said irritably. The stranger stared at him and said nothing. A long moment passed. Sophie sensed that Dan was about to try to close the door. She knew just as certainly that the visitor would prevent it. She broke the silence. “He isn’t selling anything.” Sophie spoke softly but distinctly, glancing from one man to the other. Dan turned enquiring eyes in her direction. Whether she was ready or not, it seemed that the fighters were coming out of their corners regardless. Was she supposed to referee between them? How could she? Her loyalties were divided between the man she’d married for better or worse, and the beautiful Viking who’d turned her world upside down. “He’s Lucien.” She swallowed hard. Seconds out. Sophie could almost hear the bell ringing. “He’s Lucien Knight.” THE END

Knight & Stay by Kitty French

PROLOGUE "Who the fuck is Lucien Knight?" Dan's eyes flickered between the stranger on his doorstep and Sophie behind him on the staircase. She could practically hear the thoughts scrambling through his mind as his expression cycled from irritation, to confusion, to disbelief. It was as if he was trying to slot together the pieces of an invisible jigsaw without any idea what the finished picture should look like. The rain outside had picked up from drizzle to downpour, and rivulets coursed down Lucien's face. He seemed not to even register it as he stood stock still, his arms crossed over his chest and one foot in the doorway in case Dan decided to slam it. His eyes were trained on Sophie. "Should I know you?" Dan squared his shoulders as though preparing to meet threat with threat. Lucien's gaze moved slowly from Sophie to Dan, a knowing, derisory look that took in everything from his rumpled suit to his corporate haircut. He paused for a long moment before responding, his manner perfectly composed. "I came to deliver these to your wife." He pulled a brown envelope from inside his jacket and held it out. His expression was unreadable. It was an envelope Sophie had already seen once that day. Panic ripped through her body and galvanised her rigid legs into motion towards her husband, but the flap on the envelope was already open. Dan glared down at the unaddressed, plain front and instinctively reached inside. The sight of the contents stilled his hand and froze his expression The pictures. Graphic, photographic evidence of his extra-marital affair with Maria. Aghast, he shoved them hastily back inside in a vain attempt to stop Sophie from seeing them as she drew alongside him. "Don't bother. She's already seen them," Lucien drawled. Dan's face turned as grey as his jacket. "Sophie, please..." He twisted around. "It isn't what it looks like..." Lucien laughed. Actually laughed. "Sorry. Carry on. I'm dying to hear this," he said, sarcasm all over his beautiful Viking face. He’s enjoying this, Sophie thought. Enjoying the destruction. The beginnings of rage blazed in her as she looked at him, arrogantly dominating the situation. But wait. No. He wasn’t finding it funny. She searched his face, comprehension dawning. He was angry. White hot furious. "Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway?" Dan blustered. "Magnum fucking PI?" Lucien's expression darkened. "You don't want to know." "You're right there. This," Dan smacked the envelope with the back of his hand, "is none of your business." He tried to slam the door, but Lucien’s foot was in the way. He shoved it open again so hard that it slammed back against the wall. Dan turned to Sophie in outrage. "What is this, Soph? Have you hired some crackpot detective to snoop on me?" Sophie stared at him, curiously detached as she watched him squirm on the hook. How dare he be so indignant? Catching a glimpse of his dangerously calm face, it crossed her mind that Lucien might take matters into his own hands and floor Dan, but she dismissed the thought. He was certainly capable, and certainly livid enough, but his self-control was legendary. Anyway, if anyone was going to hit him she wanted the pleasure for herself. She stepped forward, plucking the envelope from Dan's fingers and finding her voice. She was surprised by how cool it sounded.

"Thank you Mr. Knight. I'll take it from here." Why had he come here? Did he expect her to introduce him to Dan? Hi husband, meet Lucien Knight, the man who just whisked me halfway around the world and screwed me ten ways backwards. Oh, and welcome home. "Just go," she said, pleading with her eyes rather than her voice, which remained steady. "I’ll handle this my way." She would worry about his motivation later. Lucien's eyelashes were spiked with rain, and Sophie found her hands itching to slide inside his jacket and find solace in the heat of his arms. His expression filled her with foreboding. "I'll be in touch," she added, desperate to diffuse the weapons-grade explosiveness of the situation. "When?" Dan stepped closer behind Sophie. "I'm not sure," she said. "Please... leave this now." Dan threw a scathing glance down the path at Lucien's Aston Martin. "You heard the lady." Sophie flinched at the proprietary tone in his voice. "Take your flash car and piss off." It happened in seconds. One moment Lucien was outside, the next he was half way down the hallway with Dan pinned against the wall. "The lady?" The two men were practically nose to nose. "The lady? I think you lost the right to speak for Sophie when you decided to screw someone other than your wife, don't you?" At a serious disadvantage, Dan had the eyes of a hunted man but he came back at Lucien all the same, despite the strong forearm across his windpipe. "Who the fuck are you to tell me anything about my marriage?" Fleetingly, Sophie was impressed by the bravado, though his blustering tone revolted her. Lucien turned his head to look at Sophie. "I'm Sophie's friend. Someone who cares about her. Someone who happens to think she deserves more than a prick like you could ever give her." He dropped his arm from Dan's throat, as if touching him sullied his battered leather jacket. He looked at Sophie for an endless moment, then made a slight motion with his head which could have signalled disgust, or pity, or exasperation, before turning to leave. Dan rolled his shoulders back, bold now that the immediate danger had passed. "Close the door on your way out," he muttered childishly at Lucien's back. Then, belligerent, "And stay the fuck away from my wife." Lucien stilled, and Sophie's stomach dropped through the floor as he spun round, quick as a whip, and swung his fist squarely into Dan's chin, sending him sprawling. "Your wife?" Lucien spat as he dragged Dan to his feet, blood from Dan’s nose streaking his hands. "You're not fit to even look at Sophie, let alone call her your wife." He had Dan by the collar, twisted at his throat. Sophie had never seen this side of Lucien, and she was suddenly terrified by the intensity and heat of his anger. There was such darkness within him, and something about this situation had plunged a knife straight into it. Sophie felt sick. There was no glory in having these two men brawl over her. One menacing, the other indignant, both of them were fighting over something deeper than their feelings for her. "Stop it." She grabbed hold of Lucien's arm and tried to drag him off, as effective as a kitten trying to wrangle a tiger. "Lucien, please. You're making things a hundred times worse." His grip didn’t slacken until he glanced down at her hand, and his eyes settled on the bracelet around her wrist. His bracelet. His mother's bracelet. The anguish on his face tore into Sophie's heart. He let Dan go as though he were radioactive, with a shove that sent him reeling, then moved close and dipped his head to Sophie's, his hand warm and firm on

the back of her neck. His lips touched hers. For a moment, she forgot Dan was even there. The briefest of kisses, the deepest of messages. You always have choices. Remember. He released her gently and stalked away down the path, shaking Dan's blood from his knuckles as he left.

CHAPTER ONE "Sophie." Kara's worried voice wouldn't go away, however hard Sophie tried to block it out and stay asleep. "Wake up, Soph." Maybe she'd give up if Sophie feigned ignorance for long enough. But a gentle, insistent hand shook her shoulder, so she sighed deeply and forced her reluctant eyelids to open to survey the scene. The TV still on low from the night before. An empty wine bottle on the table. An equally empty glass next to it. One glass, the hallmark of a lonely heart. The fact that she'd slept on her own sofa rather than in her big, empty marital bed said even more about the state of Sophie's heart. Kara's pretty face creased in sympathy, but her eyes were clear and determined. "You need to get up, babe." "Do I?" Sophie muttered sourly. "Do I really?" She pushed herself up on her elbows beneath the bunched quilt she'd dragged off the spare bed a few nights back. "Kara, my marriage is in tatters. My husband's gone, probably moved in with the mistress he's had for the last three years. I don't have a job. All I have is this sofa… " - she cast a look towards the TV - "… Jeremy Kyle, and red wine." "Yeah. How's that working out for you?" Kara pointedly moved the wine glass and replaced it with a cup of tea. "The way you're going, you'll be on Jeremy Kyle, not watching it." Sophie huffed and dragged herself up to a sitting position as Kara perched on the other end of the sofa and tucked her feet under the quilt. "‘I shagged my sex god boss whilst my husband was on holiday with his secret mistress’ has a certain ring to it." Kara's eyes sparkled with gentle humour as she fished a box of paracetamol out of her pocket. "Even Jeremy Kyle would struggle to unravel my problems," Sophie muttered, accepting the pills as Kara popped them out. The tea scalded her throat as she washed them down, but the pain barely even registered. Sophie was all out of tears and her pain receptors were well and truly off duty. Her body and mind had had enough, and a week hiding beneath the sanctuary of her quilt hadn't even scratched the surface when it came to restoring normal service. "You don't need Jeremy. You've got me." Sophie nodded ruefully. "Amen for you." Kara had warned her at the outset that taking the job as Lucien Knight's PA was wrong on every level, but she'd gone ahead and done it anyway. The lure of Lucien had been too strong to resist. Too exciting. Too shiny, too new, too perfect a distraction from the bad stuff going on in her life. And as only a true friend could, Kara had held back from saying 'I told you so' when Sophie's life had crumbled around her ears. She'd been steadfast, the only solid rock on fast shifting ground. She'd soothed Sophie's broken spirits over bottles of wine and late night telephone calls, and she'd called around with dinners that Sophie couldn't bring herself to eat. And now it was Saturday morning, and she'd let herself in with the spare key she’d appropriated, armed with carriers of fresh food and the firm intention to get Sophie off the sofa before it swallowed her whole. Sophie sighed heavily. "Dan called last night." Kara's eyes rounded a little. "Is he okay?" "Not really." Sophie clutched her mug for comfort. "He's all over the place. Apologising in one breath then calling me names the next." Kara nodded slowly. "Bit like you, then."

Sophie lifted a shoulder. "I guess." "Did you ask him how his black eye was?" "Do you think I did?" Sophie raised a sarcastic eyebrow at her friend. "Has he moved in with...?" Kara didn't say Maria's name, but they both knew how the sentence ended. "I didn't ask. Where else would he be though? They've been together for years. They've been on holiday together." Sophie breathed out shakily. "Where else would he be?" Kara's sympathetic face and lack of reply confirmed her agreement even if she didn't voice it. "Enough about Dan. What are we going to do about you?" Sophie threw a baleful look at the empty wine bottle. "Restock my wine rack?" "Soph, I'm serious. If you don't get your act together, everything will just stay the same." She reconsidered. "In fact, it won't stay the same. Your bills won't get paid, and the bank will take your house." Sophie slid her mug onto the coffee table and pushed her hands through her hair. Ugh. Greasy and lank, and no doubt as dishevelled as the week old PJs she was wearing. Kara was right. It was hard to hear, and impossible to imagine getting off the sofa for more than ten minutes, but the time for wallowing was over. The thought of losing her home was too much to bear, it had become her only constant. "I don't know where to start, Kar." Kara must have heard the wobble in Sophie's quiet words, because she gathered her up into a fortifying hug and then held her out again at arm’s length. "You can start by taking a shower. You stink." Sophie wound the towel around her freshly showered hair and scrubbed a hand over the fogged up bathroom mirror. The face looking back at her through the cleared space eyed her coolly, taking in the slightly more pronounced cheekbones and the dark smudges around her eyes. Neither came as a shock. She could barely keep food down, and sleep wasn't coming easy. She didn't know herself anymore. So many emotions warred inside her, she felt slashed to ribbons on their blades. Fear. Anger. Resentment. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. It didn't matter that Dan had been cheating on her for three years. She'd relinquished the moral high ground the first moment she'd set eyes on Lucien Knight, because she'd known. She'd taken the job even though she'd known what would happen, when she should have run for the hills. Yes. She deserved her guilt, and it was magnified ten times over thanks to Lucien's behaviour in the hallway last week. This was her mess. He had no right striding in and riding roughshod over everyone else to make his point. He'd forced her hand when she should have been the one making the decisions. By taking away her choices, he'd given Sophie one more argument to add to the ever-lengthening list of reasons to resent him. It was almost as long as the list of reasons why she'd allowed him to seduce her in the first place. Almost. She'd refused his numerous calls over the last week and ignored his text messages. She hoped and assumed that her failure to turn in for work would act as her unspoken resignation. Her time with Lucien had been brief and blindingly bright, but it was time to quit playing fairy stories about tragic snow princesses and chivalrous Vikings and face the grey, never-ending monotony of her ruined marriage head on. No more running. Or slumping on the sofa, for that matter. Sophie followed her nose and found Kara in the kitchen singing along to the radio as she buttered hot toast. Maybe it was just the effect of showering the last week’s grime and tears from her body, but Sophie felt her stomach rumble in response to the homely smell as she sat down at the kitchen table. It felt good to wear clean clothes again. She'd reached instinctively for her slouchiest jeans and a soft, nude pink sweater, looking for any scrap of comfort she could find. In the absence of warm arms, clothes and her trusty sheepskin boots would have to do.

"Your phone beeped. Seven times." Sophie cast a hunted glance at her mobile on the work surface. If Kara had looked at it, she'd no doubt have seen Lucien's name flash up on the screen. "I've been ignoring him." "He doesn't seem to like it. You have eleven unread messages." "You've been in my phone?" Kara shrugged unapologetically. "So shoot me. I'm worried about you, Soph. You can't stick your head in the sand." "I'm okay." Sophie pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her fingertips. "Or at least I will be, just as soon as I can find another job." Kara slid a plate of toast onto the table. "I haven't seen many adverts for PAs to Viking sex gods lately," she observed, deadpan. Sophie gave her friend a withering look and picked up a piece of toast. "What are you going to do about him?" Kara's eyes flicked back to Sophie's mobile. "Nothing." "Something tells me that nothing isn't one of your options, Soph. You still work for him officially, remember?" "It's up to me, not him. And I say no." Kara nodded. "You’d better tell him that, then." Sophie's shoulders slumped. "I know. I just can't face him yet." "Send a text?" Sophie shook her head. "And say what? 'Thanks for the sex and the temporary job, but I've decided to look for something a bit less heart-breaking?' You've never met him Kara. If you had, you'd know he isn't someone you can send packing with a text message." Kara crossed to the sink to wash her mug. "Err, Soph... did you say he drives an Aston Martin?" The beautiful black car purred into Sophie's mind. "Yes." Kara turned away from the window. "Then I hate to say it, but I think he's coming up the garden path." Both girls froze at the sound of the knock on the door. "I'm not answering it," Sophie whispered, holding onto her coffee mug so tightly that her knuckles popped white against her skin. "I don't want to, Kara." "I'll get it then." "No! Just leave it. Please. He'll go away if we don't answer it." "You reckon?" Lucien knocked again, harder this time. "Fuck, Soph, I know you said he was hot, but he's ay-may-zing." Kara's eyes were on stalks as she craned over the sink to get a better view through the window. "Please let me at least open the door for a proper look." "I'm serious Kara," Sophie's whisper rose a strangled octave in panic. "I can't speak to him today." "Sophie." Lucien's deep voice echoed along the hallway, and Sophie closed her eyes as Kara widened hers. "Open this door, Sophie, or I will." His voice was level, but the threat was clear. "Christ, is he going to break the door down?" Kara hissed, practically bouncing with excitement. Sophie put her mug down and glanced worriedly along the hallway. She wasn't sure she could handle another showdown, but it seemed she was destined to have one anyway. As she walked towards the door, she could make out Lucien's tall, familiar frame through the glass panes and her stomach rolled with nerves. The toast had been a mistake. "I can see you, Sophie." Her stomach flipped again, and it had little to do with the toast this time. "Please go. I don't have anything to say." "Well, I do. Now you can let me in, or I'll use this key that's right here in the door to let myself in." He

paused to let his words sink in. "Which is it to be?" Sophie's eyes darted in panic to her own keys safely on the hallway table, and then suspiciously towards Kara in the kitchen doorway. The frantic way she was feeling her pockets and the apologetic grimace on her face confirmed the worst. Lucien wasn't lying. He could have walked straight in. He was giving her a chance to invite him before he invited himself. As her fingers hovered over the door catch, Sophie sighed and laid her head against the glass. "I really don't want to open this door," she said, mostly to herself. Lucien was silent on the other side. Waiting. Watching. Sophie felt Kara's hand squeeze her shoulder in quiet solidarity. "Open the door, Soph," she murmured. "I'm here. I'll make him leave if you really want him to." Sophie swallowed hard, then pressed down the latch and pulled the handle towards her. Pain registered first. Pain from the way Kara's fingernails suddenly bit into her shoulder. Sophie wasn't surprised. Meeting Lucien Knight for the first time had had a similar effect on her too. Her gaze connected with his chest, solid, broad and clad in a battered black leather jacket. She closed her eyes for a second before looking upwards, taking a moment to mentally assume the brace position. Three, two, one... "Lucien." It was the first time she'd said his name since he'd left this same hallway last weekend with Dan's blood on his hands, and it felt like a guilty pleasure on her lips. His eyes locked onto hers. "Sophie." He didn't look away, didn't even seem to register Kara's presence beside Sophie. "I need to talk to you." Being so close to Lucien did strange things to Sophie's insides. She was seething mad with him for his previous behaviour, and yet the pure sexual pull of his body called to hers like a siren. How could she be so furious, and so mixed up, and yet still crave him too? She hated her treacherous body for wanting him. Her resolve stiffened, and she glanced at Kara behind her. "I'll be okay." She patted her friend's hand to encourage her to release her death grip on her shoulder. "You should probably get going." Kara's uncertain eyes slid from Sophie to Lucien, and then back to Sophie again. "You're sure?" Sophie nodded, and Kara's expression seemed to say a million things at once. She saw concern, and she loved her friend for it. She also saw admiration, and felt bolstered by Kara's confidence in her. And lastly she saw 'Let me stay because I want to stare at this man some more,' which Sophie could hardly blame her for. She hugged her friend briefly and propelled her over the threshold, and Lucien stepped aside to allow her to pass. Sophie shivered and wrapped her arms around her midriff as she watched Kara's retreating back with an increasing sense of panic. "So," Lucien said. "It's just you and me again." Oh God. She couldn't do this. Everything he said came out sounding like a movie hero. "What do you want, Lucien?" "My PA back?" His tone was neutral as he held her gaze steadily. A strangled laugh choked out of Sophie's throat. "I’ve quit." "I didn't get your resignation letter. Invite me in." Sophie didn't want this big man in her small house, but the only other option was to continue the

conversation on the doorstep, and she suspected that the neighbours were already having a field day with her marital problems. She could practically see the curtains twitching and hear the phone calls passing between them to alert each other to another potential sideshow going on in the street. "Fine. Come in." She turned her back on him and headed for the kitchen. She heard the door close and knew he was in the room by the crackling electricity of his nearness, but she forced herself not to turn around until she'd filled the kettle and reached for mugs. "Sit down?" She turned and gestured towards a dining chair as she cleared the breakfast debris off the table, still not meeting his eyes. He moved and sat where she'd indicated, his body somehow far too big for her kitchen. He was dressed in black, and it matched her mood. Does he have to sprawl like that? How could he look so comfortable in another man’s kitchen, with another man’s wife? But then again, her husband had never registered highly on Lucien’s respect radar. Coffee made and on the table, Sophie was all out of delaying tactics. It was time to face Lucien Knight.

CHAPTER TWO "You didn't come to work on Monday." Sophie placed the mugs on the table and sat down opposite Lucien. "Did you seriously expect me to?" He lifted one shoulder, as if bemused she even needed to ask. "Yes." She shook her head. He couldn't be serious. "You hit my husband." "Do you expect me to apologise? He deserved it." Lucien worked hard to maintain his casual bearing but the expression in his eyes went from cool to lava hot, leaving Sophie well aware of how on edge he was. "You had no right." Sophie's fingernails bit into her palms as her fists tightened. "I wanted to do things my way. You took away my choices." She watched him digest her words and for the briefest moment, saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes. "Choices?" He leaned forward and drummed his fingers on the table. "Way I see it, you didn't have any choices to make, Sophie. Your husband's a lowlife, you needed rid of him." Sophie mirrored his rigid stance across the table. "And there you go again, making my decisions for me." A pulse flickered along the hard set of his clenched jaw. "I thought you'd make the wrong one." "So you made it for me." He leaned back, folding his arms defiantly across his chest. "I'm not sorry." "Men never are." Sophie regretted the cheap generalisation the moment it left her lips, but the last few days had left her more than a little jaded. "I'm not like him, Sophie." Lucien's words were spoken so softly that Sophie only just caught them. "No. No, you're not like him," she spat. "You're your very own brand of fucked up, Lucien." Her words must have hit home, because he cast his eyes down and sighed heavily. Robbed of the luxury of his expression, Sophie was almost undone by the vulnerability in his new aspect: the sweep of his long lashes against his cheekbone and the fullness of his slightly parted lips. For a split second she was transported back to his office in Norway, looking at the photograph of the boy this man had become, the laughing child with the mother he adored. He was alone in the world, and her point-scoring felt suddenly shoddy. "I didn't mean to take away your choices." Lucien's voice was quiet but steady. Sophie believed him. He was a man who operated on his own screwed up set of morals, and in her heart she knew his actions had been driven by anger with Dan rather than a desire to control her. Fact was, the end result would have been the same either way. She'd have told Dan about her affair. Dan would have confessed to his affair. Where do you go from there, really? They'd betrayed each other's trust, trampling their marriage into the dust as they went. "Lucien." Sophie looked back into his air force blue eyes when he raised them to hers. "What's happened has happened. I need to find a way to get through this, and you need to find a new PA." He huffed lightly. "I don't want a new PA. Come back to work." "Never in a million years." He shook his head. "We could make it work. We're grown ups, Sophie."

She all but laughed. "What, so I should just come into work as if nothing has happened? Make your coffee, type your reports, and conveniently forget we've had sex?" "Who said forget?" Lucien's eyes darkened as they settled on hers again. "I don't want to forget fucking you. I don't want to forget how you feel in my hands, or how your face looks when you come." Sophie stared at him, dry mouthed. He had a directness that knocked the air clean out of her lungs. "So no. Not forget. Move on." He sipped his coffee. "You can go back to being the girl who kisses envelopes before she mails them." Sophie tried to remember that girl. It was almost impossible. She was a stranger, even though only a few weeks had passed since she’d posted that fateful letter. "I can't do it," she said, flatly. "Yes you can. If nothing else Sophie, we can be friends, and colleagues." He made it sound so perfectly reasonable. So achievable. So very casual. Easy come, easy go. But then wasn't that exactly who he was? It might be who he was, but it wasn't who she was. "I can't, Lucien, it's too hard. I can't be friends with you, and I can't sort out the mess my life is in with you around." Lucien looked around her small kitchen. "I take it he's not living here anymore?" Surprised by his change of tack, Sophie shook her head and dug her nails into her palms again. Physical pain to distract from the mental pain, but the tears gathered regardless. "Are you okay on your own?" he asked softly. She closed her eyes. Don't do that. Don't be gentle. I'll dissolve if you do that. She dashed the back of her sleeve across her eyes. "Not really." Lying would have been smarter, but it felt way beyond her emotional capabilities. "I don't know who I am anymore. I'm not sleeping. I’m hiding from the neighbours. They're probably out there now photographing your car on their mobile phones." Lucien reached out across the table, and Sophie snatched her hands away before he could touch them. "You should go." She dragged her eyes up to his. "Don't come here again, Lucien." Her words were little more than a whisper in the quiet room. "This is my life. I need to find a way to live it." She didn't look up until she heard the front door bang behind him. Lucien scowled at the kids running around his car, sending them scattering. Sophie was right. He had no place here. Hell only knew why he'd come here today. Hadn't he already got what he wanted? Sophie had kicked her husband to the kerb, so why didn't he feel the victory as he ought to? Because she was broken. It shocked him to see her so gaunt, to know that he'd set her on a long, lonely path. He hadn't thought beyond the glory of winning the battle, and he hadn't counted on Sophie being amongst the losers. He cast a long, last look at the small neat house. This wasn't over. Not by a mile.

CHAPTER THREE Sophie closed the file on the computer screen and reached for her mobile. Even though it had only been a few weeks since she'd last worked at Hopkins Building & Double Glazing, sitting at her old desk felt like stepping back into shoes that didn't fit any more. She knew she was lucky that Derek hadn't filled her position already, and she really ought to be more grateful that he'd taken her back on. And she was, she really was, but there was no denying that doubleglazing quotes were far less scintillating than sex toy analysis reports. And as bosses went, Lucien Knight was a hard act to follow. She glanced surreptitiously at the screen of her phone. No messages. Not that she was expecting any. Dan had gone radio silent over the last three weeks, and Lucien seemed to have taken her at her word since their last encounter. She missed them both. "Sophie, my girl." Derek blustered into Sophie's tiny box room of an office and squashed his not inconsiderable bulk alongside her behind the desk. Sophie swallowed hard as he laid his chubby hand on her shoulder and squeezed it whilst he squinted at her screen. "Everything alright, love? Settling back in?" Sophie smiled tightly and nodded, trying not to notice the way his belly was bidding to escape through his straining shirt buttons. "Found everything you need?" Derek's grip on her shoulder went from squeezing to massaging, and Sophie had to work hard to keep the grimace off her face. She nodded again, unable to speak through gritted teeth. He was still massaging. "I knew you'd be back. Can't keep away, eh?" he laughed dirtily, and then leaned in so his body touched against the side of Sophie's. His fingers edged along her shoulder to rub at the exposed skin at her collar; clammy, raw sausages that made Sophie's skin crawl. "I hear on the office grapevine that your husband's got himself a piece of skirt." Sophie really needed this job. She'd tried and failed to find anything else over the last few weeks. Coming back here had been the only immediate way she could see to pay the red bills that had started to fall through the letterbox. Derek obviously knew it too. He had her over a barrel and clearly felt that he was the ideal candidate to step into Dan's recently vacated shoes, but he'd overstepped the mark by a mile. She wasn't the same girl he'd lazily harassed in the past. "Derek... I don't think..." His massage turned to a grip that held her down, and his other hand landed on the side of her ribcage, horribly close to her breast. In normal circumstances, Sophie would have made it clear to him that his advances were unacceptable, but these weren't normal circumstances or normal days. She was already battered, and this was one fight too many. Shameful tears gathered in her eyes as Derek's cigarette breath assaulted her nostrils. "It's good to have you back, Sophie." The telephone shrilled on the desk and broke the moment, and Derek pulled back and patted her shoulder. "You’d better get that, love. I'll come back later when the lads have gone home." There was not going to be a later. Sophie watched Derek shamble across the yard outside, and anger engulfed her, anger fiercer than she'd

ever known before, leaving her ready to beat her fists on the glass and scream at the top of her lungs. Too much, too much, too much. She reached for her coat and slung her bag over her shoulder. She'd lose her home before she lost the last few shreds of self-respect she had left.

CHAPTER FOUR The following Monday found Sophie doing something she'd never expected to do again. No one gave her a second glance as she walked through the black glass atrium and rode the elevator to the top floor, and no one waylaid her as she walked down the plush corridor and tapped on the closed door at the end before pushing it open. Lucien looked up from the report in his hand and stared at her in surprised silence, then slowly placed the plastic coffee cup he was holding down on the desk in front of him. "A million years turned out to be too long," Sophie said, clicking the door shut behind her. She'd been rehearsing that comment all the way to work, determined to make a dignified entrance. Lucien nodded slowly and gestured for her to take the seat opposite his. "Have you already filled my job?" He picked his pen up and tapped it idly on the desk. "A good PA is hard to find, Sophie. I'm taking my time." She swallowed. He wasn't making it easy for her, but then she'd told him in no uncertain terms that their paths weren't going to cross again. "Do you have any references, Ms. Black?" Sophie sighed. So this was the game he wanted to play. "No. I walked out of a job last week because the boss expected more than my typing skills for his money." Lucien frowned and leaned forward, his dark shirt clinging to his defined shoulders. "Did he hurt you?" There was a rough edge to his voice that wasn't usually there. Sophie shook her head. "Just my pride. I walked out before he could do anything else." Lucien leaned back in his chair again, but his eyes were troubled. "So here you are. Out of the frying pan, into the fire." "I need a job, Lucien. That's all." Sophie fought to keep her voice steady as she said more of the words she'd practiced over and over in her head on the way there. "I'll type your reports, and I'll make your coffee, and at the end of the day, I'll put my coat on and go home again." He nodded. "To your empty house." Sophie's eyes flicked sharply to his. Was he fishing to find out whether Dan had moved back home? She steadied her breathing and shrugged one shoulder as she nodded. "To my empty house." Lucien steepled his fingers beneath his chin and studied her. "Will you kiss my envelopes before you mail them?" "Will you give me my job back if I say yes?" He gestured towards the doorway to her old office. "It's all yours." Relief flooded Sophie's bones, and also an unexpected, disorienting sensation of safety, too. "Just colleagues," she said. "And friends," he murmured, with the slightest flicker of an eyebrow. He glanced sideways into Sophie's office at the gleaming coffee machine and dropped his plastic cup in the bin. "Any chance you could start by making me a decent cup of coffee?" Lucien sat for a second and listened to the clatter of cups and the tapping of keys on the keyboard from

the room next door. Sounds that heralded the return of Sophie Black, the girl who surprised him. She'd done it once again today, just as she had the first time he'd met her. He knew how much it must have cost her to come back here today, and he wasn't fool enough to think she'd have come at all if she had any other options. She was so much braver than she knew, and it impressed the hell out of him. He'd grown accustomed to the silence over the weeks since she'd left, and it surprised him how much pleasure it gave him to hear Sophie next door again. He had no name for the emotion she stirred in him, and he didn't care to consider it beyond acknowledging the fact that in alleviating her money concerns by reinstating her, he could atone for the guilt he felt about his part in her unhappiness. Besides. There was no denying the fact that she made a mean espresso. Sophie reacquainted herself with another desk she hadn't figured on sitting behind again, but this time around there was no accompanying sense of unease. Things were as she'd left them, pen pot to the right, diary to the left. A glance inside the diary revealed notes in someone else's hand, evidence that things had been kept ticking over in her absence. Almost as if a caretaker had ensured that things were ready and waiting for her just in case she should need them. Sophie shook the foolish thoughts from her head and clicked the computer into life, watching the familiar Knight Inc. logo emblazon itself instantly across the screen. She'd seen that logo so many times, in so many places. Here, in this building. On the tail of Lucien's jet. And printed on the tiny bottle of neroli massage oil Lucien had used to work her into a state of boneless ecstasy in front of his roaring fire in Norway. Norway. The land of soaring alpine mountains, of dancing night skies flashed through with more colours than a paint box, and of beautiful Vikings who could melt your knickers at twenty paces. He was less than twenty paces away right now.

CHAPTER FIVE 'Lunch?' Sophie looked up from the diary to the screen as the instant message alert broke the silence in her office. There was only one person in this building who messaged her, even though she'd have been able to hear his voice perfectly well from his desk just outside her doorway. 'I'm not really hungry. I'll work through.' It was a lie, but the idea of sharing lunch with Lucien chased away any hunger pangs. 'You need to eat. You're too pale.' She couldn't argue with the facts. No amount of carefully applied make up could conceal the grey tinge on her skin. 'I'll get something later. Please. I'd rather.' Sophie didn't know how to be clearer without being rude. Surely it was obvious that she needed to avoid spending unnecessary time with him? Just seeing him again that morning had affected her more than she'd thought it would. He made her breathless, and he made her feel things she didn't have the emotional wherewithal to feel right now. Her body responded to his nearness even when her head said no, and that situation had danger written all over it. Lucien muttered something indistinguishable in the other room and Sophie heard his door bang behind him a minute or two later. She dropped her head into her hands, her palms pushed into her aching eye sockets. What the hell was she doing here? Everything in her life was jumbled. How could coming back here do anything but make her life a million times more complicated? She knew the official answer, the one she had told herself and was ready to give to anyone else who cared to ask. She was here because it was a straight choice between this, being groped by Derek, or destitution. But the unofficial answer lingered on the edges of her mind too, even though she refused to allow it any headroom. There was a tiny but influential element of the decision that wasn’t about those practicalities. It was because she was lonely, because she ached to feel alive again, and because being near to Lucien soothed her, which she knew was entirely ridiculous, given that he was the most lethal man she'd ever met. Sophie puffed out the breath she'd been holding in and stared out of the picture window at the city skyline. It was vast, she was all at sea in it, and right now her job was the only lifeboat she could cling to. She'd be okay. She'd keep her head above water… just as long as she didn't cling to the skipper too. Lucien walked into his office half an hour later just as Sophie deposited a sheaf of papers on his desk. "Lunch." He dropped a couple of brown paper bags on the coffee table in the corner of his office and shucked off his dark woolen reefer jacket. Sophie had to look away. He had a way of wearing business dress that rendered him centrefold-worthy. His close cut dark shirts defined the taut lines of his body, and Sophie had yet to see him in a tie. His top button may as well not have been there for the amount he used it, and his shirt-sleeves were always folded back to reveal tanned forearms. The man was a walking, talking poster boy for his own sinfully sexy empire. Sophie hovered, uncertain. She was hungry, and whatever was in those brown bags smelt divine.

"It’s just food, Sophie. Come and eat." Lucien settled on the sofa and reached for the bags, then looked up at her expectantly. Sophie knew she was being churlish. If this was going to work, she had to find a way to be around Lucien without remembering how things had been between them last time around. That was then, and this was now, and he was laying little cartons of Chinese food out on the table that she really, really wanted to taste. Her feet propelled her towards the sofa almost of their own accord, but still she perched as far away from Lucien as she possibly could without tumbling off the edge. He watched her coolly for a second, and then reached across the void and handed her a pair of chopsticks. She eyed them doubtfully. "I'm not great with these." "I can't hear you Sophie. You're practically in the other room." Lucien cupped his hand to his ear, and she rolled her eyes and scooted a little closer to the food, and to him. He nudged a carton across the table. "Try this. I think you'll like it." The delicious scent of Singapore noodles filled her nostrils as soon as she opened the carton. Novice as she was with chopsticks, she managed well enough to discover that Lucien was right - they were divine. He handled his chopsticks with the ease of a man who used them often, and each new carton he offered her held amazing flavours and textures. Delicate glass noodles. Fiery rare fillet beef. Tender lobster. He encouraged her to try a little of everything, and Sophie found herself relaxing a little as the good food hit her stomach. Even the chopsticks behaved themselves, right up until the point Lucien insisted she test a particularly fragrant rice dish. Try as she might, more than a few grains at a time eluded her grip, until she laughed and placed the carton down, defeated. "Like this." Lucien demonstrated the correct way to use the sticks. "Keep the ends even, and pinch the top one between your thumb and finger." He frowned as she tried and failed to copy his example. "Wedge the bottom one here, like this." He looked at his own hand, and then at hers. He made it look so simple. Of course he did. Lucien moved along the sofa, close enough to reach out and touch her fingers with his own "Not like that. Like this." His warm hand brushed hers, placing her fingers into the perfect arrangement around the chopsticks. Sophie couldn't meet his eyes. The casual touch of his fingertips against her skin was enough to dissolve any further interest she had in eating. She badly wanted not to react to him, not to remember, not to want more… but it was too hard. "Sophie." She dragged her eyes upwards and found him watching her closely. He took the chopsticks from her fingers and placed them on the coffee table. "I'm sorry..." she said, and cast her gaze upward to the ceiling as she blinked tears back in. What was happening to her? She didn't cry easily, and yet these past few weeks she'd wept enough to cause a flood hazard. "Jesus. Come here." When Lucien moved in close and pulled her into his arms, Sophie couldn't fight it. No one – apart from Kara, her dear, dear, friend - had held her for weeks. And Kara didn’t hold her like this. She really, really needed it. Her unchecked tears dampened his shirt, and his familiar, expensive warm spice smell assaulted her senses. The strength of his arms. The gentle rub of his hand over her back. Little by little, his comforting eased the heave of her shoulders and stole away the painful ache from her chest. Sophie's eyelashes drifted down, and somewhere along the line, the touch of Lucien's hands went from being comforting to something else. Something way, way too intensely pleasurable to call a halt to. She became aware of the heat of his back where her arm curved around him, and the steady beat of his heart where her palm lay flat against the buttons of his shirt.

Did his lips brush against her hair when he murmured her name? Did she turn her face into the warm, golden skin at the hollow of his neck? His mouth was a whisper from hers when she tilted her head, close enough for his breath to warm her lips. Lucien was a long way beyond irresistible. Sophie closed the barely there space between them, letting her lips brush his jaw. The lowest of moans escaped Lucien's throat, and his gentle fingers cradled her cheek to draw her face in to his. He kissed her then, warm, slow and delicious. Pliant lips. The suggestion of his tongue against hers. His fingers in her hair. Murmured endearments in her mouth. "Princess." Lucien let himself hold her for a few moments longer. She felt so damn good in his arms. He was around five heartbeats away from pushing her down on the sofa and burying himself inside her, and he knew that right now she wouldn't stop him. But he also knew that she'd regret it as soon as it was over, and that she wouldn't come back again tomorrow. He wanted her to come back again tomorrow. She was porcelain in his hands. His thumb skimmed her raised collarbone and he was beyond tempted to slide his hand inside her blouse to cup the fullness of her breast. He'd caught a glimpse of her black bra strap earlier, and remembering the sight of her body from the times he’d opened her blouse a few short weeks before only made it harder not to reach for her buttons. Would she still look the same? Every lush curve seemed a little less full than the last time he'd held her. But it went deeper, too. It wasn't just her body that had taken the hit over the last few weeks. From the moment she'd walked into his office that morning, brittle fragility had been written all over her face. She'd come to him because she had no other choice, and whichever way he shook it down, that wasn't a good basis for sex. So he held her and tasted the sweetness of her mouth, then gently eased back and smoothed her mussed up hair behind her ear while she caught her breath. He watched her eyes and saw lust give way to confusion, then to a dawning realisation, a reexamination of what the hell she was doing. She covered her mouth with shaky fingers. "I'm sorry," she whispered, wide-eyed. "I didn't mean..." "It's okay. I know." Sophie dropped her hands into her lap, and Lucien covered them with his own. He felt her move to pull them away but he held them steady. "Sophie, there's nothing I'd have liked to do more then let that carry on, but even I can see that it's not what you need right now." She nodded, her gaze fixed on his hands. "I shouldn't have come here." The flat, deflated sound of her voice pierced him. "It's not going to work, is it?" "Not if you can't keep you hands off me, no," Lucien said, choosing a light tone, glad when she laughed shakily and looked up. "I think we're going to need some rules." Lucien raised an eyebrow at her suggestion. In general, he preferred to be the one making the rules. "Go on." He waited to see if Sophie's rules were the kind of rules he could live with. "Well..." She glanced down at his hands still covering hers. "No touching, for starters." He swallowed hard, then nodded grimly and moved his hands. He didn't say it, but the idea of having Sophie around him and not touching her made his balls ache. It helped a little that she looked equally regretful at the loss of contact. "Anything else?" She caught her lip between her teeth and then released it. He watched the movement and wanted to kiss her some more, to feel those lips open under his again.

Those lips had slid over his cock. He felt himself starting to harden at the memory. "No flirting," Sophie said. "I don't flirt." "You flirt all of the time." Lucien frowned. He didn't flirt. He just made it clear what he wanted. There was a difference. "I can't promise not to do something I don't do anyway." "Okay, let me put it another way," Sophie said with exaggerated patience. "My name's Sophie, not Ms. Black. Don't ask me to kiss your envelopes. Don't buy me lunch." "Friends can buy each other lunch." "Lucien, we just ended up snogging on your sofa because of lunch," Sophie pointed out. "Snogging? Could you be any more English?" He rolled his eyes. "I don't snog. I kiss, Sophie. I've practiced kissing for a long time. I'm good at it." It was Sophie's turn to roll her eyes. "Fine. Well, that's another thing. No kissing." "But snogging's okay?" He knew he was winding her up, but the pleasure of seeing the fire return to her eyes was worth it. "Lucien, please! I'm being serious. No kissing, no snogging... call it what you like. No anything that involves your mouth touching mine." "Not even mouth to mouth if you're dying?" She looked for a second as if she wanted to actually hit him, but the way her eyes flickered momentarily to his mouth gave her away. She could talk the talk, but walking the walk was much harder. "Okay, okay. No kissing. No touching. No flirting." He touched his fingers to his forehead in mock salute. She was asking a lot, and he wasn't certain he could abide by her rules twenty-four seven. The plain fact was that this thing between them wasn't just basic chemistry. It was lethal, combustible dynamite, and it was only going to be made ten times more difficult by denial. But he'd try. For Sophie Black, he was willing to try.

CHAPTER SIX Summer had well and truly given way to autumn, and Sophie was glad of the warmth of her cherry red winter coat as she made her way into work several Mondays later. So far, so good. Lucien had kept to his word as far as their new rules were concerned, although she’d noticed that he'd been out of the office more than in it since she'd returned. She wasn't sure if it was deliberate or a coincidence, but either way it made it easier to settle back in. That morning, he was already at his desk when she walked into his office, and he glanced up and studied her. He looked for a second as if he was going to say something more than his usual greeting, but then seemed to think better of it. "Sophie." "Lucien." She smiled lightly as she unbuttoned her coat. "Good weekend?" "Nothing unusual." Sophie had no idea what conclusion to draw from that, because she had no idea what Lucien did for pleasure. Her own experience of spending leisure time with him had been far removed from any normality she’d previously experienced. Surely he didn't live his life permanently at that intensity? Her week by his side had been a whirlwind of new experiences and sexual highs that had left her exhausted in both body and spirit. The instant message alert popped up on her screen as soon as she switched the computer on. 'Red looks good on you.' Sophie's breath caught in her throat as she replied. 'I think that's classed as flirting.' 'Blame your coat. It reminded me of...' Sophie closed her eyes for a second before replying. 'Lucien, stop.' Several moments passed before he responded. ' Stopped.' 'Thank you. I won't wear it here again.' 'Please do. I like it. Not flirting. Just honest.' Sophie sighed and decided not to pursue the point. 'Coffee?' 'You read my mind, Ms. Black.' 'Sophie'. 'Sophie. Can you bring the diary through when you're ready please? There's something we need to discuss.' Sophie stared at his words for a second. What did he need to discuss? And why did she get the distinct feeling that it was something that involved her? Smoothing her skirt down, she set about making coffee so she could go and find out. "I need you to clear the diary for a trip to Paris, please Sophie." She opened the diary, pen poised. "When for?" "End of next week. Wednesday through Friday, ideally." She flicked the pages and made a note, nodding.

"And I need you to come with me." Her heart stopped. "I don't think..." "I do." The message couldn't have been clearer. He wasn't giving her a choice. He was telling her that he needed his PA at his side for this trip, and she sensed that refusal wasn't an option. And how could she argue, in reality? Aside from his reference to her coat that morning, he hadn't overstepped the line once in almost a month. He'd given her no reason to doubt him. Was it Lucien she doubted, or was it herself? The idea disconcerted her and she sighed heavily. Paris. Could it have been anywhere more classically romantic? It was a city she'd always wanted to visit, but Dan had never been keen. The idea of wandering those tree-lined avenues with Lucien, drinking wine in a cafe... She gave herself a mental shake and refocused her attention on Lucien in the here and now. "Don't look so worried. Sophie. I'm opening a club over there. This is business, not a lovers’ tryst." She felt mildly foolish, but justified in her reticence nonetheless. Lucien had offered similar assurances before he'd taken her to visit a new Gateway Club all those weeks ago. She closed her eyes for a second, engulfed by the memory. Their affair had begun that evening in his private suite at the club, and then spiralled swiftly into the most mind-blowingly erotic week of her life. He could spin this as business-related all he wanted, but the truth was that it was a massive temptation that she wasn't certain she would be strong enough to resist. It was odd that she knew that the power lay in her hands. She sensed that Lucien would happily mix business with pleasure again if she gave him the green light, but also that he respected her red light enough to hold back. And therein lay the problem. If she were to waver, to flicker amber for even the merest moment, it would open the floodgates. She didn't see how she'd ever find the strength to swim against the tide.

CHAPTER SEVEN Sophie made herself a cup of tea, more for something to do than because she actually wanted one. She'd already scrubbed the house from top to bottom even though it didn't especially need it, and she'd tried and failed to concentrate on a glossy magazine left over from Kara's visit the evening before. A glance at the clock revealed the time to be just before midday, which came as no surprise since she'd checked it only ten minutes previously. Dan would be here in half an hour. It had been inevitable that he'd be in touch, but still, the curt text to let her know he'd be round over the weekend to collect his belongings had seemed unnecessarily abrupt. Had he heard that she was working for Lucien again? And what exactly did he plan to take? Most of their belongings had been joint purchases, things they'd ummed and aahed pleasurably over together, enjoying the process of turning their house into a home. The last thing she wanted was one of those agonisingly hackneyed arguments over their CD collection. Sophie jumped at the sound of the knock on the door. She'd wondered if he would use his key, and now she had her answer. In the hallway, she glanced at her reflection. She'd been stupidly stressed over what to wear for his visit, not wanting to appear downtrodden, but then she didn't want to look as if she'd dressed up for him either. In the end, she'd settled on jeans and her favourite T-shirt. An outfit that she hoped said 'I’m relaxed and comfortable, take me as you find me.' She smoothed a nervous hand over her ponytail and opened the door. "Hey Soph." Sophie had tried to imagine how she'd feel when she came face to face with Dan again. This was the man she'd shared her bed and her heart with for all of her adult life. This was the man she'd promised herself to, for better, for worse. This was the only man she'd ever loved. And now he was here the overriding feeling that spiked through her was fury, because as his car idled at the other end of the pathway to their door, she couldn’t fail to observe that Maria was behind the wheel. Dan caught her looking past him and had the grace to flush. "Sorry, Soph. She insisted." Sophie rolled her eyes. "I can't think why. Are you allowed across the threshold, or shall I throw your clothes at you from the bedroom window?" "Don't be stupid." He shot a quick glance back towards his girlfriend and then followed Sophie down the hallway. In the kitchen, she leaned against the work surface. "Coffee, or do you need to rush off?" However hard she tried to sound measured, the sarcastic edge won out. He shrugged awkwardly. "I'd better not." Sophie paused. "Right." He glanced around the kitchen, and she found she had to look away to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. His kitchen. Her kitchen. Their home… yet he already looked entirely out of place. "I've packed your clothes for you. And some other stuff. Toiletries... books... you know... things." She shrugged, attempted nonchalance and fell a long way short of the mark. She couldn't pretend that this didn't matter, nor that the fact that he had allowed Maria to be here today had turned the screw even tighter. He should have come alone. Their marriage deserved that much respect, at least.

His eyes fell on the bags in the hallway, and his shoulders drooped a little as he nodded. He contemplated them but made no move to pick them up, and eventually he turned his gaze back to Sophie. "How have you been?" His quietly spoken question caught her unawares. She shrugged one shoulder and scrunched her nose up. "You know. Up and down." He looked away, and she saw his throat work as he nodded. "How about you?" she asked, all at sea with her emotions. The heat of her anger had dissolved into bone deep sadness, and she couldn't lift her voice to pretend otherwise. His body language mirrored hers. "The same. Soph, I..." Dan broke off at the sound of the car horn blaring from the street. He swore under his breath, and his jaw stiffened in anger. "You're wanted," Sophie observed tonelessly. Because there was nothing else to say. "Looks that way," he muttered, huffing as he stalked down the hallway to gather up the bags. He turned to her just before he opened the front door, and for a second the annoyance dropped off his face and left him vulnerable and exposed. "I miss you." Sophie looked at him, not sure what he expected her to say. That she missed him too? She didn't say it because she wasn't sure it was true. Oh, she'd had moments of utter, raw despair, but mostly she'd been angry and resentful. She hadn't yet reached the place where it was okay to miss him without berating herself for being weak. The horn blared again. Dan considered her for a few seconds more, and then turned and opened the door, leaving Sophie with just the scent of another woman’s perfume to remind her that her husband had been there at all. Later that evening, Sophie refilled two glasses of wine and took them upstairs to Kara, otherwise known as the queen of packers. They'd spent the afternoon shopping for Sophie's upcoming trip to Paris. Her plans to buy just a few essentials had gone badly awry with Kara at her side reasoning that new clothes were a necessity given her recent weight loss. She'd returned home laden with designer bags, accessorized with aching feet and a badly over-flexed credit card. "I'm so borrowing this when you get back." Kara held Sophie's new cocktail dress against herself and turned critically to view her reflection. It wasn't a dress Sophie would usually have bought, but then it wasn't from a shop Sophie frequented, either. One of Kara's favourite designer haunts, the flamboyant owner had taken one long, assessing look at Sophie and held out the hideously expensive dress with a knowing look on his face. He'd dismissed Sophie's protests with an airy wave towards the changing room, and Sophie had accepted her fate. She'd try on the dress to prove him wrong. It was especially annoying that he’d called through a reminder that she'd need to take off her bra to do the dress justice. Except she didn't prove him wrong. She proved him to be skilled at his job, because the instant she’d shimmied into the dress, she had fallen instantly in couture love. Gossamer black lace over gunmetal grey silk, with tiny capped sleeves and a daring central black mesh V panel that showcased the curve of her breasts. The gown somehow managed to pull off demure and ultra sexy all at the same time. It was thoroughly grown up and sophisticated, very Parisian, and the closest Sophie had ever come to having an Audrey Hepburn moment. Despite the heart attack price tag, she left the boutique with the killer dress wrapped and gift bagged, and a new fan in Conrad, the haughty boutique owner. Kara had clearly filled him in on Sophie's Paris trip while she'd been busy in the changing room, because he'd wafted her with perfume and bid her a theatrical 'au revoir' as he opened the door and bowed them out of the shop. The glint in his eye was more than knowing. It bordered on lascivious. Sophie assessed the clothes that covered her bed, along with shoes and accessories. Kara was

organised to the point of borderline compulsive disorder. The outfits were perfect, right down to the earrings arranged on her pillow and the shoes positioned along the footboard - it looked like the bodies had been spirited away, leaving their clothes and accessories behind. "You scare me." Sophie handed Kara a wine glass. "Years of living out of a suitcase does that to a girl." Kara held down a job as a sales manager for an international drugs company and spent much of her time on the road for conventions and meetings. Coupled with her addiction to designer clothing, she was a girl who could out-pack a royal lady-in-waiting. "You've got professional day outfits, more relaxed evening clothes, and your killer dress." Kara waved her hand to indicate each option as she spoke. "The only thing missing here is underwear." Sophie knocked back a gulp of wine. "I don't need your help with that. I can sort out my own knickers." Kara grinned. "I hope you're going silk and lace. No granny pants, okay?" Sophie dropped onto the small sofa at the foot of the bed. "Okay. Not that it really matters, because no one is going to see them." Kara sat next to her and curled her legs underneath her. "You're sure about that?" Sophie nodded and swirled the wine in her glass. "It's strictly business." "You said that when you went to Norway." Sophie bit her lip. Norway. Just the mention of the place sent a shiver down her spine. Though it was more akin to a finger stroking lightly down her backbone than a shudder of revulsion. "Actually, I didn't. I knew perfectly well what was going to happen there. This genuinely is business. Lucien's opening a club in Paris, and he needs to visit the site." "A sex club?" "An adult club." Kara laughed and shook her head. "And the difference is?" Sophie shrugged and studied her wine glass. There wasn't a difference, aside from the nicety of the description. When she looked back up, her friend's expression was troubled. "Are you sure you're okay with this, Soph? Going to Paris, I mean?" "Not really." Sophie took a deep drink from her wine glass. "But if I can't do my job, I'm no use there. I'll have to leave." Kara nodded slowly, well aware of the demands of working for a high-flying boss. But this thing with Lucien and Sophie was a world away from her own experience. She sensed it wasn't the unsociable hours and sexual nature of the business that bothered her friend. It was Lucien, and having met him in all his dirty blond glory, Kara could well see why. It would take a saint to go to Paris with that man and not jump his bones, and lovely as Sophie was, she was no contender for sainthood. She was soft, and gentle, and still all kinds of messed up over Dan. Kara understood why Sophie felt the need to keep Lucien at arm’s length, but she wasn’t convinced that her friend was equipped to act on her conviction. Nor even whether she should. "What will you do if he makes a play for you?" Sophie picked up a cushion and plucked at the stitching for a few seconds. "He won't." "How can you be so sure?" "Because he hasn't so far. I made the rules, and he's stuck to them." Sophie knew in her heart that Lucien was a man who could be trusted. He wasn't Derek, shoving his pudgy, clammy hands where they shouldn't be. He wasn't seedy, and out to exploit her vulnerabilities. But, she admitted to herself, she was no safer with Lucien, because the man oozed sex from his very bones. Even with their chaste behaviour firmly established over the past weeks, he still stirred feelings inside her that left her breathless, confused and wildly turned on. She knew it wasn’t a safe combination.

"That's all well and good in the office. You're going to Paris, the city of romance." Sophie blew out a defiant sigh. "I'm done with romance." Kara flinched and rubbed Sophie's knee. "For now maybe. But not forever, Soph. You'll feel better, I promise." "Promise?" Sophie tried to draw comfort from Kara's assurance. Clichéd as it was, she loved romance. She'd always cried at rom-com movies even as Dan scoffed his way through them, and she adored Valentine's Day, even though her ever-cynical husband wrote it off as a marketer’s manufactured wet dream. "Can I say something without you hitting me?" Kara said. Sophie nodded. "Well, it's just... you’re going to Paris with the most gorgeous man either of us have ever laid eyes on." She paused. "You have a killer dress." Kara paused again and cleared her throat. "So...throw your bloody rules out the window and shag his brains out!" "Kara!" Surprise rounded Sophie's eyes into big blue pennies. "What?" Kara asked, thoroughly unrepentant. "They say the best way to get over a man is to get under another one." She raised her eyebrows over the rim of her wine glass at Sophie. "What happens in Paris stays in Paris, and all that. Just sayin'.” Sophie shook her head and laughed softly. Kara had no clue, and she herself didn't have the words to explain how impossible it would be to have anything approaching a casual Parisian fling with Lucien Knight. The last time she'd dropped her guard and let him close, it had been all consuming. He'd taken her body and her mind to places she'd never known existed, and then returned her to her small world like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight. Except she hadn't lost her shoe. She'd lost her marriage, her peace of mind, and her acceptance of being ordinary. Lucien was a whole lot of trouble because he made her want things she couldn't possibly have. He made ordinary life feel pale and insipid, a watered-down version of the existence she’d tasted that had him in it. Was that why she'd gone back to work for him? To be close to him, to bask on the edge, bathed by the glow of the fantasy of Lucien’s life without actually stepping back into the full glare? Maybe. Truth told, Sophie didn't really know herself all that well at the moment. Lucien had awoken sexual needs and desires within her that she'd never before acknowledged, and they were still there now, whether he was in her life or not. He'd opened Pandora's box, and there was no way to put its troubles back inside again. Even if she sat on the lid. Sophie glanced at the regimentally laid out clothes on the bed and sighed. She'd definitely be sitting on the lid of her suitcase, if nothing else. She pulled herself back to the present and smiled at Kara, who grinned and clinked the rim of her glass against Sophie's with a conspiratorial wink.

CHAPTER EIGHT Flying by private jet was a luxury that could never get old for her, but as Lucien slipped into the seat opposite, Sophie almost wished that they'd flown with a regular carrier. Safety in numbers. Two was definitely not a safe number. They were only due to be in the air for a little over an hour, but that hour suddenly seemed like an awfully long time to be confined in a small space with Lucien. It didn't help that he'd stripped her naked within five minutes of take-off the last time they'd left England together, or that their return flight held such dramatic, unhappy memories. Sophie and this jet had history, and her stomach flipped over as it started to taxi slowly along the runway. Please let this flight be uneventful. Lucien watched Sophie fidget with her seatbelt and then pick up and put a magazine down again. She crossed and uncrossed her legs and he forced his eyes away from the movement. The pink flush in her cheeks and the over-bright glow in her eyes told him of her heightened anxiety levels, even though she was masking it well with her professional veneer. Yes, Mr.Knight, No, Mr.Knight. It was driving him crazy. He wanted to hear her say his name again. "Would you consider it a breach of your rules if I asked you to go back to calling me Lucien while we're away?" She looked at him, as wary as a cat on a hot tin roof. Ever since he'd informed her about their trip to Paris she'd retreated behind a mask of over politeness, which included addressing him by his formal name. In the past, this might have seemed flirtatious, but she'd made certain not to allow it to sound that way of late. "I'd probably prefer not to." "And I'd prefer it if you did. Or I could always go back to calling you Ms. Black, if you'd prefer?" He knew perfectly well that she wouldn't prefer that, but she couldn't have it both ways. She eyed him tensely for a second. "Fine. I'll call you by your first name until we get back to England." "Go on then." "Go on then what?" "Call me by my first name." She squirmed, and he knew he ought to let her off the hook. Would she do it? "I'll use your name, but the no flirting rule is not to be broken. Deal?" "I don't flirt, so no deal. Now say my name. Please." "You're flirting and you know it." "Sophie, if I was going to flirt, I'd ask you to say my name because I like how it sounds coming out of your mouth. Or maybe I'd say it reminds me of how you sound when you moan it when you're about to come." Lucien saw her eyes widen a fraction and her jaw stiffen. He wasn't sorry. Her rules were keeping him awake at night. "So, no. I wasn't flirting. You see the difference?" They regarded each other in silence across the small space between their seats. "Yes, Lucien. I see the difference." She said his name without emphasis, but his point had been made. He managed to keep the small smile of triumph from his mouth as he reached for his newspaper. He wouldn't break her rules, but he sure would have fun pushing his luck. Besides. He had the distinct feeling that Sophie might break her own rules. If she did, then all bets were off.

Sophie stepped down onto the tarmac at Paris Le Bourget airport and breathed easily for the first time since they'd left the UK. The exchange in the jet had left her under no illusions. Lucien was barely keeping a lid on his lethal charm and the next few days were going to be a trial for both of them. Kara's words rang in her ears as she slid into the back of the limousine. Throw your bloody rules out of the window and shag his brains out. She glanced sideways at Lucien, distracted by the fluency of his French as he conversed with the driver. She wasn't even sure where they were staying. Lucien had a contact in Paris who had arranged their accommodation for them, and given the lifestyle he led, she was pretty sure that it wouldn't be a budget basic with a shared bathroom on the landing. Beyond that she was in the dark, apart from taking pains to clarify the separate sleeping arrangements. He'd rolled his eyes at her questions. "Even I can see that it would break your no touching rule to share a bed, Sophie." Nothing further had been said, and Sophie found herself relaxing as she drank in her first glimpses of Paris out of the darkened windows of the sleek car. It was still early morning, and the rush hour was in full force. Cars queued bumper to bumper, horns beeped, and taxi drivers waved their arms out of their open windows. Everyone seemed to want to go at breakneck speed even though there was nowhere for them to go, and scooters buzzed in and out of the moving lines like flies. To Sophie at least, it was a different sort of chaos from London, like a scene from a movie compared to the dull, everyday reality of England. The mish-mash of old and new buildings on the commercial outskirts of the city gave way to grander architecture along the tree-lined edges of the Seine as they proceeded into central Paris. To Sophie's eyes, even the pale grey skies overhead didn't detract from the beauty of the bridges that spanned the wide river, and she craned her neck to look up at the buildings, every inch the excited tourist seeing Paris for the first time. She turned to Lucien and found him watching her with an amused expression. "Will we see the Eiffel Tower?" She knew she sounded like a ten year-old in a candy store, but she couldn't hold it in. She'd spent so much time worrying about the trip that she hadn't allowed the excitement of seeing Paris to seep in. Now she was here, it hit her square between the eyes. Lucien leaned forward and spoke to the driver again in fluent French, then slipped back into his place beside her. "We will now." Sophie realised he had asked for a detour, and was touched. What she hadn't bargained for was a full circuit of the architectural highlights of the city. She watched, delighted, as the scenery unfolded. There was the Louvre, grand and sprawling along the riverbank. The dramatic spires of Notre Dame soaring into the skies above. The unmistakable white curves and domes of the Sacre Cour. Lucien pointed them all out and offered snippets about each, knowledgeable and at ease with the city. The solid, grey but intricately detailed Arc de Triomphe. The majestic, glittering fountains of the Place de la Concorde, and, central to all of it, the Eiffel Tower. Excitement built in Sophie's gut at her first glimpse of it in the distance, and roared through her veins as they moved close up. It was every bit as spectacular as in movies and magazines, but infinitely larger and more imposing in real life. It wasn't just architecturally impressive. It stood as a symbol of every romantic novel and love song. It was the scene of countless proposals and Valentines. It radiated romance from its every iron nut and bolt, a great big latticed beating heart of the city that made lovers out of even the most stoic visitors. Lovers. Tour over, Sophie turned back to Lucien. "Thank you for that. I loved it." "I'd forgotten how it feels to see it through fresh eyes." She regarded him. "You've spent a lot of time here?" "Some." He lifted one shoulder. "Not so much in recent years." He didn't offer further detail, yet Sophie sensed there was more to know. He clearly knew Paris well,

but seemed reluctant to be drawn on the subject. Further exploration would have to wait though, because the car had eased under a stone archway and slowed to a halt in a leafy little courtyard. How could this be nestled so peacefully behind the busy, cosmopolitan street they’d just driven along? Sophie stepped out into the cool morning and breathed in her first real taste of Parisian air. A faint smile tinged her lips. It was probably her fervent imagination, but she thought she smelled coffee, and croissants, and expensive cologne. Lucien touched her elbow, and she turned to him with the small smile still on her face. "This way." He bowed his head towards an old, broad, studded door embedded in the thick grey wall of the building, and Sophie found herself walking into the elegant, shady vestibule of a sophisticated townhouse. Stunning arrangements of white orchids decorated the immaculate space, and when their driver summoned the elevator, something more akin to a beautiful, wrought iron birdcage than a functional lift descended. Sophie held the rail as they shuttled to the top of the building, watching the inner workings of the townhouse slide by outside the curved confines of the cage. Gracious landings. Picture windows. And finally, the penthouse. Of course. She knew she ought to be more accustomed to Lucien's idea of luxury, but this place was on another level again. He dismissed the driver and opened the door, and Sophie lingered for a second in the doorway, stopped in her tracks by the sheer opulence of the penthouse. Should she take her shoes off? Lucien placed a hand on the small of her back to propel her inside. "Go in, Sophie." He hefted her luggage. "Have you packed house bricks in this thing?" She glanced around at her packed-to-the-gunnels suitcase and then moved into the apartment, swallowing hard at the sound of the door clicking closed behind her. This was it, then. Paris. With Lucien Knight.

CHAPTER NINE "This isn't yours, is it?" Sophie whispered, robbed of her volume by awe. Lucien dropped their bags down in the lounge. "No. It belongs to an old friend." Something in the way he said it made Sophie look back over her shoulder at him, but his expression gave nothing away. Whoever the old friend was, he obviously wasn't going to elaborate. Sophie could deduce for herself that their absent host was incredibly wealthy. The vast, high-ceilinged reception room had picture windows looking out over the city, complete with a postcard perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, and the chic interior decor screamed opulence. Marble tiles. Floor-to-ceiling heavy, dull gold silk drapes. Glittering glass chandeliers. Muted gold and duck-egg sofas and low glass coffee tables with more of those artfully displayed white orchids. The florist for this building clearly worked overtime. It was all so achingly glamorous, like walking onto a film set. Sophie crossed the room to a tall pair of gilt filigree doors, and when she opened them she found an intimate dining room for two leading out onto a balcony offering yet another panorama of the magnificent Eiffel Tower. She turned slowly back to Lucien. "Wow." Lucien nodded. "You should see the bedroom." "Bedrooms, I hope?" Sophie corrected him quickly. She already felt like a kitten in a lion's lair. She needed a private sanctuary, preferably with a lockable door. Lucien's eyes all but glazed over. "I keep my promises Sophie." He led her to another set of double doors at the end of the reception room. "Your bedroom." He slid the doors back to reveal a sumptuously appointed suite, dominated by a bed large enough for four adults to stretch out like starfish and still not touch. Tranquillity meshed seamlessly with sensuality in the decor; with its opulent linens and grand mirrors, it was a room that promised the best of whichever activity you choose to use it for. Lucien opened another door. "And my bedroom." By any usual standards the room was stunning, but it was definitely the secondary bedroom of the penthouse. "You can take this one, if you like?" Sophie gestured towards the larger room. Lucien shook his head. "You'll change your mind when you see your bathroom." Curiosity won out, and Sophie padded back through her room to open the glass sliding door to the bathroom. Yet again, she found herself stunned into momentary stillness. "Wow again." She sensed rather than physically felt Lucien come up behind her. His voice sounded suddenly very close to her neck. "Quite something, eh?" Pale marble and polished mirrors lined the large room and more huge vases of orchids adorned the side tables. Plump, snow-white towels nestled alongside gleaming bottles of exclusive toiletries, and clusters of lit candles lent the room an intimate glow. The piece de resistance stood centrally in the room - the grand, deep infinity bath, perfectly placed to take advantage of the expansive view through the windows at the end of the room, across the higgledypiggledy rooftops of Paris. "Still want to swap?" Sophie shook her head, suddenly greedy and giddy. This place was off the scale amazing, and she,

Sophie Black, had it at her exclusive disposal. That had to make her just about one of the luckiest girls on the planet at that moment. She spun around to face Lucien, her hands pressed against her warm cheeks. "I can't believe places like this even exist beyond fantasies." She didn't miss the predatory spark in Lucien's eyes at her choice of words. "As fantasies go, this is certainly up there," he murmured. A shiver ran down Sophie's spine as surely as if he'd stroked a fingertip down its length. Not that he had, or would, unless she invited him to. Did she want to issue that invitation? She didn't just have the fantasy room in the fantasy city. She had the fantasy man at her disposal, too. She upgraded her status from being one of the luckiest girls in the world to being the luckiest girl, period. But lucky didn't mean stupid. Lucky didn't mean throw caution to the wind and not think about tomorrow, because tomorrow had a nasty way of looming up in front of you, grey, cold and all the worse for your indiscretions. Sophie had been there before. She ducked past Lucien into the bedroom and unzipped her suitcase, which he had hefted up onto the bed for her. "Do I have time to unpack before our first meeting?" Sophie carefully unrolled her precious dress from its packing tissue and located a heavy wooden hanger behind the vast wall of mirrored wardrobes. She certainly wanted to take this one garment out of the crushing confines of her case, even if there was no time for anything else. "Actually, I won't need you this morning," Lucien said. "The meeting will be conducted entirely in French, and from the way you blushed when you thanked the driver earlier, I'm guessing that French doesn't feature on your resume." Sophie bristled unnecessarily, because he was quite right. "I can get by," she muttered. "You can?" "Oui. Bonjour, Lucien." Had she really just said that? She ignored his snort. "Bonjour, Ms. Black." He inclined his head. "What?" He threw his hands out to the sides at her maddened glance. "It's appropriately polite." "Ça va?" Sophie asked, hoping she'd dredged the right words from her dim and distant memory of French classes as a bored fourteen year-old. Lucien all but laughed, and replied in equally basic French for her benefit. "Ça va bien, merci." "Bon." She jutted her chin, glad to have navigated her way through the simple conversation. "Let's see, Sophie..." Lucien ran his tongue over his top lip, and the seductive drop of his voice warned her of danger up ahead. "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?" Thanks to Lady Marmalade, Sophie understood Lucien perfectly clearly. "What's the French for 'stop flirting'?" she asked drily. "No clue. I've never needed it." She was quite sure he hadn't. No doubt women came as easily to him as everything else in his life. "Take the morning off. Swim in that bath. See some of Paris. Can you order lunch for around two, and then we'll head over to the site to see how things are progressing." Sophie nodded bravely. She could do those things. Organise lunch. See Paris. Visit Lucien's newest sex club. All in a normal day’s work. Alone in the penthouse, Sophie drifted from room to room, absorbing the beauty of her surroundings.

Contrary to Lucien's suggestion, she settled for a shower under the monsoon jet in the huge cubicle that stood in another corner of her bathroom. Tempting as the bath was, she didn't feel that she could afford to relax too much. Bundled up in the thickest white bathrobe in the world, she set about deciding how to spend her morning in Paris. First things first. Organise lunch. But how did you organise lunch in your own private Parisian dining room? The apartment was bereft of a kitchen, so cooking was not an option. The people who lived here obviously didn't do such mundane tasks as operating a cooker. Happily, however, they did leave at their guests’ disposal beautiful leather-bound manuals in English, listing restaurants that would cater directly to the apartment, and Lucien had left his charge card beside them. Lavish dishes, many of which she didn't understand and couldn't pronounce. She flicked through the heavy menus with rising panic, and then her lips curved into a smile. Bingo. This she could do. Lunch successfully organised, Sophie dressed carefully. She wanted to blend in, to look as if she belonged here in the chic French capital. Her flimsy black polka dot blouse layered over silk underwear fitted the bill perfectly, demure yet sophisticated when teamed with her new black pencil skirt. She added her cherry red woolen coat as protection against the cool autumn weather when she stepped out of the secret courtyard a little while later and breathed in deeply. Being away from home and all of its associated complications was a breath of fresh, rejuvenating air that she hadn't even realised she so desperately needed. Distance from Dan helped put things into a less distorted perspective. At home she was surrounded by the accouterments of their shared life, and she could see now that they only served to make it harder to envisage her life without him in it. Something in her heart felt different. Lighter maybe, without the heavy weight of carrying someone else's heart too. She glanced up and down the regal, tree-lined avenue. Leaves drifted from the tall chestnuts’ branches, the change of season a fitting reflection of Sophie's state of mind. But for now, Paris was her oyster, and she intended to feast on it.

CHAPTER TEN "Pizza? You have the finest cuisine in the world at your fingertips, and you order pizza?" Lucien's gaze swept over the dining table, now laden with elegant white and gold scrolled crockery, gleaming cutlery, glittering crystal, and pizza. "It's posh pizza," Sophie countered. "It didn't arrive in cardboard boxes, for a start." Lucien shook his jacket off as he stepped down into the dining room. Sophie could have flexed his credit card on a designer meal, yet she'd chosen instead a safe option. He'd hoped he'd cured her of that habit. Still, he was hungry, and the pizza smelled delicious. It wasn't just the food that smelled good, though. Sophie moved in close when he held out her chair, and he caught the scent of an exotic perfume that wasn't her usual variety. He didn't comment on it though, as she'd no doubt accuse him of flirting again. "How was your morning?" she asked, adding salad to her plate. He shrugged. "Good." He closed his eyes for a second. He didn't really get to eat pizza very often, and novelty turned into pleasant surprise as the fresh flavours hit his palate. He opened his eyes again and found Sophie watching him, an amused glint in her eyes. Paris seemed to agree with her. Pink roses coloured her cheeks, and those dark smudges around her eyes seemed less pronounced. "What did you do this morning?" he asked, suddenly keen to know what had helped lift her mood. A smile lit her face, and the dining room seemed instantly brighter. "I walked." She practically swooned. "God, Paris is amazing! I've touched the Eiffel tower, and I've taken one of those bateau buses along the Seine, and I ate croissants in the Tuileries gardens." It was the most animated he'd seen her since her return to his life. "And the metro! I caught the metro, and managed to find my way back here." She sighed happily, and her eyes swam with excitement. "It's official. I love Paris." Lucien nodded. He shared similar sentiments for the city, although he’d never have expressed them with such elation. "Did you shop?" He guessed this must be safe territory. "Just window shopping. I tested the most amazing chocolate though, and I’ve been spritzed with perfume that probably costs more than my salary!" "It smells good on you." The words came out without pre-meditation, and Lucien braced himself, ready for her to clam up and shoot him down with the 'no flirting' line again. But she didn't. He saw appreciation of his compliment flare in her eyes first, followed by uncertainty that had her dropping her gaze to her dinner plate. He sensed a change in her attitude, and wondered how far to push it. A little, to gauge her reaction? Or all the way? Her smile was an aphrodisiac, all the more because he had seen so little of it lately. He pushed his chair back and reached into a sideboard behind him, turning back with a bottle of wine and a corkscrew in hand. "Don't we need to get back to work soon?" He picked up the note of anxiety behind her words. "We're okay for time. Besides, it's practically the law in Paris to have wine with food, Sophie." He poured claret into her glass, pleased when she didn't try to stop him. Her fingers brushed his as he

raised his glass to hers. "To Paris. And to getting my PA back." He paused, watching her eyes. "I missed your coffee." She laughed lightly and her fingers played with the stem of her glass. "It's good to be back," she murmured softly. "Is it? I got the impression that it was your last resort." She looked up at last, the laughter gone from her eyes. "It was. It is. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it." She swallowed a little wine and looked around the lush dining room. "Not many jobs offer perks like this." She paused, and he didn't interrupt as he sensed there was more to come. "Or bosses like you." Interesting. "I think you just broke your own no flirting rule." She shrugged, and he topped up her glass. "Am I too English for my own good, Lucien? Too repressed, too frightened to live a big life?" He swallowed wine, giving himself time to choose his words carefully. Keeping his tone neutral, he said, "We're not in England now. You can be anything you want to be." He knew he'd crossed a line, but she beckoned him on. "Anything? Then I'll be a singer in a smoky Parisian bar, or a can-can girl at the Moulin Rouge." Lucien couldn't help it. His eyes dropped to Sophie's breasts, and his cock stirred in response. She had the curves to dance at the Moulin, and the idea of her bare breasts on display made his mouth water. He lifted his gaze to hers, and found her eyebrows arched. "I guess I asked for that," she said, and she didn't move her hand away when Lucien placed his close to it on the table and stroked her fingertips idly. "Paris brings out the best in you." The tiniest of laughs escaped Sophie's throat. "What happens in Paris, stays in Paris. So Kara said, anyway." Lucien liked the sound of that very much. "Kara's just become my second favourite lady. You should listen to her." "I do." She flipped her hand palm up on the table, and Lucien traced his index finger along the lifeline cut that across her palm. "I think your rules need amending." He drew slow circles on the fleshy mound beneath her thumb. "In fact, as your boss, I think I should be the one who makes the rules around here." "What's wrong with my rules?" Lucien laughed softly. "They restrict me. They stop me from telling you how your curves make me hard. They stop me from kissing your neck when you sweep your hair to one side." He had the benefit of her full, slightly breathless attention. "But they don't stop me thinking those things, Sophie. Every time you bend over the desk, I think how much I'd like to push your skirt up around your waist. I wonder what colour knickers you're wearing, and I imagine taking them off you." Her fingers curved around his as he stroked his thumb over the tender pulse point inside her wrist. The beat definitely kicked up several notches as she digested his words. She drew her bottom lip into her mouth and held it there, as if to stop the words she wanted to say from escaping. Was she holding in her agreement, or her rejection? Her eyes told him what her mouth wouldn't. She wanted this every bit as much as he did. He locked his eyes onto hers. There was no turning back. "I imagine running my hands over the tops of your stockings, then between your bare thighs, and you open them a little to invite me in. God, you're wet, Sophie. You're hot, and you're drenched, and I reach

for my belt so I can..." Lucien's phone beeped loudly on the table next to him, and Sophie jolted and snatched her hand away from his. "Fuck." He shoved his own hand through his hair and stared at the offending screen, then at her shellshocked expression. "The car's here." His cock was still rock hard. "This conversation isn't over, Sophie."

CHAPTER ELEVEN Sophie stepped out of the limousine a little while later, glad to be out of the confined back seat. Lucien hadn't said or done anything unprofessional in the car, yet she'd never been so close to anyone who radiated such clear sexual intent. He'd spoken of the site renovations they were going to view, and handed her checklists to complete on the tour, almost as if the conversation over lunch hadn't happened. Had she imagined it? She'd drunk a little wine, maybe she'd misheard him. However innocent and work-focused Lucien’s words were, there was no denying the lightning bolt of awareness when her fingers brushed his on the paperwork, or the casual burn of his knee where it touched hers. The cool afternoon air helped lessen the heat that suffused her cheeks, but it could do little to calm the fire raging in her belly. He'd lit it. Or had she? Paris had clearly had a profound effect on her state of mind. Had she given him different signals? Or was he similarly affected by the city of love? The dynamic between them had morphed dangerously into something sexual, something her rules were too flimsy to hold steady against. What would Lucien's rules involve? The blush returned to Sophie's cheeks at the thought, and she pushed it hurriedly aside as he joined her on the pavement. "So. This is it. First impressions?" Sophie tipped her head back to survey the tall, regal terraced building. "First impression... um, understated?" Lucien nodded. "Absolutely. This is a good address. My aim is to be thoroughly in keeping. Gateway Paris will be discreet, elegant and very, very grown up." He placed a hand on the small of her back, and she felt the imprint of it might scorch her. "Shall we?" Sophie didn't trust herself to answer, so she just inclined her head and stepped inside the doorway. The last time she'd visited an adult club with Lucien it had been open for business and throbbing with paying customers. This was quite different, an almost completed renovation project with wires still trailing, stepladders leaning against walls, and workmen in overalls buzzing around. Someone called out, and a second or so later a short, older man bustled over to them with a wide smile on his weathered face. Lucien greeted him warmly in French, and then introduced Sophie. "Sophie, this is Jean, my site manager. Jean, Sophie, my assistant." Jean smiled in greeting and handed them each a hard hat. Great. Sophie eyed it reluctantly. Lucien lifted it from her fingers and placed it firmly on her head with a smart tap for good measure. "Safety first, Ms.Black." Right. So he was back to calling her Ms. Black again. It seemed he hadn't forgotten his declaration that her rules no longer applied. Jean and Lucien began a rapid conversation she didn't have a prayer of understanding, and then the smaller man shook Lucien's hand and melted away. "Jean isn't coming with us then?" Sophie asked. The French supervisor had given her back her sense of safety in numbers. Without him she was essentially alone with Lucien, despite the presence of the various artisans around the place. "No. I'll give you the tour myself." Lucien turned to a wallboard by the front doors and removed a clipboard and pen. "Can you take notes as we go round, please?"

Sophie accepted the board, her mind wandering back to the tour he'd give her of the club back in the UK when a clipboard had been very much out of the question. She pinned her paperwork to the board and clicked the pen a couple of times. "Ready?" Lucien asked, absolutely neutral. "As I'll ever be." Sophie nodded slightly and pursed her lips. "Let's go." In decor, Lucien had recreated a similar urban opulence to his larger clubs back home, but here in these smaller rooms it felt far more intimate. Deep, amethyst velvet padded couches lined the booths, and a small stage and dance area filled one side of the lower ground floor. The bar gleamed with backlit mirrors and optics awaiting their upturned bottles, and a couple of women were unpacking glasses and spirits onto the bar. They glanced over at Lucien and then back at each other, and Sophie recognised the look that passed between them. Hot man in the room. She could hardly blame them. Even in a hard hat, Lucien oozed sex. Decadence dripped from every sophisticated fixture and fitting; the place screamed high-class sex den. Thanks to her previous visit to a Gateway club with Lucien, Sophie could all too easily imagine naked dancers and intimate couples twined around each other in those booths. He took a seat in one of them now, and inclined his head for her to join him on the curved seat opposite to go through the ground floor checklist. He nodded as she reeled the list off one by one, then gave her a series of comments to note down for future action. She clicked the pen closed and prepared to stand and move on. "Anything else?" she added, as an afterthought. He nodded and steepled his fingers on the table. "Yes. You look fucking sexy in a hard hat." Her throat dried up in shock. "And I’m supposed to write this down?" "Absolutely," he said, conversationally. "Write 'Sophie looks fucking sexy in a hard hat.'" He paused, because she wasn't writing. "Write it down." She flicked her eyes around the room, unwilling to raise her voice because of the proximity of the electricians working near by. His eyes held hers in direct challenge, and she made a split second decision. She wrote it down. "Anything else?" she repeated. "I want to take that hat off and run my hands through your hair." "Lucien..." Sophie warned. He stood abruptly. "All done in here, Ms. Black. Let's move on." Sophie swallowed hard and followed him across the dance floor and down a set of steps. "The spa." He waved his hand around to indicate the space, and Sophie opened the next checklist accordingly. The entire basement space had been converted into a luxury relaxation area, centred around an as yet unfilled pool and jacuzzi. Several workmen were scattered around the space, and Lucien took her elbow and steered her slowly across to sit on the edge of the raised circular jacuzzi wall. As before, she worked methodically through the list, and Lucien answered each question in turn after inspecting the room. She cleared her throat. Here we go again. "Err… any other notes?" Lucien was sitting alongside her on the curved wall, and as he turned towards her his splayed fingertips brushed against her thigh on the tiles. "Yes." His lazy, lustful eyes flickered down her throat, and then back up to her mouth. "I need to remember to bring you back here when the jacuzzi has been filled. I want you to test the jets." She frowned, making shorthand notes. "Can't the plumber test them?" "I want you to do it." Lucien leaned in close to guarantee that only she would hear him. "I want you to

tell me if the jets are perfectly positioned to massage your clitoris." Sophie 's mouth dropped in a perfect O, and she instinctively crossed her legs. His words made her tremble. "Write it down." He looked at the clipboard, then at her pen, then at her face. His fingertips still brushed her thigh, rhythmically enough to prove it wasn't accidental. She wrote it down. Check the jets are positioned for clitoral massage. Knowing he was watching her write the words made her squirm. Once again he stood suddenly, leaving her hot and bothered as he led her back through the main room to a staircase leading up to the first floor. Sophie found herself walking on shaky legs along a plushly carpeted hallway, low-lit and sultry with the same air of sexy sophistication as downstairs. The scent of new carpets and fresh paint would no doubt fade once the place was packed with warm, pulsating bodies. "The playrooms." Sophie closed her eyes for a second, and then followed Lucien through the first doorway. Equally decadent but decidedly more intimate than the rooms that had preceded it, the space was dominated by the huge square platform bed placed centrally with a step up all of the way around. "This is the couples’ playroom. The bed area is designed to accommodate anything up to sixteen people at any one time." Sophie frowned, and found herself abstractly wondering where one might find sheets on such an industrial scale. And then Lucien's hand skimmed feather light against the small of her back, more of a caress than a guiding hand, and all linen-related thoughts left the building. Flustered, she sat down on the edge of the bed and clicked the end of her pen at him. "Are you ready to run through the tick list for this room?" Lucien glanced briefly around at the completed room. "No need. Lets skip straight to the 'any other notes' box." He dropped down alongside her, not quite close enough to touch, close enough to feel the heat of his body. Sophie had guessed there would be extra information, yet still she held her breath. "The mattress needs to be comfort tested." She started to write but he reached out and stilled her hand. "I meant now." Sophie glanced towards the open door. "No way. I'll write it down, but I'm not rolling around on that bed with you." "I didn't ask you to roll. Just lie back." It wasn't the demand of a boss to his PA. It was the demand of a man to a woman, and Sophie's body responded before her mind could play catch-up. She lay back. "Well?" Lucien eased back too, propped up on one elbow watching Sophie. "Is it soft? Or is it hard, do you think?" Sophie turned her head to look at him. "I'd probably call it firm." "Firm." Lucien murmured. "But does it yield to your curves? Would it be comfortable if you were being pressed into it by the weight of your lover?" Sophie closed her eyes. "Imagine you're being screwed right now, someone's hips grinding against yours." His hand dropped over her hip as he spoke, a pleasurable pressure to enhance her perception of his words. "Are you comfortable, Sophie? Does it feel good?" Sophie opened her eyes and looked into his, sinful, mercurial pools of lust. "It feels good Lucien. Really good."

He licked his lips, and for a second Sophie felt certain he was going to lean down and kiss her. If he'd asked to road test that mattress properly right there and then, she'd have had her skirt around her waist in seconds. But he didn't. He paused for a second, his eyes on her mouth, and then stood up and offered her his hand to help her up. "You can sign this room off. It's complete." Lucien walked ahead of Sophie into the bondage room, and at the sight of a small team of fitters drilling holes on the walls he turned and walked straight back out again. The rest of the inspection could wait. He'd had enough of everyone else's company but Sophie's. "Let's get out of here." He snapped his phone against his ear, and seconds later they were back in the close confines of the limo. As the car eased into the traffic, Lucien turned to Sophie. "About those rules of yours." Sophie didn't reply, but from the way her eyes darkened and her tongue darted across her top lip, he knew she wanted to hear what he had to say. He didn't touch her. He couldn't, because he wanted her so much that a little wouldn't be enough. The air in the car shimmered with barely held in sexual frustration. "That no touching thing." He curled his hands into fists because the instinct to reach out for her was so strong. "That holds for the next ten minutes. And then I'm going to touch you everywhere." The sigh that left her lips wasn't one of resignation. It was one that yearned for the next ten minutes to be over. "And as for that no kissing thing." He slid close to her on the back seat and his eyes dropped to her lips. "I'm going to kiss your mouth." She tilted her head, an invitation to plunder, but he held back. "And I'm going to kiss your neck." He shifted to accommodate his erection as his eyes strayed lower. "Then I'm going to strip you naked and kiss your fucking beautiful tits." She whimpered, and closed her eyes, her head resting back on the seat. Her nipples pushed visibly against her blouse. "Can you feel me all over your body, Sophie? Imagine my head between your legs. I'm going to kiss you slowly, right there, until you come in my mouth." The car came to a halt outside the apartment building, and Lucien jumped straight out and opened her door, muttering something low and fast to the driver, who stepped smartly back into the car and was gone in an instant. His hand grabbed hers and tugged her through the courtyard, he banged his fist repeatedly on the lift’s call button, swearing under his breath at the antiquated system that had seemed so charming earlier. Sophie knew from the way his chest rose and fell that he was every bit as ready as she was, and as she stepped inside the cage, he knocked the breath from her lungs as he pinned her against the side. Cold ironwork cooled her back, and the heat radiating from Lucien's body scorched her front. His hands gripped the bars either side of hers. "Don't stop me," he murmured, a breath away from kissing her as the lift jolted to a halt. She shook her head. She wouldn't stop him. She was terrified that he would stop. He unlocked the apartment door and pulled her inside.

CHAPTER TWELVE Lucien slammed her against the back of the closed door, his hands buried in her hair, his mouth all over hers. Sophie met him head on, tasting him, feeling him, drinking him in. His erection pressed hard against her belly and his breath came in short hot bursts that matched her own. "Fuck..." He wrestled out of his jacket and reached for her polka dot blouse without breaking the connection with her mouth. "You're wearing too many clothes," he muttered against her lips, and in one swift movement he yanked her blouse open, sending buttons scattering against the walls. He pulled back a fraction to look at her exposed bra as she tore her arms from the sleeves. Lucien shook his head, his jaw clenched. "Still too many." He reached around her body and flicked her bra open, then pulled it off and flung it aside. "Fucking hell, " he groaned, his hands already on her breasts between their bodies. She gasped with pleasure as he rolled her painfully stiff nipples, and her hands fought for space to get him out of his shirt. "Take this off, " she murmured, frustrated by the need to feel his naked skin. He broke away for a second, stepping back and breathing heavily as he discarded his shirt and reached for his belt. "I've never wanted to fuck anyone as much as I want to fuck you right now," he breathed, pinning her back against the door. Lust shot through her groin at his guttural words. She clutched at him as he reclaimed her mouth, relishing the glide of his hot skin beneath her hands. She could barely breathe as he reached down and dragged her skirt up over her hips and pushed his hand inside her knickers. At last. At last. "Oh God," she sank her teeth into his lip as he opened her with his fingers and found her clitoris. All of the air seemed to suck out of the room. There was just Lucien, and the pleasure he was giving her with his thrusting fingers. He had her on the brink with indecent speed. Her body was starting to tremble, and he recognised the signs and eased back. "Not yet, Sophie," he gasped. "Wait for me. I want to feel you come around my cock." His low, sexy words only made it harder to fight her oncoming orgasm. She nodded. "Be quick," she said desperately, even as he positioned himself against her opening. "Please... now, Lucien..." He pushed his thick, rigid cock all the way inside her with a primal groan of satisfaction, pinning her against the door with the weight of his body. She gasped for air as he withdrew and then slammed hard into her again, frenzied, fast and bone-meltingly sexy. It was never going to be gentle, or last very long. He lifted her clean off the floor and wrapped her legs around him so she could take him to the hilt, and his grunts of sharp, intense pleasure rang in her ears as the base of his cock rubbed her clitoris with every thrust. He'd started this over lunch. He'd stoked the fires all afternoon. And now, backed up against the apartment door, the release of her orgasm hit her like a sledgehammer as she arched and grabbed at his hair. Lucien's ragged breathing provided the soundtrack as he closed his eyes and let go of the control he'd held onto, banging violently against her hips twice more before spilling himself inside her with a primal yell of satisfaction. Sophie's heart thumped hard against her breastbone. She slowly became aware that her fingernails were embedded in his shoulders, and she loosened her grip to soothe the deep gouges she'd left there. His hands

moved from supporting her bottom to cradling her close in his arms as he eased out of her. "Let's take a shower," he said hoarsely, smoothing her hair. Sophie kissed the hollow at the base of his neck as he kicked his clothes off his ankles. A shower sounded good, but it involved moving and she wanted to stay pinned between the door and his body forever. Lucien's mouth roved over her hair, half kissing her, half sighing with sexual fulfilment. He carried her into the bathroom, every inch the Viking sex god as he kicked the door open and switched the shower on and stepped inside. Warm water sluiced over Sophie's shoulders as Lucien placed her gently on her feet and pulled the glass door shut on the huge shower enclosure. She turned her face up to the spray and let it slick her hair into ropes down her back as Lucien filled his hands with soap from the dispenser on the wall. "Turn around," he breathed, after a drenched, lingering kiss. Sophie sighed and turned her back to him, her hands resting on the steamed up glass wall. She moaned lightly when his hands came to rest on her shoulders, and she tipped her head forward to rest on the glass as he massaged the creamy lather into her skin. "I like my rules better than yours," he said, and Sophie could feel his erection resting against the base of her back as he ran the fragrant bubbles over her arms. She arched involuntarily as his fingers swept down her spine, then leaned back against him when he wrapped himself around her, one hand splayed on her stomach, the other cupping her cheek. He had her completely relaxed, and she turned her face into his palm and sighed. "I like your rules too," she admitted. He helped himself to more soap, then covered her breasts with his warm hands. "You feel even better wet." He shifted behind her a little so his cock slipped between her thighs as he rolled her nipples in his fingers. She rocked her hips, enjoying the slide of his erection between her legs. "You too," she murmured, sighing at the delicious friction. When he reached for yet more soap, Sophie had a pretty good idea of where he was headed. "Open your legs." Sophie hooked one foot behind his calf as he held her steady between the glass wall and his body. She was hot, and drenched, and pressed her cheek to the glass as he fingered her slowly. Thoroughly. His mouth against her ear murmured incoherent words. Slow drags of his teeth against her skin. She turned her head into his open-mouthed kiss, warm droplets cascading over their faces as his tongue laced with hers. She wanted more, needed everything he had to give. Every slide of his cock against her entrance had her moaning for it to be the time he pushed himself inside her. Slide. Push. Slide. Please push. Lucien groaned into her mouth, then stopped making her wait any longer with one long, deep thrust. "Oh God..." Sophie moaned. "Oh... so good..." She could barely string two words together. The sensations were too big, and building with every slow, decisive stroke of Lucien's cock. He played with her clitoris, his other hand on her face, his fingers moving restlessly over her jaw, in her mouth. His breathing in her ear kicked up a notch, and his thrusting hips told her he was as close as she was to coming. She started to tremble, and Lucien held her up as the exquisite sensation of being on the brink became almost too much to stand. "So fucking beautiful..." Lucien's murmured endearment tipped her over the edge, dragging a yell of release from her body as she burst for him, over him, around him. He held her hips steady as he thrust himself into her, only one word on his lips over and over as his body spasmed. "Princess."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Wrapped up in the oversized white bathrobe a little while later, Sophie curled herself into the corner of the huge sofa. The remnants of a sumptuous buffet delivered by a nearby restaurant were spread over the glass coffee table in front of her, and Lucien, dressed only in low slung, faded jeans, crossed to sit alongside her with a newly opened bottle of champagne and two glasses. "So. Here we are again, Ms. Black." Sophie accepted the glass and tasted chilled bubbles. She knew what he meant. Here we are again, colleagues and lovers. Except this time she wasn't - technically - cheating, and her estranged husband wasn't hiding his other woman behind a smokescreen of late meetings and business trips. How very grown up of them all to be so frank. But it didn't feel entirely grown up. As she came down from her endorphin high, Sophie acknowledged that it still felt dreadfully messed up. Lucien touched his glass to Sophie's. "To Paris." The smile that curved her lips must have looked as lacklustre as it felt. "Tell me what's going on in that head of yours." Lucien relaxed back onto the sofa, his champagne glass in his hand, his gaze on Sophie. She screwed up her nose, not even sure that she could put into words the cauldron of emotions that churned in her gut. She added a mouthful of champagne to the mix and lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "I don't know... I feel weird." In truth, weird didn't come close to describing how she felt. "Weird how?" Sophie sighed heavily. "I feel guilty." She saw the incredulous look cross his face and shook her head to stop him jumping in. "I know what you're going to say. Dan lives with his mistress now. I'm not doing anything wrong. And maybe I'm not, in here," she touched her fingers against her head. "But in here..." she touched her heart. "In here, he's still my husband. We were together for too long to move on just like that." Lucien frowned into his champagne glass. "Does he deserve your loyalty?" "No. But he has it anyway." She held out her glass for a refill. The champagne was definitely helping to loosen her tongue, if nothing else. "Loving him is a hard habit to break." She unfurled her legs, and Lucien refilled their glasses then pulled her feet into his lap. "One you need to kick." Sophie watched him idly massage her anklebone as he drank his champagne. He was utterly beautiful and absolutely right, but he had no clue how it felt to separate from the person you'd always imagined you'd grow old with. "It's easier said than done though, you know?" Lucien's mouth twisted. "I don't, actually. I don't know, and I don't want to." Sophie shook her head. He'd made his dim opinion of marriage crystal clear before now, but it seemed so at odds with the fire and passion she glimpsed when they had sex. Day to day he was all confidence and cockiness, but get him naked and every now and then he revealed a tantalising glimpse of the emotional man behind. "Has it never occurred to you that you might be missing out?" He laughed lightly, trailing his fingers up to her knee and back down again. "No. Seducing other men's wives has worked out pretty well for me so far." Sophie shook her head. "I'm being serious, Lucien."

He placed his glass down and twisted his body towards her. "Okay. I'll be serious." He placed his hands on her knees. "I don't like marriage. Never have, never will." He leaned forward to drop a kiss onto her kneecap. "I don't believe in true love, or Valentine’s Day… or fairies at the bottom of the garden." He kissed her other kneecap, and Sophie held completely still as she watched him. However distracting his accompanying actions were, his words offered a rare insight into the real Lucien Knight and she wanted him to keep talking. "I'm a here and now man." He put his hands over her knees and splayed them wide, making her gasp and almost spill her champagne in shock. The edges of her robe just about covered her modesty, but only just. "Drink your champagne," Lucien murmured, his hands already thigh high. When he raised his eyes to Sophie's, she saw that predatory, sexual edge back in them that turned her brain into wanton mush. She wanted him to keep talking, but now she wanted him to keep touching her as well, so she drank her champagne, slow and deliberate, and he inclined his head in approval. "Why does everything have to be so serious, Sophie?" His fingers strayed higher, closer to the edge of her robe. "Isn't it better to just enjoy what you have, without trying to hold onto it, or control it, or twist it?" "You make it sound so simple," she said, and he tugged on the belt of her robe. She felt it give way, along with her ability to focus on the insights she craved, as he continued speaking. And touching. "It is simple, if you let it be." Lucien reached out and spread her robe open, baring her body to his waiting, appreciative eyes. Sophie fought the instinct to close the material, or her eyes, or her legs. Lucien wanted to look at her, and she wanted him to look. "Drink your champagne," he said again, and topped up her glass once she'd obeyed his order. "Isn't this better?" he asked, moving up the sofa to sit between her spread legs. "Isn't there something refreshingly honest about saying 'I want sex with you now, but that doesn't mean I'm going to want sex with you for the rest of my life’?' Sophie tried to consider the question, but she was absurdly turned on by her nakedness and his constant switching between conversational and sexual modes. He reached out and played with her nipples, flicking them upwards with his thumbs. "I love your tits." "I thought you never used the L word." He raised his eyes to her amused ones. "Fine. I love your tits right now," he corrected himself. "I love how they're tinged pink because you're blushing, and how your nipples are as stiff as pebbles because you're turned on." He cupped her breasts as he spoke, circling her nipples with his thumbs. "I might not love them next week, or next month, or next year, but here and now? Hell yeah. I fucking love your tits." He moved up again, close enough for his denim-clad thigh to press between her legs as he leaned in to draw one of her nipples into his mouth. Sophie's free hand moved to stroke the back of his head, and he flicked his eyes up to hers. "What else do you love right now?" she asked, and he laughed under his breath and switched his attentions to her other breast. Tight spirals of lust knotted in her groin as she watched the wet tip of his tongue trail around her nipple. "Right now, I love how warm your body is." He held her lightly around the waist and dipped his head to kiss her navel, then slid back up her body until his mouth was a breath from hers. "And I really, really love knowing that right now, you're desperate for me to touch you here." He brushed his hand lightly between her legs as he spoke, then closed the space between their bodies and kissed her. Sophie's mouth opened under his, letting his tongue slide in as the barely-there drift of his warm fingers readied her tantalisingly for his definite touch. "You know what else I really love right now, princess?" he said, lifting his mouth from hers to look into

her eyes. "Knowing that no matter what old-hat crap is going on in here..." he tapped his fingers over her heart, "the rest of your body knows how fucking good this feels, doesn't it?" Sophie's body responded to his question of its own accord, wrapping itself around him and opening to beckon his fingers inside. Lucien Knight did things to her that no man had any right to do. He bypassed all rational thought processes and tapped into the visceral, animal instincts that lurked beneath the surface. Even still, her brain battled to hang onto some semblance of control of this situation. "Lucien... I worry that you're my rebound guy." He laughed low in his throat. "And now I feel used." He dipped to kiss her hip, then glanced up at her troubled eyes and paused. "Whatever gets you through, princess." He trailed a slow line of kisses across her abdomen to her other hip, then paused again and tipped his head to one side as he looked up her body. "So what if fucking me makes you feel better?" He shifted further down and laid his head against her inner thigh. "Let me be your medicine. In fact, it makes me practically a doctor." He opened her with his fingers and held her wide, gazing at her sex with a satisfied groan. "Right now, I prescribe cunnilingus." He flicked his eyes up to hers again as his tongue touched against her exposed clitoris. She sucked down air into her suddenly dry throat. "Drink some champagne. Doctor’s orders," he said, lifting his head a fraction to make space for his fingers. Sophie did as he suggested, the bubbles cool and welcome as she watched Lucien reach out for the champagne bottle. Her mind was already feeling fuzzy around the edges. Was he going to top up her glass again? She quickly realised he wasn't as he lowered the bottle and tipped the last of the cold fizz between her legs, making her gasp out loud at the combination of the chill and the thrill. The champagne was ice cold, and Lucien's lapping tongue a second later was sensationally hot. Sophie squirmed, and then put her glass down and covered her pink cheeks with her hands when he touched the neck of the empty bottle against her hot opening. Too much Lucien, too much. The words formed in her head but didn't make it out of her mouth, because he'd eased the cold glass inside her already and fastened his lips over her clitoris. "Fuck, Lucien..." she gasped, wanting him to stop, wanting him to carry on even more. He twisted the bottle, and she watched his mouth, mesmerised both by the visual and sensory impact. His tongue relentless over her clitoris. The base of the green glass bottle cupped in his hand. "You taste of champagne and sex." Lucien screwed the bottle into her and the reverberations of his low, lustful voice against her fevered flesh had her hips jerking in response. He knew precisely when she'd reached the point of return, because he switched from playful to lethal, holding her in his mouth as she orgasmed, stroking her clitoris with his tongue until she stilled and her body softened against the sofa. He eased the bottle out and kissed her there instead, a slow ribbon of barely there brushes of his lips over her sensitive sex. Sophie watched him as her heart rate slowed. Lucien Knight, officially the world's best rebound guy.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN "Where are we going?" Sophie asked, smoothing her hands over the skirt of her beautiful new dress as they sat in the back of the limo. It had been after eleven in the evening when Lucien had woken her to get ready to go out, and now it had just turned midnight as they sped through the damp, illuminated streets of Paris. "To work." Lucien sat beside her looking devastating in black from head to foot. His dirty blond hair seemed darker in the nighttime shadows of the car, and his lupine eyes glittered as he watched her. "To the Gateway club?" Sophie couldn't imagine why they'd need to go back there again tonight. "No." He didn't elaborate, and Sophie swallowed her nerves with difficulty. She didn't know where they were headed, and she had the distinct sense that pressing him for information would reveal very little. He eyed her for a second in silence, and then reached out and opened a small chiller cabinet in front of them. Neat vodka, no ice. Oh God. If he thought she needed Dutch courage, she really was in trouble. The distilled liquor evaporated almost as soon it hit the back of her throat, and Lucien added a second large measure to her glass in silence. He took the tumbler from her fingers once she'd drained it, then turned to her and kissed her suddenly and hard, knocking the breath from her lungs. She didn't realise the car had stopped until cool air hit her legs as the driver opened her door and Lucien released her with a final nip of her bottom lip. She glanced around her surroundings as Lucien spoke in low tones to his driver. The street seemed quiet and sophisticated, the building in front of them elegantly unremarkable. Next door to it, however, was a different matter. The moodily lit windows of a boutique had Sophie's eyes rounding with pleasure. Mannequins dressed, or barely dressed, in the most exquisite underwear she'd ever laid eyes on, finely boned corsets and wisps of lace that screamed 'siren'. Lucien placed his hand on the small of her back as their car disappeared into the night. "Let's go shopping." His hand moved down to caress her bottom. "And let me choose." "This isn't exactly what I'd call work," Sophie ventured, unsure how to read the situation and emboldened enough by the vodka to question him. "Let’s call it preparation." "Preparation for what?" Sophie twisted at the waist to look at him, and he massaged her bottom and leaned close to her ear. "We're going undercover, and you're inappropriately dressed." Sophie's eyebrows shot up in dismay. How could her fabulous dress be inappropriate? "But I love my dress." He cleared his throat as his eyes swept down her body. "There's too much of it." Whoa. As dresses went, it was hardly chaste. Lucien's eyes slid to the boutique windows, and understanding pole-danced around the periphery of Sophie's mind. "You don't mean..." "Yes." He propelled her towards the boutique doorway, which opened miraculously for them as they approached. Sophie faltered, but Lucien's arm around her waist left her with no option but to step inside,

and the door closed behind them with a small, antiquated tinkle. If the windows were a prelude, the interior of the shop was very much the main event. Stunning creations in silk and lace lined the blush pink walls, some frilled and polka dotted in a Bardot pin-up style, others sleek and sensual, and more again designed purely to seduce the wearer and their lovers. Body-skimming silks, sculpted lace corsets and ribbons that begged to be untied. Lucien eyed them all with a practised eye while Sophie moved from garment to garment with appreciative delight. She suddenly wished she could call Kara just to hear her say 'what happens in Paris stays in Paris.' Looking around the shop at the stunning underwear and hyper-aware of the glorious man accompanying her, Sophie had a reprise of her 'luckiest girl in the world' moment. Thankful for the vodka in her veins, she turned at the touch of Lucien's hand on her waist. "This way," he murmured. Sophie looked at Lucien, and then noticed a petite girl in a tiny black dress who appeared next to him holding an armful of garments he'd picked out. He had been busy all the while she had been looking and marvelling. "Trust me," he said, and took her hand as he followed the shapely assistant through a doorway Sophie hadn't previously noticed. She found herself in a boudoir style changing room, all padded grey suede walls and mood lighting. A large central chaise longue dominated the space, clearly a resting perch for Lucien to observe from if he wished. He wished. The assistant hung Lucien's selections in the mirrored changing space behind a screen for Sophie and then left the room, clicking the door with a quiet but definite thud. "Do you need me to unzip your dress?" Sophie stepped behind the changing screen, hot, bothered and glad of her side zip. The realisation dawned on her that Lucien needed to stay right over there on the chaise if she were to have a hope of getting through this surreal experience with any degree of poise. "I'm good, thanks." She was impressed at her own casual tone. "You can say that again, princess." Sophie's fingers shook as she stood in her own suddenly woeful underwear and considered the three confections before her. So, which to try first? He'd selected three very different styles, all of which were far more risqué than anything she'd ever owned. She stripped off. Quickly overcome with giddy panic at being completely nude, she opted for the relative familiarity of a standard bra and knickers combination first - or so they appeared on first glance, anyway. As she stepped into the knickers, it became obvious that they weren't your average daywear. High cut over her hips, silk-lined black lace covered the barest of essentials. Somehow, they seemed to make her legs magically longer and her waist smaller. Mesmerised, Sophie stepped into her high heels for the full effect. When she hooked the matching bra over her arms and into place, she gasped out loud at the realisation that the demi-cups weren't designed to cover her nipples. The bra supported her breasts perfectly yet exposed them completely. "Let me see." Christ. She'd almost forgotten Lucien was out there, which was ridiculous given their situation. She couldn't go out there in this. "Either you come out here or I'll come behind there, Sophie. Which would you rather?" "Lucien..." She heard him move to get up, and placed her hands over her breasts in panic. "Stay there. I'll come out." She knew her cheeks were burning as she stepped out into Lucien's sightline with her hands crossed over her breasts. "You seem to have chosen a bra with bits missing," she said, trying to keep her voice

light. "Put your hands down." Sophie closed her eyes for a second. Could she? It was ridiculous. He had seen everything. Why did she feel so much more exposed wearing these beautiful fragments of lingerie? Lucien reclined back on the chaise, one knee raised and his hands behind his head. "Hands down, princess." Sophie counted to three in her head then dropped her hands, acutely aware of her reflection in the huge gilt mirror leaning against the wall, and of the way Lucien’s demeanour had changed as she revealed herself. He certainly didn't look quite so relaxed any more. He stood slowly and stalked around her, appraising her from every angle before coming to a standstill behind her. There was a silence. Then he spoke. "You look utterly fuckable." His hands slipped around her body to tease her jutting nipples as he kissed her neck. "Utterly. Fucking. Fuckable." His fingers skimmed around and down to cup the cheeks of her bottom. "Let me see the corset next." He kissed her shoulder and nudged her towards the screen. Sophie moved back behind it and laid her head against the cool mirror for a second. This was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences, so far beyond the everyday that she needed to commit it to memory because it would never happen again. The corset Lucien had picked was outrageously gorgeous. With matching high waisted, aubergine satin knickers that hugged her curves, every hook and eye Sophie fastened down the centre of the heavy silk corset made her figure more statuesque. She barely recognised the fifties starlet she glimpsed in the mirror. Lucien's low whistle of appreciation told her that he liked what he saw too when she stepped around the screen. "Look at you," he breathed as he ran his hands over the taut silk, making her shiver. He circled her cinched-in waist, and Sophie licked her lips, impossibly turned on by the clear lust radiating from his blue gaze. She ran a teasing hand down his chest. "You like it?" He yanked her against him, letting his body show her exactly what he thought. His kiss was thoroughly X-rated as his hands moved restlessly over her silk clad body. "I'd like to take this off you," he muttered, breaking their kiss. Sophie was beginning to revel in her power. She skimmed her hand over his erection, letting her grasp linger for a second. Now, her composed tone was easier to summon. "I'll be right back." The third outfit Lucien had selected appeared on the hanger to be the most demure. A dress, of sorts. Sheer, form-fitting black cobweb lace, short anyway, but slit to the top of one thigh for fuller exposure. Slender bones encased in velvet seams ran the length of the dress for structure, and underwired balconette cups and lingerie straps placed the outfit definitely in the bedroom rather than the nightclub department. The lace-up back was a two-man job… and Lucien was the only man to hand. Sophie stepped from behind the screen and turned her back to him at once. "Help me with this?" "To put it on or take it off?" Sophie tried not to jump when his fingers touched the ties, tugging them until the already clinging dress moulded to her body like a second skin. She closed her eyes with each little pull, aware of the way her waist cinched in and her breasts curved out. Lucien tied the slim velvet ribbons at the base of her spine

and then turned her in his arms to survey the results of his handiwork. The dress felt amazing. Its clever, intricate design covered her body in an almost respectable fashion, whilst still being sexy with a capital 'S'. Lucien reached out and trailed a slow finger down her throat, all the way between the rounded curves of her breasts. "Perfect." He drew her close against his body, and his hand slipped into her hair as he lowered his head to hers. She'd expected hard and sexy, and she got slow, delicious and sexier still. Lucien's mouth touched her cheek, her jaw, before finally settling over hers. His lips were warm and yielding and his thumb stroked her cheekbone as his tongue touched against hers. It was a kiss designed to make her feel adored, and Sophie's whole body tingled with anticipation of more. "Keep this on." Sophie didn't argue. She'd felt sexy in her beautiful dress, but she felt sinful in this one. She wanted to keep it on only because she anticipated how Lucien would take it off her later. "Can we go back to the apartment?" Sophie's fingers toyed with the top button of Lucien's black shirt. He lowered his head to her shoulder and hooked his finger under the dress strap, moving it aside to make way for his mouth. "Not yet. We need to check out the competition." "Competition?" Lucien repositioned her strap and took her chin in his fingers. "We're going next door." Sophie frowned, trying to make sense of his words as the assistant appeared in the doorway. Lucien instructed her in rapid French, then placed his hand on Sophie's elbow to guide her towards a different door at the back of the changing area. Sophie glanced worriedly back at her favourite dress. "Don't worry. Everything will be tissue wrapped, boxed and back at the apartment before we are." Lucien pressed a buzzer beside the door. "Stay close." "Lucien, what is this?" Sophie had a feeling that whatever his answer was going to be, it wouldn't be comforting. "I've told you. My competition. This is one of the best adult clubs in Paris, and I want the Gateway to be better." Sophie glanced down at her barely-there lace dress with mounting panic. "Couldn't you have just looked it up on the internet?" He smiled, wolfish. "It's the kind of place you need to experience personally." "I can't go in there in this," Sophie said, unsuccessfully tugging at the short lace skirt to try and find an extra inch or two. "Trust me. You'll be wearing more than most of the women in there." The notion didn't make Sophie feel any calmer. "I don't want to go in there, honestly I don't. Please, let's just go back." Lucien turned to her then, his fingers curled lightly around her upper arms. "Sophie, you're with me. Nothing will happen in there that you don't want to." "I don't go to sex clubs." She re-assessed. "Not… like this. Not as a… a customer." "You can still think of it as work if it makes you feel better. Make mental notes." Sophie was trembling inwardly. Was she doing it outwardly too? Lucien drew his thumb across her lips. "You look like a goddess." Any further negotiation was stolen from Sophie's throat by panic, because at that moment the door swung open from the other side.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN Sophie glanced cautiously around and held onto Lucien's hand as he conversed easily with the suited doorman. They appeared to be in some kind of boudoir; wall to wall cerise velvet and gold brocade decor lent the place an old-school air of theatrical glamour. It was smaller than she'd anticipated, but then her only direct experience of an adult club was The Gateway back in London, an edifice of black glass and urban glitz. This place was much more intimate. The reception area appeared to be an extension of the lingerie boutique on the other side of the door. Sophie scanned the glass cabinets and shelves. They were lined with jewel-coloured objects that on closer inspection turned out to be an alluring assortment of beautifully displayed sex toys. She identified some of them: gobstopper-sized jiggle balls, tubs of freshly churned chocolate spread available in white, milk or dark, elegantly sculptural phalluses... it was an adults-only treasure trove that delighted Sophie's senses and calmed her tightly wound nerves. She paused to look more closely at an exquisite display of candy-coloured eggs piled high in filigree baskets. Lucien lifted a pale pink egg from the display and eyed it critically. "Pretty," Sophie said, uncertain exactly what it was for. Lucien caught the assistant's eye and handed over a couple of notes in return for the egg, then turned back to Sophie and presented it to her with a smile. "Happy Easter." "It isn't Easter." Sophie turned it over in her hands. "I'm guessing I shouldn't eat it?" Lucien flicked his eyes to the ceiling and pocketed the egg, then pulled her by the hand towards a curtained archway. A beautiful girl dressed in a minuscule red velvet dress stepped forward to draw the drape aside, all scarlet-painted lips and glossy black hair set in vintage waves. "Have a good evening," she murmured in heavily accented English as she inclined her head for them to pass. Sophie couldn't miss the fact that the girl's eyes lingered on Lucien for a second longer than she judged professional, but then who knew what professional even meant in circumstances like these? Besides, who could blame her? Sophie was growing accustomed to the fact that Lucien drew female eyes wherever he went. It wasn't just his height, or his Viking beauty, or his broad shoulders. The man exuded lust from his very bones: he emitted sexual charisma on a frequency that no woman could be expected to ignore. The attendant's gaze settled on the hand Lucien placed casually on Sophie's backside, and then flicked up to give Sophie an unmistakable look of pure envy as they passed her. Sophie appreciated Lucien's proprietary arm around her waist as they stepped down into the club. If the lingerie and toy store had seemed alluring, their effect was nothing compared with the thoroughly kitsch glamour of the club itself. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the midnight ceilings and the deep cerise studded velvet walls ensured that even wallflowers could lounge in comfort. And there were a few wallflowers, but these girls looked totally at ease in their silk and satin lingerie, champagne flutes adorning their manicured hands. The whole place had the air of a lavish vintage theatre with its sweeping gilt staircases and intimate seating areas, the curved, padded love seats scattered with jewel bright silk cushions surrounding the dance floor. Fat, creamy candles flickered in wall sconces, casting sensual shadows around the room. It was a beautiful place inhabited by beautiful people. There were couples having late-night dinners in secluded booths, Sophie observed, with surprise. She absorbed it all, fascinated. It was impossible not to

feel seduced, at ease, even: Lucien had ensured that she'd blend in perfectly with his choice of her attire. "Well?" he asked as he led her towards the bar. "I never knew places like this existed," Sophie breathed with a tiny shake of her head. "It's fabulous." Lucien handed her a glass of champagne and lounged against a high stool. "I'd call it stiff competition." Sophie raised her eyebrows, unsure how to express that she felt more comfortable here than in the Knight Inc. club she’d visited in London. Was she being disloyal? "It's very different from the Gateway," she ventured. "It's Paris, Sophie. People look for something different here." "I like it." Lucien lifted an eyebrow at her. "Says the girl who didn't even want to come in here ten minutes ago." Sophie couldn't argue. "Having that boutique attached is a really clever idea. It must attract more women, don't you think?" Lucien nodded. "This place is run by women, for women. Men are not the top priority." Now that Lucien had said it, Sophie understood why she felt more at ease here. It exuded femininity, and had a sensual ambience rather than a sexual one. "It's much more relaxed than I expected," Sophie acknowledged. The champagne was chilled and delicious, and Lucien's fingers warmed hers when he took her hand and tugged her forwards. "Then let's go and relax, shall we?" Lucien headed for a tucked away love seat and pulled Sophie down into it next to him, nodding brief thanks to the black-clad waiter who delivered their ice bucket to the table a second or two later. Sophie glanced around at their closest neighbours as Lucien topped up their glasses. A curvy brunette in stockings and suspenders had curled herself into her companion’s lap, her arms around his neck as she whispered in his ear. Sophie noticed how the man casually stroked her full, bra-clad breasts as he listened to her, his other hand massaging her thigh. The woman looked utterly relaxed, as if she were fully clothed rather than dressed in stunning black and ruby red underwear that wouldn't have looked out of place at The Crazy Horse. A further glance around showed that the other couples scattered around the room were equally at ease. Some kissed. Some touched a little. Some touched a lot. There seemed to be no rules, no constraints and no pressure. Unadulterated, unhurried pleasure in whatever form anyone chose. A smoky-voiced redhead who'd have given Jessica Rabbit a run for her money was perched on the closed lid of a grand piano, her vocals providing a sultry accompaniment to the dinner suited pianist. Here and there on the dance floor, couples twined around each other as they danced sinuously. Lucien's arm curved along the back of the seat, his fingers a warm, gentle pressure on Sophie's neck. It had been a long, long time since Sophie had last danced with a man. "Shall we?" she said, tilting her head towards the sprung wooden floor. Lucien looked mildly startled. "Are you asking me to dance?" Sophie's mouth curved into a smile at his reaction. "Yes." He frowned, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table, then stood and held out his hand formally. "May I have this dance, Ms. Black?"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Lucien drew Sophie into his arms. He wasn't by nature a man for slow dancing. Although he’d never thought consciously about it, the passivity and languor didn’t appeal to him. He was a man of action. Where should he put his hands? He knew where he wanted to put them, and given their surroundings, he knew that it wouldn't be frowned on, but he had the distinct impression that Sophie herself might frown upon it. So she wanted to slow-dance? All right. He held her, one arm around her lace-clad waist, the other crooked between their torsos, laced with Sophie's slender fingers over his heart. She looked up at him with the embers of her smile still on her lips, and traces of trouble in her smoky, made up eyes. She was one of the least provocatively dressed women in the club, yet in his eyes the sexiest by a mile. Her mussed-up blonde hair tumbled around her face and her dark eye make up gave her the air of a sixties waif. He'd suggested the dress thinking that its coverage would offer her a little security in this unfamiliar environment, but he hadn't bargained on how it would look wrapped around her body. She was a wanton sex kitten in it, her lush, creamy curves barely contained by the black lace. Every slow undulation of her body against his had him closer to losing control. "I haven't danced like this with anyone in a long time," she murmured when he rested his forehead against hers. "Not even your prick of a husband?" Lucien matched her murmur for volume, but there was no disguising the contempt in his voice. He appreciated the fact that Sophie didn't choose to correct his description. "Only on our wedding day." He held her a fraction tighter. He hadn't danced with a woman in over ten years either, but then he hadn't duped anyone with false promises of romance. And in truth... it felt pretty good when Sophie closed her eyes and laid her cheek against his chest. Her arm circled his shoulder, her fingertips tangling in the hair at his nape. The clean, apple scent of her shampoo drifted around him as he let his mouth skim the top of her head, and her mouth brushed his throat as she sighed. It was the sigh that did it. She sounded like sex, and she felt like sex, and they were in a sex club. He'd resolved not to push her, but it sounded like the sigh of someone who wanted to be pushed, maybe just a little. So he let his hand skim down over her lace-clad bottom, intensely aware that she was naked beneath the dress. She sighed again, and her fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt. He laid his hand flat in the space below her throat, above her breasts, keeping his caress just in the realm of decency. He wanted her to lay her hands on his aching cock. Sophie's warm fingers stroked down his back, moulding him against her until there was no air between them, and Lucien let his hand move down between their bodies to her breasts. Beyond the realm of decency. Her nipple ripened beneath his thumb, and her fingers slipped back into his hair as she opened her eyes and tipped her head up. She was turned on. She told him so with her darkened, heavy gaze, and with the infinitesimal arch of her body as he stroked her breasts. "I think I love this place," she whispered dreamily. "And I love what this place does to you," he countered against her lips.

"You used the L word again." "I did. I also love that you're naked underneath this dress." He rocked his hips into her, his erection hard against her abdomen. The tip of Sophie's tongue snaked over his lips, and he accepted her invitation willingly. The slow, late night music washed around them, a steady beat to move to, to kiss to. Her mouth was warm and open for him, and her arms tightened around him as he massaged her bottom. Christ, she felt amazing. He wanted to ruck her skirt up and fill his hands with her bare skin. She breathed his name when he squeezed her nipple and didn't stop him when he eased the cup of her dress down just enough to give him access to stroke it without exposing her to the other dancers. She bit down on his lip and groaned. "Oh god, Lucien." "Shh." He held her close and kissed her ear. "I still love your tits." "That's two days on the run," Sophie said, a little unevenly. She was finding it hard to concentrate on speech. "You're in danger of creating a habit." "And you're in danger of being screwed right here on this dance floor." He felt her lips form a smile against his mouth. "Then I guess we’d better sit down." Sophie sat back down on the love seat and scooted sideways to face Lucien, one leg crooked beneath her. She'd never felt such a heady sensation of sexual exhilaration. Back in the London Gateway Club she'd been turned on, but guilt had clouded her emotions. Here, in this feline, sophisticated boudoir, she felt liberated, and sexy, and thoroughly adult. She knew her parted legs were an invitation. Lucien's eyes dropped to her crotch with the merest lift of an eyebrow, and as he angled his body towards hers, the contours of the seat curved about them, so they were close together both by choice and by necessity. Lucien dropped his hand to rest on Sophie's thigh. She glanced over his shoulder and saw that the couple that'd previously been idly playing were now engaged in full blown sex, the brunette splayed on the chair, the muscles of her partners back gleaming as he knelt before her and pumped his hips. Brazen with lust, Sophie leaned in and brushed her mouth over Lucien's, opening her legs a little more at the same time. He read her blatant cues perfectly, stroking her inner thighs beneath her dress, his fingers a whisper away from her core. "How far are you willing to go, princess?" he murmured against her hair, then dragged one slow finger up the entire length of her sex. Sophie shuddered with pleasure and turned her face to claim his mouth again. "Further?" he said, trailing back down again. Barely able to breathe with anticipation, Sophie wound her arms around his neck, her fingers massaging his skull, her tongue moving over his. "More," she breathed. "I like assertive Sophie." Lucien parted her with his fingers. "Jesus. You feel fucking amazing," he whispered as he let his fingers glide over her opening. "More?" "Much more." Lucien's low groan of appreciation rumbled into her mouth as he pushed two fingers deep inside her. "This much?" Sophie nodded, rocking on his hand and still desperate for him to go further. "Feeling brave, princess?" Lucien dropped his other hand between her legs too and in one swift, decisive movement, pushed the lace dress up out of the way. Up to that point, Sophie had been able to convince herself that their actions were clandestine. Not any

more. Lucien had now deliberately exposed their intimacy to anyone who cared to look. Sophie glanced down at his hands between her legs and found that instead of the thought turning her off, it turned her on. Wildly so. His index finger drew circles on her clitoris. "You are so much sexier than you know," he said, biting the pad of her thumb when it skimmed his lips. "You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you right now." He'd voiced her thoughts. His fingers were magic, but she wanted his cock. "So fuck me." The words were out of her head and in the air, and his entire body stilled for a moment, apart from the motion of his thumb on her clitoris. "Sophie..." He seemed hesitant, unable to believe what she’d just said, so she reached down and flicked his trousers open as affirmation. His cock sprang out of its confines, eager and engorged, and Sophie couldn't help but curl her fingers around it. Lucien shifted a little into the centre of the seat and spread his thighs. "Sit on me." She swung her leg over him, her hands on the chair back to steady herself, then reached down and positioned the head of his cock. "All the way, Lucien." Euphoria ran like rapids through her body as she breathed assent into his ear. "I want to go all the way." Lucien’s eyes gleamed with lust as he placed his hands on her hips and pushed her down onto him, then held her there. Impaled. She lifted her eyes from their coupling and found him watching her with an expression of almost tortured pleasure on his shadowed face. Sophie scooted her knees forward until they touched the back of the seat either side of his hips, and his hands moved around to cup her backside beneath the rucked up lace skirt. Behind them, a Rubenesque tableau came to life. The brunette, now on her knees pleasuring her Adonis. At the bar, a naked woman perched on a high stool, Venus leaning back against her lover as he fondled her body. Couples everywhere, in various states of intimacy, locked in their own hedonistic worlds, the eroticism heightened ten-fold by the presence of others orbiting around them. And Lucien Knight. Beneath her, inside her, all over her. Sophie started to move, letting his hands be her guide, letting their erotic delight build stroke by stroke to breaking point. The music swirled around them, a steady heartbeat dictating the sexual pace, as the low lights and candle shadows spotlit curves and outlined figures. Sophie ground down on Lucien as her body shuddered, and then leaned in close and kissed him through his own jolting, intense climax. He wound his hands into her hair and eased her mouth off his as his body stilled. "Sophie Black. You fucking amaze me."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Sophie stretched out an arm, reaching for the warmth of Lucien in the vast bed. Pillows. Expensive sheets. But that was all. Hm. She opened her eyes and squinted against the morning light as she sat up. Lucien's side of the bed was rumpled and decidedly empty. She flopped back on the pillows and lay still for a few moments, letting the new day settle on her and the previous night’s events come back to her. The lingerie boutique. The toy store. The sex club. A quick glance beneath the quilt confirmed that she was nude, and memories of a night entwined with Lucien's equally naked body filtered in. It had been after three in the morning when they'd arrived back at the penthouse, and she'd unhesitatingly invited him to sleep in her bed… because she really wanted him there. Her only lucid memory was of Lucien unlacing her dress and curling his big warm body around hers from shoulder to hip, his leg over hers, his arms bracketing her body. She'd woken at some point and found she'd turned to face him, so close that she could feel his light, even breathing on her cheek as he slept. When she'd closed her eyes again, her dreams had been of sweeping alpine lands, freezing, glassy fjords… and of untamable lone wolves. Where was he? Sophie lay still and listened for telltale sounds. No running water in the bathroom. No feet padding across marble floors. No low hum of the breakfast news on TV, nor the rattle of a coffee cup on its saucer. Nothing, in fact. Even from her limited vantage point in the bedroom, Sophie sensed that Lucien wasn't here at all. Mild panic had her sitting up and reaching for her robe, and that was when she spotted the note propped up on the bedside table. God, had he abandoned her in Paris leaving nothing but a note? She dropped the robe and picked up the letter, revealing what it had been propped against. Candy pink and smooth, aside from a slender tether of tiny pearls attached to the base. That egg. It had been in cellophane last night, but now it was unwrapped and cool in her palm as she turned it over. She flipped the note open to read Lucien's confident scrawl. Morning Princess, Three things. Last night was incredible. The car’s coming for you at twelve. Lunch meeting. Lube the egg and slide it inside you. Do not come without me. L x Sophie's mouth fell open at the third point on Lucien's list and she dropped the note onto the sheets to look again at the egg. What did it do? She gave it a little shake, half expecting it to crack open and reveal something less egg-like, or at least to chime, or do something other than look like an innocent, shiny, pink candy egg. Lube it. She belatedly noticed the small bottle bearing the familiar Knight Inc. logo, on the bedside table. It had not been there last night. Lucien was a man prepared for anything when it came to sex. Did he expect her to meet him with the egg in place? Surely not. But even as the objection formed in her mind, she knew it was in vain. Disconcerted, Sophie reached for her phone to check the time, and groaned. It was almost ten already -

where had the morning gone? How could she sleep so soundly amidst all this ferment? She threw the quilt back and flung her feet down, clicking on the flashing message icon as she slid her feet into the white towelling mules. No knickers. Don't forget the egg. I WILL KNOW. In the back of the limousine a little later, Sophie crossed her legs and flicked a guilty glance towards the glass privacy partition. There was no way the driver could know that beneath her demure mauve woolen dress she wore no knickers, or that the smooth oval of the egg was buried within her body, yet still she felt as if she had a neon sign around her neck. I'm sleeping with the boss. Would she do literally anything Lucien told her to? The thought skimmed in unannounced and Sophie let it sit for a second as she weighed it up. No, maybe not absolutely anything, but she couldn't imagine a situation where she'd want to say no to him, because he seemed to understand her limits. Or did he? Had he anticipated that she'd let him screw her last night in the club? Because it had definitely come as a titanic shock to Sophie herself. It would never have happened in a Knight Inc. club back home in London. But something about last night's venue had freed her to be whoever she wanted to be within the confines of its seductive, velvet-clad walls. And now, in the cold, temperate light of day, she found that she couldn't locate a repentant bone in her body. She'd loved it. Been turned on by it. And thinking about it in the back of the limo, she was turned on by it all over again. She pressed her bottom into the seat, pleasurably aware of the egg’s presence inside her, enhanced by the secret knowledge that she was naked beneath her skirt. The car eased to a halt outside a swish-looking restaurant. Sophie climbed out and smiled nervously at the chauffeur as he held her door open for her, then stepped beneath the black canopies of the restaurant. Precision-manicured bay trees stood sentry on the pavement and the gilt metal frames around the windows reflected the passing cars like mirrors. The maître d' appeared as soon as Sophie stepped inside the doorway, ramrod-backed and elegantly suited. The moment she mentioned Lucien's name a look of deference wreathed his previously passive features. "Mr. Knight is expecting you, madame," he murmured, and inclined his head discreetly for her to follow him into the dining room. Beyond the sophisticated vestibule, the room opened out into a large, ornate and high-ceilinged formal dining room that was everything Sophie might have daydreamed as a postcard-perfect Parisian restaurant. Starched white table linen matched the stiffened white aprons of the waiting staff and heavy silver tableware abounded. Glamorous patrons lunched, every bit as immaculate as their surroundings. And there amongst them was Lucien Knight. Sophie spotted him a second or two before he saw her. He was deep in conversation with the man at his side, but there was no missing the flash of pleasure that crossed his face when he caught sight of her. He excused himself and stood to greet her as she approached. "Gentlemen, this is Sophie Black, my PA." Two pairs of similarly dark eyes turned to her with polite interest, one younger, one considerably older. "Sophie, this is Elron… and Peter Carmichael." "It’s lovely to meet you." Sophie hoped it was going to be. She looked sharply at Lucien. What was he playing at? Both men proffered firm handshakes as they stood in greeting, then Lucien held Sophie's chair until she was seated.

The men were obviously father and son, given their matching surnames and eyes. "Elron and Peter own one of the largest sex toy companies in the States, Sophie, as I expect you recall. They produce quite a few Knight Inc. products on our behalf." Sophie nodded, cogs of understanding turning as she recognised the familiar Carmichael name once Lucien had placed it within a work context. It was a company name she'd seen often. "I’m delighted to meet you both in person," she smiled genuinely, as a waiter arrived with their hors d'oeuvres. Lucien leaned in close as the plates were placed in front of them. "I ordered for you earlier. There wasn't any pizza on the menu, sorry." She shot him a scathing look and could tell he was discreetly laughing as he looked down. Her eyes followed his nervously to their plates. She could only offer thanks to the culinary gods that he hadn't ordered snails, because she was no Julia Roberts, and knowing her luck there would be no deft waiter on hand to catch any of the errant little shells. She was far more likely to put out one of the exquisitely colourful and clearly very old windowpanes. The salmon on her plate was more a work of art than a starter, a delicate coral fan surrounded by eau de nil foam. Flavours exploded in Sophie's mouth from the first taste: the smoky oak of the salmon, freshness from morsels of cucumber and an unexpected kick of horseradish from the foam. The waiter reappeared with wine selected specifically to accompany the dish, and on investigation, Sophie could only marvel at how perfectly they went together. She contributed to the conversation a little as they chatted with the Carmichaels about Paris, and found herself relaxing and appreciating more and more the beautiful dining room with its high frescoed ceiling. The towering picture windows looked out over grand parkland, letting natural light flood the room and glint off the crystal chandeliers. The second course arrived seamlessly, a colourful plate of poached hen’s egg perched atop Iberian ham, with bright green watercress puree. "Bacon and eggs, Paris style," Elron joked in his easy Californian accent. "Looks delicious," she murmured as she broke the yolk with her fork and watched the vibrant yellow yolk ooze down into the vivid puree. The aroma of the poshest breakfast ever hit her nostrils, and she caught Lucien's eye as she lifted the first taste to her mouth. He raised his glass to her with the merest suggestion of a wink. And then Sophie dropped her fork from her fingers. The others looked up in mild surprise as it clattered onto her plate. The egg was vibrating, and not the egg on her plate. Astounded and flustered, she picked her fork up swiftly and smiled, hoping that there was no watercress in her teeth and – oh God - that they couldn't hear her crotch buzzing. She belatedly realised she’d been too busy appreciating the egg’s prettiness last night to notice the remote control that Lucien must have hidden somewhere about his person right now. The mellow sounds of a piano underscored the low level of chatter and the clink of silver on porcelain. It was all so very civilised. Except for this. She couldn't look at Lucien. "Excuse me. Butterfingers," she said, rolling her eyes. She was fairly sure her cheeks were glowing. "Is there something wrong with your egg, Sophie?" Lucien asked, his face a mask of polite concern. She cleared her throat and reached for her wine glass rather than answer him straight away for fear of what she might actually say. "No, no, it's very nice," she said after a fortifying glug of wine, disconcerted when her voice came out in a helium squeak. "Nice?" he frowned, clearly displeased with her bland choice of words. The vibrations of the egg

intensified. Christ. She cleared her throat desperately and glanced at Peter Carmichael in the hope that he'd start a conversation about anything in the world except for eggs. Her body throbbed. "Lucien tells me you're new to the adult entertainment industry, Sophie. I hope you're not finding it too shocking." Okay, so that didn't help. "Well, it's never dull," she managed, wishing she could say more but finding it hard to engage her brain and her mouth because Lucien had flicked the egg onto pulsate. She couldn't eat another mouthful, and her cheeks must be redder than ripe tomatoes. Surely the Carmichaels must have realised that there was something amiss? But their conversation continued, flowing around her as if everything was perfectly normal. How could that be? She was knickerless and being massaged internally by her lover whilst he conducted a conversation about the uptick in sex toy sales following the recent explosion of erotic fiction onto the adult entertainment market. She fought the sensations inside her with every ounce of self-control she possessed, struggling to keep possession of her thoughts and expression. She glanced at Lucien’s poker face. Nothing to see, nothing to plead with. The plates were cleared, and Sophie could have sagged with relief when Lucien ceased his ministrations as the waiter circled the table topping up their glasses. She even managed a couple of minutes’ worth of impressively lucid conversation with their guests as their main courses arrived. Sophie’s first thought was relief that her plate was egg-free. She glanced across from her divine-looking pink lamb to Lucien's snowy white fish. It sat centrally on a bed of pale green baby leeks, accompanied by not one, not two, but three whole little coddled quail’s eggs. She swallowed painfully, and looked up at him, panic-stricken, as the wine waiter momentarily distracted the Carmichaels’ attention. "Lucien, please don't," she hissed through a clenched smile, and in response he speared one of the eggs and raised it to his lips. "Don't what, princess?" he asked, low enough for only Sophie to catch. "This?" He clicked the love egg back into life and held her gaze. Where was that remote? The Carmichaels would know it instantly if they saw it. They'd probably made the damn thing. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Every nerve ending in her body responded, and it took more effort than Sophie had ever dreamed she could muster not to jolt, nor groan, nor allow any flicker of emotion to cross her face. "Or this?" Lucien glanced at the Carmichaels to ensure they were still distracted, then licked the tip of the egg. "Did you enjoy sliding the egg inside you this morning, Sophie? I enjoyed imagining you doing it." He slid his lips all the way over the egg and devoured it with a satisfied swallow. "Tastes good. I bet you'd taste even better if I dropped to my knees right now under this table." He stabbed a second egg, and then ratcheted up the vibrations in Sophie's body. She couldn't be certain that she didn't whimper. "I want to eat you." He turned the love-egg up to full speed just as the waiter drifted away and the Carmichaels turned back to them. "Where were we?" Elron smiled, picking up his cutlery. Even in her unprecedented situation, Sophie felt fairly certain that 'I was on the verge of orgasming while my boss lewdly sucks eggs' wasn't an appropriate response. "We were just about to toss a coin, actually," Lucien said with a smile. "Notre Dame or The Louvre? Sophie can't decide which she'd like to visit this afternoon. As it’s her first time in Paris I feel honour bound to give her a little time off." Peter Carmichael took the bait, and Sophie nodded her way through the merits of each as she picked unfocusedly at her lamb and tried her best not to react when Lucien changed the egg’s rhythm. It was exquisite torture. Pulse. Vibrate. Wave. Pulse. Vibrate. Wave. She wanted to squirm in her chair. She

wanted to gasp out loud. She wanted Lucien. He stilled the vibrations as their plates were finally cleared again, and Sophie glanced around for a possible escape route to the ladies’ room. Lucien caught her eye and shook his head slowly, a clear warning that he was onto her plan and disapproved of it. He couldn’t disguise the wickedness of his smile. "Dessert next, Sophie. It's one of my favourites." "It is?" "Oh, definitely," Lucien nodded conversationally, as two waiters arrived at their table bearing dessert wine and their final courses to go with it. How bad could a simple pudding be? Sophie hardly dared look down. Very bad, as it turned out. Fresh figs lounged indolently on her plate. Halved, they were eye-wateringly, scandalously feminine displays of glistening pink flesh, damp with beads of honey, dark juices pooling in their centres. Their burst open skins were seemingly unequal to the struggle of containing their rosy nectar, their sweet, seductive scent was a waft of delicate perfume. It was, in short, the most indecent pudding Sophie had ever clapped eyes on. And predictably, Lucien chose the moment she touched a fork against it to reignite the vibrations inside her body. She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Enough was enough. Sophie laid her cutlery down and reached instead for her wine. She needed to take charge of this situation, and that called for a bolstering shot of Dutch courage. Selecting her spoon as her weapon of choice, she glanced around the table with a light laugh. "This looks almost too pretty to eat." She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips for Lucien's benefit. He didn't miss it. His eyes narrowed a little, and his finger pressed the button to increase the egg’s intimate vibrations. Sophie tensed her stomach muscles against the sensation and plunged her spoon into one of the glistening figs before sliding the pink flesh between her lips. She didn't have to fake her enjoyment. It was heavenly. "Gosh, these are sweet and juicy," she murmured, licking her spoon at Lucien as Peter and Elron, clearly devoted pudding-lovers, were engrossed in their desserts. His grey blue eyes blazed, and Sophie revelled in the satisfaction of taking back the upper hand. For a moment. Lucien went nuclear on the egg's control button. Wave, pulse, vibrate. Wave, pulse, vibrate. Faster, deeper, harder. Sophie had herself under control. Just. She scooped out the rose flesh of another fig and held eye contact with Lucien as she took it slowly into her mouth. This was way more than dessert. It was a battle of wills. Elron was marvelling at the perfect fusion of the wine and dessert as she savoured the velvet flesh in her mouth. She managed to nod politely in agreement, while only just refraining from banging her fists on the tabletop and noisily orgasming there and then. What was this? A test of how many rom-com references could be crammed into one lunch date? Sophie just hoped no one said 'I'll have what she's having.' Because no one was having Lucien apart from her. "A gastronomic triumph." Peter Carmicheal rubbed his well-fed gut. "Coffee?" "Sounds perfect," Lucien said, making Sophie want to stab him with her bread knife. "But I'm afraid Sophie and I will have to leave you gentlemen to it." He glanced at his watch. "There's somewhere we need to be."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Lucien all but dragged Sophie into the back of the limo when they stepped out onto the pavement. "You vixen." His mouth was on her ear. His hands were everywhere. He lunged to slide up the privacy screen a second before he pulled her across his lap and pushed her skirt up. "I've wanted to do this since the moment you walked into the restaurant." Sophie couldn't hold the groan in when he flicked the egg back into life again, because she was straddled over his erection. "You seemed to enjoy your dessert a little too much, Ms. Black," he murmured, pulling her mouth down onto his as she yanked his shirt free of his trousers and unfastened his belt. Sophie sucked down air when Lucien tugged experimentally on the string of tiny pearls that led to the egg. "I take it from the look on your face that you like your Easter gift?" He increased the vibrations and flicked the pad of his thumb up and down over her clitoris, small, targeted movements that had her squirming. "Better than chocolate," she managed, and he moaned as her fingers surrounded his cock. Christ, he was so ready, and he had her drenched as he wound the pearl tether around his fingers and slid the still vibrating egg slowly out of her body. Lucien's hot, probing tongue slid around inside her mouth as he settled her over his cock. "Thank God," she breathed as he buried himself inside her then held her against him hip to hip. His bold smile pressed against her lips. "Better now?" "Much better." Sophie unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over the hard, warm expanse of his chest. He shifted his hips a little in response and groaned as he moved inside her with slow, satisfying thrusts. Lucien's hand snaked between them and his other hand clamped over her mouth when she squealed with shock as the vibrating egg in his hand buzzed against her clitoris. "Shhh," he laughed softly and held her steady, perfectly aware that she was going to come hard and fast within seconds. He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her body against his naked chest, the vibrating egg wedged between their bodies. He thrust purposefully once, twice, three more times before her body arched rigid with the intensity of release, magnified by the fact that Lucien's body bucked sharply at the same time. A few breaths later, he stilled the egg’s vibrations and covered her mouth with the slow, blissful kisses of a sexually satisfied man. A couple of hours later, Sophie stood in front of the Mona Lisa and wondered what must have passed through the sitter’s mind. Her perfectly rendered ambiguous expression and enigmatic smile certainly suggested that she knew something the rest of world didn't. Maybe Leonardo Da Vinci had been naked when he painted her. Sophie caught herself and wondered at the path her mind had just taken. If she'd come here with anyone but Lucien she'd no doubt have admired the painting in a more scholarly fashion. Being around him seemed to pare away her layers of respectability and leave her five steps closer to her cavewoman ancestors. Was it a better way to live? It was certainly more fun in the short term. But this wasn't short term for Lucien, it was his life. Sophie wasn't sure who had a better outlook on the world. Then she lost her train

of thought completely when Lucien placed his hand on her hip and kissed her neck. "Seen enough?" She sighed happily and turned around. "I think so. Thank you for bringing me here. I didn't seriously expect you to show me the sights." She’d thought Lucien was making small talk with the Carmichaels when he'd asked for their opinions on the best landmarks, but she’d been wrong. Their clothing straightened and features relatively composed after their steamy clinch in the limo, they’d been dropped off at Notre Dame. After a leisurely inspection, they’d sat down for strong French coffees at a pavement cafe, then spent the last couple of hours strolling around the Louvre. Lucien had proved himself a remarkably knowledgeable guide in ways Sophie hadn't anticipated, offering snippets and anecdotes as they made their way around. She very much doubted whether many other Parisian tour guides would have informed her that the traditional champagne coupe glass had reportedly been modelled on the shape of Marie Antoinette’s breasts. "I like playing hooky with you," he said now, guiding her out of the museum and past the huge, sharpedged glass pyramid, so fabulously, incongruously different to the grand palace wrapped around it. If their chauffeur had any idea of what had taken place in the seclusion behind his privacy screen after they’d left the restaurant, he didn't allow it to show on his face as he held Sophie's door open for her to climb in. Lucien slid in beside her, and as the car moved away into the heavy traffic Sophie leaned wearily against him. He stretched his arm along her shoulders and stroked her hair. "Tired, princess?" His fingers settled on the curve of her neck, a slow, firm, massaging pressure that made her tip her head back onto his arm in pleasure. "Bushed." "No clubbing tonight for you then?" Sophie's feet ached from sight-seeing and her body ached – admittedly pleasurably - from the sexual marathon of the last twenty-four hours. "Can we maybe just stay in?" Lucien frowned. "With Paris on our doorstep?" Sophie rolled her head sideways to look at him. "We can look at it from the balcony." His eyebrows were still lowered. "What's wrong?" Sophie lifted her head and scrutinised him. He shrugged. "I just don't want you to get the wrong idea." She laughed softly. "Staying in is too domesticated for you?" Lucien's mouth twisted to the side. "I don't do cosy nights in." "Lucien, you are officially the least cosy man I've ever known, okay? I'm just knackered." It crossed her mind too that a night in at the incredible penthouse was hardly the same as slumping on a suburban sofa in front of a soap opera. He scanned her face for a few seconds and then sighed. "Fine. We'll stay in. We can eat on the balcony." Dinner for two on the balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower had romance stamped all over it in bright red ink, but Sophie refrained from mentioning it. It sounded beyond heavenly, and she knew that if she did he was likely to suggest something far more exhaustingly depraved as an alternative. "Can we watch a movie too?" She pushed her luck for the hell of it. "Only if it's porn." "An Officer and a Gentleman?" "Emmanuelle?" Sophie smiled and closed her eyes as she rested her head back on his arm.

"I'll meet you in the middle. Nine and a half weeks." Lucien pressed send on the thank you email he'd just composed to Louis Duval, one of his oldest and closest friends. A man who'd grown up in the school of hard knocks, Louis had recognised a kindred spirit in Lucien the moment he'd shown up for a job interview as barman at one of his adult clubs in the French capital. The older man had seen the spark behind the young Norwegian's scowl, and he'd taken the time to mentor his protege from barman to businessman. Over the intervening years they'd remained firm friends, and it was as Louis's guests that Lucien and Sophie now stayed in the penthouse. The man himself was overseas at his Barbados residence for the winter; he was a warm-blooded man who liked to follow the sun. Lucien looked up from his laptop, distracted by Sophie as she padded through from the bedroom, fresh, fragrant and flushed from the bath. "Dinner will be here soon," he said, inhaling the scent of her as she passed the antique desk. "I'm almost done here." He gestured towards the paperwork scattered around the computer. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Remembering her PA responsibilities almost guiltily, Sophie hovered at his shoulder. "Yes." He plucked at the belt of her robe idly. "Get out of this, or get out of reach so I can finish up." No guilt required, then. Not professionally, anyway. Sophie leaned down and kissed him, her open mouth warm and inviting over his for a few brief seconds before she straightened. "I guess I'll go and watch that movie then." He smacked her bottom as she moved away, retribution for leaving him alone at the desk trying to think straight despite his now swelling cock. He breathed deeply and centred his thoughts on work, but he heard Sophie laugh at some British comedy she'd found on the TV and found he wanted it to be him she was laughing with instead. He could still smell her bubble bath, and he could see her reflection in the mirror over the desk. She was curled on the end of the sofa, drying her freshly washed hair with her fingers, the subdued light of the TV illuminating her in hues of pale blue and silver as she smiled. It was no good. His concentration was shot. He threw his pen down, clicked the laptop shut and got to his feet. "You're a distraction." He leaned against the doorway with his arms folded. "Sorry." She patted the sofa. "Come and watch for a while until dinner arrives." He paused for a second, about to refuse, but his legs had other ideas and carried him over to her. She swivelled around as he sat down, lying herself flat along the sofa with her head in his lap. Okay, so that was unexpected. "Tell me it's not a slushy movie." He rubbed her hair dry, damp silk in his fingers. She rolled her eyes. "Don't panic. Dinner will be here in a minute and save you from the romance." "I can think of another way to pass the time," he said, but she stilled the hand he'd been about to slide into her robe and held it to her cheek instead. Her lips brushed warm on his palm, and he curved his fingers, cupping her face as she closed her eyes. It soothed him to see her serene and untroubled, properly at ease for once. He'd known all along that bringing her to Paris would force a make-or-break situation between them, but had gambled that it would be worth it, because having her around him in the office day in day out without being able to touch her was definitely more hindrance than help. These last couple of days she'd finally allowed the other Sophie Black out to play again, and already she looked a more fulfilled woman for it. Was the bloom in her cheeks the lingering result of time spent in the warm bathroom, or something more? She opened her eyes and looked up at him, a sparkle where there had been only dullness of late. Yes. He had wagered well. Paris was good for Sophie Black, there was his payout. But was Sophie

Black good for him?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"I'd never tire of this view." Sophie stood on the penthouse balcony with her hands on the cast iron railings and surveyed Paris by moonlight. Pale, blue-grey buildings scattered with pinprick diamond lights in the windows. The Eiffel Tower a glittering column of light presiding over them. Lucien joined her on the balcony. Dinner had just arrived beneath polished silver cloches and now awaited them on the balcony dining table. "You look very beautiful." Sophie absorbed his quiet compliment, glad that he'd taken the time to notice her efforts. She couldn't put her finger on why it had mattered to dress for dinner. She could have easily and decadently stayed in her robe. It wasn't as if it was a date, yet still she'd lingered over her choice of clothing. In the end she'd opted again for her beloved new dress. It seemed a shame that she'd only worn it fleetingly to the club last night: it deserved more. Dinner overlooking the Paris skyline fitted the bill handsomely. Strictly, the dress was better without underwear, yet she hadn’t been able to resist the lure of the silken lingerie also delivered by the boutique last night. As she'd stepped into the little black knickers and fastened the quarter-cup bra behind her, she'd straightened and tried to see what Lucien saw when he looked at her. She'd pinned her hair up loosely and applied a little makeup, added high heels for effect, and then stood back to survey the results. There was so little to the underwear, yet what there was of it worked so much harder than any other lingerie Sophie had ever owned. Thanks to the cut of the knickers, her waist seemed a little more dipped, her legs a touch longer. The bra was something else again. How could such a scant frippery provide such perfect support? Her breasts rose like pale marble, rose-tipped and suggestively revealed. It was sex underwear, and Sophie wanted to wear it for Lucien. She was his Parisian courtesan for the evening. He'd made an effort for her too, with his usual unerring instinct. His white shirt fitted his body in all the right places, highlighting rather than hiding the breadth of his shoulders and the definition of his biceps. No tie of course, and sleeves folded back; trademark, laid back Lucien and sexy as hell. His narrow charcoal trousers made Sophie's hands itch to run over his backside. He was beautiful whatever he wore, but like this he was breathtaking. And all the more so because he'd made the effort just for her. Even though it wasn't a date. He moved alongside her and rested his hand on the curve of her waist. "Why the serious face?" he asked, his other hand warm over hers on the railings. Sophie chewed her lip, unsure how to phrase the thoughts that had occupied her mind before he joined her outside. "This place..." she gestured around the balcony, at the flower-laden window boxes and elegantly laid table. "This view..." she looked out over Paris, and then back at Lucien. "And us. It's romantic, whether you like it or not." She didn't dare look at him. "I don't see romance. I see sexy." His tone was light, as he ran the back of his fingers down her arm. "I see two people making the most of the moment." His other hand massaged her waist. "I see a woman with curves in all the right places, and a man who wants to eat dinner and then get her out of her dress as soon as possible." Sophie laughed and shook her head a little wistfully. He had a glib answer for everything, but still, something told her that he didn't always operate on that shallow level in his head. His mouth said one thing, but his body said another. His words said I want you now, but every now and then his body said I'll adore you always. Or was that the classic mistake of a woman on the rebound, seeing her new lover's actions through rose-

tinted glasses? Lucien had certainly never said anything to lead her on or make her think of him in terms of a boyfriend. Boyfriend. Even the word was alien in this context. Lucien Knight was nobody's boyfriend. He was a man, not a boy, a lover not a boyfriend. Right now he was a big, beautiful man who had decided it was time for them to eat. He held her chair out as she sat down, then reached towards the candles in the silver candelabra. His fingers hovered near the wicks for a second. "Will you take it the wrong way if I light these?" Sophie paused for a beat. "How could I take a candle-lit dinner any other way?" "I'm lighting them because it's dark, and because they’re there." He conjured the flames into life and sat down opposite her. "But there's no denying that you look even more fuckable by candlelight." Fine. She'd play it his way. "So do you." Lucien's confident expression flickered like the flames for the merest of seconds, just long enough for Sophie to observe that he was a man used to giving the compliments rather than receiving them. Or maybe it was just her compliments that he was uncomfortable with. Frowning slightly, she lifted the silver dome in front of her, more than ready for the distraction of food to distance her from her disturbing thought processes. And it was distracting. Plump, rare fillet steak, butter-soft and accompanied by golden frites and salad. "No eggs this time?" she asked, wide-eyed and innocent. "Would you like there to be?" Smart guy. She shot him a reproving look. "You were out of order today. The Carmichaels must have wondered what was going on." "It was product research." "What, and I was the guinea pig?" He paused midway through cutting his steak and regarded her, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You don't fool me. You loved it, Sophie Black." Sophie considered a denial… but who was she kidding? It had indeed been a massive turn-on, knowing Lucien had control of her body, sharing the intimacy of a sexy secret with him in a public place. "Okay. Maybe I did love it a little bit. Did you?" "Are you trying to make me say the L word again, Sophie?" he countered. "Because if you are, then hell yeah. I loved it." Lucien splashed wine into Sophie's glass and then his own. "I loved having you at my mercy. I loved watching you struggle to hide how fucking excited you were." He picked up his wine glass and drank from it, his eyes darkening lustfully. "And I loved knowing that you were naked beneath that dress. I was hard for you most of the way through lunch.” He set the glass back down. “So. Enough love for you? Or do you want more?" Sophie was amused, despite herself. "I think that's probably enough love for you tonight. You're in danger of having real feelings." "Not a chance," he smirked and raised his glass again. "But for the record, I still love your tits." "Just eat your dinner." As he laughed softly and looked down at his plate, a sucker punch of emotion hit Sophie squarely in the chest. Cast golden in the candlelight, his easy smile and unguarded laughter was such a rare, beautiful thing. Agitation made the delicious food suddenly unpalatable. Her feelings for Lucien confused the hell out of her. On paper, this should be easy. No strings, no emotions, no heartbreak. So how come he'd managed to take over her mind and her body so completely that she had barely spared a thought for anyone else since they'd arrived here? The man bewitched her. "Enough?" He laid his cutlery down and nodded towards her half-eaten steak. Sophie nodded and glanced up at the cloud-scuttled sky. A few spots of rain dampened her cheeks as

she shivered a little. There was a definite nip in the air that the food and blood-warm red wine couldn't counter. Lucien picked up their glasses. "Looks like rain's stopped play. Let's go inside."

CHAPTER TWENTY His choice of the armchair rather than sofa startled Sophie enough to make her mirror his choice in the opposite armchair. His decision to cork the wine in favour of a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses was equally disconcerting. When he laid down a deck of cards, she was completely nonplussed. "Cards and tequila. Now you've surprised me." "Good." He poured two shots of tequila and pushed one towards her. "Let's play strip poker." Sophie picked up her glass and drained it. She understood his game. This was a prelude to sex, but as the clear liquid burned her throat, she found she wanted to make her own moves too. "If we're drinking tequila, then the game should be truth or dare." Lucien swallowed his shot and refilled their glasses. "Fine. But I'll lie, and you'll regret it." Much as Sophie suspected he was right, the idea of having carte blanche to ask Lucien questions was too tempting to pass up. "I'll play your game if you'll play mine." She folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head in challenge. Lucien leaned back in his chair and contemplated her, his shot glass in his hand. In his white dress shirt and the low lamplight of the room, he looked like he belonged in a late-night club, ready to seduce someone over a bottle of whisky. One hundred percent trouble, and off the scale sexy. "Fine." He leaned forward and dealt the cards. "I don't remember the rules," she said, picking them up. Her experiences of strip poker had been little more than glorified snap designed for titillation rather than strategy. "Good. You'll be naked pretty darn fast in that case." Lucien turned his cards over and studied them. Confusion must have been written all over her face when he looked up again. "Okay, okay." There was a glint in his eye. "Let's make this simple." He gathered the cards back in and re-dealt them just one card each. "Lowest card loses. Aces high." Sophie nodded and turned her card over. A seven. Maybe... He flicked his card over in his fingers so she could see it. A nine. He raised an eyebrow, enjoying his advantage. "This is probably the point where you wish you'd worn more clothes, princess." She tossed her seven down on the table. His eyes flicked over the card, and then back up her legs to her face. Sophie kicked off one shoe. "Both of them. They count as one item." "According to whose rules?" "Mine." She sighed dramatically and removed the other shoe, placing both neatly beside her chair. Lucien retrieved her card and reshuffled skillfully, the cards whirring through his fingers. Sophie held up a hand to stop him as he leaned forward to deal the next pair. "Truth or dare first. You promised." He rolled his eyes and picked up his shot glass, then drained it and banged it down on the table. "Shoot." Sophie cleared her throat, her own glass still full in her fingers. What did she want to know first? He was one long list of contradictions and unanswered questions. They could be here all night, so she

decided not to pussyfoot around. "Okay." She eyed him levelly. "How many women have you loved?" He didn't miss a beat. "One." Sophie realised too late that she’d made the elementary mistake of asking a closed question, leaving her with another, bigger one unanswered. She found the notion of Lucien in love with someone else unsettling. Stupid. She’d think more carefully next time. "Drink up." He poured his own shot and refilled hers when she'd swallowed it. Rain beat down on the windows and on their abandoned table outside, making Sophie feel incongruously that it was as if they were cloistered inside playing cards on a camping trip because the weather had turned. "Do I get to ask you a question now, then?" He shuffled the cards again with idle expertise. "If you want to." Lucien's eyes moved slowly over Sophie's face. "How many times have you wished you were in Paris with your cock of a husband instead of me?" "None." The word came out at speed, a gut reaction that shocked Sophie more than it did Lucien. "Not once," she said, more quietly this time. She'd thought of Dan, inevitably. She'd wondered bitterly where he was and what he was doing, but as for wishing that he were here at her side in Paris instead of Lucien? No. Not even once. "Does that bother you?" Lucien enquired smoothly. "You're not allowed to ask a second question," she said, mostly because she wanted to avoid answering it. Lucien raised his eyebrows for a second, and then leaned forward and dealt two cards. Sophie reached for hers. Ten of hearts. The corners of her mouth tipped up involuntarily, enjoying the game now that she was likely to win the round. She turned the card to Lucien, who nodded philosophically and dropped his three of clubs on the table. "Any preference?" he asked, gesturing down at his clothes with perfect assurance. "You choose." He rubbed his lips together in deliberation, and then started to unbutton his shirt. Sophie swallowed her tequila. Trust him to go straight for a big money item. He watched her face as he popped the last button and shrugged the shirt off his shoulders onto the floor. He settled back into the chair, thoroughly comfortable with his semi-clad state. "Is it interrogation time again?" "You say interrogation, I say talking." "Let's call the whole thing off then and cut to the sex bit." "Very funny." Sophie chewed her lip. "Why are you so anti-marriage?" Lucien's expression gave so little away, but Sophie didn't miss the way his grip tightened on the arms of the chair. He shrugged. "I'll take the dare." Sophie paused. She hadn't banked on that, and she seriously doubted that her limited imagination could come up with anything that would be out of Lucien's comfort zone, not sexually at least, anyway. The tequila wasn't helping either, she couldn't think straight. "Umm… Sing to me!" she said, giggling. He laughed. "Don't be fucking ridiculous." Sophie realised with pleasure that she'd inadvertently hit on something that actually made him uncomfortable. "I don't sing. Not for you or anyone else." "Not even in the shower?"

"Want to come in with me to check?" Sophie wasn't letting him off the hook. "Truth or dare. You choose." He rolled his broad shoulders and glanced down. "Love is a temporary insanity curable by marriage, as they say. It fucks people up." "So you do believe in love?" "Only when it comes to your tits. And that was two questions. Take your dress off as a forfeit." It was an unsatisfactory answer, but she had no chance to object as he cleverly moved her attention on with his sexy demand. "You can't make up new rules." He lifted an eyebrow at her lazily then pushed a card across the table. She looked at it with trepidation, then reached down and flipped it over quickly. "Ha!" She pointed at the queen of clubs and then at Lucien. "Ha!" He turned over the king of diamonds and sat back with his arms folded across his naked chest. "Dress. Off. Now." Sophie's problem lay in her underwear. The idea of continuing this game clad only in the indecent quarter-cup bra and barely-there knickers had her reaching for her tequila yet again. Was she brave enough? Her only other option was to throw in the towel, and that didn't feel like something that could happen in Lucien's rulebook. Besides, she wanted to keep asking him questions. What’s more, she had to acknowledge that a part of her did want to take off her dress and let him look. A frisson ran through her body at the thought. He watched her weigh up her options in silence, arms still crossed and a look of unyielding expectation on his face. The dress had to come off. She stood up, reminded of her first time with Lucien in the Gateway club in London. Back then he'd asked her to take her dress off rather than ordered her, though. She reached for the side zip and slid it down, then shrugged the dress into a pool on the floor. Two options presented themselves. Sit down quickly, or stand there brazenly and let him drink his fill. "Sophie, Sophie, Sophie." Lucien's low, appreciative groan sealed the deal. Sophie attempted the universal model pose, a hand on her hip, one knee slightly bent, and Lucien nodded a little. "Fucking beautiful." He stood and walked slowly towards her, and she held her breath in anticipation. "Something's not quite right," he said, close enough to touch her anywhere he chose. Her nipples beaded for him, and the tip of his tongue touched his lips as he looked at them. "Sit down." Her eyes flickered to his, and he inclined his head towards the armchair. Surprised, Sophie perched uncertainly, and Lucien took his place behind her on the arm of the chair. "It's your hair," he murmured, resting his hands on the curve of her neck, his thumbs rolling on her backbone. "I want it down." Her hands moved to unpin it, but he caught them and laid them back in her lap. "Let me." Sophie closed her eyes as his fingers moved over her hair, slowly removing the pins one by one. It was an act of tenderness, so out of place in the theatre of their sex games that it brought a lump to her throat. This was what had been missing from her marriage, too. Scorching sex was all well and good, but she could have lived forever with Dan's missionary style if he'd shown her even a fraction of the sensitivity that Lucien did right at that moment. She heard the tinkle of pins on glass, then felt the strength and warmth of Lucien's fingers working through her hair. Mussing, freeing, caressing. He moved from the arm of the chair and dropped to his

knees between hers, then leaned back a little to survey his handiwork. His eyes roamed over her hair, her face, then lower, to her exposed breasts. "Now you're perfect." He dipped his head first to one nipple, then the other. The lightest of kisses, the briefest swirl of his tongue before he lifted his face to hers and kissed her mouth. His hands slid into the hair he'd just unpinned, his kiss tasted of tequila and tenderness and desire. He'd done it again. Blindsided her with his contradictions: one minute the lustful Viking and the next her romantic hero. He kissed her until she couldn't think straight, until her arms wound around him of their own accord, until all thoughts of anything but how very much she wanted him left her head. And then he stopped and retreated to his own chair. "I believe it's my turn to ask a question," he said. She swallowed, already mourning the loss of his touch. "Tell me your wildest sexual fantasy." Fuck. Before Lucien, her wildest fantasy had been sex that lasted more than ten minutes and guaranteed that she'd get to her own orgasm before Dan climaxed and rolled over. And since Lucien, the idea of fantasies seemed absurd because he was one great big living fantasy, and he made her think and do things that were all well above and beyond any that her sheltered imagination could conjure up. "Honestly?" she said, embarrassed. "I don't have any." Lucien looked incredulous. "Everyone has fantasies, princess." Sophie shook her head. "Our lives are very different, Lucien." "Meaning?" "Meaning that before I met you my life revolved around the weekly shop, the TV guide and scrubbing the bath. I was someone's wife, someone who expected dinner on the table and clean clothes in his wardrobe. I typed building extension reports for a lecherous boss whose wife I picked out Christmas presents for. Any fantasies I had mainly involved someone else cooking my dinner and no alarm going off in the morning." Whoa. Where did all of that come from? And how wildly inappropriate, given her state of undress. "And you have to ask me why I'm anti-marriage?" Lucien arched his eyebrow. Sophie huffed softly. She'd walked right into that one. "Anyway, that's my truthful answer." He shook his head, probably shocked by her provincial dullness. "We need to work on that, Ms. Black. Come on over here so I can take off your bra." "You haven't won the round yet." He rolled his eyes and then dealt out two cards, turning first hers and then his own, scowling at her delighted laugh. Tequila was the best drink in the world. Even though she was sitting there in next to nothing, she was able to draw competitive joy from winning. "You lose, Mr. Knight." He rolled his shoulders with a decidedly bored look on his face. "I’m going to make this really easy." He stood and unfastened his trousers, sliding them off along with everything else except for his black Calvin Cleins. Dear God. If he ever wanted to try his hand at male modelling, agencies would be fighting in the streets for him. One shot of him like this and women would queue to buy anything he was selling. He sat back down and looked at her expectantly. "Now will you come over here?" "You can't take off my bra unless I lose." "Get over here."

"But I haven't asked my question yet." "Sophie..." Lucien's voice dropped to a warning growl, far too sexy to resist, and Sophie made her way over to him and let him tug her down sideways into his lap. He was warm and solid beneath her curves and his erection pressed pleasurably against her bottom as she curled up and made herself comfortable. Lucien ran a finger beneath one of Sophie's bra straps. "It's almost a shame to take this off." He eased one strap down and then the other. "I like it." His hands moved around her body to open the clasp, and Sophie suddenly didn’t care in the least about fair play. Having him peel off her underwear was screamingly sexy. They both looked down as he cupped her breasts in his hands, circling her nipples with the pads of his thumbs. "I'm ready for your question now." He looked up into her eyes, no doubt fully aware that there was very little chance that she'd be able to string a coherent sentence together at that moment. She cast around in her lust-addled mind, badly wanting to prove him wrong. "Why don't you have any pets?" she squeaked, then immediately groaned. Where in Gods name had that thought come from, and why, how had it left her mouth? She pressed on regardless. "You know... a dog, or a cat... or a goldfish, maybe?" He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. "Do I look like the sort of man who has time for pets, Sophie?" She didn't answer, pink-cheeked and more than aware of the weirdness of trying to conduct a conversation about domestic animals whilst sitting on his raging erection. "I had a dog when I was a kid. A husky." His quietly spoken words changed the mood abruptly. In her mind’s eye Sophie could clearly see the small blond haired child running across pristine arctic snow, his silvery, wolfish companion barrelling along beside him. It was a joyful image, yet the feeling that accompanied it somehow wasn't, and Lucien's face told her that his memories weren't happy ones either. She touched his cheek and tilted her head up to his, and he unreservedly accepted the distraction. His tongue slipped into her mouth and kicked up the heat from tender to crazy hot; hungry, open mouthed kisses as his arms locked vice-like around her frame and held her captive. Sophie could feel the swell of him hardening. "Let me fuck you now?" His fingers moved between her legs, stroking her through thin silk. "Let me fuck you now." Sophie could hear the need in his voice as much as the want, and it melted her more than ever. She stood and stepped quickly out of her underwear. As he did the same she paused for a second's thought, then added an extra cushion to the seat for height, before sitting down on the deep armchair and spreading her thighs. "Sit here." She patted the velvet seat-pad between her legs, and he looked quizzical for a moment. "Please?" Lucien didn't question her, and she was grateful. She wanted to give back to him, to soothe him, to take back her question that had raised unwelcome memories. He settled back against her with a sigh. The additional cushion had raised her bottom enough for the line of her shoulders to be higher than his, and he massaged her ankles when she wrapped her legs around him. Sophie revelled in the width of his chest, letting her fingers linger on the tightness of his nipple until he sighed, caught somewhere between relaxed and turned on as he rested his head back against her shoulder. "Feels good, princess," he murmured, his hips already rocking a little in anticipation of her hands moving lower.

Sophie touched her mouth to his ear. "Maybe this is my sexual fantasy," she said, letting her hands enjoy him. "A Viking sex god at my disposal." "Would you like me to dress in fur and drag you by the hair?" he murmured, and Sophie kissed the corner of the lazy smile that touched his lips. The idea wasn't anywhere near as much of a turn off as it probably should have been. She shifted a little to one side of him to give herself easier access to his cock with one hand, brushing her fingers along his thigh, making him wait. "Show me how you like it," she whispered finally, her teeth on his neck as she curved her hand around his erection. "Show me." He groaned with appreciation, a guttural sound low in his throat as his hand closed over hers on his shaft and started to move. "Like this?" she asked, not that she needed to. His pleasure was clear from his shallow breathing and his chewed lip. His grip was firm around hers, firmer than she might have been singlehandedly, and all the more erotic for it. She watched his face; the low frown of concentration over his closed eyes, the way his lips parted as his hand pumped hers, steady strokes, finding his rhythm. His chest rose and fell sharply, the staccato drumbeat of his heart clear beneath her palm. "Lucien..." she breathed his name, encouragement to take what he needed. He was close; his shallow gasps of pleasure and tight, jerky hand motions told her so. His cock glistened between their sliding hands, impossibly rigid and straining. "Fuck, Sophie...Sophie..." Lucien gasped. "Don't stop..." He let his hand fall away, trusting her to finish what they'd started. Over the last few months Lucien had given Sophie so many erotic memories, but this one, holding him completely surrendered in her arms, topped them all. He yelled out her name as he came in strong, frantic bursts, his body juddering with pleasure, his face a study of almost pained effort. Watching him come undone was so deeply intimate, and every jerk of his body slammed him back between her spread legs. She was open and unbelievably aroused when he turned his face to hers. "I guess I won the game," he said, a little hoarsely, moving in to kiss her lips, making a slow and thorough exploration of her mouth. Sophie's fingers moved in the slickness on his abdomen. "I don't know. It was a pretty good result for me too," she said. "Hmm." Lucien moved a little to slide his arm behind him into the warm space between their bodies. His sure fingers sought her clitoris as his tongue licked over hers, concentrated little flicks on her already fevered flesh. Sophie's body burned for him, still wrapped around his torso as he slipped two fingers inside her. "So fucking sexy..." he whispered. "Here, Sophie?" He massaged in fast little circles. Sophie opened her legs even wider and dropped her forehead against his shoulder blade. Yes, there. Yes, more. Yes, always. The familiar, unstoppable tingle of her orgasm started beneath his fingers, making her gasp and rub herself against him. "I've got you, princess. I've got you."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Lucien tipped his face up into the powerful spray of the hot shower, eyes closed, his mind on the girl asleep a few feet away in the bedroom. He was thinking hard. Solutions to problems in life and in business usually came effortlessly to him, but this one was proving intractable. They were going back to London the following evening, back to normality. How the hell was he going to play it? He didn't want to go back to being Mr. Knight, Sophie's boss. He wanted her to keep calling him by his first name, and to keep kissing him, and to keep letting him bury himself inside her. He rolled his shoulders, the memory of Sophie's hands on his cock as he washed his body. Christ, just thinking about her had him hard. How could someone so delicate and soft hold him as completely as she had on that armchair? Cradled in her warm smooth limbs, Lucien had found something he had no name for. Plenty of women had got him off in the past with their pretty mouths and experienced fingers. But with Sophie... it wasn't just physical. They were colleagues, but this wasn't professional compatibility. They were friends, of sorts, but this wasn't just friendship. She'd had him on the ropes out there earlier. Her hand under his, her pleasure drawn from his pleasure, giving without taking back. She was good, and generous, and wholesome. And she confused the hell out of him. Since when had he been attracted to wholesome? Theirs was a closeness that went way beyond physical proximity. She was under his skin. Moving closer to his heart. He just didn't know it yet, because no one else had ever found the pathway in before. Lucien eased the Aston Martin to a stop outside Sophie's small house and turned off the engine so as not to wake the neighbours. Their final day in Paris had been mercifully busy with meetings, calls and negotiations, facilitated by Sophie, who proved her worth anew as a resourceful PA as they raced to meet deadlines and finalise paperwork. Even their flight home had been dominated by the presence of the Carmichaels who were bound for meetings in London. Finally still and alone in the car, they'd lapsed into pensive silence. Sophie broke it first, staring fixedly out of the window at her own front door. "So what happens now?" Her expression was as heavy as the clouds outside. Lucien didn't need her to elaborate on her question, because he'd been expecting it. "We carry on as usual." She paused for a beat. "You mean 'what happens in Paris stays in Paris', and all that?" No. He'd dropped her here on this doorstep after their trip to Norway and let her walk away. He wasn't doing that again. "It's not where we are in the world that matters, Sophie. We've had sex in London too, remember? In my club. In my house." He glanced towards Sophie's home. "In yours too, if you want." She shook her head, her face turned away from him. Look at me. "I'm not done with you yet," he said. "There’s a whole lot more still out there for us, if we want it. Are you done with me?" Still she didn't speak, and still she didn't look at him. He wasn't sure he wasn't screwing this up, or if

the words coming out of his mouth reflected the thoughts going on inside his head, but the truth was that he didn't have any better words. He had nothing to offer Sophie in terms of promises or commitment, and there weren't cutesy tags to apply to this thing happening between them. Friends with benefits? The euphemism made his lip curl. They were lovers, except without the love. It was about sex. Amazing, fantastic, not-ready-to-walk-away-from-it-yet sex. A coming together. Quite literally. "Just come to work on Monday, Sophie. No running, okay?' Finally, she looked at him, her big blue eyes shadowed by the lateness of the hour. "I'll be there." Relief flooded his body when she reached out her hand and placed it on his chest. He covered it briefly with his own, and then drew her into him. Sophie's lips opened for his, an invitation to linger, and to savour. Lucien sighed with pleasure as he moulded her curves to his body, as far as possible in the confined space of the car. "Are you sure you don't want me to come in?" he muttered against her mouth. She tasted delicious, and he wanted to keep her in his mouth and his hands. Every time he touched her she did this, made him crave more of the feeling that her nearness gave him. She eased her head back from his. "Not tonight, okay?" He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair as frustration spiked him. Then he laughed softly and shook his head. Sophie fucking Black. She had him acting like an over-eager teen dropping his date home from the prom. "You've got the count of three to get out of my car. Any more, and I'll have you on your front lawn." "That would give the neighbours something to talk about." The lightness of Sophie's tone was reassuring. She'd be there on Monday, and that was enough for now. "One," he growled. A flicker of amusement kinked her lips, and a second later she leaned in and kissed him briefly, lingering just enough for her tongue to touch his. "Goodnight, Lucien." He swallowed hard. "Two." Sophie reached out and stroked a hand down his face. "Thank you for Paris. I loved it." He ought to say 'three' and wake up her neighbours for her impudence, but the tenderness of her words and her hands wiped the word from his lips. He pressed a kiss against her palm. "Goodnight princess." He watched her in, and shook his head as she turned on the doorstep and blew him a kiss. "Three," he murmured to himself, regretfully, then turned the engine over. Inside the house, Sophie leaned against the door and listened to the sound of Lucien leaving, belatedly realising that she'd left her case in the back of the Aston. She placed her fingers against her lips, closing her eyes and smiling as she remembered his kiss there. Beyond tired now that she was alone, Sophie checked the answerphone more out of habit than necessity. No flashing red light. No messages. Dan was moving on, just as she was. She locked the door and contemplated a late night cup of tea, but the lure of bed won over. She couldn't have asked Lucien in here tonight, and not just because this was her marital home. He'd exhausted her. She needed to sleep. Unbuttoning her blouse as she moved upstairs, she paused by the bathroom door and tried to work up the energy to shower as she stepped out of her clothes. It was no good. She was dead on her feet, and her comfortable duvet was too close to resist. She didn't need lights to guide her in the familiar bedroom, and

sank between the sheets with a bone weary sigh. Then she froze. There was a man in her bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO He reached for her naked body, and for the briefest of disorientated seconds, Sophie wondered how Lucien could suddenly be here in her bed. But the chest under her hands was a little less broad, and the hands skimming down her back a little smoother. Achingly familiar, and yet all very, very wrong. "Hey Soph." She sat up, hauling the quilt over her body as she slammed the lamp on. "What the hell are you doing here?" Dan sat up too, facing her in what had been their bed. He'd obviously been asleep; his hair had that messed up way about it that she used to find endearing. Looking at him now with fresh eyes, Sophie saw less perfection than she used to see. But then she was measuring him up against an unfair opponent in Lucien. There weren't many men who would come off better in that particular comparison. "I've come home." "What?" She screwed her eyes up and scrubbed at them. Was she hallucinating with tiredness? Was she asleep and dreaming? "I didn't think this was home to you anymore," she managed. He looked reproachful. "I never wanted to leave in the first place. I left because you told me to." "It was your doing. You wanted me at home and Maria away. How inconvenient for you that I found out." She couldn’t suppress the shake in her voice, whether from hurt or anger or surprise. "Yeah, well you're hardly snow white in all this, are you?" Dan’s tone was defensive. Sophie sighed heavily and reached for her robe off the end of the bed. She didn't have the stomach or the heart for this fight. Dan was right, in part. Her affair with Lucien – yes, there was no gilding it, it was an affair - could not be explained away or justified by his infidelity. "I'm going to the bathroom. I want you gone when I get back." "Sophie. You're not listening. I've left Maria. It's you I want." Dan got out of bed to follow her as she crossed to the door. Unabashed by his own nakedness, he stood in front of her to make his case. "Living with her was awful. Everything was wrong." He stepped closer, and Sophie found her eyes moving over his body. The football injury scar on his left hip she'd kissed more times than she could count. The pinkness of his nipples. Lucien's were brown. "She smells wrong. She feels wrong. She's just not you, Soph." He reached out for her hand to pull her close, his voice choked with emotion. "I miss you so much." He was saying all the right words, and he sounded as if he genuinely meant them. "I don't care about that bloke. I know you did it to get at me. I don't even blame you." Did she do it to get back at him? Not consciously, if at all. Truth was, Lucien would have been hard to resist under any circumstances. "You don't blame me?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm sorry Dan, but I can't say the same. You've been with Maria for years." "It's over, I promise you. I've told her I still love you." "I see." Sophie surveyed him. "And I'm supposed to take you back with open arms?" He looked down at her hand in his and tried to tug her closer, but she stepped back. "Don't." She pulled her hand free of his. "You can't do this Dan. You can't just waltz back in here, get into my bed, and expect me to forgive you."

"I know that. I know that." He scrubbed a hand over the black stubble on his chin. "I know that, Sophie." He looked utterly dejected, and his nakedness rendered him vulnerable. "Please let me stay. For tonight, at least?" Sophie' shoulders sagged in resignation. It was late, and it was cold out there. "One night, Dan." She stepped aside. "Not in here though. In the spare room." Dan lay between the cold sheets of the guest bed and stared at the ceiling. It wasn't exactly the homecoming he'd hoped for, but it was early days. Sophie would take him back. She still loved him, he could tell. He still loved her. It would take time, but she'd come around. He thumped the pillow as he turned over, acutely aware of Sophie so close by in the next room, wishing he could go and take his place in bed beside her where he belonged. Maybe not tonight, and probably not tomorrow night either. But some day soon, and for the rest of their lives. On the other side of the wall, Sophie lay equally wakeful and restless. Dan was back. Here, in her house, in their house. Their home. There was a question mark unspoken. She ran a hand out across the other side of the bed, but the cool sheet no longer held the imprint of his body heat. She drew her arm back into the warmth of her own side and sighed heavily. He was home. Was this still his home? His name was still on the mortgage, and his belongings still lingered in the rooms. Did he feel justified in his presence here? He'd seemed pretty at home just now, given the fact that he'd stripped naked, climbed into bed and then fallen asleep as if nothing had happened. She closed her eyes, but sleep was a long time coming. Something had happened. It couldn’t just be put aside. Some miles away, Lucien threw a log on the glowing fire and sat back down, a glass of deep amber malt whisky in his hand. He was worried. The sensation was unfamiliar and he didn’t like it. It worried him that Sophie might get the wrong idea, and that he would ultimately end up hurting her. And he worried that left to her own devices, she might over-complicate things in her head and not come into work on Monday. But most of all, it worried him that he missed her like crazy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sophie woke up with a start. There was someone downstairs, she could hear them. Squinting her eyes at the alarm clock in the bright morning light, several things came back to her at once. She wasn't with Lucien now. She'd barely slept, even though it was after nine in the morning. And Dan was here. She flopped back on the pillow and blew out a heavy sigh. She could hear him moving around in the kitchen downstairs; the familiar sounds of the kettle and the radio, the boiler firing when he turned on the hot tap. What the hell was she going to do? Dan coming home was the last thing she'd expected. She had begun to accept at last that he had moved on, that he was with Maria. She'd put so much energy into resenting him, and she still resented him now that he was back. He couldn't stay here. She needed a shower, and then she needed to go and throw her husband out of the house for the second time. "I made your favourite," Dan said when Sophie walked into the kitchen a little while later, dressed in jeans and wearing a touch of makeup as armour. He slid a pile of waffles and bacon on the table, twirled maple syrup over it with a theatrical flourish, then looked up with an expression of hopeful expectancy on his face. It wasn't her favourite, actually. It was his favourite and she'd made it often to please him, but she didn't bother to correct him. So she nodded, and took her seat at the table. And it was her seat. Dan sat nearest the window, she sat nearest the door. They took their customary positions as if the intervening months and indiscretions hadn't happened. "Coffee?" Dan plunged the cafetiere. "Thanks." She held out her cup. In fact the idea of food turned Sophie's stomach, but coffee might help wake her up enough to decide how to play things. Dan poured for them both, the model husband trying to make good for his misdemeanours. It would take an ocean of coffee to atone for his behaviour, and she could only manage the tightest of smiles as she accepted the milk from him. She watched him fill his plate, then served herself a little food, feeling duty bound, and picked up her knife and fork. As she glanced up at Dan forking food into his mouth, a rush of venom flooded her. What was he doing? And what the hell was she doing? She laid her cutlery down, her breakfast untouched. He caught her eye as he picked up his cup. "I know this is difficult, Soph." "Do you really?" Sophie reached for her coffee and tried to steady her shaky voice. "Only you seem to be acting as if this is any other weekend." She sipped her scalding coffee, glad to have punctured the pretense of cordiality. "What are we doing, Dan? What are you doing here?" "Having breakfast with my wife?" "Whereas last week you had it with your lover." Sophie watched Dan's expression change from hopefully chipper to guarded and defensive. He laid his fork down carefully and regarded her levelly. "Yes I did. And every moment I was wishing I was with you." He rubbed a hand over his brow. "I

fucked up big time, Soph. I admit it." She looked at him skeptically. "Three years is quite a long time Dan. And now you realise you've fucked up. Three years, Dan. More, for all I know." Sophie stared at him. "So that means you were with her when we were in Menorca. And when we were in Crete the summer before. Did you miss her?" She battled to keep her voice level. "What did you do? Sneak off and call her when I was in the shower?" "Sophie, no..." Dan looked and sounded defeated. "How many times can I say I'm sorry?" She laughed bitterly. "You're sorry for the affair, or you're sorry you got caught?" "I don't know what to say to you to make this better," Dan said quietly. "You can tell me why." Even as the statement left her lips, Sophie feared his answer. Lucien had once gone to great lengths to enlighten her on his view of how men's brains worked, spelling out that Dan had chosen to have an affair entirely of his own volition, not because of any failing on her part. But now, here in this small kitchen, crows of self-doubt flew close around her head. Dan shook his head, his gaze fixed on the table. "I wish I knew," he said at last. No way. No way was that enough. "That's it? No explanation, no big reason?" Dan shrugged, and huffed out in exasperation. "What do you want me to say, Soph?” Frustration made him brusque. “That she was exciting? That I fancied her? That she was good in bed? Yes, all right, it was all of those things to begin with." His words hit home hard, both because she didn't want him to have felt those things for someone else, and because she felt those things for someone else. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong." Dan's voice cracked. "Maria was… up for it." He shrugged one shoulder, desolation all over his face. "I was flattered, I guess." His honesty damped Sophie's anger, but cut her heart wide open. "You were the love of my life, Dan." "You're still the love of mine." They stared at each other, hot-eyed across the kitchen table. They'd laughed together at that table, and they'd argued together at that table, but this was the first time they'd cried together there. Quiet, wordless tears that spoke volumes. Sophie went back to bed. Her head hurt from lack of sleep, and her heart hurt with the pain of her marriage splitting at the seams. And this time she slept. The deep, dreamless sleep of the exhausted and battle-weary. Downstairs, Dan cleared away the uneaten breakfast and then lay on the sofa, his eyes on the TV screen but his head full of his earlier conversation with Sophie. He was sick to the back teeth of feeling guilty. Three guilty, clandestine years of hiding his affair, and now the fall-out, as life with the women he cared for crumbled around him. Just looking at Sophie made him feel like the world's biggest shit, and Maria had been a tearful mess yesterday when he'd finally called time on their relationship. Had she seriously expected him to greet the news of her pregnancy with anything but horror? All it had served to do for him was highlight quite how badly he'd screwed up. Somewhere in all of this, he'd realised with crystal clarity that he loved his wife, and that come hell or high water, he was going to fight for his marriage. If that meant fighting Lucien Knight, he'd do that too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR It was dark by the time Sophie woke. Low level noise downstairs told her that Dan was still here: the TV channel changing mid-way through the opening bars of a familiar theme tune, the clatter of a cup on the coffee table. She wasn't surprised. In the kitchen, she warmed two bowls of tomato soup, more out of simple survival than hunger. They needed to eat, and they needed to talk. Dan sat up on the sofa as she passed him the bowl, and they ate in listless silence. He cleared the bowls into the kitchen, and returned a couple of minutes later with a freshly opened bottle of red wine and two glasses. Sophie watched him from the safety of the armchair, noting the familiar way his body moved, the way his hair stood up at odd angles from lying on it, the pale skin beneath the dark stubble and the smudges around his eyes. He looked like she felt - weary, and badly in need of the wine he'd just poured into the glasses. "I know you probably won't believe me Soph, but I'm so sorry." He stared into his wine glass. "I'm sorry for all of it. For being a shit husband. For Maria. For hurting you." Sophie drank deeply, letting his words wash over her. He meant it, she didn't doubt him. She sensed that one way or another, this was going to be one of those conversations that shaped her life. "I thought I knew you inside out, Dan. I thought we wanted the same thing. This place. Kids, someday." She spoke calmly, softly, while he looked at her, his big brown eyes sorrowful. "You know what I really don't understand? Three years ago, I thought we were blissfully happy. Yet you still… you know… with Maria." Say it. "Slept with her. Went with her." She frowned. "What did I miss? How did I get it so badly wrong?" Dan shook his head miserably, scrubbing his hand over his stubble. "Soph, you didn't get anything wrong. I wasn't unhappy, or looking for anyone else. Maria just... we'd had a drink, she… she kissed me, and one thing led to another," he finished in a rush. Sophie nodded. "And you what, just went along with it for fun? Is that what it was? A bit of fun?" A bitter edge was creeping into her voice. Dan knocked back most of his glass of wine. "For a while. I don't have any explanations. I was an idiot. I made a mistake." "And you kept on making that mistake for three years." Careful. Keep it together. Dan's mouth twisted. "I'm not proud of it." "But you didn't stop it." "I've stopped it now," he countered, refilling their glasses. "Soph, I'll sit here and take everything you want to throw at me. I deserve it." She looked at him, full of fierce frustration. "All of my big dreams about life revolved around you. Being your wife. Having your babies." "We can still do that." Dan moved from his perch on the sofa to kneel in front of her, his hands over hers in her lap, naked pain in his eyes. "We can still do that, can't we?" Sophie had looked into those eyes for so many years. When he'd proposed, on his knees in a windswept park on her birthday. At the altar on their wedding day. And now, here, as he knelt before her and begged her forgiveness. "I love you, Soph." He dropped his head and kissed her knuckles, inhaling deeply, his fingers tight

around hers. "I've always loved you." Sophie's determination not to cry dissolved. Dan. Her husband. The man she'd wanted to love forever. She cried for him, and for their lost love, and for the family they might have been. He moved up on to his knees and held her close, murmuring apologies over and over against her hair, words of love and remorse. Sophie breathed him in, the scent of his familiar body. His warm arms around her, an embrace she'd found so much comfort in over the years. His cheek was against hers, and then he turned his head and brushed her lips slowly with his own. Heightened emotion charged his kiss with a million volts, and for a few seconds, Sophie melted into him. Dan groaned and pulled her closer, sliding his hands down her back as he tried to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid against her teeth, and Sophie jolted at the intimacy, pulling her head back. He'd lost her loyalty and he'd lost her love. Kissing him felt like a betrayal. His mouth stilled, and his eyes opened slowly. "Too soon," he murmured. "I know, I'm sorry." Sophie pushed gently against his chest to distance him, sliding further back into her chair. "It's not that." She pressed her fingers against her lips, acknowledging the emerging truth within herself. "It's not that." Dan dropped back on his haunches, his arms working their way to folded over his chest as he watched her. "Is it him?" he asked eventually, in a small, carefully neutral voice. However much Dan had hurt her, Sophie drew no pleasure from hurting him back. She nodded, a tiny movement, and then lifted one shoulder, trying to find the right words to explain. "Yes. But it's other things too." She paused. "I've changed, Dan. My whole life has changed so much, and..." she stopped, aware that her next words were the final death knell for her marriage. "And I don't want it to change back." Dan's anguished eyes scanned her face. "I really fucked this up, didn't I?" Sophie dropped her head into her hands as he stood up, and she stayed there for quite some time. She heard him hesitate for long moments at the living room door before turning away, his slow steps carrying him out of the house, the door closing behind him with a desolate snap. In the small hours of the morning, Sophie turned over in bed into the circle of two welcoming arms, the warmth of his naked body against hers rousing her slowly from sleep. Or was she dreaming? Were the gentle lips caressing her nipple real, or the hands moving slowly over her body imagined? As he eased his thigh between hers and covered her body carefully with the weight of his own, Sophie sighed deeply, saturated in him. She opened her thighs and beckoned him in. Come to me. Come with me. Come in me. He dipped his head and kissed her, a slow tangle of tongues as he rocked his length all the way into her body, the ultimate, delicious intimacy as his hips connected with hers. He filled her body and her mind, and as he started to move slowly inside her, unexpected, jumbled emotions squeezed her heart hard through the fog of sleep. Raw and achingly sexy, he made love to her head as well as her body. He made her see stars, and he made her beautiful. Sophie wrapped herself around him, a clamshell on a boulder as his slow grind engulfed her, his hands in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, his body on hers, in hers. He overwhelmed her. It was the kind of sex that husbands should have with their wives, and here in her marital bed, Sophie came apart beneath the man she loved. Lucien dressed silently, his eyes on the sleeping girl who'd just told him that she loved him. He'd come to her because he couldn't face another night without her, and she'd accepted him into her bed and her arms without question. He didn't understand the emotions that pulled him inextricably towards Sophie, or why being near her eased him, or least of all why hearing her breathe those three little words in his ear had been enough to make him lose it so unexpectedly and come hard and deep inside her.

Sophie stretched her arms over her head, still only half awake and blissful without even remembering why. Disjointed memories jostled to fit themselves back together. Dan had been here, but he wasn't the reason for the sweet ache in her body. She'd gone to bed alone, her mind spinning with anxiety and the best part of a bottle of wine. She had been sure she wouldn't sleep, but she must have, because she'd dreamed of Lucien. He'd been here... he'd touched her there. Sophie's fingers moved over her breasts, and lower to the warm spot between her thighs, still tender from holding him inside her. Lucien. He'd come to her. She was as sure of it as she was sure she was alone now. No dream could be so vivid, no sensation so intense unless it were real. Could it? As she turned her face towards the alarm clock, her eyes settled on the key he'd left beside it. Her own front door key. Kara's key. Lucien had been here, and he'd loved her better when she really needed it, and then he'd melted away again. Only he'd gone too soon. She still needed him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Lucien looked up as Sophie came into the office on Monday morning and was hit square in the solar plexus by an irresistible urge to start the new week by locking the door behind her and dragging her down onto the sofa. She'd wound her hair neatly away from her face, and as she hung her cherry red coat on the hook, he took the chance to run his hungry eyes over her dark grey dress. How could a simple dress become as sexy as lingerie just because it was wrapped around Sophie's curves? And he couldn't be certain, but was that the telltale bump of a suspender clip through the soft fabric? His eyes skimmed the flare of her hip and the roundness of her breasts as she turned to him, every man's dream secretary. "Good morning, Mr.Knight." This self-possessed creature was a world away from the soft, vulnerable woman he'd held in his arms on Saturday evening. It was as if it hadn't happened. She passed behind him as he inclined his head, and her scent had him closing his eyes as she disappeared into her own office. Fuck. This was impossible. He'd turned her words over and over in his mind since he'd left her sleeping. She'd said she loved him. Had she even realised that she’d said it, or who she was saying it to? They'd been in her bed, and God knows she'd been drifting half way to sleep. She hadn't said his name. Had she assumed he was her bastard of a husband? The idea had made him hurl his brandy glass at the wall in frustration late last night. But then the thought that she'd known perfectly well who she was talking to came with a set of problems all of its own. She couldn't love him. He'd made it perfectly clear all the way through. She couldn't love him. He'd put his cards on the table early. She couldn't love him. He threw his pen down and stalked into her office. Sophie deliberately didn't react straight away when Lucien came in. She had her back to him as she stood at the filing cabinet, which she rolled slowly closed before turning to find him sitting in the chair opposite hers at her desk. He looked pent up, unusually edgy. As well he might, fresh from sneaking into women's bedrooms in the dead of night. She approached the desk, and found herself perching on the edge of it next to him rather than taking her own seat. "Good weekend?" she asked, running the tip of her tongue over her lips. He swallowed noticeably then nodded, a small tight movement that involved the lightest lift of his eyebrows. She had no clue what she was doing, apart from trying to draw a reaction from him. She'd spent yesterday thinking about him, trying to hold onto the memory of every blissful second of his late night visit to her bed. He'd been so different. So close. So loving. But she knew him well enough by now though to understand that he'd compromised himself, broken his own emotional rules. She also knew him well enough to appreciate that he'd be beating himself up for it. Letting his guard down wasn't something Lucien did, but wow, the intensity of stealing behind those barriers with him for a little while had burned itself on her heart. She wanted to get in there again. "Is there anything special you'd like me to do today, Mr. Knight?" Lucien's eyes flickered to her legs as she crossed them, knowing full well that he'd get a glimpse of her stocking top. She'd dressed for him this morning, her body and mind aglow with the knowledge that she

was going to see him again. "Sophie..." "Oh, hang on a sec." She leaned back across her desk for her pen, a slow, full stretch that inched the hem of her skirt higher and pulled her dress taut over her breasts. Lucien cleared his throat. When she glanced back at him he was no longer defensive, resistant, at her mercy. His eyes had regained the unmistakable look of the predator, and she knew she had him where she wanted him. He reached out and slid her along the desk until she was in front of him. "About the other night, Sophie." He sighed heavily, longingly, and eased her skirt up her thighs until he was satisfied with his view of her suspenders. She popped a button on his shirt open, letting her fingers linger on the hollow at the base of his throat. "I thought I'd dreamt you." He parted her knees and smoothed his hands up to her thighs, stroking his thumbs over the clips on her stockings. "I shouldn't have come." He flicked them both open at once and rolled his chair closer between her legs. "I'm glad you did," Sophie said softly, watching his hands stroke over the top of her stockings. "You were very, very sexy." He pushed her skirt up until he could see her knickers. "You're very, very sexy right now." He stroked the satin barrier that covered her sex, watching her eyes. "Do you remember everything?" At that precise moment, Sophie was struggling to remember her own name. "I think so..." His finger teased along the edge of the material and she silently begged him to slide it underneath. "You were pretty unforgettable." Lucien stood up and pulled her close, his hand hot between her legs. "You said something to me." He pushed his fingers inside her knickers, making her gasp. "I know." She worked another button open on his shirt and dipped her head to kiss the skin she'd exposed. "Don't say it again," he murmured against her ear, drawing spirals on her clitoris with his fingertip. "Because I won't say it back." Sophie lifted her mouth from the jumping pulse in his neck, her fingers on his belt. "I know that too." He kissed her then as she freed his cock into her waiting hands, one hand behind her head, the other moving her underwear aside to make way for him. Sophie opened her eyes and found his open too, storm blue and full of things he'd never say. He thrust forwards into her, swift and urgent, clamping her against him. His gaze never wavered, connecting with her as much with his eyes as his body. He filled her. He filled her body with his, deeper with every push, and he filled her ears with his low, shallow breaths. He was going to come soon; this wasn't slow and prolonged sex. It was urgent and beautiful fucking. She tensed and tipped her head back as her own orgasm hit, and Lucien dragged her into him as his hips jerked. "I don't love you," he ground out, biting her lip. Sophie wound her arms around his neck, her fingers in his hair as she kissed him gently. "I don't love you either," she whispered, holding him close and rocking the last ebbs of pleasure out of him. "I don't love you either."

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX Sophie had a problem. Lucien Knight wasn't just her rebound guy. He wasn't just the man who'd made her feel beautiful and desired when she needed it most. He wasn't just her screwed up, sensational lover. She was in big, big trouble, because she'd fallen head over heels in love with the one man who'd expressly told her not to. Lucien had a problem. He was in over his head with Sophie Black. Every morning he told himself he wasn't going to screw her anymore, and then she walked into his office and his only thought was when and how soon could he get close to her again. On her desk. Under his desk. In his car. He'd had her everywhere over the last few weeks, and still he wanted more, more, more. He had to end this thing. He didn't know how to do it, or how to go back to life without Sophie in it, but he needed to find the way, and fast, because she was soft, and vulnerable, and he sensed that this had gone beyond just physical for her now. Trouble was, he craved her body in a way that made him selfish and unreasonable, and the only thing that eased the hunger was being inside her… but even that wasn't enough. He wanted her body, but he wanted a whole lot more, too. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to demand she go home with him after work every day, and every morning he woke up hard with the anticipation of seeing her. She was driving him crazy, and something had to give before he did or said something stupid. He'd made her no promises and he'd told her no lies, yet he still didn't trust himself not to hurt her even more than her revolting husband had, and that was just about the worst feeling in the world. He needed to protect her, and the only way he could see to do that was by breaking his physical addiction. He reached for his phone and scrolled down the names until he reached Tamara's.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Sophie closed the file she'd been reading and looked up at her computer screen as the instant message window popped up. 'I'm leaving early this evening.' She frowned at the monitor. Why hadn't he just stuck his head around the door to tell her that? 'Hot date?' she typed back, a smile on her lips. She heard his fingers moving on his keyboard. 'Something like that.' Her fingers stilled as more words appeared. 'An old friend.' 'Girlfriend?' She asked the question even though she knew she shouldn't. The pause waiting for his response stretched on. 'Yes.' His reply winded her, and she couldn't look up straight away when he stepped half inside the doorway and leaned on it a few seconds later. "It's just dinner." She tried to read more from his expression, but there was nothing there. He was a closed book. She nodded, clearing her throat as she tried to smile to disguise how hurt she was. She had no claim on him or his time, but the idea of him sharing dinner, or anything else, with another woman cut deep. "Well... have a good evening." His eyes scanned her face, and for a second he seemed as if he was going to say something more. He didn't though, and he left a couple of minutes later without coming back through to say goodnight. If Sophie had hoped to find a message or note on his desk when she left a little while later, she was disappointed. It was swept clean of any traces of the day, much as Lucien seemed able to sweep any traces of Sophie out of his mind. Was it as simple as that? Had he finally grown bored of sex with her, as he'd assured her all along that he would? The idea filled her with cold dread. Had she really got him so wrong? She sank down onto his chair, her coat buttoned up but her legs suddenly too weary to carry her home. His desk was cool beneath her cheek when she laid her head down on it, too exhausted even to cry. "Coffee?" Tamara asked, much later that evening. Lucien nodded and followed her out of the Aston and up the steps to her front door. It was freezing outside, but incredibly warm inside Tamara's tasteful lounge. He shrugged out of his jacket and sat at one end of the sofa. Tamara appeared a few moments later holding a brandy bottle rather than coffee cups. "Plan B," she smiled, her dark hair in sophisticated waves over one shapely shoulder as she sat down next to him. He took the bottle from her fingers and reached for her waist instead. She took her cue, sliding closer and winding her arms around him. "It's good to see you, Lucien," she said. "It's been too long." She angled her head up to invite his kiss. She was a beautiful woman, and he was a red-blooded man. He kissed her, noticing the synthetic taste of her lipstick and the heavy scent of her perfume. Desperation to feel more turned on had him probing her

mouth hard and heavily, and Tamara reached for the side zip on her dress. She stood and let it fall, leaving her naked apart from a g-string and a small, suggestive smile. "For you," she whispered, her hands lightly splayed at her sides to indicate that it was his move. Her lean, athletic body could've graced any number of magazine covers, but as Lucien stood and drew her against him, he didn't feel any of the things he was supposed to feel. He wanted to want her. He wanted her small, pert breasts to feel good in his hands, and for the way her nipples hardened when he touched them to turn him on. When she pulled his shirt out of his trousers, he sighed heavily and set her away from him gently. "Stop." She laughed and reached out to draw him back in, but he stepped away again more firmly this time. "Tammy, stop." Lucien picked her dress up and handed it to her, feeling like a heel when she held it against her breasts to cover herself. Her perfectly made up brown eyes surveyed him, cool and assessing. "What's going on here, Lucien? You haven't called in months, and now you're here... and this?" He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you." He kissed her cheek, wishing he was somewhere else. "Sorry." Tamara shrugged delicately. "I think we’d better call it a night." Lucien left her there, rumpled but unravished. He wasn't accustomed to feeling guilty. The sensation made his skin crawl with distaste, and served only to strengthen his conviction that he absolutely must end this thing with Sophie right now, before it went any further. After another sleepless night, Sophie found herself at her desk earlier than usual. It was just as well. It'd save her from needing to make banal, bright small talk as she passed by Lucien's desk when she was as mad as hell with him. Whatever there was between them, it deserved better than a cowardly brush off. She deserved better than this. He'd hurt her, and she hadn't expected it of him. Her body tensed at the sound of his door opening, his footfalls as he moved around setting himself up for the morning. She always made him coffee. God, this was hard. Where was the line between employer and lover? She was still his PA, even if someone else had replaced her in the other role. And so she made him coffee. He looked distinctly ill tempered when she took it through and placed it on his desk, and his thanks were muttered without looking up. His fingers hit the keys of his keyboard with unnecessary force, stabbing out emails. So that was how it was going to be. Not only was she unwelcome in his bed, but she was unwelcome anywhere near him. Wow. When he turned off the spotlight of his charm and humour, being around him was suddenly a cold and very dark place. Bitter resentment rushed through her body and her resolve hardened to armour. If the last few months had taught her anything, it was that she was no little mouse, and that loving someone who doesn't love you back was no way to spend your life. Lucien had taught her how to live without Dan, and in doing that, he'd surely taught her that she could live without him too. She just hadn't expected to need to re-use the lesson so soon. Sophie sat slowly down at her desk, her glare fixed on the doorway to Lucien's office. Do your worst, Lucien Knight. I'm ready for you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT The day dragged on until lunchtime, oppressive and brittle. She made him espresso. He forwarded emails to her. She slapped a completed analysis file on his desk. He slammed his drawers closed hard enough to cause them to collapse. Sophie needed some time out, to clear her head. She turned politely to Lucien as she collected her coat from the stand in his office. "Is there anything you need while I'm out? Lunch? Or... condoms maybe, for you next date?" He shot her a filthy look, and she couldn't miss the way his hand fisted tightly on the desk. "Anger management classes?" she added sweetly. She had the upper hand, for once, and it gave her a harsh satisfaction. "Don't fuck with me Sophie." She shook her head, measured fury keeping her voice steady. "You've made it pretty clear we won't be doing that anymore." "Have I?" Lucien slammed his chair back as he stood up, his arms rigid as he scowled and planted his hands flat on the desk. "Have I? Only I don't remember sending that particular fucking memo." The tension in the room had reached boiling point. Lucien's taut stance and expression arrested Sophie into silence. She stared at him. She wanted to beat her fists on his chest until her arms ached, and she wanted him to kiss her until none of this mattered, and she wanted to run away and never come back. What did he expect of her? Was she supposed to be sanguine about his new lover, accept her consignment to the role of office squeeze? "I don't want lunch, because I'm not hungry," he said. "And I don't want anger management classes, because right now angry is all I have," he spat. "And I don't want condoms, because it seems that I'm incapable of fucking anyone but you." The disparity between his tone and his words made it hard for Sophie to understand his meaning. "Lucien..." she dropped her coat and bag down and walked towards him, but he held up a hand to keep her on the other side of the desk. "Don't." She stopped, unsure how to read him when he was like this. "She stripped, Sophie, right in front of me. She's fucking beautiful, but she felt wrong. I put my hands on her tits, and all I could think was that I wished they were yours." He shook his head, his face a picture of bewildered frustration. "She was naked, and I walked away because she wasn't you." Sophie's heart twisted for him. Why did he have to fight his emotions all the time? "This isn't what I do," he said, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I don't want this." She moved around the desk, and this time he didn't stop her. He sank into his chair and sighed heavily. "I want this," she whispered, dropping onto her haunches beside his chair. "I want you." She kissed her way across his knuckles, one by one, her throat aching with tears. His other hand stroked the back of her head. "Don't want me, Sophie." She slid up onto his lap. "I can't stop." "Try harder," he said, but even as he spoke his arms surrounded her. His hands slipped up her back into her hair until his thumbs were tracing her jawline. She mirrored him, her hands cradling his head close to hers. His mouth brushed her cheeks, catching the

tears as they spilled from her closed lashes. "Beautiful girl," he murmured, his lips on her eyelids, his arms sliding lower to hold her close. Sophie could feel the hard heat of him under her thighs, sensing that slow slam of sad into sexy that he seemed to specialise in. It got her every single time. She tipped her head a little, and his mouth covered hers with stifling intimacy. His kiss seemed to suck all of the air from her body and meld her into one with him. One great big tangle of tongues and hot emotions. She wrapped her arms around him and opened her mouth against his, letting him plunder and take his fill as she held on tight, swept up in him. This was her only way in. Her only way to connect with the man behind the barricades. The man she loved. The man who couldn't love her back. He filled his hands with her hair, great fistfuls of it as he kissed her endlessly. He eased her head back as his hips started to rock beneath her, slow and steady. "Go and get your lunch, princess, before I eat you whole." "I'd rather stay here." He laughed softly, but Sophie could feel him retreating behind those walls again. He straightened her skirt and tucked her hair behind her ear, treating her to the slow glide of his thumb over her bottom lip. "Go." She didn't move. "Can we talk later?" He frowned, but nodded. "I'll drive you home." She slipped from his lap, ready for lunch now, and ready to fight for him later.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE "Don't invite me in." Sophie understood what Lucien was asking. He wanted her to stop, because he couldn't. But she wasn't playing that game. She turned defiantly to him in the dark. "Come inside." It was after seven, a cold winter’s night outside the warm confines of Lucien's car. "If I come in there, I won't come out again without fucking you first." "Is that a threat or a promise?" "Which do you want it to be?" He shook his head with a low frustrated laugh, more at his own stereotypical response than hers. "It's just a fact, Sophie, and not one I'm proud of." God, he drove her crazy. "Why do you do that?" she asked gently. "What?" "Deny your feelings." "`Why do you that?" he countered. She looked at him steadily. "What? What do I do?" "Overcomplicate things." He shrugged. "Read too much into things." "I'm not." She placed a hand on his warm thigh. "Please come inside. It's too cold out here to talk." They both glanced out at the frosty, late November evening. "Coffee. You on one side of the table, me on the other, and I promise to let you leave without sleeping with me." He unclicked his seatbelt with a resigned sigh. "It's not your resolve that bothers me, Sophie." In the kitchen, Sophie busied herself with the routine of making coffee, even though she didn't especially want one and suspected that Lucien probably didn't either. He was like a pent up lion prowling around the small space, and she wasn’t sure she knew how to handle him now that she had him here. She'd asked him inside ostensibly to talk, but the reality was that the invitation had been made just so she could be close to him, regardless of what they were doing. She wanted his time, and his attention, and his love. Two out of three were relatively easy, but love seemed impossible. He'd expunged the word from his vocabulary. He didn't like to say it, and hearing it made him flinch. But she wanted to say it, and she wanted him to hear it; to know he was loved, even though she knew that the likelihood was that he'd react badly. Coffees in hand, she changed her mind and led him through to the living room. She couldn't face another summit at that kitchen table. Lucien followed and sat down at one end of the sofa. She took the other. "Lucien..." "I want you to stop working for me." Wow. His unexpected, quietly spoken statement hit her head on. "But I don't want to stop working for you," she said rapidly, unable to keep the panic out of her voice. He placed his untouched coffee down on the table and turned back to her. "Sophie... it's run its course. This thing going on between us has to stop, and it won't stop if we still see each other every day. I can't work with you without wanting to fuck you." "Are you firing me?" Lucien pushed his palms into his eye sockets. "What else am I supposed to do?" "Carry on as we are?" All thoughts of declaring love now paled into insignificance by comparison to

the urgent need merely to hold on to what they already had. He shook his head. "It won't work." Sophie moved closer to him, afraid to touch him. "Don't do this." He turned his head towards her, and the look of pure desolation in his storm blue eyes hurt her heart. "I mean it, Sophie. Don't come into work tomorrow. Or the next day, or the one after that. I'll write you an amazing reference. I'll pay you until you start somewhere else. It doesn't matter if it's weeks or months. Just don't come in." Every word of his speech landed like a razor blade slicing her flesh, and anger and frustration battled for space in her head. He didn't mean it. His eyes and his body and his kiss told her that he didn't want her out of his life, yet his stubborn head wouldn't let his feelings get a look in. There was only one way Sophie knew to cut through all of his crap. She stood up and unbuttoned her blouse. "Don't do that," he breathed, as she peeled it from her body and dropped it one the floor. He'd taught her many lessons, including how to embrace her own beauty, and in that moment she turned the tables on him. Pupil to teacher. As he'd taught her how to be a confident lover, now it was her turn to teach him how to have the confidence to love. He dropped his head into his hands when she let her skirt fall to the floor beside her blouse. In just whispers of dove grey lace, she stepped closer to him and stroked his head. "Look at me, Lucien." She felt a heavy sigh leave his body before he lifted his head, his eyes dragging slowly up the length of her body. Her fingers smoothed over his hard, proud cheekbone as she waited for his gaze to reach hers. But it didn't. His tormented eyes lingered on her breasts as he drew his top lip in between his teeth, and then he moved onto his knees in front of her and buried his face against her abdomen. His arms slid around her hips, holding her captive as she cradled his head to her body, letting her hands smooth and soothe him. He breathed her in deep, and Sophie ached for him. What the hell was it that held him back? Why did he torment himself like this? She wanted to make it better for him, to find the right words to unlock his heart. But right there and then, just holding him seemed the most important thing. And so she held him. Lucien breathed in the scent of Sophie's skin, lost in how good she felt in his hands, and how good she made him feel in hers. Did she have any idea how powerful she was? He knew that he needed to leave, but there was no way he could leave her like this. The soft roundness of her bottom filled his hands, and the silken curve of her stomach warmed his face. He wanted to bury himself in her and never come up for air again. Eventually, she eased her body back from his just enough to allow space to lower herself to her knees. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Her brave, unwavering gaze met his as she reached behind her back and unclipped her bra. He'd seen her naked enough times now to know how she'd look, but watching her offer her sweet, wholesome and utterly fuckable body to him was something he wanted to remember forever. "You said you wanted it to be me last night," she murmured, and she reached for his hands. "I'm here now." She lifted his hands to her breasts, and closed her eyes when his fingers made contact with her skin. Christ, he was in trouble. Everything he'd hoped to feel with Tammy last night crowded in, and so much more besides. His cock strained hard against his clothes, but his chest ached too, heavy with need for this woman, a need that was somehow more than physical. It was alien to him, terrifying and yet compelling. Her rose nipples stiffened beneath his thumbs and her flesh filled his palms. She opened her eyes, and

the raw vulnerability there seared him. Tammy had been bold-eyed last night as she stripped with the expectation of sex. Sophie had none of Tammy's boldness, but she had a lion's heart of courage. He'd just told her that they were through, for Christ sake. She'd risked his rejection when she'd taken her clothes off, and Lucien knew her well enough to know that it wouldn't have come easy. My brave, beautiful princess. All of those thoughts filled his head in an abstract way, but the overriding sensation leading his body and his hands at that moment was white-hot lust. He could no more walk away now than he could stop breathing. Sophie's body responded to his caress, her eyelids drifting down, her lips parting a little with the tiniest of moans. It was an invitation Lucien couldn't resist. He brushed his lips over hers when she whispered his name, once more as he squeezed the softness of her breasts and let his tongue stray between her lips. "Stay with me tonight," she said, her fingers slow and deliberate on the buttons of his shirt. He knew he should say no, but the words wouldn't come as her palms slid inside his shirt and eased it back over his shoulders. He wanted to be naked. He wanted her hands on him. Christ, he was losing his mind over this woman. "One more night, Sophie, and then no more." He needed to say it, and he needed Sophie to hear it, and to accept it. "Tonight, and I will walk away. Do you understand?" Her lips trembled beneath his, and her slow tears turned their kiss salty, but she nodded. Thank God. Even the temporary reprieve was worth fighting for, somehow representing a tremulous pact that made it okay. "You’d better make it good then," she half-laughed and half-cried, and he crushed her against him, missing her already. "Count on me, princess."

CHAPTER THIRTY It was as if she'd opened the gates to paradise. Lucien was parched and desperate to drink from her, to fill himself to the brim with the magical elixir that seemed to flow from her soft curves and hidden hollows straight into his bloodstream. He lowered his head and captured her nipple between his lips, turned on as much by her groan of pleasure as by the feel of the nub in his mouth. He swirled his tongue over her as he let his hands explore her back; the delicate bones of her spine, the way it dipped then flared at the base. He shrugged out of his shirt as he transferred his attentions to her other nipple, loving the feeling of his skin against her skin again. The sure slide of her hands over his shoulders had him pushing down her lace knickers. There would be time later to take it slow. Right now he was driven by urgent need; the need to embrace her naked body completely, to be overthrown by the mind-blowing sensation that only fucking this woman could give him. Sophie's shallow moans of anticipation told him that she was of the same mind, as did the way she swayed her body against his as he reached for his belt. "I love you like this," she murmured when he gathered her to him, and he had to hold back the words that almost left his own lips as he lifted her onto the edge of the sofa and positioned himself between her legs. He noticed how she held her breath with anticipation as he let the tip of his cock play against her entrance, and how it rushed from her body when he surged his hips forward. She might have groaned, but he didn't hear it over the animalistic sound that left his own throat. Oh, the way Sophie wrapped her legs around his thighs, and Christ, the feel of her hands pulling him in deeper. She'd regained the weight she'd dropped in her weeks of turmoil and distress and felt to Lucien all the more amazing for it; her lush velvet curves were surely designed to make a man lose his head. Fuck. He needed to thrust, and he needed her with him when he came. Sophie's mouth opened wide under his when he reached a hand behind her head and pulled her into his kiss, and she mouthed his name when he reached his other hand between their bodies and massaged her clitoris as his hips found a furious rhythm. Christ, she was going to come, he could feel her body tensing and it aroused him almost beyond endurance. She clamped him with her legs, her head flung back with pleasure as he slammed himself into her. So sexy. Bang. So fucking, fucking sexy. Bang. Sophie cried out, her finger nails arcing into his skin as she orgasmed around his cock and under his fingers. Her whole body tightened deliciously, wrenching his own climax out of him with a shout of absolute, blissful, excruciating, intense release. "Mine." The ragged word left his mouth unplanned and uncensored by rational thought as he buried his face in her neck. "Mine." Sophie heard Lucien's possessive words and they welded themselves to her heart. Yes, I'm yours. Completely, utterly yours. How I wish you were mine too.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Sophie settled herself against Lucien's chest as they dropped down together onto the sofa. "Do you want some dinner?" "No." He stroked her hair. "Coffee?" "No." "Cake?" "Only if I can smear it all over you and then lick it off." Sophie harboured no delusion that he was joking; she was instantly transported back to Norway, laid out on Lucien's dining table wearing nothing but his dessert. "I don't want food or drink. This isn't a date." She sighed heavily. She didn't ask what this was then, because she knew the answer. This was goodbye. The best, longest, sexiest goodbye kiss ever. "Come upstairs?" she whispered, and felt his smile against her neck. "Now that, Sophie Black, is a much more enticing offer." Sitting snug behind Lucien in the bathtub half an hour later with her legs wrapped around his hips, Sophie scooped up foamy water in her cupped palms and trickled it over his broad shoulders. He massaged her calves as he lounged idly against her, his eyes closed and a small relaxed smile on his lips as the water ran in rivulets down his chest. "Feels nice?" She murmured it against his cheek, letting her fingers follow the water to stroke his nipples into stiffness. "Nice." He echoed the lamely inadequate word with a crooked half smile. It was warm and steamy in the bathroom, gilding Lucien's skin with a damp sheen. It was impossible to look at him and not to want to touch him, and Sophie wasn’t holding herself back. She wanted to imprint him on her hands and her memory forever. If this was to be her last time with him, then she was entitled to be greedy. He leaned forward for a second to top up the warm water, and Sophie's eyes rested on the monochrome lone wolf tattoo that lay across his shoulder blades. It was beautifully detailed, a solitary, restless animal with hungry, watchful eyes. Much like the man he resided on. She curled her arms around him when he settled back down. "Why the wolf?" she asked. Lucien didn't answer straight away. Instead, he squeezed soap into his hands and smoothed the resulting lather over her bent knees, massaging her skin in broad circles. "He reminds me of home." "But you can't see him." Every trace of his nostalgic smile had gone, replaced by a faraway melancholy. "I don't need to see him to know he's there." Sophie felt that she knew so much of Lucien, and yet so little too. There was a great, yawning sadness in him that she sensed but couldn't reach. His relationship with his homeland seemed so complex, a lovehate relationship that she couldn't quite grasp. The few occasions she'd tried to push him for information had ended badly, and she didn't want tonight to go the same way. Not our last night together. Besides, Lucien was already keen to move things along. He clearly had plenty of ways in mind to make

the most of their evening. He'd asked her to fetch the glass dildo he'd once given her, and right now it lay submerged somewhere beneath the warmth of the water. He sat up and eased her around and over him so that their positions were reversed, a slippery manoeuvre that he pulled off with aplomb. Sophie found herself cradled against his chest. She wriggled herself comfortable, deliciously aware of his cock against the small of her back. "One hell of an impressive way to change the subject, Mr. Knight," she said, gratified to hear him laugh under his breath. He reached for the shampoo and tipped a little into his palm rather than reply, then smoothed the apple-scented cream over her hair. "I love the smell of this stuff." Lucien inhaled deeply as he massaged the shampoo into her skull with slow, rhythmic movements that made Sophie sigh as her eyes closed reflexively. "It smells of you." She was glad then that that her eyes were closed and glad of the damp, steamy room too, because they disguised the tears that welled up at his words. He had no right to be so damn romantic when he denied that romance even existed outside of fairytales. No one except Sophie’s hairdresser had washed her hair for her since she was six years old. It was an unexpected and distinctly sensual experience having it done for her by Lucien, somewhere between an intimate massage and a loving gesture. He was unhurried, scooping up all of her hair, making a thorough job of it, spinning it out until she was deeply relaxed under his touch. Then he picked up a glass from a nearby shelf to wash away the lather he'd created, rinse after rinse of cascading warm water and tender hands as she tipped her head back and let him minister to her. Sophie felt there was a poignant symbolism in his actions, in the gentle way he handled her. Almost as if he wanted to let her know through his careful attentions rather than his words that this evening meant as much to him as it did to her, that this wasn't easy for him either. She opened her wet eyelashes slowly at the sound of Lucien placing the glass down on the ledge beside the bath. She turned and caught his gaze as he looked at her, and the unguarded emotion in his eyes stopped her breath. And then it was gone, replaced as if it had never been there by raw desire that darkened his air force blue eyes to midnight. "Thank you," she whispered as he drew her against him. Coils of anticipation unfurled in her belly as his mouth touched hers. She slipped onto her side in his arms, and as his tongue moved into her mouth, his knee slid between hers in the warm water. Something about the heat of the room and the closeness of their wet, naked bodies heightened the intimate sense of this being the way they should be. Natural. There were no clothes to get in the way, no desks to bend over, or even beds to lie on. They were cradled together in the cocoon of Sophie's tub, and Lucien's hands moved easily over her body as he bit his way slowly across her bottom lip, corner to corner, small nips just the right side of painful as he twisted her wet hair around his hands. His thigh pleasurably pinned her legs apart, although he seemed in no rush to touch her there. He touched her everywhere else instead. A brief, skilled shoulder massage, a circlet of fingers around her throat, then he moved lower, to her breasts. He drew soapy circles around her areolae with his index finger as he blew lightly over them, cool air that stiffened her nipples before he sucked them inside the sudden, damp heat of his mouth. His fingers twined with hers for a few seconds, and he raised her hand to his face and kissed her palm. Watching him, Sophie's heart splintered like cinder toffee. Water spiked his closed eyelashes into delicate spiders on his cheekbones, and as his open mouth moved silently against her palm, he looked like a man saying his prayers. Sophie wished she could hear them, and wished that they were the same as her own. When he reached under the bubbles, she knew what was coming next. The glass of the dildo had taken on the heat of the water; she felt it when he touched it briefly against her mouth, then trailed it down her

body, making a slow sweep as he hooked his calf over hers to hold her legs open. Not that he needed to. Sophie wanted Lucien beyond all rhyme and reason, full of insane longing and delight when he at last stroked the warm, bulbous glass over her clitoris. The knowing hint of a smile touched his lips again. "Feel nice?" He laid the glass column flat against her flesh, its raised swirls massaging the length of her sex as he twisted it in his fingers. Nice? Now she understood his mocking repetition earlier. Nice was nowhere near the right word for this sensation of finally being touched where she most needed it, and Lucien knew it full well. Just as he knew she needed more, and gave it willingly. He kissed her neck as he slowly pushed the dildo inside her body, its oh so hard, oh so warm solid presence filling her until she moaned with deep, deep satisfaction. The last time Lucien had used the dildo had been under very different circumstances. Shackled to his bed, he'd plunged the glass phallus into ice and shocked her into orgasm. Tonight he went to the opposite extreme. He held her rather than shackled her, and used the unyielding, warm glass to build steady, sublime sensations that left her breathless. His other hand roamed over her bottom, his deliberate fingers tracing the sensitive dip between the curves. Sophie didn't stop him. Tonight she was his, and he was hers, and there were no taboos. When his finger pressed gently against the tightness of her rear, she turned her head and kissed him, a silent invitation that he accepted, shifting slightly to give himself more room to touch her. And then he had her filled twice over; the slow glide of glass between her legs, the gentle probe of his finger behind her. Incredible. More than incredible. Sophie fought her orgasm as it started, because she wanted to stay in that one moment forever. Pleasure so exquisite that her entire body thrummed with it, and emotions so expansive and consuming that she didn't know where Lucien ended and she began. Her ecstatic surrender was inevitable when his thumb moved up over her clitoris. As defeats went, it was one hell of a way to go down.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Sophie sat on the sofa cradling the good measure of whisky Lucien had just handed her, even though it was turned two in the morning. She hadn't asked for it, and he hadn't poured himself one. She didn't even know where he'd unearthed the bottle from. It was left over from some distant Christmas, she presumed, not really her sort of drink, but she sipped it anyway, letting the warmth of the liquid fill her throat, giving her something to concentrate on besides Lucien's impending departure. He was dressed again, and she was wrapped in her bathrobe, her hair almost dry after the most memorable hair wash of her life. She sensed that Lucien didn't know how to leave, and she wasn't ready to make it easy for him. She loved this man beyond all rhyme and reason. Let the neighbours talk, let them hang her out to dry as the scarlet woman. Love didn't respect timescales, and it wouldn't wait around until she'd spent a respectable year or two cast as the spurned wife first. It was here, and it was now, and there wasn't a damn thing either of them could do about it. "Mine," she said, raising her chin and looking him in the eye. "That's what you called me earlier. Mine." Sophie saw the way he swallowed hard as he looked away and scrubbed his hand uneasily down the side of his face. "I don't remember." "Don't do that, Lucien," she chastised him softly. "You don't lie." He perched on the arm of the chair with a heavy sigh. "Sophie please... don't look for what isn't there." "But it is there, isn't it? It is for me, and I think it is for you too." "You're wrong," he said. "I don't do break ups, and I don't do broken hearts. You know this. I told you this. Didn't I?" Sophie half nodded. Yes, he'd told her very clearly that he didn't want a relationship, but that was back in the beginning. They were different people now. They'd changed each other. "I don't want to feel this Sophie. Like I've led you on, or like I can't be with anyone else." "Lucien, you said yourself that you don't want to be with anyone else!" "Yes, and you have no idea how much that fucks me off. Don't you get it, Sophie? I don't want these feelings, or these cravings." He splayed his hand on his chest. "It's not who I am." Sophie stared at his bent head. He meant what he said, and it frustrated the hell out of her. Being that emotionally screwed up must be exhausting. "Let me get this straight, Lucien. You're walking away, and you're pushing me away, because you want me too much? Because you have feelings that you didn't expect?" She shook her head and knocked back the whisky, letting the alcohol warm her body and loosen her tongue. "Well guess what? I didn't expect them either. I didn't plan this, but Lucien I'm going to say it..." He lifted his head, his eyes brooding with danger. "Don't, Sophie." "I love you." It wasn't how she'd planned to say it, but she was way too far down the line to stop now. She slid the glass onto the table and stood up. "I love you, Lucien Knight." "No you don't." His voice was as bleak as the shuttered expression in his eyes. "I don't love you, and you don't love me either. You might think you do, but you said it yourself in Paris - I'm your rebound guy." She half laughed, unexpectedly giddy with the relief of letting all of her pent up emotions out. "I did say that. I did, and I really thought that, but I was wrong. Trust me, the last thing I planned on was loving you. But I do." She was close enough to touch him now, but she didn't. She didn't want to let their physical connection take over when there were still things she needed to say. "You can walk away, and you can deny it, but I think you love me back."

Lucien tipped his head up and lifted his gaze to the ceiling, the slow shake of his head and hard set of his jaw telling Sophie how much he was struggling. It was painful to watch him in his Herculean effort to hold onto his beliefs. "It's lust Sophie," he said eventually. "And maybe it's infatuation, but it isn't love." A rush of anger roared through her at his denial of something so intrinsically, obviously, straightforwardly good. "You know what, Lucien Knight, you're a coward," she blazed, feeling all the power that he'd imbued in her over the past months rise to the surface now that she needed it most of all. She had his full attention for one last time, and she was going to give it everything she had. "You hide behind your flash cars and designer houses... you deny love exists, and all for what? So you can hang onto your oh-so-glamorous lifestyle and screw anyone you want to? Listen to yourself - you don't want to screw anyone else. You want me. And I'm here, now, saying I want you too, saying I love you, and I don't know where the hell it'll end up, but I'm brave enough to say that right now you're my everything. You've opened my eyes, and my body, and my heart to so much more than I knew existed, and you make me feel beautiful, and protected, and adored, and I don't think you could do all of those things if you didn't love me back. Everything about you scares me... your lifestyle, your secrets, and the damn stubborn way you cling to your lines as if you've rehearsed them so often that they're written in stone. But you can change them. It's okay to love someone, Lucien. It's okay to let someone in. Let me in." They stared at each other in silence, both shell-shocked by her words. "That's just it, Sophie. It's not okay... It's not okay." He spoke jerkily, painfully. "I will hurt you, and I will leave you, and I will cheat on you." Wow. Tears scorched her throat. Tears of pity and frustration for herself, and for this beautiful, fucked up man. "You're already hurting me, and it would seem that you're intent on leaving me. How can you know that you'll cheat?" "It's in my genes. It's who I am, and I warned you... I warned you not to do this." There was a desperation in his voice. "That’s just crap. Infidelity isn't in anyone's genes, it's a choice. Christ, Lucien! Even Dan never tried to blame genetic failure for his affair." She knew her words hit home from the way he closed his eyes to shut her out. She didn't want him to shut her out, but she couldn't find the way to stop the door closing, even as she scrabbled for a fingerhold, to keep it open even just a chink. "When you touch me... when you touch me, Lucien, it's not just sex. When you came to me, right here in my bed, I knew." She was crying now. "You made love to me then, and you made love to me again tonight. You can walk away from me, but it won't change the truth. I know you love me." "Sophie, you love a stranger, some hero you've dreamed up to get over your husband. That man isn't me. How can you be so trusting, so open, knowing full well how much you're going to be hurt?" "It's not a choice, Lucien. It's who I am, and it's pretty god damn normal. That’s how people are. They love, and they get hurt. But sometimes, just sometimes, they don't get hurt. They don't cheat, or leave... they stay and they love you forever." Her voice broke. "I want to love you forever." "Be someone else then, Sophie, because being you is too risky." "I'd rather be me than you. I'd rather risk getting hurt than deny myself the chance to ever love anyone." "I'm not in denial," he stated flatly. "Let me in, God damn you." Sophie clutched his face. "Let me in." Lucien placed his hands over hers and closed his eyes as he drew in a deep, unsteady breath. When he opened them again, he removed her hands gently and placed them at her sides. "There is no in, Sophie. This is it. This is who I am, who I've always been, and who I'll always be." He left her then, feeling more heartsick and lonely than she'd ever dreamed it was possible to be.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE December blew in cold and fittingly bleak, and the idea of celebrating the impending festive period felt incomprehensible to Sophie. She had fuzzy recollections of Christmas's gone by, when Dan had always dragged an impractically large tree into the house and they'd decorated it together over the best part of a bottle of Baileys. But those memories were tainted now, because in amongst all of the picture book romance Dan had been secretly sleeping with his mistress. Had he helped dress her Christmas tree over the years too? It was mentally exhausting trying to rearrange all of her memories to fit the new reality they now existed in, one that included Maria in the background. News had reached her a few days before that Maria was pregnant. She'd absorbed the information in an abstract way, and in truth, it didn't hurt as much as it might have done. Her marriage to Dan felt like a lifetime ago, yesterday’s chip paper already. He crossed Sophie's mind far less than he would probably have liked to think, but the fact was that she'd been letting go of him little by little for a long time because he'd been subtly detaching himself for years. She could see that clearly now, but it had taken the arrival of Lucien Knight in her life to make her take off her rose tinted glasses. Lucien's arrival had made Sophie realise many things. He'd made her see that she'd been living on the edges of life, existing rather than embracing its bountiful richness in technicolour. He'd plunged her head first into a storm of sensations and emotions; a mental shedding of an old, dull skin; a seductive invitation. 'Hello, come with me, let me shown you somewhere bigger, more dazzling, more truly alive.' Sophie glanced from the jingling TV ad to her unadorned living room. It couldn't be less dazzling or alive. Two weeks had passed since Lucien had left her home, and she'd barely left it herself since either. They'd had no contact. Two weeks felt like forever without him. She'd laid her heart on the line, and he'd walked away. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was. Surprised, and hurt, and desolate. She veered between wanting to run to him and wanting to run far, far away, but when she imagined running the only place she imaged running to was Norway, and to Lucien. All of her thought processes seemed to short circuit back to him, to blissful memories he'd created. Yes. She'd well and truly closed the door on her feelings for Dan. She couldn't fathom how she'd ever been deeply happy with him now that she knew how much more her heart was capable of feeling. And how carelessly he'd treated her. How little she must have known him. As love went, she'd been swimming in the shallow end all those years and she hadn't even known it. Loving Lucien had thrown her out into deep, bottomless oceans where she was constantly swimming against the tide. Don't love me. I love you. Don't love me. I love you. It was utterly draining and her body and heart ached with the effort. She didn't know what she'd actually expected him to say. He wasn't a man she could ever imagine settling down, yet she'd thrown her heart at him anyway. Lucien wasn't an everyday sort of man with an everyday sort of life. Even Sophie could see that the life he'd built for himself didn't include space for a wife. What did she want him to do? Invest in a pipe and slippers, come home to her in the evenings and grumble about his day at work whilst idly surfing through the TV channels? The idea was hideous, and utterly implausible. But what was the alternative? Live Lucien's lifestyle at breakneck speed, twenty-four seven? She'd tried it for just a week and come home shattered in mind and body. It was entirely alien to everything she

knew as normal, and impossible to imagine sustaining. So where did that leave them? He didn't fit in her world, and she didn't fit in his. Maybe he was right after all. They were too incompatible, in experience as well as outlook. It could never have worked. And so it was time to make some choices. She was on the right side of thirty, she was separated, and she was alone. Sophie was down, certainly, but somewhere deep inside her, she wasn't ready to be counted out. So much had happened over the preceding months. Huge, life-changing events that couldn't help but change people caught up in them too. Sophie's life had always been defined by the people in it. She was a daughter; she was a wife. She'd passed from her family home to her marital one without pause, her life shaped around those she loved. This time was different. She couldn't shape her life around the person she loved, because he'd promised not to love her back. But Lucien had taught her other things too. He'd taught her self-respect. He'd given her confidence she didn't know she possessed, and he'd taught her that she didn't have to take anyone else's crap. And finally, finally, Sophie realised that by sitting here alone in her bleak living room, that that was exactly what she was doing. She was taking his crap. Little by little, she could feel herself rising. She'd hit the bottom, it was time to kick her feet hard and push herself back up to the surface. Lucien Knight was a walking, talking hang up, a beautiful mass of contradictions. He'd been singleminded in his mission to free her from her marriage and it was time to return the favour. There was something fundamentally wrong with his way of thinking, and one way or another she was going to find out why, and then she was going to put that man straight once and for all. A few hours later, Sophie walked purposefully through the glass atrium of Knight Inc., her heels clacking on the marble floor and her ponytail swishing with efficiency. No one stopped her. She was a familiar enough face not to raise any eyebrows, and the confidence of her stride implied that she belonged there. Butterflies filled her stomach as she rode the elevator to the top floor; she was going to see Lucien again. It was only as she approached his resolutely closed door that her nerve wavered for the briefest of seconds, but she thrust the feeling away ruthlessly and tapped her knuckles lightly against the smooth beech wood. The silence that followed seemed to drag on endlessly, so she knocked again, a little louder this time. When there was still no reply, she turned the handle and pushed it open. Empty. Disappointment spiked hard through Sophie's chest at the overwhelming anti-climax. She'd worked herself up to a boiling point of focus and clarity as she'd prepared to face Lucien, and being faced with his empty desk instead was crushing. "Sophie?" Sophie turned at the sound of a female voice and found Kate, one of the girls from the reception desk, behind her. "Kate, hi," she said, trying to disguise her lacklustre tone. "It's good to see you back. Are you feeling better?" "Um, yes... thank you." Sophie smiled carefully as her mind played catch up. She wondered exactly what Lucien had told his staff about her sudden departure. She added the snippet to her list of questions, if she ever caught up with him. "I was looking for Lucien?" Kate's eyes widened. "Oh... of course, you won't have heard." She arranged her features into a sorrowful expression and pure fear threatened to take Sophie's legs from beneath her. Oh God. Had

something happened to him? "He isn't around at the moment, he's back in Norway." Kate glanced behind her, and then leaned in a little for confidentiality. "Family troubles. I've been filling in for you while you've been ill. I opened an email... from his father's solicitor I think?" She shrugged defensively at Sophie's frown. "It was an accident. Anyway, seems his dad's in hospital." She lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper. "Pneumonia. Alcoholic, apparently." Sophie stared blankly at the other woman. His dad? Lucien had told her that his father was dead. "Are you sure?" Kate nodded. "He got a call a couple of days back and flew straight out." "Do you know when he's coming back?" Kate shook her head. "I don't. He's handling all of his calls and emails from Norway, and asked me to cancel his meetings. He's been a bit weird lately, but then I suppose you would be if your father had just been read his last rites, wouldn't you?" There was the sound of a trilling phone from the reception desk. Kate shrugged apologetically and clicked briskly back to reception to take the call, leaving Sophie alone and frowning outside Lucien's office. He'd definitely told her that his father had died, but Kate had seemed pretty certain of her facts just now. Had he lied? And why? Sophie made her way out slowly out of the building, but she didn't turn towards home. She turned the other way instead and headed towards the string of shops further along the road, towards the little travel agents she'd often walked past on her way to lunch.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Lucien kicked the snow from his heavy black boots as he stood outside his father's attorney's office. The streets of Tromso looked impossibly festive, snow-capped wooden buildings housing cosily lit shop interiors, glossy fir garlands draped with illuminated red hearts strung from building to building as far as the eye could see. It was a far cry from the sophisticated gloss of Christmas in London. Not that he was especially fond of Christmas wherever he happened to be in the world. It was a time for families, and for children, and for people who could suspend disbelief and enjoy the childish magic of a fairy tale for a little while. He'd spent his last few Christmas days alone at work, and he'd prefer to spend the time there again this year rather than here. He'd rather be anywhere but Norway at Christmas. He pushed open the old, half-glassed door, not looking forward to seeing the elderly man who waited beyond it. He'd been here as a child, tagging along with his father, but never as a grown man. The middle-aged receptionist glanced up as he approached the small, old-fashioned window hatch, ducking slightly to make eye contact with her. "I have an appointment." The Norwegian words came naturally to him; it was his mother tongue, even though his slightly rusty accent probably marked him out as a stranger in Tromso nowadays. She nodded, wide eyed. "Just a moment." Lucien eyed the small, empty waiting room and paced to stand by the window. She clearly knew who he was and who he was here to see, but that didn't come as much of a surprise. The woman reappeared a moment later, smoothing her hand over her short curly hair. "This way please." Olaf Karlsen stood as Lucien entered his office, much older and more weathered than the robust man who hovered amongst Lucien's childhood memories. His handshake was reserved but firm as he gestured for Lucien to take a seat opposite him at his desk. "It's been some years, Lucien." Lucien's mouth twisted a little. "Yes." "May I ask if you've visited your father since you've arrived home?" "Not yet." He regarded the older man levelly across the table. He was here in this office at Olaf Karlsen's request, just as he was in Norway at Olaf Karlsen's request. "This is delicate, Lucien." Olaf looked down and withdrew a letter from the drawer of his desk. "Your father gave me this several years ago. He instructed me to give it to you in the event of his death." He pushed the pale envelope across the desk slowly. Lucien made no move to pick it up. "He isn't dead yet." "No." Olaf stroked his short grey beard. "No, he isn't. But he's very unwell, and unlikely to pull through." Lucien didn't want to hear any of this. "Keep it." The attorney fixed Lucien with his pale, steady gaze. "Off the record... I have remained friends with your father over the years, and given his failing health I feel certain that he would wish you to have this sooner rather than later." Something about the older man’s demeanour left Lucien feeling seven years old again. If he refused the letter a second time, he sensed that the attorney would accept it. There was a small but undeniable part of him that wanted to know what lay inside the envelope. There was nothing his father could say that would change or influence things, yet he still didn't push it back across the desk.

It had been Olaf who'd called him a few days earlier to alert him to the fact that his father's condition had worsened significantly, and Olaf who'd suggested that he held something in his office that would be of interest to him. The attorney had leaned on his seniority and family connection to appeal to Lucien, with the added lure of the mysterious something waiting for him. In truth, Lucien would have come just on the plain statement of fact, without any of the other inducements. His father was actually dying. He seemed to have been half way there for as long as Lucien could remember, but it had always felt like more of a vague possibility than something that would actually happen. And in every way that counted, he had been dead to Lucien for years. He hadn't set foot inside the hospital since his arrival in Norway, but he'd called. He'd called twice a day to check on him, but as far as he could tell his father was so heavily sedated now that he would barely be aware of his presence anyway. Not that this was a bad thing. There was nothing left to be said as far as Lucien was concerned. He nodded once at Olaf Karlsen and picked up the letter, shoving it into the inside pocket of his jacket. He'd take it, but that didn't mean that he had to read it. Sophie had never experienced such immense cold as when she stepped out of the airport, wheeling her suitcase behind her. She'd anticipated it of course, and dressed as appropriately as her wardrobe allowed; jeans, thermal layers and her cherry red coat, but her London winter attire was insufficient protection against the freezing bite of Tromso in December. She cast envious glances at the people milling around her, all far more suitably dressed in padded, waterproof jackets and snow boots. Her own fur boots would offer little protection once they became sodden. She'd flung most of her other warm clothes into her suitcase the day before, not really knowing how long she'd be gone for nor how her arrival would be received. No matter. Lucien was here alone, dealing with his father's illness, his death, even, and the single thought in Sophie's mind was to get to him. She'd been so focused on reaching him that she hadn't permitted herself to stop and wonder if he would want her there. It was only as she settled gratefully into the warmth of the back of a taxi that she allowed herself to consider in detail how he might react. Would he be glad to see her? Or would he be outraged? He was the most infuriatingly self-contained person on the planet; she didn't expect him to welcome her with open arms. She was acting on instinct. If Lucien had taught her one thing, it was to take a risk, not to wait for permission or instruction. And the thought of coming to Norway to be there, to be whatever he might need, for an hour or a day or a week, had come so effortlessly into her mind that she hadn't doubted herself. Outside the windows of the cab, the scenery was very different compared with what she’d seen on her autumn visit to Norway. The bright, crisp days she'd experienced back then had given way to long polar winter nights. It was barely midday, yet it seemed like twilight. Purple-pink skies hung low over buildings prickled with brightly lit windows; offices and industrial buildings that gave way to prettily illuminated shops and cafes as they drove into the heart of the city. Sophie couldn't help but be swept away by the Christmas card perfection of the place. It looked like a scene straight out of a romantic movie, akin to being captured inside the world’s prettiest snow globe. If a reindeer-pulled sleigh had drawn up alongside them she wouldn't have been surprised; it was that magical. Hope seeped into her bones. This amazing place was Lucien's homeland. He was here. Just knowing that he was close by made her heart beat faster inside her ribcage, and the idea of him being here alone and grieving almost broke it in two. Hold on, my beautiful man. I'm coming. Lucien left Olaf Karlsen's office, his head bent against the freshly falling snow as he crossed the road behind an oncoming taxi. The girl in the back had her face turned away from the window, but he glimpsed a cherry red coat and a swish of blonde hair, so that for the briefest of moments she stole his breath

because she reminded him so acutely of Sophie. And then she was gone, and he was left kicking himself into touch for the millionth time since he'd walked away from Sophie Black. It had become his daily battle; fighting the almost violent need to call her, imagining that he saw her on every street corner, not letting himself get lost in the memory of how she felt in his arms. She came to him every night as he slept, enveloping him with her lush curves and her easy laughter, bathing him in her warmth and her light. The crushing, bittersweet moments between sleep and wakefulness were the worst of all: clammy, grey seconds when she melted away and he realised he was alone. Lucien Knight was a man on the edge. On the edge of becoming an orphan, and on the edge of falling in love. Sophie dropped onto the neatly made bed of her small, functional hotel room overlooking the harbour. She'd nodded along with the travel agent as he'd extolled the virtues of the hotel a couple of days before. She'd have booked into a shack if it meant she could fly to Tromso, but all the same she appreciated the fact that he'd found her somewhere central and comfortable. Much as she hoped that Lucien would welcome her arrival here in Norway, it had felt necessary to ensure she had somewhere concrete to travel to. Up to that point she'd given little consideration to the fact that she was travelling overseas alone for the first time in her life, and she allowed herself a small glow of satisfaction at the fact that she'd arrived safely without any hitches. It had been undeniably strange being alone on the aeroplane surrounded by families heading to Norway to spend Christmas in the snow. She'd closed her eyes and thought only of Lucien, every passing minute bringing her closer to him. She still hadn't contacted him. Her fingers had itched to call him as soon as she'd spoken with Kate at Knight Inc., but she'd held off. If he was going to reject her, he'd have to do it face to face here in Norway. And if he did, then she would accept it. She hadn't come here to beg for his love. She'd come to be with him because he was going through something that no man should go through alone. All the rest could wait until later. She settled back on the bed and glanced at her watch. She could rest for an hour or so and then she had a bus to catch. Lucien shed his winter gear as he entered the lodge later that day, feeling for his father’s unopened letter as he hung up his coat. It lay heavy and hot in his palm as he made his way through the quiet rooms towards the master suite. He was beyond relieved to be home, to close the door on the craziness of the world for a while. He tossed the letter onto his bedside table. There would be time for that later. Or maybe never. A glance inside confirmed that the saunarium had been prepared as he'd requested. "Thank you," he murmured into the silence, shucking off the rest of his clothes and opening the door. The welcoming heat hit him as he dropped down onto the planked bench, and he laid his head back and huffed the air out of his chest. Even for him, the load felt heavy today. He was fortunate that his business was staffed by good people who could manage things without him for a little while, but he was accustomed to his working life being his be all and end all. He'd lived and breathed his career for as long as he could remember, yet over the last few months he knew he'd taken his eye off the ball. He'd had no choice, because his eyes had been on Sophie Black. A small smile touched his lips as he lay back and let himself remember the last time they'd used the saunarium together. He'd never forget the way Sophie had looked when he'd opened the door. Relaxed.

Naked. Touching herself, her legs parted and her eyes closed. His hand moved instinctively to his cock, already hard at the thought of Sophie, despite his exhaustion. He flung his other arm across his eyes as he stroked himself, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip and his head full of images of the only woman who could make him forget about the unopened letter on his bedside table, and the dying man in the city hospital. In the shower a little while later he reached behind his expensive toiletries for the bottle of apple shampoo Sophie had left behind on her last visit. He flipped the lid and inhaled the fresh scent, his eyes screwed shut as the all too familiar smell filled the shower enclosure. Sophie. Jesus, he missed her, and he hated himself for not being able to stop the almost physical pain that came with thinking about her. He scrubbed his hair unnecessarily roughly and cut his shower short to crawl straight into bed, even though it was barely six in the evening.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE Sophie pulled on her mittens as she sat in the back of yet another warm taxi, sickly nervous now that she was on the last leg of her journey. She couldn't quite believe that she had successfully negotiated Tromso's public transport system and then managed to find a taxi to bring her out to the lodge, but she had, and the driver had just let her know that their destination lay just up ahead. What if he wasn't there? She swallowed hard and put the thought out of her head. He would be there. He had to be. Presently the familiar long, low outline of Lucien's home swung into view, welcoming lights aglow at the windows confirming that it was indeed inhabited. Sophie didn't know whether she felt relieved or even more nervous, but she was here at last. Out of the warm confines of the car it was incredibly cold and incredibly beautiful, a still, crystalline winter wonderland. The skies overhead held no trace of the aurora tonight, there was only inky velvet studded with diamonds. She raised her hand to tap on the door, but it started to open before her hand even made contact with the wood. Sophie's heart stopped beating, and then thudded again hard at the sight of Lucien's efficient, smiling housekeeper. Her taxi melted away into the darkness as soon as the driver could see that she was safe, leaving her with no other option but to walk straight into the warmth of Lucien's lodge, through the door held unquestioningly open for her. Well, that was a good start. "Sophie, come in. Lucien didn't warn me to expect you." Her English was perfect, as always, lightly and warmly accented. Sophie smiled at the older woman, glad to be remembered and racking her brain to recall her name. "He doesn't know I'm coming. It's sort of a surprise," she said, pulling off her mittens. Surprise didn't feel like the right word given the circumstances; it made her sound as if she were leaping out of a giant cake. "Is he here?" The million-dollar question left her lips as she unwound her scarf and shrugged out of her coat. She hoped she didn't betray in her voice how much rested on the answer to that question. Lucien's housekeeper nodded, and gestured to Sophie to take her boots off too. "He's sleeping." The unexpected answer made Sophie frown anxiously. "Has his father...?" She trailed off, not able to articulate the question. The housekeeper shook her head and laid a hand on Sophie's forearm. "Not yet, but I don't think it will be long." Her gentle eyes were full of concern. "I'm very glad you're here Sophie. Lucien needs you." "You really think so?" Sophie asked quietly, surprised by the older woman's words. The housekeeper smiled and shook her head, as if there was so much she could say but chose not to. "Go on through. You know the way." At the bedroom door, Sophie paused. It had only been a couple of days since she'd stood similarly braced outside Lucien's office, and she'd been running on adrenaline ever since. From the highs of anticipation to the crushing low of finding him absent, from the tense journey across Europe to find him, to here and now, breathless and anxious outside a different door. Sophie raised her hand to knock and then faltered. Was Lucien's housekeeper right? Did he need her? Or would her presence just make a difficult situation worse? Stop it. You're here now. Just knock on the damn door.

Pep talk over, Sophie tapped gently against the pale wood. She listened closely, and when she heard no movement in the room beyond, she turned the handle and pushed it cautiously open. He was here. Sophie sagged against the doorframe with relief, gladdened beyond words just to lay eyes on him. Her hand settled over her throat as she drank him in, feasting her hungry eyes on every feature of his face, on the contours of his chest revealed by the pushed down quilt in the warm room. He lay on his back, one arm splayed off the bed, and the soft glow from the bedside lamp bathed his skin amber. Sophie could have stood and looked at him for a lifetime. He stirred then, his brow furrowing. What did he dream of? She moved into the room and closed the door, then stepped around the bed quietly so as not to wake him. The mattress was soft and welcoming as she lay down carefully alongside him, content to watch him sleep for a while even though her fingers itched to touch him. He stirred again, that concentrated frown back on his face as his breathing turned shallower. Whatever was going on in his head, it didn't look restful. "Sophie." He breathed her name even though he had no idea that she was there, and it was enough to make her reach out and lay her hand on his cheek. He seemed to settle; the frown melted away and the rise and fall of his chest gentled. She could have taken that as her cue to remove her hand. She could have done, but she didn't. She left it there, letting her thumb stroke his high, proud cheekbone. Lucien seemed to sense her presence then; Sophie could feel him slowly passing from sleep towards wakefulness, until finally he turned his head a fraction and brushed a kiss against her wrist. "I don't want to wake up and find you're not really here," he whispered, not yet opening his eyes. "I'm really here." His chest expanded and contracted as he breathed her in deep, covering her hand with his own for a second before he turned on his side to face her. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gently, incomprehension in his eyes. "How?" Sophie laughed gently. "The way normal people do. Planes. Buses. Taxis." He looked shell-shocked. "Why?" The smile slipped from her face. "I heard... about your dad. Figured you could probably use a friend." Lucien studied her face for endless seconds, his eyes more vulnerable than Sophie could ever recall. "I'm not sure we're friends, Sophie Black." "No?" Sophie had to force the quiet word past the fear that constricted her throat. He shook his head and sighed heavily, reaching out for her. She moved into the circle of his arms and clung to him. Or did he cling to her? He crushed her against his chest, and Sophie held him right back. It wasn't just a 'hello' hug. It was a 'thank God you're here' hug. Lucien's hand clasped the back of her head to his chest, and for long moments everything around them stopped existing. There was just this man and this woman, melded together by emotion and relief. His skin was bed warm under her hands and her mouth, and she only loosened her grip on him when he reached down and tugged her sweater over her head. And then her jersey top. He glanced down finally at her white, long-sleeved thermal vest, traces of amusement alongside the rawness in his blue eyes. "This is like pass the fucking parcel. Tell me this is the last one?" "Almost," Sophie breathed, knowing that the final layer would please him far more than those that had gone before. He peeled her vest from her body, and a small guttural moan of appreciation rumbled in his throat as he looked at her breasts clad in ivory chantilly lace. "I like this," he said, tracing his index finger slowly over the scalloped edge of first one cup and then the other. Sophie closed her eyes, and Lucien dipped his head and kissed her eyelids, his other hand on her bra clasp behind her back.

Her pulse jumped up as he flicked it open, up again when he eased the straps down her shoulders and bared her breasts to his waiting eyes. She could feel his erection through the sheet as he dragged her against him again, skin on skin and all the more intimate for it. It wasn't a 'thank God you're here' hug. It was an 'I'm going to fuck you senseless' hug. "I've missed you so much, princess," he whispered, filling his hands with her hair as he tipped her head back in search of her mouth. His kiss scorched her. Tender at first, holding back, and then devouring, as if he was starving and wanted to eat her whole. Sophie met him head on, dragging him closer, tasting inside his mouth with her tongue. Delicious. He opened her jeans and pushed them down her hips, and Sophie wriggled out of them, along with her lace knickers as Lucien lifted the quilt for her to join him beneath it. God, yes. Yes please. They both groaned with pleasure as their naked bodies aligned. He was rock hard as he blanketed her body with his own, and Sophie opened her thighs to accommodate him between them. Lucien rested his forearms either side of her head, her hands in his. "Don't close your eyes," he said as he crooked his knee and tipped his hips forwards. Sophie watched his face as her body welcomed him in. She saw his pupils dilate with intense carnal pleasure, and she saw his hunger for more as he started to move inside her. She had more to give him. So much more. "Deeper," she said, snaking her tongue over his parted lips. Lucien's fingers tightened around hers, and she closed her eyes as he pulled his hips back to give her what she'd asked for. "Open your eyes," he said, and she opened them wide as he thrust himself into her body, making her gasp. "Like this?" He thrust again, lazy triumph mingling with the lust in his eyes. "Like this, princess?" He moved up a little so that his cock slid over her clitoris with every steady stroke. "Yes..." Sophie's hips rose to meet his each time, to gather him in. "Yes..." She trembled, pinned down, never wanting to get up again. He knew she was right on the edge, and he lowered his head and kissed her slowly, his gaze never wavering from hers. "I want to watch you," he whispered. "Let me see." He let go of her fingers to cradle her cheek as her body tightened and her breathing shallowed, and Sophie could see the fierce concentration in his eyes as he held back his own orgasm to watch hers. It was too much. She loved him so much. Tears welled in her eyes as her body gave itself up for him, wave after beautiful, pleasurable wave. He kissed her damp cheeks and rocked her in his arms, her name his mantra as his climax rushed from his body into hers. Sophie was a long, long way from London, yet right here in this man's arms, she was home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX "What is this again?" Sophie asked as she drew the heavy red casserole dish out of the oven in the lodge's huge kitchen. It was well after ten, and they were both hungry for food now that their appetite for each other had been sated. "Lapskaus," Lucien said, opening a high cupboard and reaching down two bowls. "It's Norwegian stew. You'll like it." The simple act of preparing dinner together was calming for both of them. Lucien set out cutlery and glasses on the table as Sophie ladled the stew into bowls, placing them down alongside a basket of flat bread and the bottle of red wine that Lucien had just opened. Divine, hearty smells rose from her bowl as Sophie took her place at the small table. A thought struck her as she dipped her spoon into the rich stew. "This isn't reindeer, is it?" Lucien lifted a sardonic eyebrow. "Don't worry princess. You're not eating Rudolph." He twisted a little salt over his bowl. "We'll do that tomorrow. He's delicious." Sophie didn't mind the gentle mockery. She felt gladdened to hear him sounding more like his normal self. Instead she closed her eyes to savour the heavenly food. Lucien's housekeeper was fast becoming one of her favourite people; not only was she seriously kind, she was a culinary genius. An easy atmosphere of mutual appreciation settled over them as they ate. They spoke of nothing of any great relevance, even though there was so much to be said. For those few minutes they were content just to share the quiet space and the soul nourishing food, gazing out over the dark winter landscape outside and catching their breath. Lucien poured two generous measures of cognac into the crystal glasses on the kitchen work surface, his mind on the woman waiting for him beside the fire in the next room. Sophie was here. She'd come to him, even though he'd thrown her love back in her face in London. He knew he'd hurt her very badly, yet still she'd found her way here to stand beside him without hesitation. Up until Sophie's arrival he hadn't allowed himself to stop and acknowledge the magnitude of the situation with his father; he'd become so accustomed to his role as the estranged son that he didn't know how to be anything other. The idea of going to see him at the hospital filled him with unspeakable dread. Would they even recognise each other? In Lucien's memories his father was larger than life, a big man with an equally big personality, a big and oppressive influence in the background of his life, whether Lucien liked it or not. He picked the glasses up with a sigh and went through to the lounge, relieved beyond words to have Sophie there. She didn't respond to him as he came through the door, and he stilled for a second. Dressed in one of his shirts because her luggage was still at her hotel in the city, she'd curled up on the end of the sofa to watch the fire and nodded off to sleep. He wasn't surprised. She'd travelled most of the day to get here, she couldn't have had much rest over the last couple of days. Planes, buses and taxis, she'd said. The idea of Sophie negotiating all of that on her own to get to him blew his mind. She'd joked back in London that she had trouble reading tube maps; how the hell she'd managed Norwegian bus timetables he had no clue. But then she was Sophie Black, the girl who surprised him. He'd never met anyone quite like her before. On first glance she was quiet and unassuming, but scratch the surface and she was spectacular. He placed the tumblers down and lowered himself to the floor beside the sofa. The last time they'd been together at the lodge had been very different. He'd brought Sophie here then to seduce her, to teach her, and ultimately to free her. Or that had been his perception of it. He saw now that he'd got it wrong, in

some parts at least. Seducing Sophie had been a mutual pleasure and she'd proved herself an excellent and very willing pupil, but when it came to freeing her he'd failed dismally. He'd freed her from one cheating man, only for her to fall in love with another who couldn't or wouldn't give her what she deserved. And there lay the heart of the problem. He didn't want to let her go so that she could find the man who could and would give her all of those things. The idea of another man laying his hands on her made his heart stop and his fists itch. He wanted to keep her for himself. He'd tried to let her go, he really had, but he just didn't have it in him to send her away this time. He wanted her here. Needed her, even. It made him all kinds of selfish, but having her close by made things feel right, even when all else in the world seemed wrong. He studied her face. Everything about the girl was lovely, from the pink tinge in her creamy cheeks to the full, kissable curve of her mouth. She looked innocent and sinful all at once, because he knew just how capable she was of using that mouth to drive him out of his mind with lust. His need for her wasn't going away. The more she gave him the more he wanted; he was well and truly addicted. Warmth struck Sophie first, followed swiftly by the touch of Lucien's fingers, a slow upward drift from her knee to the top of her thigh. He leaned in as she opened her eyes, tasting her lips for a few moments, the briefest slide of his tongue against hers that set her body on instant high alert. She stroked her hand down the back of his hair, then eased her head away and scooched up a little. Cradling the cognac glass he passed her, she rested her hand on his shoulder. "You okay?" Her words were simple, deliberately so, to give him the option of opening up about his father if he wanted to, or not. He shrugged, sighing heavily as he swilled his brandy around in the glass. It was a while until he spoke again. "I shouldn't have told you he was dead," he said eventually. Sophie didn't answer, just continued her steady massage of his shoulder in the hope that it was in some way helpful. "I haven't spoken to him since I was thirteen years old." "Wow," she said softly. Her own parents were a constant in her life, a given that she'd never had cause to question or rebel against. "I found her in the kitchen when I came home from school." Lucien didn't lift his eyes from his drink and the unbearable weight of desolation in his voice broke Sophie's heart. "When I was thirteen years old." Every fibre in her body ached to reach out and hold him, but she sensed that he needed to get to the end of this story first. So she massaged his shoulder and held her silence, her head full of images of the blonde child from the photograph on Lucien's desk and the horror he'd carried around in his heart for all these years. "She was cold, Sophie. So very, very cold." Lucien closed his eyes for a few seconds and shook his head slowly. "There were pills everywhere, I could feel them crunching under my boots... I was too late." This time she couldn't hold back. She slid down next to him, her hand against the warmth of his bent neck. "You were just a baby, Lucien," she said softly. A million questions raced through her mind. What had happened to drive his mother to such desperate measures? Sophie couldn't imagine ever deliberately leaving a child alone, motherless. He exhaled grimly. "Not after that, I wasn't. I grew up that day. I still have the screwed up picture of my father that they had to prise from her fingers." He sighed; a heavy, broken expulsion of air as he scrubbed the heel of his palm between his eyes. "She was fragile. Gentle." Lucien finally lifted his harrowed, bleak eyes to meet Sophie's gaze. Her heart contracted painfully when he reached out and stroked her hair, his mouth a grim twist. "His affair

broke her, Sophie." He paused, agonised. "Love broke her." The slow, tender stroke of his thumb across her bottom lip spoke volumes. "I don't want to break you," he whispered. The catch in his voice brought an answering lump to Sophie's throat, and she reached out and clasped his face between her shaking hands. "You won't break me." Tears scalded her cheeks as she closed the distance between them. "You won't break me," she said again, her lips trembling as she kissed him. He kissed her back. The most bittersweet, poignant of all kisses. The kiss of a grieving man. His arms moved around her, gentle and then fierce, his breath a strangled rasp of emotion in his throat. Sophie held him close, wishing she could take the pain for him. It was little wonder the idea of love scared him stupid, he'd carried his burden alone for so long. To him love was destructive and ugly; it had taken away the one person he needed more than anything else in the world at an age when he was far too young to understand. They held each other for a long time, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room. Sophie opened her eyes and watched the flames, stroking Lucien's back as she pieced him together in her mind now that she understood his demons. She might not be able to fix the past, but she was willing to spend a lifetime showing him what love could be: beautiful not ugly, uplifting not destructive, and more precious than diamonds.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN The universal smell of hospitals assailed Lucien as he made his way through the hushed corridors towards his father's room, a vague whiff of disinfectant to sanitise the less pleasant odours. Talking things over late into the night with Sophie had given him the final push he'd needed to come here. She'd listened without judging him, offered to read the letter to him, even. After all, he'd come to Norway the instant he'd heard of his father's deterioration; there was little sense in making the pilgrimage if he wasn't willing to see it through to the end. If nothing else, it would give him closure. Completeness, Sophie had called it. He'd turned down her offer to accompany him, but that didn't mean he wasn't bolstered by the knowledge that she was waiting for him back at the lodge. He ran his hand inside his coat, double-checking that the unopened letter was still there. What would it say? The prospect of reading it weighed like a stone around his neck, but the prospect of not reading it in time weighed heavier still. He'd spoken with the nurse caring for his father that morning and the gravity of her tone when she'd suggested that he come sooner rather than later had conveyed how very sick he was. He slowed his step, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets as the numbers pinned to the closed doors indicated he was nearing the one his father lay behind. So this was it. Eighteen years had passed since Lucien had turned his back on his father, and he'd never accepted any of the olive branches that had been held out in the intervening years. Where his father was concerned, his feelings hadn't progressed beyond those of that scared, bereaved boy; barely a teenager, yet forced to make life changing decisions. His gut reaction back then had been to lay the blame at his father's door, and the benefit of maturity had done little to mellow his viewpoint. He paused, cleared his throat, and then pushed the door of his father's room open resolutely. The nurse attending to his father's drip looked up as he entered the room, startled by the sudden appearance of this outlandishly beautiful visitor to her patient. Lucien nodded to her briefly, a distracted greeting before he lowered his eyes slowly to the man lying in the hospital bed. His eyes were closed. It was impossible on first glance to know if he was unconscious or merely sleeping. Lucien studied him, trying to reconcile the man in the bed with the man in his memory. Where there had been bulk and muscle, now there was only skin and bone. Where there had been vitality and laughter, there was only dullness and paper-thin skin; the grey death mask of a man barely clinging to life. "Are you his son?" Lucien looked up at the sound of the nurse's voice and nodded grimly. "He's been waiting for you," she said, her soft Norwegian tones carefully non-judgmental. Lucien caught the implied criticism all the same, and swallowed down the instantly defensive answer that burned in his gut. He shrugged out of his coat instead and moved to sit on the vacant plastic chair next to his father's bed, then let his eyes linger on the barely recognisable man prostrate beside him. He just seemed so small. Had illness reduced him, or was the illusion of time playing tricks? Was it simply that he was looking at his father through the eyes of a man now rather than a boy? Whichever it was, it came as an unnerving shock. "I'll leave you alone. There's a buzzer just there." The nurse indicated a switch above the bed with a nod. "He's drifting in and out of consciousness now. Press it if you need me." The door closed silently behind her, and Lucien brought his hands up to either side of his face and rubbed his jaw. What was he supposed to do now? Would his father hear him if he spoke? Would he wake up?

There seemed little point in pleasantries. "Olaf gave me your letter." If his father heard him, he gave no outward signal. His chest rose and fell harshly with the aid of the machine beside the bed, and his arms lay bone still atop the starched white sheets. Lucien considered the idea of touching his hand but found that his fingers wouldn't obey his brain, so he reached instead for the letter inside his jacket on the back of the chair. "I haven't read it," he said, turning the envelope over in his fingers. His own name was the only word written across the front of it, his father's handwriting familiar from the many letters received and unanswered across the years. Lucien had carried the letter around ever since Olaf had handed it over. He hadn't especially planned on opening it at his father's bedside, yet he found himself unpicking the edge anyway. Where else would he do it? He'd almost opened it several times, but suddenly, here in the presence of the man who'd written it seemed the only appropriate place. He lifted his eyes from the envelope as he eased the folded sheet from its confines, and for a moment he thought he saw the slightest flicker of movement behind his father's eyelids. He studied him closely for a few seconds, but his stillness was so absolute that Lucien felt certain he'd been wrong. The sheet of paper tried to fold itself back into the position it had held for so many years. Lucien smoothed it out against his knee, and with a last uncertain glance up at his father, began to read aloud. Dearest Lucien, I have tried so many times to say sorry. Please know that I understand why you have never felt able to accept my apology, and know also that I do not blame you for that choice. I admire you. I know that you loved your mother very much, you have always been so much more her boy than mine. You have her wonderful courage, her conviction, and her ability to see what is really there. I have no right to expect you to believe me when I tell you that I loved your mother very much, but it is the truth, nonetheless. What happened to her was entirely my fault. I am a weak man, son, and I have lived my life crippled by regrets. She lost her life, you lost your mother, and I lost you both because of one meaningless indiscretion. I have watched you grow into a man that she would have been incredibly proud of. Did you know that we chose to name you Lucien because it means light? As a Norwegian man you will understand how precious light is. You were her light, and mine also. You are not a weak man, Lucien. Do not live your life consumed by hatred. Be your mother's son and let the light in. Courage always, my child. Pappa When Lucien glanced up again his father's eyes were open and full of watery tears, and, without hesitation this time, Lucien reached out and gripped the weakened hand on the sheets. "Pappa." A small, serene smile warmed the features of the man in the bed. As Lucien dropped to his knees and pressed his face against the back of his fathers hand, the machines around them flat-lined, beckoning the nurse as if she'd been waiting outside, expectant.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT Sophie paced the floor of the lodge, unable to settle. Lucien had been gone for the majority of the day, and given the update from the hospital before he'd left that morning it was unlikely that he would return with anything but the worst news. They'd talked long into the night, and Sophie had woken this morning with a new understanding and respect for the man still sleeping beside her. He'd lived two lives. One ordinary life, before his mother's suicide, the other spent fighting a constant battle to make peace with his demons. Anger at his father. Guilt that he hadn't returned home from school in time to save his mother. And grief, because he'd lost them both at the same time, in one way or another. The sudden change he'd endured from happy child to troubled orphan was unbearable to contemplate, making Sophie wish she could reach back across the years and hug him. She could only wait and hope that visiting his father after all of these years would bring him some kind of solace. The only thing they hadn't discussed at all last night was their relationship. Things had changed between them since her arrival here in Norway. Lucien had reacted very differently from the way she'd anticipated. He hadn't put up a fight or thrown up barriers; there was only relief in him, and gratitude, and gladness. He'd kissed her as he'd left for the hospital that morning, slow and agonisingly tender before he'd crushed her against his chest. Her heart thumped at the sound of a car outside, and she crossed to the window, her footsteps silent in the fur slippers Lucien had found for her that morning. He was home. Sophie watched him walk the few steps along the snow-cleared front path, his head bowed against the cold night air. She was at the front door before he was, opening it to gather him in. His usual golden skin tone was underscored with a grey pallor, and one look at the expression on his face was enough to tell Sophie everything she needed to know. She held her hands out to take the coat he silently shrugged off, then walked with him to the warmth of the fireside. Bowls of soup warmed their bellies, and brandy warmed their throats as they sat close together on the sofa. Afterwards they stretched out, Lucien on his back, Sophie tucked alongside him. It was a time when words seemed less effective than actions. The protective circle of a hug. The tender stroke of a cheek. The long press of mouth against mouth as they drifted into sleep, unaware of the housekeeper quietly clearing the dishes and laying a fur throw over their exhausted forms. Lucien roused at around three in the morning, and for a while he studied the woman asleep on his shoulder. There was much he needed to say to her, and as if by sixth sense she stirred and her eyelashes flickered open. He watched her eyes and saw concern replace the comfortable bliss of her dreams. "Hey you," she whispered, reaching out to lay her warm hand along his cheek. "Hey you," he said, sliding both his arms around her. He needed to kiss her, and then there were things he needed to say. Sophie tasted him, the warm linger of brandy in his mouth as it opened over hers. He held her close and kissed her deeply. When he lifted his head he smoothed her hair behind her ear and settled on his side, face to face. "I'm sorry Sophie." She'd tangled her fingers with his against his shirt, and she involuntarily tightened her grip on him. Was this the moment when he sent her away? She wasn't certain she could survive it again, and fear held her voice captive in her chest.

"I'm sorry for being such a fuck up." He dipped his head and kissed her again, almost as if he were drawing strength from their physical connection. "I thought about you a lot yesterday. Sitting at his bedside reading that letter… seeing him die, lonely and full of regrets…" Lucien sighed heavily and shook his head. "I don't want to be that man in thirty years time, Sophie." She had a sense by then of where this conversation was headed, and could only listen as he found the words that didn't come easily. He looked down at her wrist and touched a finger against the delicate gold and diamond bracelet that surrounded it. "You asked me in Paris how many women I'd loved. I said one. I should have said two." He cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip. "As a child I loved my mother, and as a man I love you." He lowered his head to hers then, with the emotional, ten-kinds-of-sexy kiss that only a man in love can give. Sophie surrendered her mouth to him, tears running down her face. "You just said the L word again," she half-laughed and half-cried, her fingers in his hair. "I did." His heartbreakingly beautiful smile touched his lips, and his hand slipped beneath her T-shirt to cover her breast. "I love every beautiful fucking inch of you, Sophie Black." "I love you too, Lucien. Very, very much." Lucien spooned Sophie's warm naked body into his own a while later, cradling her in his arms and watching the fire over her shoulder. Making love without the boundaries of not being able to say it had left him peaceful and tired, and hearing Sophie say 'I love you' over and over as he came had been the erotic experience of his lifetime. "Let's do this forever, princess," he murmured, kissing her ear. She smiled drowsily. "Go to sleep, Lucien." And for the first time in a very long time, Lucien Knight did as he was told. He closed his eyes and drifted towards sleep, his mind peaceful and his heart full of Sophie Black, the girl who surprised him.

EPILOGUE "She'll never go to sleep if you don't put her down, Lucien." Sophie stroked Lucien's naked, sunbronzed shoulder, letting her fingers linger to appreciate his lean, taut strength as he cradled their baby daughter. "She's almost there," he whispered, rocking Tilly against his bare chest. "Go on down, I'll be right behind you." He turned his head to Sophie with the most imperceptible of winks, and she met his look with gentle, amused eyes. Lucien would be a while yet, not putting the baby down until she was well and truly in the land of dreams. He'd told her a few years back that he'd loved two women in his lifetime. Matilda's arrival had put that number up to three. She looked from man to child, each utterly content with the other. They looked ridiculously perfect, better than the million black and white posters that made women around the world swoon. Downstairs in the kitchen, Sophie filled the sink to wash the dinner plates. She could have used the machine, but she was content to complete the simple domestic task by hand while she enjoyed the peaceful vista beyond the window. They were in the season of the midnight sun, skies streaked golden peach behind the mountains, so beautiful it hurt her eyes to look at it. The few staff of the lodge were on holiday, leaving the small family to complete privacy for their precious summer break. Life back at home in London was always crazy, and Matilda's arrival had only made it crazier still. Working alongside Lucien for the last few years, Sophie had taken charge of the task of adding a little feminine, Parisian-style va-va-voom to Lucien's clubs. She'd been smitten by the on-site boutique idea ever since their visit to the French capital and had jumped at the chance to open a small store within each of the Gateway clubs. Seven months pregnant at the opening of the first one at their flagship London club, Kara had joined the team, happy to drink the champagne Sophie wasn't allowed to have as Lucien prowled around her like a protective lion. She turned at the sound of him jogging down the stairs, barefoot and beautiful in just faded, low slung jeans. He set the baby monitor down on the counter and slid his hands around her waist at the sink, his fingers over hers in the water for a second and then trailing up her arms. "I like you like this," he murmured, kissing her shoulder. "I'm going to chain you to the kitchen sink more often." Sophie laughed and elbowed him lightly. She spent most of her days dressed in killer heels and dresses designed to distract Lucien from his work, and he delighted in making her pay for it in all the best ways. "Go away, you're putting me off," she laughed, her pulse quickening as he untied the halter neck of her summer top with his teeth. He glanced down over her shoulder at the plate in her hands. "You'd make a terrible maid. You missed a bit," he muttered, and pulled her top down to her waist in one fluid movement. "I'm not sure I'd approve of this if I was your maid," she breathed as his hands cupped her bare breasts. "I still love your tits." He'd said it so many times over the years, but it still made her laugh a little and gasp a little as he dipped his hands into the soapy suds and then trailed foam around her nipples. She could feel his cock hard against the base of her back and instinctively arched into him. "Concentrate on your work princess, or I'll have to make you start again."

Sophie sighed dramatically as she dunked the plate back into the water. "Better," he said, his hands holding her hips as he bent to trail kisses down the length of her backbone. Her fingers curled over the edge of the sink when he dropped to his knees behind her and lifted her frayed denim skirt up over her backside. "My, my, my…" he murmured, clearly approving of the fact that she wasn't wearing any knickers. Not that it should have come as any surprise to him, given the fact that he'd removed them himself when they were sunbathing on the decking earlier that afternoon. Norway had become their second home over the years, and Sophie loved it in summertime best of all. The mountains bloomed with lush grass and beautiful wild flowers, and the sun kissed their shoulders as they unwound from the stress of their full-on London life. Back at home, they'd grown accustomed to synchronising their diaries and locking the office door whenever the need to road test the latest sex toy became too much; out here it was blissful just to soak up the sun and enjoy each other at a more leisurely pace. Not that there had been anything leisurely about the way Lucien had stripped her earlier that afternoon whilst Tilly took her afternoon nap. His sexual appetite seemed only to grow as their relationship progressed, as did his adventurousness. No boundaries, no lies, and no one else were the three golden rules they'd built their relationship on, and boy did Lucien like to test her boundaries often. Life at his side was never boring, and she'd never been happier. "Keep scrubbing," he whispered, his mouth roaming over the curves of her bottom. She tried really quite hard, but her mind wasn't on the job at hand as he moved his warm shoulder between her thighs to part them enough to accommodate him. She gave up any pretense of working as he licked her inner thighs, then tipped his head back to fleetingly mouth her sex. She closed her eyes as his fingers slid inside her, and moaned with appreciation when he returned his mouth to her clitoris for a slow, body-melting suckle. She gasped his name, opening her eyes as Lucien slid up the length of her body and unbuttoned his jeans behind her. Knowing how good it was going to feel only made her want him more. She cried out as his hardness filled her softness, gasps of pleasure as he found his easy rhythm. He held her there, captive and impaled, kissing her neck as he drew circles on her clitoris with his index finger. "You're the filthiest fucking maid I've ever known," Sophie could feel him smiling against her ear. "You've got the job." She would have laughed, but all of her concentration was centred on how close her body was to coming. Lucien picked up on her change of tempo, switching from an easy glide to a thrusting ram against the kitchen work surface. It was sex, it was fucking, and it was making love. It was life in glorious technicolour, full of promise and joy. The best of all worlds, with the best of all men. THE END

Knight & Day by Kitty French

CHAPTER ONE "The weather in Ibiza is currently a very pleasant twenty-five degrees and it's forecast to be a beautiful day. On behalf of your captain and all of the crew, we'd like to thank you for flying with us today and wish you a safe onward journey." The overhead seatbelt lights winked off as the air hostess made her final announcement, and all around him passengers jostled to retrieve over-stuffed bags, over-excited children and general detritus in the tight space of the cramped cabin. He waited in silence as a stag party in various states of inebriation and hastily scrawled-on t-shirts filed haphazardly along the central aisle, not prepared to enter the testosterone scrum of men desperate to get to their next beer. Last off the plane, he briefly met the heavily made up eyes of the stewardess at the doorway, averting his gaze from the flare of interest he saw spark there. Time was, he'd have appreciated that, but time also did other things to a man. Jaded him. He may have been the last passenger to leave the jet, but he was the first to leave the airport. He walked right past the luggage carousel with his holdall slung over his shoulder, all of his worldly possessions in that one old kit bag. Ducking into the nearest cab, he flung the holdall onto the rear seat next to him and leaned forward to the driver. "Anywhere." The dark-eyed taxi driver's brows pulled together and he studied his passenger’s face for a few seconds, sizing him up. Male, alone, no wedding ring, no baggage. How wrong first impressions can be. "San Antonio?" he suggested, his English heavily accented. "Party?" His passenger shook his head. The last things he needed right now were the brash lights and pulsating party heart of the island’s famed dance capital. "Somewhere quiet." He noticed the driver’s brows flicker down again as he regarded him for a few more long moments before he turned away and started the engine, his mind made up. He threw the car into the erratic traffic around the airport without further enquiry. Glad of the silence, the passenger leaned his head back against the sun-warmed seat and watched the Ibizan landscape unfold as they moved onto quieter winding roads. Lush, brilliantly green pine trees against vivid blue skies. Late spring. New beginnings. As they rounded a bend and started to descend to the coast, the curve of an impossibly perfect bay appeared below them. Dazzling turquoise water fringed by sugar-white sands - it was a picture postcard, the kind of image used to lure tourists to part with their money for an annual week of sun-soaked bliss. They dropped down to sea level, and the driver tracked along the sandy road that backed the beach. "Vadella," the driver said, catching his passenger's eye in the rear view mirror. "Quiet." His passenger nodded, grateful. A handful of restaurants and a couple of bars dotted the beach, set back from the shore, and a smattering of sun-worshippers and football-playing kids occupied the sands. Out in the bay, a few boats lazed in the Mediterranean sun, the sea barely showing a ripple. It was as good a place as any. "Beer?"

The waitress behind the bar had that casual European sophistication; lithe limbed and olive skinned, her knotted, wide necked T-shirt revealing a tattoo on her exposed shoulder. She looked up and greeted him with an easy smile, offering him what he must look as if he needed. She placed a large, frosted glass down in front of him when he nodded, and he sat on the wicker bar stool and drank deeply, closing his eyes with satisfaction as the cold, fortifying liquid slipped down his throat. She was still watching him when he opened them again, her head on one side, the smile still playing around her mouth. "On holiday?" Polite conversation that he had no polite reply for. "Maybe." He half nodded, half shrugged. "I might stay a while. See how it goes." "American?" she asked, more of a statement than a question. He nodded again. "Guilty as charged, ma'am." He touched his fingers to his forehead and gave her a small salute. She laughed softly as she wiped the uneven wooden bar top down, and for the second time that day he recognised the flare of interest in a woman's eyes. He dropped his own eyes to his beer rather than meet hers. "So, where's decent to stay around here?" "Depends," she said. "How long were you thinking of?" How long was he thinking of? He had no idea. "A month maybe? Two?" She nodded thoughtfully. "There's a hotel along the bay, but it's more of a week or two family holiday place than a home. Lots of kids in the pool, that kind of thing." She immediately registered the discomfort on his face at the prospect of making his base amongst a bunch of families. "Or we have a couple of rooms here, upstairs." Her gaze slid under the bar as she reached for a battered black leather book. He watched her flick it open and run her unpainted fingertips down the page, tapping it slowly as she checked it. A seasoned tourism worker, her English was excellent, and she was clearly used to being asked about places to stay. The twist in her mouth told him that she didn’t have good news. "No. Sorry. We have people booked in over the next couple of days, and again on and off. You might struggle to find something free for that length of time. Unless..." Her gaze slipped past him to the beach, and she drew her bottom lip in between her teeth. "The owner of this place has a boat he sometimes lets out, but it's, umm..." she shrugged apologetically and smiled again. "I don't know the right word in English." She screwed her nose up. "It's not… very trendy, let me say it that way." She flipped to the back of the book and checked it briefly. "It's available," she said, lifting her shoulders speculatively and raising an enquiring eyebrow for his response. A boat. It wasn't what he'd imagined, but at least it would be solitary, no families to trip over and work around. "Where is it?" She nodded out towards the bay. "It's moored over there, the last boat at the far end of the rocks." He followed her gaze, and even though he couldn't see it, he made a snap decision. "I'll take it." She looked surprised. "You don't want to see it first?" He shook his head. "If it has a bed and a bathroom, it'll do me." Something about her expression told him that she thought he ought to check it out before committing himself, but she didn’t challenge him. Instead she sighed, perhaps with resigned amusement, and reached a key down from a hook behind the bar before picking up her pen. "I better take some details, in that case." She looked up with the pen poised over the page. "Name?" He lifted his beer, stalling. He should have thought this through more carefully. The mellow sounds of Bob Dylan floated out of the bar’s sound system, the lyrics of "Like a Rolling Stone" striking eerily close

to home. "It's Dylan," he said, mentally trying the name on for size as he watched her begin to form it hesitantly on the paper. “D-Y-L-A-N.” She glanced up again, her brown eyes round and expectant. "Surname?" His eyes slipped from hers for a second, to the neon sign bearing the name of the bar behind her. The Happy Days Beach Bar. "It's Day," he said. "I'm Dylan Day." A few minutes later, as he made his way around the rocky walkway that bounded the beach, Dylan caught a first glimpse of his new home and realised belatedly why the girl back at the bar had been reticent about leasing him the boat unseen. The other boats in the bay were obviously either the property of well-heeled owners - gleaming white edifices of understated glamour - or else the unpretentious fishing boats of working men. Not this boat. No, this boat could never be accused of understated anything. This boat oozed personality. It wasn't its size. In fact, it was quite modestly proportioned, but its size was the only modest thing about it. Where white was the order of the day for its bayside counterparts, this boat was bright orange. And yellow. And green. And red. And aqua. This boat created a faded rainbow all of its own, even though its eye-catching paintwork had definitely seen better days. Probably a good thing, Dylan reflected as he slung his bag on deck and stepped aboard. If it was this bright now, God only knew what it must have looked like when it was freshly painted. On the plus side, it had decent outside deck space and up top there seemed to be a second deck for dining or sunbathing. That was a good thing. He planned on sunbathing. If he'd thought the outside of the boat unusual, it didn't hold a candle to the inside. He turned the key, slid the glass side doors open and groaned out loud as he surveyed the interior, glad of his sunglasses even though he was out of the bright daylight. He couldn't live here. The kitchenette he'd stepped into was a canary yellow plastic and chrome affair, fifties right down to the discarded roller boots in the corner. The ship’s wheel at the helm had been chromed to match the kitchen’s garish decor. It was someone's style, but it sure as hell wasn't his. Stepping down the couple of wooden steps to his left, Dylan surveyed the living area with a slow, sinking feeling. He couldn't live here. Padded seating ran around the perimeter of the room, upholstered in cotton of a bright turquoise scattered with yellow lemons and bright red cherries. A well-stocked chrome and glass cocktail bar took up one wall, and hanging proud and central from the ceiling was a large, in no way understated, mirrored disco ball. A fuck-off glittering silver disco ball. Dylan groaned out loud again. He didn't want a party boat. He cast his eyes around desperately. The door to a small, eye-wateringly lime bathroom stood open to one side, and that was it. Was there even a bedroom? There were no obvious other doors, and he stepped back into the kitchenette to see if he'd missed it up there. Nope, no doors there either. Frowning, he leaned his back against the kitchen work surface, pushing his sunglasses up onto the top of his head. He really didn't want to sleep on those lurid sofas. And that was when he spotted the faded, midnight blue hatch set in the wooden floor, its surface covered in faded, swirly silver writing. Dylan hunkered down onto his haunches. The motto “Stairway to heaven” had been artistically scribed on it in antiquated metallic paint, surrounded by silver stars and

moons. He fitted his hand into the curved hatch recess and pulled it up, revealing a steep little wooden staircase. Bingo. Maybe there was a bedroom after all. Getting down there turned out to be interesting. It was a small, rickety stairwell, and at six feet two inches, he wasn't a small man. Once below, he blinked to adjust his eyes. And blinked again. Where upstairs had been a bright and showy pastiche of fifties glamour, down here was definitely made for after hours lovin’. He couldn’t live here. It wasn’t even high enough to stand up in: he had to duck and crawl into the bed space. This wasn't a bedroom. It was a goddamn sex cave… but holy shit, the bed was comfortable. He sank back onto the warm, opulent silk-padded quilt and surveyed the space. He could sit up without hitting the ceiling. Just. The curved bed filled the entire lower space and the wall hugging it had been padded in deep, button-studded amethyst velvet. Lying on his back, he studied the low ceiling above him. It was... celestial. Dark inky purple decorated with luminous stars and planets, remarkably detailed and accurate to Dylan's knowledgeable eye. The same artistic, hand-painted lettering from the hatch cover continued down here on a smaller scale, silver calligraphy spelling out the names of the constellations. Orion's Belt. The Milky Way. Ursa Major. They all glittered down at him, and little by little the gentle motion of the boat soothed away his resistance and almost imperceptibly eased his battered and bruised heart and mind. It was quiet, and it was solitary, and no one in the world knew he was here. Warm and peaceful for the first time in a long time, Dylan closed his eyes. Maybe be could live here after all. Just for a while, at least. When he made his way back up on deck a little later, he breathed deeply and scanned the serene bay. He had a new name. He had a new home. Now he needed a new job.

CHAPTER TWO Lucien walked slowly through the closed, empty club, his practised eye taking in every detail of the workmanship to ensure it met with the exacting standards he demanded for his multinational chain of adult clubs. His workmen had all clocked off for the afternoon, leaving him free to conduct a thorough inspection at leisure. He paused momentarily beside the jacuzzi, his fingers against the cool tiles as he remembered conducting a similar inspection several years before with Sophie at his side. His cock stirred in response, and he pushed the memory aside with difficulty. Sophie wasn't due to arrive on Ibiza for a couple of days, and he missed her like hell, even more so since they'd welcomed Tilly into their lives too. Sophie was his lucky talisman. The girl who surprised him. She still surprised him even now, after several years as a couple. Every now and then he saw a brand new side of her. She had the biggest heart of anyone he'd ever met, big enough to hold his even before he'd known that he'd given it to her. Fuck, he missed her. The sound of someone banging on the fire doors broke his concentration, followed by the sound of a male voice shouting outside. "Artie, are you in there?" Lucien frowned, crossing to the doors and leaning against the bar to open the left-hand one slowly. He dropped his sunglasses down against the glow of the low evening sun and regarded the man standing outside with his hand raised ready to knock again. "Artie doesn't own this place anymore," he said. The guy dropped his arm, and his whole body seemed to slump along with it. "Let me guess," Lucien said. This wasn't the first guy to turn up in search of the previous owner. "He owed you money." The previous owner seemed to have left Ibiza with nothing but the dodgy Hawaiian shirt on his back and a trail of bad debts in his wake after he'd hastily sold the premises and hightailed it off the island a few months previously. The guy shook his head and leaned back against the wall of the club, his face tipped up to the skies with a resigned expression. "No. Artie was a friend. I don't suppose you know where he's moved to?" Lucien shook his head, noting the smooth Californian tone to the guy's voice. "Sorry my friend. Your buddy didn't leave a forwarding address." The stranger looked as if he'd been around the block enough times to understand the underlying meaning beneath Lucien’s deliberately sparse choice of words. He watched as the guy looked up again into the big blue expanse overhead and banged the back of his head lightly against the wall with a heavy sigh. Something about the American's resigned, melancholy demeanor spoke to Lucien. He looked beat. Lucien had been that man, and he found himself swinging the door wider. "You look like you could use a drink." The guy half laughed, though his eyes were anything but amused as he nodded slowly and peeled his back off the wall. "Too right, man. This is turning into one hell of a long day." Lucien headed back into the club, aware of the guy pulling the door shut and following him in. He turned as the stranger’s step slowed beside the jacuzzi.

"Not your usual club," he commented, as he scanned curiously over the opulent spa area they were passing through. Lucien lifted a shoulder. "Ibiza has enough of those already." He led the way down into the main area of the club. Behind the bar he reached for two tumblers and a bottle of vodka from a box on the floor, watching the American as he leaned against the bar and surveyed the almost completed club. "So this place is yours?" Lucien nodded as he headed around to stand alongside the guy, placing the glasses on the gleaming bar. "All mine." He was as proud of this place as he was of all of the other clubs in the Gateway group. They sat in silence for a second as he poured generous measures of vodka into both glasses. "Lucien Knight." He held a glass out. The American nodded as he accepted the drink, and paused for a beat before he replied. "Dylan Day." His eyes wandered over the aubergine velvet booths around the dance floor, the secluded spots, the sumptuous chandeliers. "This is some place. It holds what... about seven hundred at capacity?" Lucien glanced up, surprised at Dylan's accuracy. "For a usual club, around that. This place is less because of the adult entertainment configuration. It tops out at maybe three fifty." Dylan's eyes opened a fraction wider. "And it's still profitable?" "Gateway Ibiza is club number ten, so yeah. I'm pretty confident about my business model." "Number ten, huh?" Dylan laughed lightly. "That's impressive in this business." "You know it?" "Not the adult entertainment side of it, no, but I've been around clubs my whole life." "That's how you know Artie?" Dylan nodded. "I haven't seen him for a few years, but we used to be pretty close. He taught me how to run clubs." Lucien regarded the other man as he looked around the club with assessing eyes, wondering if Artie's shady business conduct was one of the things he'd taught Dylan Day. He looked slightly less jaded with a drink in his hand, and from what he'd said so far the guy knew his way around a club. Gut instinct had Lucien asking more questions. "I'm guessing you didn't come to Ibiza on holiday?" Dylan took a long, slow slug of his vodka and set the empty glass on the bar. "You guess right." For the second time, Lucien sensed deep melancholy, learning more from Dylan's body language than his meagre words. "When do you open for business? It's looking pretty shipshape." Lucien noted the American's subject change without comment. "Four weeks." Dylan looked directly at Lucien. "You hiring?" "Hired, pretty much." Lucien didn't add that the only position that he was having trouble filling was that of general manager. He'd rather be on site himself for a few weeks than employ the wrong person. He splashed a second measure of vodka into Dylan's glass. "Figures." Dylan raised his glass in a small salute, a philosophical twist to his lips. "Is that why you were looking for Artie?" "He knows I'm good. I don't have a resume, or references, Lucien, but this business is in my blood. I know it inside out." Lucien didn't doubt it for a second. The way Dylan had sized the place up within moments of being inside the building had impressed him, as had the experienced eye he'd been casting over the bar the entire time they'd been sitting there. No references, no resume. They were the kind of phrases that rang alarm bells for most people. But

Lucien wasn't most people. "I'm still looking for a manager for this place." Interest flared in Dylan's eyes. "You won't find anyone better than me." Formal interviews had never been Lucien's style. He operated on gut instinct, and it had yet to lead him astray. "So show me. Three months’ trial while I'm still on the island. You do it well, the job’s yours. If you fuck up, I fuck up, and if I fuck up, you'll fucking know about it." "I won't fuck up." "Then we understand each other." Lucien held out his hand, and Dylan shook it with a small smile that widened slowly into a laugh. It had been the shortest, coolest job interview in the world. "I won't fuck up, man. You have my word." Dusk had fallen over the bay by the time Dylan arrived back at the boat, and the beach was mostly deserted aside from a couple of dog walkers and a few sun worshippers who'd stayed on to watch the sunset. It seemed as good an idea as any. Dylan stepped into the kitchen to flick on the switch he'd noticed earlier with “deck lights” written on a sticker beside it. Then, "fuck," he muttered, scrubbing his hand over the three day stubble he'd left to its own devices since he'd quit the States. Even from inside the kitchen he could see that the rails around the boat had just lit up like a Christmas tree, and not one of those tasteful minimalist ones with designer white lights, either. Stepping cautiously onto the deck, he squinted as he took in the extent of the illuminations. Multicoloured fairy lights twined all around the chromed rails of both decks, bright winks of pink, lime, turquoise and lemon against the darkening skies. He should have known better than to expect understated. Nothing about this boat was understated. Dylan didn't glance back towards the beach, for fear that the sun watchers had changed focus to watch his one man light show instead. He headed up onto the roof deck and opened out one of the low-slung, brightly striped deckchairs stacked up there. He was just in time to catch the sun before it slipped down below the horizon, a golden peach blaze that cast ethereal shades of pink across the sea. Watching nature's light show, he could feel his heartbeat slowing to the tranquil pace of the island around him. He had a new name. He had a new home. He had a new job. Maybe, just maybe, with the right wind behind him, this was going to work out.

CHAPTER THREE "Lucien?" Sophie’s voice was eager and hopeful as she dropped her handbag on the stone table just inside the front door of the villa. She called out his name even though she half expected that he wouldn't be there. He wasn't expecting her until tomorrow, but she’d rearranged earlier flights to surprise him. “Lucien?” She called again, disappointment blooming in her chest at the answering silence. “Wow.” Kara followed Sophie a few seconds later, the heels of her beloved cowboy boots clicking against the polished marble floor of the entrance hall. “You didn’t tell me we were renting from the royals!” she laughed, wide eyed as she lifted her shades to survey the villa. “This place is frickin’ amazing!” Sophie nodded. Kara was right, it was fit for a king. “Lucien found it.” She couldn’t keep the tint of pride out of her voice. Life with Lucien seemed to gild everything slightly brighter, due mostly to the fact that he put a whole lot of energy into making her happy. They’d stayed here for the first time a few months ago, back when Lucien had initially purchased this latest club. She’d been just as stunned as Kara by it, so Lucien had leased the villa for the summer, and the idea of living in it for the next few months was nothing short of blissful. It undulated across the cliff top in complete seclusion, glistening white with more curves than Marilyn Monroe. Built on several levels into the rocks, the property meandered down towards the Mediterranean like the most glamorous tree house in the world. Private nooks and crannies scattered the grounds; secret hideaways waiting to be discovered. The underground master suite came complete with an outdoor bathroom for starlit bathing, and the sunbathing deck elevated in the trees was accessible only via a rope bridge. It was a magical place designed with hedonism and unadulterated luxury in mind, and, knowing Lucien, this was destined to be a work-hard, play-hard summer. “Of course he did. Good old Mr. K,” Kara grinned, kicking off her boots as she wandered into the huge sunken lounge, her fingers trailing over the backs of the deep suede sofas piled high with pillows. She paused by the floor-to-ceiling glass doors offering a panoramic view out over the turquoise sea. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven, Soph.” Sophie thanked their driver for bringing in the cases and closed the front door, smiling at Kara, whilst thinking privately that beautiful as it was, it wouldn’t be quite perfect until Lucien came home. He’d flown out to Ibiza ten days previously, and every day without him was one too many. She missed his presence beside her in the day, and she missed his body on hers in bed at night. Theirs had been an unconventional and emotionally fraught road to love, and the last five years together had served only to deepen the bond between them. The arrival of baby Tilly had cemented their relationship, and the little girl had very soon become Sophie’s main rival for Lucien’s affections. Not that she minded; it did odd and beautiful things to her heart to see her big, handsome Viking twisted around the little finger of his infant daughter. For the next couple of weeks though, she’d have Lucien to herself whilst the baby was thoroughly spoiled by her grandparents back in the UK. Then she would join them in Ibiza along with Esther, their live-in nanny. “Important question coming up Soph, so stop mooning over that man and pay attention,” Kara said, with insight born of long experience, peeling off her t-shirt and frayed denim shorts to reveal a red and white striped bikini. Her eyes scanned the fully stocked bar. “Mimosa or mojito?”

Kara loaded the drinks tray in the kitchen ready to head out to where Sophie had set up camp beside the pool. Her friend’s life had altered beyond recognition from the first moment she’d encountered Lucien Knight, and Kara’s had changed right along with it. She hadn’t needed to think twice when Sophie had asked her if she’d like to go into business with her, and their lingerie and adult toy boutiques were going from strength to strength. They’d established one in each of Lucien’s clubs, and they were here in Ibiza to oversee the launch of boutique number ten. Becoming a mother had necessitated Sophie taking a step back over the last year, and Kara had gladly stepped up, especially after the soap opera style drama she’d unwillingly played out with Richard last summer. Dick the Prick, Lucien had christened him, after he’d stood her up at the altar. “Should I have him killed?” he’d asked as he hugged her, and for a few long seconds Kara had actually considered it. He’d shrugged when she’d finally declined, murmuring coolly that the offer was always there if she changed her mind. Kara harboured no doubt that he was a man of his word. She’d hit rock bottom for a while back there, and now the idea of some time away from the overwhelming support of her outraged family and sympathetic friends was one of the reasons that Sophie’s suggestion of spending the summer in Ibiza had been such a welcome escape. Sun, sand and no sex. Perfect. Sophie was at the front door before the engine of Lucien’s Ferrari had even stilled in the driveway, and she had the joy of watching the expression on his face slide from bland to unadulterated pleasure in a heartbeat. He was out of the car and in front of her in seconds. “You’re early,” he murmured, his arms already around her. He lifted her clean off her feet and slipped his palms down her body until he cupped her backside in his big warm hands. “I missed you,” Sophie murmured, and saw the smile kiss his lips a second before his mouth covered hers. Five years on since she’d first kissed this man, he still had the power to melt her with just one touch, one slide of his tongue against hers. As hello kisses went, it ranked up there with the very best of them. “I can fuck you here against the front door, or I can fuck you in our bed. I don’t mind, as long as I fuck you in the next three minutes,” he said hoarsely, as he pressed his body against hers. Sophie could feel his cock straining between her legs and bit gently down on his lip with a soft laugh. “Cool it tiger. Kara’s out by the pool.” Lucien groaned and slid his fingers inside her bikini bottoms. “Feels like you’re ready too, Princess,” he whispered into her mouth, his sure fingers stroking slowly over her clitoris until she moaned softly too. His hand lingered as he deepened the kiss, taking the time to dip his finger inside her before rearranging her bikini with a regretful sigh. By the time Kara wandered in a couple of minutes later, they’d made it as far as the kitchen. “Hey Mr. K,” Kara grinned and stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on Lucien’s cheek. “Did ya miss me?” “I survived,” he said dryly, tugging lightly on her ponytail before slinging his arm around Sophie’s waist and kissing her shoulder. “I missed Sophie more.” Kara laughed. “Get a room, love birds.” “We have one. Sophie said we can’t go there yet because I have to be polite.” Sophie smacked him in the ribs and crossed to load the dishwasher, safe in the knowledge that Kara and Lucien’s sparring was underscored with mutual affection. She tuned out as they talked shop for a few minutes, Kara quizzing Lucien on the readiness of the club and boutique. Business acumen was one of the traits that bonded Kara and Lucien as friends, and Sophie usually enjoyed the way Kara was unafraid to challenge him. But right now, her mind was on other things. As she tuned back in again she realised that Lucien had drawn his mobile out of his jeans and was talking to someone. Within minutes a driver had materialised to take an eager Kara down to the club to have a nose around, and she silently thanked her friend for her tactical withdrawal. If Lucien didn’t get her alone

soon he was in danger of spontaneously combusting. And quite possibly, so was she. Kara let herself into the club with Lucien’s keys, looking forward to seeing the development for herself. She and Sophie had followed it closely from back home in the UK via email updates and photos, but experience had taught them that despite the common perception to the contrary, the camera can actually lie. Bad workmanship could be disguised with a few carefully positioned props, and slow developments can appear faster with the right omissions and clever lighting. She knew the club layout pretty well from studying the plans, well enough to know that the boutique lay just off to the left of the main vestibule. Kara took a moment to appreciate the effort that had gone into transforming the club’s interior to meet Lucien’s exacting, opulent standards. Lavish and sexy, full of the promise of pleasure with its curvy, embracing seats and sensual colour scheme, the interior already exuded the exotic glamour that so successfully seduced customers the instant they crossed the threshold. Kara had never set foot inside an adult club before Sophie and Lucien had offered her the opportunity to join the business. She well remembered her first eye-opening visit with Sophie at her side, and marvelled even now at how what had once seemed outrageous now struck her as entirely routine. Kara had been instantly fascinated, and over the years she’d entrenched herself firmly in the world of adult pleasure, from a strictly commercial perspective. Or mainly so. It was impossible not to feel the frisson of it at times. She’d gone quickly from a toy novice to an industry expert, thanks to the trade shows and exhibitions she attended on behalf of Knight Inc., usually with Sophie at her side. They’d become wellknown faces around the industry, one blonde, one brunette, one shared aim of making their boutiques a runaway success. Kara hadn’t anticipated this turn in her career, and she definitely hadn’t anticipated that she’d love it so much. Stepping through the archway into the boutique space, she was pleased to see that the progress reports they’d received seemed to have been accurate. The place was looking pretty shipshape; shelving already on the walls, velvet mannequins ready to be dressed in wisps of lace and silk, and boxes of stock lining the walls, all ready to be opened. Leaning down, she peeled the tape back on the nearest box and delved within it. “Pretty as your ass is, sweetheart, you have thirty seconds to get out of here before I remove you myself.” Kara jumped up and twirled around in shock at the sound of the drawling Californian voice behind her. Lucien had specifically told her that the club was empty of workmen, and her heart banged hard with both panic and indignant annoyance. She had the right to be here, and this guy didn’t. “Who the hell are you?” She planted one hand on her hip and jutted her chin at the stranger. He glanced down at her other hand. “It looks as if you got what you came for.” He crossed his arms and leaned on the wall of the archway. Kara swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a second to gather her thoughts. Problem. She was gesticulating at him with a vibrator. This seriously weakened her stance. She had two choices, and Kara was a woman who always came out fighting. “This?” She held the classic vibrator up in front of her. “Oh, I don’t think so. This is a beginner’s tool. If I’d come here to steal sex toys I’d go for something bigger. More functions. Something like the Thor, or maybe the brand new Thor Deluxe. It's, umm, waterproof.” He raised one eyebrow. “Your encyclopedic knowledge of vibrators tells me a lot about the state of your sex life, lady.” Kara fought the urge to shove the vibrator somewhere that would shut this guy up for a very long time. “Managing a string of adult boutiques does that to a girl.” Her voice dripped with cool sarcasm, and by the look on his face she’d made her point because he dropped the attitude and his face cleared.

“Gee, I’m sorry. You must be Sophie.” Kara shook her head. “Sophie would have been much politer. I’m Kara Brookes, Sophie’s business partner. And you are?” He paused for a beat. “Dylan Day.” “Catchy.” He shrugged. “Well, we’ve established I have a right to be here. How about I give you thirty seconds to explain yourself?” He had the audacity to laugh. “Or else?” She could hardly remove him bodily. He was at least six foot, and by the looks of him, all muscle. Not that she’d checked him out, nor had she noticed the way his T-shirt outlined the definition of his body. Nope, definitely not. She especially hadn’t noticed the tanned band of skin beneath it that had made a brief appearance when he’d pushed his hand through his too long, sandy hair a few minutes ago. “Or else I’ll…” “Shoot me with your vibrator gun?” he suggested helpfully. Kara sincerely wished she’d had the forethought to put the vibrator down rather than brandishing it at him some more. She was losing all the ground she’d gained. “Or maybe you’d like to upgrade your weapon to that Thor Deluxe, given its power and all?” Oh, he was cute. “Believe me, surf-boy, if this thing had bullets, I wouldn’t think twice about shooting you right now.” He held up his hands with a disarming smile. “Don’t shoot. Lucien Knight hired me yesterday. I’m the new club manager.” Kara was aware that Lucien had been having problems filling the management vacancy. So it could very well be true. She gave him a sharp look. Dylan Day’s eyes were clear of any deception. They were also piercingly green, not that Kara would confess to having noticed. “Fine.” Kara nodded, gathering herself together. “Fine. But just so you know? You’re not the manager of this place.” She gestured around the boutique with the vibrator. “I am.” He cracked a killer smile. “Suits me, darlin’. You stick to selling panties and sex toys, and leave the rest of the show to me.” And with a knowing lift of his eyebrows, he turned and sauntered away. The urge to throw the vibrator at the back of his head was tempered only by the fear that she might miss and give him the upper hand. “I’m English!” she hurled after him instead. “They’re fucking knickers!” Dylan laughed under his breath as he walked back to his office. English. She was that all right, he’d almost sliced himself open on her cut glass vowels. The girl was a firecracker in frayed denim hot pants, cowboy boots and a pink T-shirt that clung alarmingly to her every curve. Move over Daisy Duke. Her ponytail had swished like an angry cat’s tail as she’d waved that goddamn vibrator around like a grade A weapon, and every word that had left that full, wide mouth had dripped sass. She was going to be a handful to work with, that much was for sure. Closing his office door thoughtfully, Dylan realised that even though the sparks flying between them had been enough to set the club alight, the one spark he hadn’t picked up on from Kara was sexual interest. He breathed a sigh of relief mingled with regret. Working relationships were best kept that way. For sure. He’d found it pretty easy over the last few days not to react to the interest from the air hostess or the pretty waitress back at the bar. But Kara Brookes was a whole different ball game. Back at the villa, Lucien scooped Sophie up and carried her downstairs to the master suite.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him. Every now and again he needed to release his inner caveman, and she was more than happy to be in his arms. “You decided on the bedroom rather than the front door then,” she murmured, brushing her mouth over the smooth skin just below his ear. “Call me conventional,” Lucien muttered, tugging on the ties of her bikini behind her neck. Sophie laughed softly. “That I'll never do, and you know it.” Lucien was the most unconventional man she’d ever known; his unpredictability was just one of the many things she loved about him. He lowered her onto their bed, already shedding his clothes. Sophie lay back and enjoyed the view as he peeled his T-shirt over his head and threw it aside, then moved his hands down to unbutton his jeans. He paused for a second, his eyes on her, then smiled, a slow, barely there intimacy that said my girl. And then he dropped his jeans, and his proud, enlarged cock told her a whole lot more about his feelings for her. Sophie reached behind her body and finished the job he’d started with her bikini top, peeling it from her body as Lucien settled alongside her. When he reached for her, a million sensations crowded in at once. Lust. Need. Relief. Love. Big, overwhelming, heart-scorching love. She sighed with pleasure as he loosened the hip ties of her bikini bottoms, his big body enfolding hers. He tugged the material slowly, letting it glide between her legs as his tongue explored her mouth. When he rolled on top of her in one fluid movement, his cock nestled between her thighs; hard, familiar, and all the more sexy for it. The bunched muscles of his back were warm beneath her fingers as his hands slid into her hair, pinning her in position beneath him. “Sophie.” Her name was the only word he said as he pushed his cock all the way into her with a deep groan of satisfaction that reverberated through his chest. He stilled for a moment and looked down into her eyes, and fierce, sudden emotion made her wrap her legs around him and pull his face down to hers. They didn’t speak again. There was no need. He kissed away the tears that gathered in her eyes as his hips started to thrust, slow and hypnotic. The deliberate, steady rhythm of his cock over her clitoris was in direct contrast with the fast, shallow beat of Sophie’s heart. She arched, murmuring “I love you” against his neck as her orgasm snaked towards her core like quick-silver through her veins. Lucien groaned and switched from measured to forceful, demanding her all, giving her all of him in return. He was home, and therefore so was she.

CHAPTER FOUR “Tell me again why we’re having a dinner party?” Kara asked, bending down to adjust the strap of one of her high gold sandals. She’d only half listened to Sophie earlier when she’d mentioned their plans for the evening, mostly due to the fact that she’d had her nose buried in a thriller. Blood and gore. No sex. Reading about it led to thinking about it, and thinking about it led to trouble. “It’s business, mainly. Lucien wants us to meet someone.” “A new supplier?” Sophie shrugged, reaching over and unhooking Kara’s hair from where it had tangled with her big gold hoop earring. “Not sure. He was mysterious.” Sophie glanced at her watch. “Right. I’ve got to go and check in with Miriam, make sure the food’s all good to go.” Kara watched her friend’s disappearing back. For mysterious, read ominous. Ominous in a… Kara’s train of thought was rudely interrupted by a thunderous crescendo of noise. She crossed to the window and craned her neck to get a better look at the visitor who’d just created his own minor hailstorm of gravel beneath the wheels of his great chunk of a motorbike. Frowning, she smoothed her palms down the short, fitted skirt of her ‘when in doubt, go killer’ LBD, and crossed the hallway to open the front door just as the guy on the other side pulled his helmet off his head and shook out his hair. His sandy, surf boy hair. Terrific. Just terrific. Kara’s eyes swept him over in an instant, taking in everything from his vintage look leather jacket to the dark shirt and jeans beneath. “Evening, English.” Lucien and Sophie appeared through the archway, robbing Kara of the chance of a sarcastic comeback. Dylan Day had the audacity to grin and tip her a private wink. “Do come in.” She smiled widely, letting her eyes shoot private daggers at him as he murmured his thanks and walked past her into the villa. Lucien stepped forwards and shook hands warmly with their visitor. “Sophie. Kara. This is Dylan Day.” From the look of comprehension that crossed Sophie’s face, Kara knew that Lucien had already told her that he’d appointed someone as manager of the club. Sophie moved forward and placed her hand on Dylan’s arm. “I’m Sophie. It’s great to meet you,” she smiled, guiding him through into the lounge. “Let me get you something to drink.” Lucien’s eyes lingered on Sophie’s backside as she retreated to the kitchen. “That’s my Sophie.” He smiled amicably, but the warning was clear in the almost imperceptible emphasis he placed on the possessive. Look at my girl the wrong way and I’ll kill you with my bare hands. Dylan nodded. Message understood. Kara cleared her throat dramatically, hands on her hips, her eyes wide. Lucien did a bad job of hiding his smirk. “And this is Kara, Sophie’s business partner.” Dylan extended his hand formally towards Kara with a clear, innocent as a baby smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kara.” “Watch her,” Lucien murmured. His blue grey eyes glittered, danger and mirth. “She has claws.” Kara opened her eyes wide and laughed lightly. “Ignore him. I’m a regular pussy cat, Dylan.” Lucien laughed low, excusing himself as Sophie called out to him from the kitchen.

“A pussy cat, huh?” Dylan said. “Domestic, or wild, English?” Kara didn’t even know what it was about Dylan Day that riled her. “Play nice, Mister, or you’ll find out the hard way.” He lowered his head towards her as Sophie reappeared with Lucien close behind her, and the clean, masculine scent of him caught her off guard as he shrugged out of his jacket. “I never could resist a challenge.” “Kara, grab Dylan’s coat would you?” Sophie handed Dylan a glass of champagne and smiled at her friend, leaving Kara no option but to take his jacket or else look conspicuously rude. He handed it over with a grin. “Don’t rip it with those claws of yours.” Kara shot him a sugar sweet smile and headed into the hallway, Dylan’s jacket in her hands. Faded tan and butter soft with wear, and the kind of bashed up that only ever worked with leather and spoke of many years of being moulded around its owner. It was still warm with Dylan’s body heat, and as Kara lifted it onto a coat-hook the indefinable scent of him caught her for a second time. So the man smelled good. What of it? Irritated with herself, she rejoined the others, who by now had made their way outside and gathered on the deeply padded seats of the dining alcove beneath the shade of the awning at the back of the villa. They were laughing easily as she approached, and Dylan already looked utterly relaxed and at home alongside Lucien and Sophie. She slowed her step, watching them, suddenly unsure of her role amongst them. It looked like a table set for two couples, but there was only one couple seated at that table. Plus a couple of other people who meant nothing to and knew nothing of each other. Dylan glanced across as she approached and pushed himself onto his feet with a wide smile. “Kara,” he murmured with a nod, catching her off guard with both his old school manners and his use of her given name rather than ‘English.’ There was something in the softness of his pronunciation that made her swallow hard, and she flashed him a quick smile to cover the inexplicable fluster he’d thrown her into. The only seat available to her was alongside Dylan on the upholstered bench-seat, and he dropped down gracefully beside her once she’d settled. The evening sun had slipped low over the bay, and their vantage point offered them a spectacular view of what promised to be a legendary Ibizan sunset. It had been a long, hot day, and the burnt orange sun was making the most of its curtain call. “You get some view from up here,” Dylan observed, his eyes on the bay. “It must be one of the highest points?” “Lucien likes to be king of the castle,” Sophie laughed, and Lucien lifted his eyebrows as he topped up everyone’s glass and then raised his own. “To Gateway Ibiza’s new management team, complete at last.” They made the toast as the caterer’s waitress emerged from the villa with their first course, a platter of Iberian ham and mozzarella cheese with plump tomatoes drizzled in fragrant local rosemary oil. “So you’re American, Dylan.” Sophie stated the obvious, earning herself a nod from Dylan as she pushed the platter a little towards him as an encouragement to help himself. “Sure am.” Kara watched him place ham and tomatoes on his plate. “You’re a long way from home," she said, casual but deliberate. He nodded again, slower this time, his eyes still on his food. “I guess so. I’ve rented a place over in Vadella.” He looked up and smiled, the kind of open, genial smile that people employ when they really don’t want to elaborate. It served only to make Kara dig a little deeper.

“What brings you to Ibiza?” Dylan shrugged, that big easy smile still in place. “I was ready for a change of scene. I came to see a friend, but he’s moved on.” “It’s a long way to come on the off chance. They don’t have phones in America?” “Kara...” Lucien chided, but Dylan was unfazed by Kara’s bluntness. “Hey, it’s fine. Sure, they do, but the time was right for me to move on,” Dylan said, his voice not betraying any sign of Kara’s line of questioning having hit a nerve. “I’d been living in Vegas a while. The place can drive you a little crazy if you let it. I’d split from my girl… it was just time.” His girl. Something about the phrase lit the fire of irritation in Kara’s belly again, she couldn’t have said why. “Don’t tell me. Her name was Lola, and she was a show girl.” Sophie stood up pointedly. “Kara, could you help me inside for a sec, please?” As Kara stood to follow Sophie, Lucien pushed the platter towards Dylan for seconds. “I never had an annoying younger sister, Dylan, but if I had to imagine what it might be like…” He looked meaningfully at Kara’s back as she walked away, and she turned and shot him daggers. He shrugged, with an utterly unapologetic smile. “What the hell’s got into you?” Sophie hissed as soon as they were safely inside the villa. Kara shrugged, aware that her behaviour had been questionable at best. “I just get the wrong vibe from him.” “The wrong vibe? Kara, we might be in Ibiza, but since when did you get vibes? You don’t know the first thing about Dylan.” “Exactly! Do you?” Kara said. “Does Lucien?” “No I don’t, but I trust Lucien’s judgement.” Kara trusted Lucien’s judgement too, and knew that she was just digging a bigger hole by pushing her point. The vibe she got from Dylan Day wasn’t an untrustworthy one. She didn’t fear that he was going to rip her friends off or that he’d be terrible at his job. It was far less tangible than that. The man just somehow pushed her buttons. Her alive button. Her awareness button. Her turned on button. In Kara’s book, they were all buttons that she didn’t want pressed. This summer, and probably the next one too for that matter, were all about restoring her equilibrium through work and friends. Her heart had been well and truly trampled on, and it wasn’t anywhere near ready to be prodded and poked by an American with a chip on his shoulder and a smart comeback always on his lips. But Kara was ready to play nice for Sophie’s sake. “Okay.” She sighed, and then smiled. “Okay. I’ll be on my best behaviour. Just don’t ask me to apologise for the Lola comment.” “I’d have thought you of all people would have some empathy, Kara,” Sophie chided gently, handing her a fresh bottle of champagne to take outside. “He might be broken-hearted for all you know.” Kara huffed as she left the kitchen. “He doesn’t look broken-hearted to me.” Quite the reverse, in fact, she added, to herself. Sophie watched her friend walk back across to the dining nook, deep in thought. Kara’s reaction to Dylan Day was unreasonable, and that could only mean one thing. Hope and fear mingled together in Sophie’s gut for her friend. Kara was the toughest person in the world, until she wasn’t, and then she fell to pieces. But she did it in a scary, private way that allowed her to stay looking perfect on the outside while on the inside she was broken glass. Sophie knew her well enough to be sure that there were still

some big, jagged shards within from the way Richard had treated her, and she just hoped her friend was not about to get sliced open by them. Lucien glanced at his watch. The evening had settled into a more relaxed mode after Sophie and Kara had returned to the table, and for the remainder of dinner Dylan had showed himself to be an interesting and well-informed guest. His instincts told him that Dylan was a safe pair of hands for the club, and they also told him that Dylan Day was a man with a past that hounded him. He understood those hounds. He’d lived with his own pack of wolves for enough years, but he’d also learned that there were ways to silence their howls. He dropped his arm over Sophie’s shoulders and massaged her bare shoulder, the girl who held the hounds’ reins and kept them at bay. She reciprocated with a light massaging hand on his thigh as she laughed at something Dylan said, and when he slid his hand under her hair to stroke his thumb over the extra sensitive spot on the nape of her neck, she passed a hand over her forehead. “You know guys, I might have to call it a night. I think I’ve got the beginnings of a headache,” she murmured, her cheeks pink from champagne and Lucien’s attentions as she stood up. “Lucien?” He smiled, his fingers toying with the zip of her dress. “I’ll come with you.” He placed a hand on her forehead. “We can play doctors and nurses.” Sophie rolled her eyes as he stood up and put his arm around her waist. “Dylan, it’s been a pleasure.” She raised her hand to stop him as Dylan went to stand. “You guys stay a while and finish the champagne, it won’t keep. I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.” As she leaned down and kissed Kara goodnight, she distinctly heard her mutter ‘bitch’ in her ear. “Listen, Kara…” Dylan topped up their champagne glasses in the silence that followed Lucien and Sophie’s disappearance. “I think we may have got off on the wrong foot, and for my part in that, I’m sorry.” He handed Kara her glass and picked up his own, turning his body towards hers on the bench as he settled back down. The top couple of buttons on his dark shirt were open, and Kara found her eyes following the tanned column of his neck down and wondering what he’d be like if he lost the shirt altogether. Balls. She closed her eyes and brought her glass to her lips. She didn’t want to think that. Don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it. Maybe if she said it three times in her head something magical would happen and he wouldn’t be so attractive when she reopened her eyes. Well, that didn’t work. In fact, if anything, he looked sexier still, because he was watching her, waiting for her. “Are you waiting for me to apologise too?” she asked, placing her drink down. “Do you feel like you need to?” He was half school teacher, half sex god, and for some reason Kara found herself ready to be thrown over his knee and chastised for her sassy mouth. Oh Lord. This was going to go bad. Champagne swilled in her veins, and there was no stopping the words from leaving her lips. “No. I actually feel like sliding over there and unbuttoning your shirt.” Dylan’s expression went from lazy amusement to round-eyed surprise in five seconds flat. Surprise laced with arousal. “Which is why you should leave right now,” Kara continued, aware that she’d said too much, as always. Her big mouth had got her into all sorts of trouble over the years, and it would seem that this was destined to be another of those times.

She watched him swallow hard and wanted to trace her index finger down his Adam’s apple. He watched her watching him. “Well, that’s an unexpected development, English.” “You’re telling me,” she said. “Leave. Please?” Kara manoeuvred herself off the bench and stood to allow him room to get out. “Should I finish my drink?” “Nope.” “I could take my shirt off?” He was standing too close, his fingers on the buttons at his chest, his eyebrows raised suggestively, his expression caught halfway between joking and deadly serious. “Goodnight, Dylan.” Kara crossed her arms firmly, and for the briefest of seconds Dylan’s eyes moved down to the cleavage she’d just inadvertently served up like two oranges on a platter. She didn’t dare open her mouth for fear of what might come out. “Rip my dress off and take a proper look,” sprang unhelpfully to mind. Dylan leaned down and touched his lips against her cheek; warm, tingly, and lingering for a second longer than could be deemed platonic. Jesus, he smelt like nothing on earth. She wanted to lick his face. “Goodnight, English,” he said softly. “I’ll see myself out. And for the record… I’ve never felt less like leaving anywhere in my life.”

CHAPTER FIVE Dylan jerked awake just before sunrise, his heart thudding. A bead of sweat slipped down his cheek as he pushed himself up to sitting. He was alone. No-one knew he was here. He dropped back heavily against the soft pillows, forcing himself to concentrate on the constellations glowing above him, chasing his demons away across the Milky Way. This place was different. These people were different. He could be different too.

CHAPTER SIX Dylan had forgotten his jacket. Kara noticed it the moment she walked into the hallway the next morning. His scent surrounded her as she took it down from the hook, and it took some supreme effort not to bury her nose in it and inhale deeply. “I’m going out for an hour. I’ll see you at the club,” she called through to Sophie in the kitchen, then stepped outside into the warm Ibizan morning. Hiring the Mustang had been a no brainer. She’d listened to all of the wise advice to go for an airconditioned saloon, and then gone merrily against it the moment she set eyes on the cherry red vintage soft top with curves in all the right places. Just looking at it winking at her in the sunshine lifted her spirits sky high, and she dropped Dylan’s jacket on the back seat to take to the club. Music on, roof down, ready to go. Kara really hadn’t intended to follow the signs for Cala Vadella, so finding herself rounding a bend and looking down over the prettiest possible blue bay came as a surprise. Or half a surprise. Or not really a surprise at all, given that she’d been the one behind the wheel. Hell, it was a small island, all the roads led to the same place. Probably. Feeling suddenly conspicuous in the Mustang, she slunk a little lower in her leather seat, her hands wide on the wheel as she craned her neck up the beach to see if there was any sign of Dylan. Nothing. She parked at the end of the bay, next to a dusty collection of cars, and climbed out, slinging Dylan’s jacket over her arm as she walked slowly down the curve of local shops and restaurants that backed the beach. Where would he stay? Villas dotted the cliffs around the bay; high end places with terraces overlooking the breathtaking view of the coast. Was he in one of those? She strolled from one end of the beach to the other, seeing nothing and no-one to offer any clue to his whereabouts. The sun beat hard down on the top of her head as, unexpectedly deflated, she turned into the shade of the closest bar and ordered a tall, frothy coffee as she flicked through yesterday’s newspaper that had been left on the table. Ibiza really was the most stunning place. The sweep of sand in front of the bar looked like an office worker’s fantasy screensaver, a snapshot of perfection that served as a reminder of bygone holidays. And then that snapshot suddenly became even more perfect, because a tall, half-naked American with surf boy hair and abs to match jogged straight across it. Left to right he tracked across her vision, as though she was watching a movie. So that’s what he’d have looked like if he’d taken his shirt off last night. Kara lifted the paper hastily, not wanting to be discovered sitting around waiting for him. She wasn’t sitting around waiting for him. She just happened to be passing, and happened to have his jacket, and happened to spot him. Peeping around the edge of the paper, she breathed out a slow sigh of relief. He’d passed by the bar, and was now walking along the rocks around the edge of the beach, a brown paper bag in his hand. Where was he going? There must be a pathway up to one of those villas she’d seen. She wasn’t surprised. Leaving her coffee half finished, she put the newspaper back on the counter and moved outside to watch Dylan’s retreating back, her head tipping quizzically to one side as he kept on going along the rocks. A frown puckered her brow. Short of diving into the water, he was fast running out of places to go. And then he stopped, and stepped sideways onto a boat moored out in the bay.

Kara squinted. And then really squinted. Her feet started to move before she was even aware of it, carrying her closer to inspect Dylan’s unlikely digs, automatically slinging his jacket over her arm. She picked her way along the uneven path hewn into the rocks around the edge of the bay, past several impressive looking boats along the way, until she drew closer to the boat moored at the end. Oh. My. God. What was that thing? At that moment movement caught her eye, and she noticed Dylan up on the roof deck with his back to her. If she walked away real quiet, there was every chance he’d never know she’d been here. She wanted to do that. She definitely wanted to do that. “Hey, Danny Zuko! You forgot your jacket!” That was it. When she got home she was booking herself in to have her jaw wired together. In fact, make that a lobotomy, she’d clearly lost her marbles. Why the hell else would she be standing there like one of the Pink Ladies holding her T-Bird boyfriend’s jacket? Dylan turned, startled to hear a woman’s voice, recognising it a second before he saw her. English. “Some folks would consider this stalking,” he said, enjoying the look of indignation that crossed her face. “And some people would say thank you for returning their jacket,” Kara shot back, emphasising the English word. “Nice place,” she added, deadpan, casting a speculative glance over the boat. Then, “The Love Tug?” She read the name of the boat out loud, nodding slowly. “Well. You’re full of surprises.” An illogical urge to defend the old boat rose out of nowhere, and he found himself patting the railings like the owner of a loyal pet. “She’s pretty special, huh?” When Kara nodded, her long dark ponytail bobbed like a high school cheerleader’s, and her denim mini couldn’t be have been any more minimal without being a belt. She was certainly faithful to those cowboy boots. The expanse of smooth, honey-gold leg between the boots and the skirt brought him full circle, right back to those cheerleaders. He jumped down onto the lower deck. “I was just about to make coffee to have with these.” He held up the bag of still-warm Danish pastries that he’d just bought from the tiny bakery at the other end of the beach. “Join me?” She scanned the gap between the sea wall and the boat doubtfully, and he held out his empty hand. “I can put a shirt on, if you like,” he murmured silkily as she stepped past aboard. “I’d hate you to be overcome by the urge to rip my shorts off.” Kara stomped on his foot as she passed him, her cowboy boot heavy on his sneaker as she twisted it. “Sorry.” The insincere smile that accompanied her apology said it all. He grinned as he took his jacket from over her arm and stepped inside the cabin, nodding his head for her to follow him. She wandered in slowly, her wide eyes drinking in every bizarre detail of the place he currently called home. Running a finger across the buttercup yellow work surface, she came to a halt opposite him. “Is this place yours?” Dylan could see that Kara was trying to work out if his taste ran to roller boots and disco balls. “For now.” He lifted the lid on the sugar pot and looked at her. Fuck, she was crazy-hot. “Sugar?” Her presence seemed to fill every bit of the cabin with a low, simmering heat; one wrong word could set her off like a firework. She radiated energy, and being around her gave him an undeniable high. She held up two fingers, and it took him a second to realise that she was referring to the sugar. That was refreshing. Most girls back home would break out in a cold sweat just being near the sugar bowl, yet here she was telling him to pile it in. He picked up the mugs and glanced towards the door. “In or out?” “Undeniably fabulous as this place is…” She cast her eyes dubiously around the cabin. “…let’s go sit

in the sun.” Dylan followed Kara out and gestured for her to climb the small stepladder onto the roof terrace. “Don’t look up my skirt, Sailor,” she warned over her shoulder. Dylan tried to look away as she went ahead of him and failed entirely. “You looked up my skirt,” she said matter of factly, as he stepped onto the deck and handed her the coffee mug. He shook his head and attempted an innocent expression as he opened up a couple of deck chairs and a rickety table. “Thanks for bringing my jacket over.” He sat down, ripping the bag of pastries open and spreading the brown paper out beneath them on the table as a makeshift plate. “Choose your weapon.” Kara perched on the chair opposite his, her attention caught by the still warm, sweet-scented pastries. The girl clearly had a serious sweet tooth. Dylan tucked that snippet of information away in case he ever needed to get into her good books in the future. “Look. I’ll come straight to the point,” she said, picking up a cinnamon whirl and teasing it apart with her fingers. “My shirt comment last night was… regrettable.” She paused to enjoy a mouthful of the Danish, and Dylan took a slug of coffee and watched her eat. “Regrettable?” She nodded, reaching for her coffee. “We’re going to be working together for this entire summer. We need to get along.” She lifted her eyebrows at him, looking for his agreement as she pulled off another large chunk of cinnamon whirl. “I can see that,” he said easily. “Thing is… I’m what you’d call a ‘what you see is what you get’ kinda of girl, Dylan,” she said. He wasn't sure whether or not she was making fun of his accent. “So I’m going to be honest from the get go, so there’s no misunderstanding later.” Whoa. This girl was turning out to be freakin’ amazing. A ‘what you see is what you get’ girl? He’d had plenty of women over the years, and not one of them could have ever been considered that. Devious, yes. ‘What you see is what I want you to see?’ Totally. “What I’m saying is this. I think you’re sexy, Dylan Day.” He jerked his eyes up to hers, even more surprised. “In an obvious kind of way,” she added, deflatingly, then popped the last of her pastry into her mouth. “I think there was a compliment in there somewhere,” he said dryly, reaching for an ensaimada from the table. “Yeah, yeah. But I find lots of men sexy, so it’s no biggie.” “Okay then. Not so much of a compliment.” “Hey, I’m not here to stroke your ego, Sailor. I’m here to say let’s not go down the obvious road.” “And that would be?” “Dancing around each other. Pretending the attraction isn’t there, and then falling into bed.” “Are you suggesting we just have sex now and get it over with?” She placed her mug down slowly on the table and looked at him with school ma’am eyes. “Err, no, obviously not. I’m just saying let’s acknowledge the attraction like mature adults, and then agree not to act on it for the good of the club.” “I knew that was too good to be true.” She shrugged. “Are you going to eat that?” she pointed at the last remaining pastry on the table. He pushed it towards her. “You like things that are bad for you, English.” “It’s my downfall. I like sugar. I like fast cars. I like sexy men.” She licked sugar residue from her fingers, and Dylan’s body reacted with interest.

“I let myself have the sugar. And the cars.” “Two out of three ain’t bad.” “Hey, it worked for Meatloaf.” “Do you always let hairy rockers from the eighties dictate who you screw?” “Everyone needs a yardstick. Meatloaf just happens to be mine.” She stood up, smoothing her hands down her minuscule skirt before holding one of them out to him across the table. “Deal?” Was it a deal? Could he spend the summer around this woman without either killing her or drilling her? “Should I spit on my palm before we shake?” “That’s disgusting. Just shake, Sailor.” Her hand was warm and firm, just as he imagined the rest of her body would be if he ever had the chance to find out. She let go of his hand. “See you at work.” Dylan touched his fingers to his forehead in salute. He watched her pick her way off the boat onto dry land, all long limbs and swinging hair. A pang of regret bloomed in his chest. She was right of course, and she’d only said what he probably wouldn’t have had the good sense to. He’d secured the management job at the club by the skin of his teeth. Any other boss would have asked for references and resumes. Lucien Knight had given him a shot without any of those things, and common sense told him that any romantic entanglement with Kara could jeopardise that trust he’d been awarded without having earned it. From his vantage point on the roof deck he kept his eyes on Kara’s marching figure as he drained the last of his coffee. She passed by the small black hatchback he’d guessed must be hers, then walked right on by the moped that would have surprised him a little but not too much. He laughed out loud when she swung herself over the driver’s door of the bright red Mustang convertible at the end of the row of shops and restaurants. Even from the far side of the beach he could hear the engine as she gunned it and left the bay in a cloud of sand. Hell, he’d always loved Mustangs. Kara Brookes was something else. She’d turned up unannounced, eaten his breakfast, called him sexy, and then left him for dust with nothing but a tingling palm and a growing case of frustration.

CHAPTER SEVEN Sophie was already at the club when Kara arrived a little while later. She’d made a start on opening the stock boxes, and was kneeling on the floor surrounded by scanty lingerie and sex toys. “Just a normal day at the office I see.” Kara dropped her bag down on the floor with a grin. “Free samples,” Sophie said, holding up an edible, erect penis with a look of barely disguised horror. "Classy," Kara laughed. “Lunch?” Sophie made a ‘no-way’ face and put the choc-cock back in its box. “Where did you get to?” “Just giving the old Mustang a good airing,” Kara said, aware she sounded vague but reluctant to mention her visit to Dylan. “Just don’t get yourself arrested,” Sophie said. Kara faked offence. “As if.” They both knew she was perfectly capable of it, and she’d only wriggled off the hook one time back home because she happened to have been pulled over by a cop who’d had the hots for her in college. “It’s just that I noticed that Dylan’s jacket had gone out of the hallway.” Sophie didn’t look up from the box she was slicing open, but Kara heard the speculative hint behind her words all the same. There was no getting anything past that girl. “Mm. I dropped it back for him while I was out.” Sophie glanced up, her eyebrows high above questioning eyes. “What?” Kara rolled her eyes. “You asked me to be nice to him. I was being nice.” “No, it’s nothing,” Sophie pulled open the carton in front of her. “It’s just…” Kara dropped down on her knees beside Sophie and reached for an unopened box, already knowing exactly where Sophie was heading with this conversation. “Soph, don’t worry. The last thing I’m interested in is getting involved, especially with some guy who we don’t know from Adam. He could be a mass murderer for all we know.” “He doesn’t strike me as a mass murderer,” Sophie said neutrally. “I like him, actually. Easy on the eye, too.” “You think?” Kara studied the inventory list for the box she’d just opened without really taking in the details. “He’s okay, I suppose.” “You suppose.” Sophie smiled. “You suppose?” “What do you want me to say? He’s hot? Okay, I suppose he’s hot. Kind of. If you like that sort of thing.” “You like that sort of thing.” “Are you telling me or asking me?” Sophie placed the handcuffs she’d been examining for quality back in the box and twisted to face Kara, her hands on her knees. “Kara. We’ve been friends for more than half of our lives. I know you well enough to know that Dylan Day is exactly your type, so don’t even bother denying it, okay?” Kara sighed. “Soph, I know what you’re thinking, but trust me on this. I’m not about to have a holiday romance and end up broken-hearted again. See these fingers?” She held out her hands. “Burned. After what happened with Richard last year, I’m well and truly off that whole romance shtick.” “I seem to remember us having a conversation very similar to this when I separated from Dan,” Sophie said, referring to her childhood sweetheart and ex-husband. It seemed bizarre to imagine that she’d ever

truly loved him now, because her feelings for Lucien were so much bigger. All-encompassing. “Yeah, but you had the delectable Lucien to pick up the pieces. There aren’t enough Viking sex gods out there to go around for the rest of us.” “Or American surf dudes?” “Whichever. My point is that after being left standing at the fucking altar in a wedding dress I didn’t even fucking like all that much, I’m not about to jump into fucking bed with Dylan-yankee-doodle-diddleDay!” Sophie put her hand over her mouth, but the laugh came out just the same. Kara swiped her on the shoulder then burst out laughing too. “You ladies sound hard at it.” They both looked up as Lucien appeared in the doorway with yet another box in his arms, his eyes taking in the two laughing women surrounded by handcuffs and chocolate erections. Handcuffs. Erections. Sometimes, it just wasn’t possible to keep work and pleasure totally separate. Lucien placed the delivery down next to Sophie, and pocketed a set of handcuffs at the same time. She caught his eye fleetingly and then dropped her gaze with a discreet smile. “Sophie, could I see you in my office in five minutes, please?” She caught the emphasis absolutely clearly, and entered Lucien’s office seven minutes later, deliberately missing his deadline. “You’re late.” “I was busy.” “Not just one minute late. Two.” He lounged against the edge of his desk and touched the back of the swivel chair beside him, turning it slowly to face her. “Sit down.” Sophie closed the door behind her with a click and crossed the room. Lucien watched her closely, his eyes all over her. She’d dressed for him that morning, knowing full well that her feminine, not-quite demure, lace-trimmed sundress played to his cave-man instincts, and that the almost indecent underwear she’d chosen to team it with turned him hard on sight. His hands moved warm and heavy to rest on her shoulders. Kind of loving, kind of clamped. Only the slow stroke of his thumbs on her neck beneath her ponytail betrayed him. “Put your hands behind the chair, Sophie.” A shiver ran from Sophie’s scalp to the base of her back. She swallowed, and slowly obeyed his demand. Lucien clipped the cuffs around her wrists, taking care to shackle her in place by threading the chain behind the post of the chair. “A lot can happen in two minutes, Princess,” Lucien said, letting her hair free from its band before swinging the chair around to face him. He knelt before her, checked his watch, and spread her knees. Sophie held her breath, never sure with Lucien what would happen next. She gasped when he rucked her dress up her thighs, his hands firm as he yanked her hips forwards on the seat. Once she was exposed from the waist down, Lucien stopped for a second. “These are some of my favourites,” he murmured, massaging a firm hand over the scrap of white lace between her legs. “I wore them for you.” He nodded briefly, his eyes hot on hers. “I know.” He gripped the edge of the delicate lace and pulled it aside, parting her thighs even wider with his shoulders as he dipped his head. He paused, his lips a whisper away from her skin. Both hands buried between her thighs, he opened her with his fingers and blew lightly over her flesh, a cool breeze to heighten the heat of his tongue. Sophie watched him, her hands desperate to be tangled in his hair rather than behind the chair. He raised his eyes to hers and kissed her clitoris, and her body arched in response. He lifted one eyebrow, and kissed her there again. Slower, longer, with tongues, the most erotic of French kisses.

“Not just one minute late, Princess,” he said, stroking one finger along her thigh. “Two.” He pushed two fingers inside her at once and fastened his beautiful mouth over her sex, his hot, wet tongue making her cry out. He mouthed her, delicate and then not so, teasing and then sensationally not so. He knew her body so well now. How to build her, how to hold her right on the edge, and how to plunge her all the way over whenever he wanted to. He wanted to. Her hips jerked and he followed her movements with his mouth, not letting her miss a thing. Sliding his fingers slowly out of her, he dropped a kiss on her thigh as he straightened her clothes and checked his watch. “One minute fifty five.” Sophie stretched when he unlocked the cuffs, and Lucien caught hold of her wrist and massaged it. “Next time, be more punctual.” Sophie ran a hand over his crotch. “Maybe,” she massaged his erection and stretched up to lick her tongue over his lower lip. “Maybe not.” She stepped away and skipped to the door, laughing when someone tapped the other side of it. “Dylan,” she smiled in welcome, straightening the skirt of her dress, opening the door wide. “I hope you’re not late too. Lucien’s feeling quite the slave driver today.”

CHAPTER EIGHT “Working late, Sailor?” Dylan was behind the bar, bent forward over it with a look of concentration on his face and a pen in his hand. He looked up when Kara spoke and it took a second for his expression to clear into a smile. The switch from pensive to unguarded pleasure set off an unexpected sizzle of appreciation low in her gut. She pushed it resolutely aside and slid her backside onto the nearest bar stool, dropping her oversized leather bag on the floor at her feet. “You got me,” he said, rolling his shoulders back as if he’d been bent for quite a while. Kara flicked her eyes up to the ceiling to avoid staring at the strip of flesh that appeared beneath the hemline of his faded grey T-shirt. Not that the T-shirt did much of a job of disguising his body. Just the opposite, if anything; it clung to his body like lichen on a rock, reminding her all too clearly about the lean, tanned beach body barely hidden beneath the cotton. “All work and no play will make you a dull boy,” she said, wishing instantly that she had chosen a different wisecrack. Dylan tapped his pen on the bar, looking at her for a long second. “I don’t have anyone to play with tonight.” Kara shrugged. “I’d offer, but I’d probably have a drink and then start that whole ‘I wanna rip your shirt off,’ shizzle again, and that would be bad.” Dylan laughed softly. “I’ve never met anyone like you, English. Are you always this honest?” “Yup. I told you. What you see is what you get.” “Okaaaay.” He drew the word out, as if he were thinking how best to phrase something. “Well how about I be honest with you too?” Was that the sound of a warning bell? Kara heard it chime loud and clear, yet she just raised inquisitive eyebrows at him. “I like bourbon," he said. "And Mustangs. And sexy girls in cowboy boots.” The sides of Kara’s mouth twitched. “Two out of three ain’t bad.” “Yeah, but that’s where old Meatloaf got it wrong. Two out of three is bad. It’s frustrating, and leaves you wanting. Three out of three is much, much better.” “Or gluttony, depending on how you look at it.” “So shoot me, I’m a sinner. Come by the boat later?” His clear, green gaze was direct. “I’ll cook for you.” “You cook?” “Sure I do.” “This is the point where I should say I’m washing my hair.” Dylan walked slowly around to Kara’s side of the bar and smoothed her hair behind her ear, casual yet deliberate at the same time. “Your hair already looks pretty good to me.” Kara found herself uncharacteristically out of smart comebacks, mostly because he’d touched her and she wanted him to do it again. He picked up her bag and placed it in her lap. “Come around at eight.” Dylan watched her walk out, his hand on the bar stool still warm with her body heat.

Messing around with that girl was a mistake in just about every way possible. He was risking Lucien’s trust, his job, and his new found peace. But he knew what was worse than all of that. He was risking Kara Brookes. It was that goddamn honesty thing that did it. Why couldn’t she act coy, play stupid games like most other women? Being around her was like drinking water from the clearest mountain spring. She was purity; vital, clean, life affirming. He lost his head when she came within ten feet of him. He didn’t just want to drink the spring water. He wanted to bathe in it. Kara stamped her foot down on the Mustang’s accelerator, letting the wind blow her hair and praying it would blow away her stupidity along with it. Dinner with Dylan Day? On The Love Tug? The fucking Love Tug? It sounded, and looked, like the set for some cheap seventies porn flick. Who did he think he was, Hugh fucking Hefner? A disturbing image of Dylan wearing a red silk smoking jacket surrounded by topless Barbie girls came to mind. The Love Tug. The clue was in the name, and she should steer well away. She pulled along the driveway and turned the car in next to Lucien’s Ferrari. Only a few hours back she’d assured Sophie that she wasn’t about to tumble into bed with Dylan Day, and here she was about to walk through the door and tell her the complete opposite. ‘I’ll cook for you,’ turned out to be an ambitious plan. Cooking on a boat was an entirely different prospect to rustling up dinner in a conventional kitchen. Dylan was no master chef, but he’d taken care of himself long enough to be able to sizzle a decent steak. Except there was no sizzle to be had on the Love Tug – not of the culinary kind anyway - just a tiny camping-style grill and one gas ring was all he had at his disposal. It was almost half past seven. Unless they wanted to dine at midnight, he needed a plan B. He cast a glance out at the restaurants dotted around the beach, their evening lights starting to glow as early diners and families sat down to eat. The scent of garlic and fresh seafood reached his nose and plan B quickly assembled itself in his mind. Ramming the uncooked steaks back inside the unfeasibly small fridge, Dylan glanced down at what he was wearing. Did he look okay? Why the hell did he feel like a teenager on a first date? He was no kid, and Kara was very far from being his first date. She was different though; she had him on the emotional ropes in a way that he couldn’t recall being for a long time. But then life hadn’t dealt him the easiest card when it came to romance, he’d been out of the dating scene for a while. Twenty minutes later and he was back on board after a dash, empty pan in hand, to the nearest restaurant for paella, thanking his lucky stars for the laid back attitude of the chef, who’d whipped up the meal in short order with a good-humoured wink. It wasn’t a moment too soon, because a flash of distinctive metallic red had already caught his eye winding down the hill towards the bay. She hadn’t changed her mind. He’d half expected her not to come, but then in a strange way he’d known full well that she’d show up. It didn’t fit well with her ‘what you see is what you get’ ethos not to do something she’d said that she would. Dylan raised a hand in greeting as she made her way along the rocky path down to the boat. As she drew nearer, he had the strange sensation of regretting having asked her to come. Not because he didn’t want to see her, but because he feared that he wanted to see her too much. She was stepping into his world tonight, and he knew from bleak experience that it wasn’t always a good or safe place to be. “Hey Sailor,” she said, reaching out her hand for him to steady her as she stepped aboard. For a second, he fought the urge to tell her to go back. Go back to shore. Back to safety. And then she stepped close, and any sensible intention left his head, because she looked and smelled like heaven.

“I bought pudding.” She hooked the handles of a paper bag over his fingers. “This is the bit where you say thank you, and then tell me I look lovely,” she supplied, when he didn’t speak. He hadn’t spoken because she’d taken his breath away. The girl had her own style and she sure knew how to work it. She’d somehow managed to make those cowboy boots look sexy as hell with a deep green lace dress that outlined every curve and contour of her body. With her sun-kissed skin, she looked as if someone had dipped her in gold, and hell, there was much of it on show to admire. Her dress finished mid thigh, and the curves of her breasts jiggled in greeting from her scooped neckline as she shrugged out of her tiny denim jacket. With her hair tumbling around her shoulders, the overall effect reeled him in like a fish on a line in the harbour below. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “You unnerve me.” He snapped out of it and looked inside the paper bag. “Chocolate bars?” “It was all I could get. Short notice.” She shrugged, dropping her jacket on a stool just inside the cabin door as she moved inside. “Something smells good.” Dylan dropped on his haunches and moved the steaks in the fridge up to make way for the chocolate. “Yeah. About dinner…” “You didn’t cook it, did you?” “I wanted to,” he said, casting a hand around the paltry kitchen. “The boat let me down, man.” “They say a bad workman blames his tools.” He held the raw steak in its packet out as evidence. “This was dinner.” Kara huffed. “Maybe it’s just as well then. I’m a vegetarian.” Shit, he’d ordered mixed paella, and knew for a fact that it included chicken and chorizo. “First rule of dating, Sailor. Check your facts.” Dylan frowned, remembering back to the dinner party at the villa. His expression relaxed. “So. You’re a vegetarian who eats ham?” Kara’s face cracked into a grin. “I had you there for a second though, didn’t I?” “Funny girl.” He pushed the steaks back into the fridge and stood up. “We’re eating up on deck. Go on, I’ll be up there in a minute.” He handed Kara a bottle of wine, then stood back to allow her out. The Love Tug definitely encouraged close proximity, there wasn’t room to swing a kitten, let alone a cat. Did she sniff him as she squeezed by? The overwhelming urge to drop a kiss on the curve of her neck had him clenching his teeth. He wouldn’t make the first move. If his conscience was going to survive this girl, the ball had to stay entirely in Kara’s court. He badly wanted her to decide to play, but she had to be the one to make a move. She turned to him as he leaned against the open doorway. “You know the drill. Don’t look up my dress.”

CHAPTER NINE “Paella,” Dylan said, placing the cooking pot down on the floor by his chair because the table was so small. He’d laid it earlier in the evening, or at least he’d gone as far as putting plates and cutlery out. Kara watched him. Barefoot and beautiful in jeans and a soft, fitted white shirt with tiny, faded blue flowers on it, he was a good fit with his laid back, hippy-cool boat. To his credit he did seem at ease with the food, as he ladled delicious-looking paella onto their plates. Before he sat down to eat, he skipped down the steps again. A second later, fairy lights winked on all around the boat’s railings. The effect was impossibly pretty, adding a soft haze of romance to the evening air. Kara said, as usual, the first thing that came to mind when Dylan reappeared. “Ah, shoot. I’m allergic to shell-fish.” She touched the shell of a mussel with her fork with a pained look. “No you’re fucking not,” he said, pouring wine into their glasses. He wasn’t falling for it for a second this time. “You’re right, I’m not,” she said, conceding with good grace as she tested the paella. “Wow, this is gorgeous. You must give me the recipe some time.” “No can do, English. It’s top secret.” Dylan only wished his cooking skills ran to such knowledge, because Kara was right, it was delicious. They ate the entire pot, and their relaxed conversation meandered lightly around topics loosely linked to work. When he opened a second bottle of wine she looked at him steadily. “Are you plying me with wine in the hope that I’ll ask you to take your shirt off again?” Dylan cleared the plates and his throat. “I’m fast learning not to try and guess what’s going to come out of your mouth next.” Kara knew that feeling. She dearly wished she could master the art of engaging her brain before her mouth. “Is that a bad thing?” “No. It’s a very good thing.” When he poured the wine, she sighed and raised a deliberate glance to his. “I can’t drive if I have another glass of wine.” He relaxed back and picked up his own glass. “Me neither.” Kara reached down and rummaged in her handbag, then laid her toothbrush carefully down on the table between them. She watched Dylan’s face, scrutinising his expression. His lowered lashes hid it from her as he seemed to study the toothbrush for a few seconds, but when he lifted his eyes again, there was no mistaking the understanding that passed between them. He reached into his jeans pocket and did a little rummaging of his own, then laid a silver-foiled condom packet down next to her toothbrush. It was Kara’s turn to study the table for a second before she spoke. “Just the one?” He settled back in his chair, then shook his head and sipped his wine. “Whole box.” She weighed this up, then moved to kneel in front of him. Dylan was aware that a line was probably being crossed. “I think it’s probably time I took your shirt off.” A line had definitely been crossed.

Dylan widened his knees so she could move in between them. He closed his eyes briefly when she touched the first button of his shirt. He opened them again when she slid it free, reaching out to stroke his hand down her hair as she wordlessly finished unfastening his shirt and slipped it back off his shoulders. She’d seen his naked torso already, but it did nothing to deaden the effect of seeing it again, here and now. He had the body of a man who paid attention to detail. But not too much. Conditioned and tanned, sure, but without vanity. Perfect. His shirt hit the deck, and he slid forward on the chair and moved his arms around her until he had her held against his warm, naked chest. “You nervous, English?” He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You’re trembling.” “Yeah.” Kara bit her bottom lip and nodded, tentative. Then, without missing a beat, she added, “I’m nervous that you’re going to be a terrible kisser.” He laughed softly, so close she could taste him, so near she could smell him, that heady scent that seemed to short-circuit her brain. “We’d better find out then, hadn’t we?” Dylan held her chin between his thumb and fingers and tipped her mouth up to his. Slow. So, so slow, and agonisingly tender. He barely let his lips graze hers, once, then again. Oh God. Kara’s palms were flat against his chest, enough to feel his heartbeat pick up when she opened her mouth and touched her tongue against his. “How’m I doing here?” he murmured, smoothing her hair back from her face with both hands. “Not bad,” she whispered. “Not bad, huh?” Kara felt his smile on her lips. She realised a few seconds too late that she’d been hustled. He yanked her hard against him and lowered his head. This time he wasn’t slow, and he wasn’t tender. His mouth was hot and open over hers, and the sudden kick up from tentative to filthy had her body screaming for more. Sweet baby Jesus, his tongue. Kara heard herself whimper and couldn’t have cared less. The man was world class. If there were kissing medals, Dylan Day would get the gold. He hadn’t so much as touched her body yet, but she was closer to orgasm than she would care to admit. One touch. One touch, and she’d go. “Undress me,” she breathed, desperate to feel his skin pressed against hers. He pushed her hair away from her ear and sank his teeth into her earlobe as he lifted the hem of her dress. Kara raised her arms above her head and let him tug it up her body. It landed on the deck on top of his shirt. “Stand up.” The raw edge in his voice made her stomach flip. “I want to see you.” She stood for him. He moved to stand in front of her. Holding her hand, drinking her in. Standing up there on the roof deck of Dylan’s boat, illuminated only by the pinpricks of the fairy lights, Kara knew without doubt that sex with this man was going to change her forever. There was no question in her mind about whether it was a good idea. At this moment, it was a necessity. He lifted her arm high above her head and twirled her slowly around, a ballerina in a silent music box. Dancing without music, sultry and seductive. “So lovely, English,” he said softly, reeling her in against his chest. “You dazzle me.” He tipped her back over his arm and put his mouth against the hollow at the base of her throat, the heat of his denim clad crotch hard against the silk of her underwear. She gasped a little when he opened the catch of her bra. He slid his fingers beneath the straps on her shoulders, then paused to hold her close and smooch her lips a little more. “Lost your nerve, Sailor?” she murmured, knowing full well that he hadn’t, unable to resist the challenge. Dylan grazed his teeth over her bottom lip. “Once this comes off, we’re over the line,” he said, his mouth moving along her jaw.

Kara played her fingers across the waistband of his jeans. “We were over the line as soon as I stepped onto this boat tonight.” “I’ve been over the line since the first time I saw you,” he said, and then eased her bra off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Kara’s whole body burned as he looked down at her breasts. Appreciation darkened his eyes to emerald glitter, and the low, intensely sexual catch in his breath told her all she needed to know. He was over the line. He touched her; took the weight of her breasts in his hands, sliding his thumbs over her nipples, slipping his tongue into her mouth. His hands were hot, his mouth hotter, the skin of his back hotter still. Searing. Scorching. She stroked him everywhere, and he dipped her backwards again to lift her breasts to his waiting, hungry mouth. His hand slid inside her knickers to mould her backside as he mouthed her bullethard nipples, one then the other, again, and then again. He lifted her off her feet as she straightened and she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles together behind his back. Dylan held her easily in his arms, kissing her senseless as his fingers explored the silk between her legs. He had her desperate, unable to breathe with wanting him to push the material aside and touch her properly. “Let’s take this inside, English.” His voice cracked, raw and unsteady. “Let me take you to my bed.” His fingers pushed the material a little deeper into her. “Let me take these off for you, and kiss you here,” he thumbed her clitoris, making her moan. “And Kara?” he breathed, sliding just the tip of one finger under the material. “The boots stay on.”

CHAPTER TEN Dylan jumped down onto the lower deck and turned to help Kara down after him, kissing her stomach as it slid past his lips, then lingering on her naked breasts because he couldn’t help himself. “Bedroom,” she said, lifting his head to hers. “Now.” He led her by the hand into the boat and lifted the trapdoor to the bedroom. She eyed it sceptically. “Really?” He looked at her, naked apart from her boots and lace knickers, her hands on her hips. The coolest cowgirl in the world. If she produced a gun from those itty-bitty lace panties and shot him right in the heart now, he’d die a happy man. “Really.” He waved his arm in front of him towards the hatch. “You first, or me. You choose. Either way I can promise you that I won’t look up your skirt.” “Cute, Sailor.” Kara put her head on one side, studying the options. “ You can go first and demonstrate.” Dylan turned and lowered himself down the hatch, proficient after the benefit of a few days’ practice. “Come down backwards, same as me. It’s easiest.” Her boots appeared first, followed by smooth, brown calves. She stilled for a moment when he kissed the sweet spot at the back of her knee, his hands already on her thighs, halfway between steadying and stroking. She dropped a foot down onto the next step, bringing her backside level with his mouth. He needed her to stop. “Hold it there one second,” he said, moulding her warm curves in his hands and letting his mouth drift over the strip of lace that covered next to nothing. She had skin like the velvet petals of a rose and the kick-ass attitude of the prickliest cactus, and it was turning out to be a combination that drove him crazy. She was turned on. The subtle movement through her hips told him so. She was offering herself, opening herself to his mouth. He pulled her panties to the side and slid his fingers into the heat between her legs, loving the way she gasped and rocked her hips a little harder. Fuck, she was wet and ready, and his every instinct was to drop his jeans and screw her there and then against the stepladder. He pressed his whole body against her legs, his mouth a breath away from her sex. He didn’t want to be a breath away. He wanted her spreadeagled on his bed. He pushed a finger inside her, dipping his head between her legs to lick where he’d stroked, laughing low when she tried to open her legs further to encourage him in. She was so close to coming, but she was also close to breaking her neck. He didn’t want her to break her neck, because he wanted to screw her until she forgot her own name. He straightened and slipped his arms around her, finding her nipples and rolling them. “Get your ass down off this ladder and into my bed, English.” She slithered down, a bundle of curves and flushed skin in the glow of the bedside light. She paused for a second, her eyes flickering around the low, velvet-encased boudoir. He watched her, knowing what was going on in her head because he’d had that same reaction the first time he’d seen the place. She turned to him, then stepped in close and ran her hand over his cock, flicking open the top button of his jeans. She glanced at the low ceiling with a sigh of regret. “I guess we’ll have to save reverse cowgirl until another time,” she murmured, flicking open his second button. Dylan closed his eyes, but the image of Kara sitting astride his cock in just her cowboy boots stayed

there anyway. His affection for the Love Tug waned rapidly with the realisation that it was never going to happen in this room, at least. She flicked a third button open and reached her hand inside, raising her eyebrows at the fact that he was naked beneath the denim. “You thought I was a sure thing, Sailor?” He shook his head. “Assumed nothing. Hoped some.” He dragged in a deep breath as she dipped down onto her haunches to push his jeans off, her face level with his cock. He could feel the heat of her breath, and he groaned out loud when she licked him from base to tip, raising her eyes to his as she opened her mouth and took him inside. If he lived another hundred years, he knew he’d never see anything as outright fucking beautiful. He let her slide her mouth over him once more. Twice. And then he stopped her, because if she’d got to three, he wouldn’t have had the self-control to stop her, and by four or five she’d have had him coming like a school boy. He pulled her up to a standing position, kneading her behind as he kissed her. She tasted of him already. “I want you underneath me the first time.” He backed her towards the bed, pushing her panties down her thighs. “And I want to see your face when I make you come.” She sank down as the bed touched the back of her calves, and he bent to help her get the scrap of lace over her boots. “I could just take my boots off,” she offered. Dylan shook his head and kissed her kneecap, tossing her panties aside. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, and she was naked. He parted her knees and knelt between them, rising up until he was eye to eye with her. Her mouth opened a little when he brushed the back of his fingers lightly over her sex, and he leaned in and kissed her. “You like that?” he murmured, doing it again, letting his fingers linger. Opening her, deliberate and slow. Kara rested her forehead against his, her breathing short and shallow, her eyes glittering. She was waiting for more, and he had so much more he wanted to give her. “So ready for me,” he said, sliding the tips of his fingers over her, knowing full well that she needed more. He groaned when her fingers curled around his shaft. She wasn’t playing fair either. “So ready for me,” she whispered, and he turned his hand over and thrust two fingers inside her, loving the erotic sound of her moan. “Dylan…” His cock swelled harder at the sound of his name on her lips, making him reach for a condom from the drawer beside the bed. She nodded, breathing hard, taking the foil packet from him and opening it with her teeth. “Let me.” Protection had never been so sexy. She rolled it over his length with sure fingers, and he rewarded her by drawing delicate circles around her clitoris with his index finger as he traced her lips with his tongue. She kissed him back, her fingers twisting in his hair, her breath coming in short rasps. “Lie back, English,” he breathed, moving with her until they stretched out full length on the bed. She opened her thighs when he settled his body over hers, one thrust away from home. Her hand curved around his butt cheek, the other around the back of his neck. It had to be now. He pushed his hips down, his breath leaving his chest in a rush as his cock thrust into the warmth and beauty of her body. Blood rushed to his brain. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Her fingernails dug into his ass where she gripped him, holding him deep inside her. She opened her eyes when he smoothed her damp hair back from her face, and the trace of a smile crossed her kiss-swollen lips.

“I know,” he said hoarsely, rocking his hips slowly over hers. “I know.” And then she wound those cowboy boots around his thighs, and all conscious thought left his head in favour of just feeling, and fucking. Kara wrapped her legs tight around Dylan, hardly able to breathe around the need to come. He’d built her up to this from the moment she’d stepped aboard the boat, and every thrust of his cock edged her closer. In the end, it wasn’t his cock that made her orgasm. It was his words. “I know.” He fucked her slowly, hard, and delicious, and when his hand snaked between their damp bodies to finger her clitoris, he said it again. “I know, beautiful girl. I know.” Did he know? Did he feel it too, that this was the fuck of a lifetime? She was boneless, ready to come, wanting it to go on forever because she’d never known sex could be so all-encompassing. He touched her everywhere. Between her legs. Inside her head. Every inch of her body shimmered on the agonising, delicious edge of orgasm, then his tongue slid over hers as he started to thrust faster, spreading her wide with his knee against hers. His fingers. His cock. His eyes. His mouth. “Fuck, Kara, oh fuck…” His eyes locked with hers as her body bucked beneath him. He lost his control watching her face as she came beneath him, his body responding with hard slams that sent her orgasm spinning out all the way to her toes and fingertips. She wrapped her arms around him and lifted her hips, dragging him deeper still, making him shudder with release as he came with her hips clamped tight against him. They fitted perfectly. A lock and a key. They lay for a while afterwards, her fingers lazy over the contours of his back, his lips smooching the curve of her neck. When she opened her eyes, the astral ceiling winked down at her. Sex-tired and content, a smile curved her lips as she smoothed a hand down the back of his head. “You made me see stars, Sailor.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN “So how are we gonna play this thing, English?” Kara accepted the steaming coffee mug Dylan held out and cradled it between her palms, still naked beneath the sheets of his ridiculously comfortable bed after a scant few hours of sleep. She leaned her head back against the padded headboard. “Straight down the line,” she said. “I don’t want to put you in a compromising position with Sophie and Lucien.” She shook her head. “You won’t. They knew I was coming here last night.” “You told them?” He looked up from stepping out of his jeans, surprise in his clear green eyes. “Of course.” Kara shrugged. “Why not? I’m a big girl, they trust me to make my own decisions.” She didn’t go into the fact that she and Sophie had sat down for a good hour yesterday evening talking it through, debating whether Kara was really ready to let someone close again after Richard’s betrayal. Sophie and Lucien had scraped her up off the floor last summer and pieced her back together, a slightly more complicated puzzle than she’d been beforehand. She frowned a little, not appreciating thoughts of Richard intruding on her first Sunday morning wake-up with another man since their split. Placing her coffee down, she let the sheet fall to her waist. “Breakfast?” She smiled sweetly and raised her eyebrows. Appreciation flared in Dylan's eyes as he sat down on the side of the bed. He tugged the sheet away, revealing her naked body to his greedy gaze. “The full English, sir?” she said, letting him look his fill. He moved closer to stroke her breasts. “You have a smart mouth.” “Do you like it?” He snaked his tongue along her bottom lip. “I like it plenty.” His hands tracked over her rib cage and settled on her hips. “I like all of you plenty.” His easy Californian accent softened his sensual words so that Kara found herself instinctively running her hands over the breadth of his shoulders, enjoying his body. “You’re not so bad yourself, Sailor.” “In the interests of honesty, I feel I should tell you that I don’t actually own this boat, and I’ve never sailed in my life.” Kara stroked her fingertips over his collarbones, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed that the Love Tug wasn’t a direct reflection of Dylan’s tastes. “I’m still going to call you Sailor.” “Good. I like the way you say it.” “Sailor,” she said, deliberately husky, letting her fingers trail down the definition of his stomach, enjoying the way his cock reacted with interest. “Did you offer me breakfast?” he said, sliding his hand between her legs. “Because I’ve decided what I want.” “Hmm. What might that be?” He opened her with his fingers, dropping his other hand down to explore her exposed sex. “You.” He kissed her shoulder. “This.” He concentrated his attention on her clitoris, and she parted her legs wider for him. “Now.” Dylan bent over her body and placed butterfly trails of kisses over her inner thighs, then lay down on his side, rolling her onto hers too. He rested his head on her inner thigh when she lifted her knee, and gave a small sigh of appreciation when she mirrored the position, inverted between his thighs.

“I’m hungry too,” she murmured, wrapping her arm over his hip, holding him close and loving the sight of his cock so close to her mouth. He was the most tempting breakfast she’d ever had before her. He kept her waiting, letting her expectations heighten as he stroked the curves of her bottom and thighs, his lips everywhere but where she really wanted them to be. She repaid him in kind, massaging the firm cheeks of his ass, letting his cock brush her throat when she leaned in to lick the lines where his torso met his thigh. And then he paused, splaying her sex wide with the fingertips of both his hands. Kara held her breath, her teeth grazing his inner thigh, waiting. He made her wait longer still, his fingertips massaging tiny circles where they pressed into her flesh. “I’m not gonna rush this, English. I want you to remember it forever.” Was it possible to come just from being looked at, from anticipation and longing to be touched? Kara could feel Dylan’s gaze heavy between her legs, and she thrilled at the heady, hard evidence of his arousal in front of her eyes. She cupped his balls, needing to touch him almost more than she needed him to touch her, gratified by the catch in his heated breath over her clitoris. She moaned out loud with giddy relief when his fingers finally slid over her, moaned louder still when the warmth of his open mouth lowered over her sex, his tongue and his fingers working his own unique brand of leisurely, sensual magic. He took his time, and she wanted him to stay there forever. Kara’s hands explored his hardness, and she closed her eyes with pleasure when she took him into her mouth. Dylan’s shuddering sigh of satisfaction vibrated from his tongue onto her clitoris, and she slid him in deeper as he screwed two fingers inside her. They lay body to body, lost in the intimacy of giving and receiving. Of building and backing off, only to build again, a little higher each time. Kara’s arm over his hip held him close, her fingers sliding over his butt cheeks, between them, pressing against the tightness there as the orgasm she’d tried to hold back flooded through her body like a tsunami. Surrendered. Euphoric. He clamped her against him, thrusting his cock into her mouth as she came against his relentless tongue. She read his fraught movements, knowing he was going to come, wanting to taste him when he did. He was granite-smooth and swollen in her mouth, and she gave him everything. Sliding her hands. Swirling her tongue. Tight, hot suction. He wanted her to remember this forever. She wanted him to never forget how she made him feel. When she pressed her finger deeper between the firm cheeks of his ass, his hips jerked violently and his arm clamped her to him. He was gasping. Raw and laid bare, coming in her mouth and in her arms, his face pressed hard into her inner thigh. Afterwards, Dylan twisted around and gathered Kara against him, his hand moving warm and languid over her breasts as their heartbeats slowed. He reached up and traced his finger over the richly decorated ceiling, from planet earth across to the silver of the moon. “To the moon and back, English.”

CHAPTER TWELVE To: mollymk@toscanomail From: mmk@toscanomail Hey Mom, Just checking in to make sure you’re okay. How’s Justin doing? Don’t cover for him - if there’s any trouble, you let me know, okay? Remember I can be home within a day if you ever need me. M x To: mmk@toscanomail From: mollymk@toscanomail Stay where you are, son, Ibiza sounds like it’s going to suit you. You’ve done enough for your brother. More than anyone had any right to ask of you. Justin is… he’s Justin, he’ll never change. I heard on the grapevine at Lorn’s that Suzie is pregnant. Did you know? Mom xx Dylan stared at the screen for long minutes, the untouched cup of coffee in his hand going cold. He could clearly picture his mother sitting under the dryer at Lorn’s salon, her hair in rollers, reading some out of date magazine while the town’s latest tittle-tattle flowed around her. Her sons had provided a rich seam to mine for the local gossipmongers over the years, and she’d become accustomed to wearing her silence and serenity like an invisible cloak. It was that or fight back, and with sons like her boys, that was too much fighting for any one woman. Suzie was pregnant. Dylan closed his laptop and looked out over the Mediterranean from the open fronted cafe, remembering his coffee and finding it unpalatably cold. Was he bothered? On some level, perhaps. He didn’t want to analyse his own feelings where Suzie was concerned; she hadn’t been his girl for a while now. They’d both moved on, through choice on her part and necessity on his. He’d filed her away, along with all of the other associated bad memories, in a seldom-visited box at the back of his brain. The box was dirty. Battered, as if it had been kicked around in a temper. Padlocked with a big rusty lock that he’d deliberately lost the key to because he never wanted to have to open it again. This was home now. Ibiza. Sunshine. Sand. Sea. Sexy girls in cowboy boots. He hadn’t expected to find sanctuary on board a boat kitted out with its own private glitter-ball, or in the arms of a girl with wild curls and questionable taste in footwear. But then he'd learned the hard way that life throws you curveballs, and sometimes the best thing to do is just try and catch them, hoping like hell that no one guesses you don’t even know the rules of the game.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Sophie turned off the webcam, tears on her cheeks from blowing kisses to Tilly and her parents after their daily catch up session. Being apart from their daughter was proving hard on her heart, even if she was clearly having the time of her little life being spoiled rotten by her grandparents. Lucien handed her a chilled glass of wine and stroked a tender hand down her hair. “Don’t cry on your birthday, Princess. She’ll be here next week.” Sophie placed her hand over his on her shoulder and turned to kiss his knuckles, knowing that Lucien missed their little girl almost as much as she did. “Being here alone has its compensations,” he murmured, taking her hand and tugging her to her feet. “Come with me. I made dinner reservations.” “You did?” He rolled his eyes. “Come with me.” Sophie let him lead her, her eyes drawn as always to the lone wolf inked across his naked, sun bronzed back, brought to life by the subtle shift of his muscles as he moved. At thirty-six, he was a man who turned the heads of women in any room he walked into, yet whose own head was turned by no one but her. His loyalty and lust were for Sophie alone, a thrill that never got old for her. “I need to go and get ready,” Sophie said veering off towards the stairs down to their suite. “No you don’t.” Lucien didn’t turn around, just kept hold of her hand and led her out onto the terrace and down the warm stone steps at the side of the villa. Heady, scented honeysuckle meandered along the wall beside them, loading the air with sweetness as anticipation warmed Sophie’s bones. Lucien had assumed an air of mystery, which usually meant nothing but good things. Sometimes wild things, sometimes shocking things, but always, always good. He turned to her at the bottom of the steps, reaching into his jeans pocket and producing a large, old key. “This way.” He slid the key into an arched gate in the wall, then shouldered it open. Sophie glanced past him to see what lay beyond. She hadn’t ventured past that point, in truth she hadn’t given any thought to what was on the other side of the gate. Cliff, she’d vaguely assumed. Lucien stepped through and set off down the rocky, uneven path, Sophie following close behind him. “What’s down here?” “Dinner.” She glanced dubiously around the small slice of wilderness. “Do we have to catch it with our bare hands?” “Would I make you do that on your birthday?” He wouldn’t, she was almost certain. Almost. Previous birthdays had involved many things: surprise trips, private movie screenings, jewels that had made her gasp. This was a different approach, very different. Picking her way down a dusty Ibizan cliffside like a mountain goat was definitely unusual. “Nearly there,” he said, then turned unexpectedly and drew her against him for a slow, sizzling kiss. For a few seconds Sophie didn’t give the slightest thought to where they were heading, because being kissed by Lucien was utterly immersive. His hand drifted over her breast, and she felt her nipple ripen for him through her flimsy sundress. “You’re not wearing a bra,” he murmured, drawing his thumb around the nipple. “No.” He ran an experimental hand down her spine and over her backside, checking if she had anything at all

on beneath the cotton. She didn’t. She gasped when he unexpectedly lifted the dress up, grasping the seams as he tugged it off over her head. “Lucien,” she breathed, feeling exposed and instantly hot for him. “If it was up to me you’d never wear clothes,” he said, his hands back on her breasts as his tongue moved lazily in her mouth. He stopped when she slid her hands down his abs and popped the top button on his jeans. “Not me, Princess. Just you.” He stepped away from her and inclined his head towards where the path ahead of them curved out of sight. “Dinner is just around the corner.” Panic warmed Sophie’s cheeks. “I’m not going to find a table full of people round there, am I?” She’d taken Kara at face value when she’d said that she was spending the night with Dylan. Had she been covering for Lucien’s birthday surprise? He glanced back to her. “Now why didn’t I think of that?” “Because you know I’d die of embarrassment?” He must have caught the genuine anxiety in her voice, because he stopped and turned again, his palm soft against her hair. “Just us, Princess. I promise.” He traced a fingertip from her lips, between her breasts, over her stomach, and came to rest just above the crevice between her legs. “No one else gets to see you like this.” The possessive edge to his softly spoken words served only to make them sexier. He was a caveman in all the best ways. He moved his finger inside her folds for the most fleeting of seconds, his eyes knowing on hers as he skimmed her clitoris before turning his back to lead her on to dinner. She came to an abrupt standstill when they rounded the rock, completely taken by surprise at what she saw. “I never even realised this was here,” she said, her palm flat against her breastbone. “I know. I wanted to keep it a surprise.” She stepped forwards into a natural, totally private alcove worn into the rock, so deep it made a room in itself, enclosed by its three rocky walls. A four-poster day-bed nestled in the space, made of simple plain driftwood dressed with gauzy white drapes and sheets. Beyond the alcove, the cliff dropped away down to the sea below. In the distance the huge peach sun sank slowly into the horizon. Candles flickered on the natural ledges around the alcove, and a table stood beside the bed topped with silver domes. For a few seconds Sophie forgot she was naked. Lucien’s birthday surprise had completely enchanted her. And then he moved in close and dropped to his knees in front of her, and she remembered again, really fast. “So, it’s your birthday,” he said, wrapping his arms around her thighs and kissing her stomach. Her shoulders touched the smooth, cool stone wall behind her as Lucien hooked her leg over his shoulder, opening her sex to his eyes. He cradled the cheeks of her ass in his hands and looked up her body. “Let me give you something.” His eyes were hot, never leaving hers as he tipped his face up and opened his mouth over her. He loved doing this. He’d told her often, so many times when his head had been buried between her legs just as it was now. Sophie moaned, instinctively stroking a hand over his hair as he went to work on her, probing her delicate folds, using his fingers to expose her clitoris to his waiting tongue. He knew her body so intimately, knew how suckling her right there built her orgasm like quicksilver. He suckled her then, swirling his tongue over her nub as his hands massaged her backside. She didn’t try to hold her orgasm back as her body started its delicious tremble. Life with Lucien had taught her that her next orgasm was never far away… and it was her birthday, after all.

He read her signs and swirled harder, tighter, fast little circles that made her hips rock into his face. He answered by lifting her against his mouth and clamping her there, giving her so much stimulation that her orgasm erupted through her body like a firework, spangling every nerve ending with hot glitter. He loved her through it with his mouth and his hands, and when it was over he lowered her down onto her knees and gathered her into him. Sophie wound her arms around him, clinging to his strength, and his warmth. “I love you,” she mouthed against his shoulder, feeling him say it back against her hair. And she did, she really did. He was the owner of her heart, the father of her child. They shared everything. Except for one final thing. A thing she mostly tried not to think about. But the moment was too perfect. She was brave enough. She would say it today. She looked up at him, connecting with his gaze, her eyes steady and intimate. “You know what I’d really like for my birthday, Lucien?” “Anything,” he murmured, and she knew that he meant it. He’d move mountains to give her what she wanted. She paused for a few seconds, but her eyes didn’t waver. “I want to be your wife.” She felt him still. It was the only thing that they didn’t talk about. When she’d met Lucien, she’d been unhappily married to someone else and his opinion on matrimony was in the gutter. So much had happened over the intervening years to heal both of their wounds, yet still it was not an easy subject to raise. It was their last taboo. Lucien reached for her hand and moved it between their bodies until it settled over his heart. “I’m already yours, in here.” “I know that,” she said, easing back to look him in the eyes again. “Then why?” It wasn’t a confrontational question, more of a genuine need to know. Marriage just wasn’t Lucien’s idea of an expression of love. Sophie placed her hand on his cheek. Her man. Her beautiful, beautiful man. “Because I want to be your wife. I want to take your name. I want to wear your ring. I want to call you my husband.” She watched his eyes as she spoke, saw them soften with each new declaration. “I don’t care where, or when, or who else is there, Lucien. I don’t need a big party or a flashy diamond.” Sophie’s voice cracked. “I just want to marry you.” Lucien looked at the woman he loved, kneeling before him on her birthday, asking to become his wife. He'd always known that marriage held more relevance for Sophie than for him, but hearing her say that she wanted to take his name, to wear his ring… it stirred feelings in him that he didn’t even know he possessed. He hadn’t possessed them before Sophie. ‘I want to be your wife,’ she’d said, catching him unawares, as ever the girl who surprised him. “Stand up, Princess.” A flicker of apprehension crossed her brow as she took his hand to steady herself as she stood. That was better. His girl wanted to be his wife, and she was going to get the proposal she deserved. She was not the one who should be on her knees. “I’m not down on one knee, Sophie. I’m on both.” He held her hands, and could feel them shaking. “I’m kneeling because you humble me. I’m kneeling because you light up my life from the inside out. I’m kneeling because you’re the most fucking beautiful woman in this whole world, and an amazing mother to our amazing child. You’re the love of my lifetime.” She gripped his fingers hard, damp cheeked and shiny eyed in the candlelight. “Every now and then I forget how spectacular you are, Sophie.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, her skin warm, her scent familiar beneath his lips. “You just reminded me.”

And then he said the words that he’d never once imagined he’d say. “Marry me. Please?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN “Oh my God!” Kara shot off her stool, her cereal forgotten as she scooted around the breakfast bar to hug Sophie, almost lifting her off her feet in her delight. “What took you so long, Mr. K?” she laughed, turning to kiss Lucien on the cheek too. “Who said I did the asking?” he said, lifting his eyebrows as he slithered off his stool and picked up his car keys. Sophie brushed toast crumbs from her hands and put her arms around his neck as he leaned in close to kiss her goodbye. “We both did the asking,” she murmured, smiling as his lips touched hers. He tasted of fresh coffee and of lazy weekend mornings in bed, and she suddenly wished they were back there right now. His hand massaged her hip for a few seconds when she held him close and let her tongue flick against his, lingering. His low sigh told her he appreciated her giving him more than he’d expected. She smiled softly when he lifted his head. “I think you’re going to like having me as your wife.” She ran her thumb over his bottom lip then let him go with a gentle push. “Go to work. We’ll be in soon.” Lucien straightened reluctantly, tugging Kara’s ponytail as he passed her on the way out of the kitchen. “Don’t fill Sophie’s head with crazy wedding plans,” he said, knowing full well that she was going to. “So. Tell me everything,” Kara poured them both a fresh mug of coffee and sat down again opposite Sophie. “When, where, how. I need details.” She sipped her drink. “Unless you were actually shagging and he yelled it when he blew his load, in which case feel free to lie.” Sophie grinned. Kara’s directness always amused her. “Okay… we were in the secret alcove at the bottom of the garden…” “What alcove?” “It’s… well, it’s kind of a secret… like an outdoor bedroom in the cliff.” “Whoa!” Kara held up her hand, banging her mug down on the breakfast bar. “We have a secret sex alcove at the bottom of the garden?” “Who knew? I was as surprised as you,” Sophie said mildly. “Anyway, I said that what I’d really like for my birthday was a husband, so he got down on his knees and asked me to marry him.” Kara shook her head. “Wow. I don’t think there’s another person in this world who that man would get on his knees for.” They paused in silence for a second, then both spoke at the same time. “Tilly.” It was true. The tiny child had her daddy wrapped around her chubby little finger. “She is going to be the most adorable flower girl,” Kara said, reaching out and covering Sophie’s hand with her own. Sophie nodded, damp-eyed. “With you to look after her as my maid of honour?” It was Kara’s turn to well up, and she reached for a nearby box of tissues and dragged them over. “What are we like?” She laughed shakily. “I think we can safely assume that your wedding day will not turn into the fiasco that mine did. Lucien adores you.” “I know he does.” Sophie grabbed a tissue too. “I thought it might be nice to have the wedding in Norway.” Kara slid her mug across the counter and touched it against Sophie’s in assent. “God, yes! I’d love that. Maybe I can snag myself a Viking of my own after all.” “If you still need to. You seem pretty loved up with a certain American hottie right now.”

“Sexed up, not loved up,” Kara corrected. “One has a habit of leading to the other,” Sophie said. “Not for this gal,” Kara said, sliding off her stool. “I’m happy for sex to just lead to more sex right now.” “I know… but he seems like a nice guy, that’s all.” Kara picked up the keys to the Mustang. “As did Richard this time last year. And we all know how that one turned out, don’t we?” She prepared herself for the usual stabbing sensation that she always felt when she said his name. Whether it was pain from her own heart or the desire to stab his she wasn’t entirely certain, but either way, it didn’t come. Fuck, she’d finally done it. She’d moved on. Washed that man right out of her hair. Richard had made the coward’s choice on their wedding day, having been issued an ultimatum by his surreptitious girlfriend. Standing at the altar in the ivory dress of her dreams and waiting for a man who didn’t show had been the most humiliating experience of her life, and it had taken a lot of tears and bottles of vodka to set her on the road to recovery. And now, finally, it would appear that she had arrived. She stood stock still, her hand over her heart and her eyebrows raised towards her best friend. “Well, what do you know? I was right all along. The best way to get over a man is to get under another one.” She sashayed out of the kitchen, elated. At the club later that afternoon, Dylan rocked back in his swivel chair and stretched his arms above his head. Lucien sat alongside him and rolled his shoulders as he closed computer files down, work done at last for the day. Opening night was drawing closer and they’d spent the afternoon going over fine details to make sure that everything was in place to guarantee a seamless launch. The press were hungry to see how the club fared on the famed White Isle. While Lucien refused to hide their raison d’etre beneath a veil of prudishness, he equally didn’t allow his clubs to be categorised as seedy. They were hedonist palaces of intense pleasure for the open minded, and he was fiercely proud of the empire he’d created. The impression that the first night would create on guests and the media mattered to him very much. He opened the desk door and placed a bottle of whisky and two glasses on the top. “Drink?” “Sure,” Dylan said, watching Lucien pour out two heavy-handed measures. He’d come to admire the other man’s business acumen over the couple of weeks they’d worked together, and sensed that he was someone who played it straight down the line. Dylan was gratified that their business relationship was definitely moving into the territory of friendship too. He really liked this guy. Lucien took a conversational tone. “I asked Sophie to marry me yesterday.” Dylan grinned and accepted the glass Lucien held out along with the confidence he’d shared. “No way, man! Congratulations!” The whisky hit his throat with a welcome burn. “Although… I’d kind of assumed that you guys were married anyway.” Lucien knocked back a good slug of whisky. “It’s never been high on our list.” Dylan nodded slowly, his mind back in the States. “I know what you mean.” He regretted his choice of words as soon as they were out, and Lucien was too clever by far to miss the fact that his response was laden with meaning. “You do?” Measured words were needed. “I’ve been close once or twice,” he said non-committally, draining his glass then scrubbing his hand over the roughness of his cheek with a half smile. “Women, huh?” He was well aware that his sweeping generalisation sounded lame. Lucien lifted one shoulder as he replenished their glasses.

“Dylan, I’ll be straight with you. I offered you this job on instinct, and you haven’t given me cause to regret it. You obviously know your way around this business.” Relieved that the conversation had changed course, Dylan relaxed. “I’m excited about it. This whole island sits well with me, the job too. It feels good.” “Should I have asked you for references? Would you, if you were me?” Okay, not so relaxed. He shrugged, his expression turning philosophical. “I appreciate that you didn’t. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have found it easy to provide them.” Lucien eyed him steadily, waiting for more. They were similar in age, equals in body and in strength of mind. Dylan came from a family where brotherhood had turned out to stand for very little, yet he felt a quiet unity and trust in Lucien Knight. He didn’t want to lie to this man. He just wanted a clean slate and a simple life. “Things didn’t go well for me back home.” He sighed heavily and took a deep slug of whisky. “I left with nothing but the shirt on my back, and none of that shit will follow me here.” He shook his head, the memories all ugly. “Trust me, I’d’ve been happy to never set foot on American soil again if it wasn’t for my mom.” A look of understanding passed between the two men. Dylan didn’t know it, but he’d managed to say the one thing that reassured Lucien most. “So, this thing you’ve got going on with Kara…” Lucien said, changing the conversational course once more and leaving his sentence there for Dylan to make of it whatever he wanted. A slow smile crept across Dylan’s face at the mention of her name. “She’s a breath of fresh air.” “She’s not as tough as she makes out.” For all her smart one-liners and her bold moves, Dylan had seen the fragility behind Kara’s eyes. “I get that.” It was the thing that scared him most about her. “Kara’s history is hers to share, but you should know she's the closest thing I have to a sister.” Lucien’s message could not have been clearer, and Dylan admired him all the more for his loyalty. “I’ll never hurt her on purpose.” “It’s easily done.” Dylan swirled the whisky in his glass. “I get that too.” His heart felt oddly heavy in his chest long after the conversation had ended. He’d forgotten that feeling in the last few weeks, but now it was back with him. Could he really have this life? Was he entitled to it, after all that had gone before? He badly needed to believe that the answer was yes.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN “Throwing yourself a party, Sailor?” Kara sat down at the bar a couple of evenings later, the bangles around her wrist clattering against the mirrored surface. Dylan was working late again, the mellow sound of Bob Marley low in the background as he studied an array of rainbow coloured liqueurs and bottles of spirits lined up across the bar. Sophie and Lucien had left together an hour or two before, leaving Kara and Dylan behind to lock up. “Every club needs its signature cocktail.” “It does?” Kara turned the closest bottle towards her, reading the label on the deep amber liquid. “Hierbas?” Dylan nodded. “Top of the list. It’s locally made.” He took the bottle from her and opened it. “The taste of Ibiza.” He held it out for her to smell. She inhaled, catching notes of fresh lavender and herbs. “It smells like summer,” she said as Dylan reached for a shot glass and poured out a little for her to try. The flavours burst in her mouth: sweet aniseed, fragrant herbs, and smooth, warm alcohol. “Wow,” she laughed. “That’s… potent.” “Yes it is,” Dylan murmured, setting the bottle to one side and opening a bottle of Cava from the fridge. “This is turning into my kind of Friday night,” Kara said, as Dylan reached down a champagne flute from the overhead rack and poured her a glass. She watched him as he studied the bottles on the bar, selecting the odd one and either shortlisting it next to the Hierbas or else putting it back in its place behind him on the shelf. “You’ve done this before, huh?” He shrugged. “Some.” “Can you toss the shaker behind your back? Please say yes,” Kara giggled, halfway towards a Tom Cruise fantasy already. Dylan rolled his eyes. He’d cut his teeth on all that stuff, it was second nature. “For sure. But I’m not doing it for you now.” “You so are,” Kara placed her Cava down. “I’d like a Sex on the Beach, please barman, followed by a Slow Comfortable Screw.” Dylan shook his head, the trace of a laugh on his face. “Predictable.” He measured Hierbas into a glass cup and then into a silver beaker. “A Screaming Orgasm then?” She tilted her head to one side winsomely and batted her eyelashes. “Please?” Just saying the words warmed the pit of her stomach, because Dylan Day was capable of exactly that with just a few flicks of his fingers. It was verging on embarrassing how easily the man could make her come. He lifted his amused eyes to hers, and then reached for a mortar and pestle. She sat for a few seconds as he plucked fresh mint from a plant on the back of the bar then set to work. She watched his hands, the slow grinding motion as he crushed the leaves. She wanted them on her instead. Reaching behind her neck, she pulled the ties of her halter necked sundress open and let it fall to her waist. Dylan ran his tongue over his lips. He paused, then seemed to think better of it and continued to add a little Cava to the crushed mint. Kara unclipped her strapless bra and peeled it from her body, holding it up for a second and letting it fall fluidly from her fingertips. She didn’t need to look down to know that her nipples were hard. Her

body was screaming for him. “Slippery Nipple?” she said, her eyes on his as she slid her hands over herself, tweaking her nipples lightly for his benefit. She had him and she knew it. His eyes darkened. He set the cocktail equipment down to one side and walked slowly round to her side of the bar. Swinging her stool around to face him, he opened her knees and moved to stand between them. “I think I’d better test that claim, English,” he said, and Kara sighed into his mouth as it covered hers at the same time as his hands covered her breasts. He rolled her nipples slowly, his tongue sliding over hers. “You lied,” he murmured. “Not slippery.” He reached for the bottle of Hierbas and tipped a little into his mouth, then lowered his head and closed his mouth over her nipple. His hands spanned her ribcage above her pushed down dress, holding her steady as he kissed his way over her curves to give her other breast some attention. Heat, and the slide of his tongue around her sensitive nipple, then delicious suction. “Now they’re slippery,” he said as he raised his head. “Slippery, and sexy, and delicious.” His mouth tasted of warm, sweet summer sunshine when he kissed her again, a sensual assault, his hands sliding into her hair. “If I fucked you right now, would you be slippery there too?” he breathed, pressing the hardness of his cock into the silk of her knickers below her rucked up skirt. Just as Kara decided that Hierbas was her favourite drink in the whole wide world, he pulled back, dropped a kiss that lingered on the hollow at the base of her neck, and then returned to the other side of the bar. She stared at him, her breath coming in less than regular gasps. “I’m working,” he said, steadily. “And you’re a beautiful distraction.” He strained the mint infusion into the Hierbas in the metal shaker. His eyes ran over the coloured spirits in front of him. “Which one, English?” he said. “Which one would you choose?” Did he actually expect her to have a lucid opinion on anything other than how much she wanted him to get naked? In the background, Bob Marley helpfully suggested she should stir it up as she scanned the bottles quickly. “The blue one,” she said, at random. He frowned thoughtfully, then shrugged and picked the blue curacao out of the line up. Lurid as it was, its bitter orange flavour might just harmonise well. He measured it out and added it to the mint and Hierbas in the shaker. Kara crossed her legs and picked up the glass of Cava he’d just topped up for her, learning patience, now beginning to enjoy his slow game because she was pretty certain that it would end with what she so much wanted. She held out a cautionary hand as he screwed the top onto the cocktail shaker and hefted it. “Take your shirt off before you do that.” “Before I shake the cocktail?” “You heard me, Sailor.” He sighed for effect, but she didn’t mistake it for genuine boredom because his eyes told her how hot he was for her. He was as into this as she was. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and held it there as his fingers worked the buttons on his shirt open, revealing inch on inch of golden goodness. His shoulders gleamed as he rolled them to shrug the shirt off and dropped it. “Better?” He lifted his hands to the side, palms up. She slowly released her lip, now plumped from having been bitten, and watched his eyes follow the movement, with satisfaction. “For now.” She sipped her wine. “Now, toss things.” He looked away, shaking his head, half laughing.

“I don’t do this stuff anymore,” he protested, picking up a bottle of neon yellow liqueur by the neck and flicking it in a graceful arch over his head. Kara watched, wide-eyed, as it somersaulted a couple of times then landed neatly in his other hand. She clapped with delight. “Wow!” The display of his body moving under the bar’s spotlights and the way he made his showmanship look so easy was thoroughly intoxicating. “Topless barmen. Write that down for your next business meeting with Lucien.” She rolled her gaze deliberately over his body. “A winner every single time.” “Sexist, English. So sexist,” he chided. She shrugged, not in the least bit sorry. “Now, make me a cocktail. Something sexy.” She sat back, unselfconscious with her body on display. He was in her thrall and he knew it. He studied her for a few seconds, and then seemed to make his decision. He turned his back on her, and she caught her breath, admiring him all over again. He was a man at home in his skin, from his lithe, sun-kissed shoulders to the lickable dip at the base of his spine revealed by the jeans slung low on his hips. Tawny lights gleamed in his hair when he moved, stretching for a bottle. There was a grace and a strength to the man that stopped her breath for a few seconds. And then he tossed a cocktail shaker over his shoulder and caught it as he turned about, flipping a bottle from the bar so a little of its peachy nectar went into the shaker. Rum flew overhead next, the bottle spiralling into his hand to be tipped into the shaker too. It was like a well-rehearsed circus act, as natural as walking the tightrope for the acrobat. Bottles rolled from his wrist to his shoulder and back into his hand again in a blink, ice cubes jumped one, two three in the air before hitting the tumbler. And then he was done, screwing the lid on before shaking the concoction high then low. He slid a glass along the bar and tipped the cocktail out with a final flourish, crushed ice suspended in glittering golden liquid. “One Naked Lady.” Kara gave him another burst of applause, her eyes round with delight. His hand caught hers as she reached for the glass. “Not until you’re a naked lady too.” She paused for a heartbeat, then kicked off her shoes and shimmied down from the stool. Her dress didn’t take much encouraging to fall down her hips, leaving her standing in the briefest scrap of midnight blue silk. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on full nudity, lady. House rules,” he said, his fingers still around her glass. The gravelly edge to his voice told her that he appreciated what he saw. “I really do want to taste that drink,” she murmured, running one finger inside the top edge of the silk. “I really want you to taste it,” he said. “Take your panties off, English. Be naked for me.” Kara glanced behind her at the deserted dance floor, at the luxurious booths set around it which would very soon be filled with pleasure seekers. She was completely certain that no matter what happened in this place after opening night, no one would feel more filled to the brim with boiling, molten lust that she did at that exact moment. She burned with it. Burned for him. Walking around the bar to where he stood watching her, she paused close to him and brushed her hand down the centre of his body, lower to give his crotch a light massage, then sashayed past him to run her hand over the elegant supportive column that rose from the bar to the ceiling. Covered in tiny mirrored tiles that reflected the colours and lights around it, it created a sparkling, soaring cascade of light when the club was in full flow. The bar beyond it wasn’t stocked yet, and the surface was clear. Perfect. Using a nearby upturned crate as a step, she hopped up onto the bar and leaned her back against the glittering column. Dylan picked up the cocktail he’d made for her and walked slowly towards her as she stepped delicately out of her knickers and slid down to sit on the bar, one leg stretched out in front of her, the other bent to rest her elbow on. She cupped her chin and smiled artfully.

“Do I get my drink now?” Wordlessly he passed her the glass, his eyes moving over her body. He chose the moment she raised the glass to her lips to glide his hand down the outside of her raised thigh, moving beneath to stroke between her legs as the drink filled her mouth. “What can you taste, English?” “Apricots.” Touch me. “Lemon.” Open me. “Rum.” Fuck me. “Very good,” he murmured, kissing her kneecap then lowering it towards him on the bar, opening her legs. “Anything else?” he whispered, mouthing her nipple as his fingers moved inside her folds. All she could think of was the heat. In her mouth and between her legs. “Warm,” she said, taking a little more into her mouth and leaning her head back against the pillar, arching her back with pleasure when Dylan pushed his fingers inside her. “So warm,” he said, his breath hot against her ear. “So warm, and wet, and open.” His low, sexy drawl sent long, delicious shivers through her body. “Say something else,” she said. “Keep talking.” Kara felt the curve of his smile as his tongue traced her earlobe. “You like dirty talk, English?” The involuntary yelp that left her body was confirmation enough for both of them. “You want me to tell you how good it feels to spread your legs wide open and fuck you with my fingers?” He crooked his fingers inside her, finding her g-spot and massaging it. “You want me to tell you how much I love watching your mouth when you’re excited, and feeling your clit swell when I touch it? How much I want to lick it right now?” He used his thumb to demonstrate, the pad of it flat on her clitoris, massaging. “To taste you, to feel you come in my mouth?” He had her so high she could almost see stars. “Or maybe you want me to tell you how hard my cock is for you, and how it’s actually fucking hurting me because I want to screw you so badly? Is that it, Kara?” He had a way of only using her name at the very best moments, and she instinctively reached down and covered him with her hand, kneading him. The feel of him rigid beneath her fingers excited her almost beyond reason. “You see how hard you’ve got me?” he said, sliding her closer and lifting her off the bar with one arm as he unbuttoned his jeans. He turned her and bent her over the bar. The tear of foil was music to her ears, and seconds later he was against her, rocking his cock along the length of her sex. The mirrored surface of the bar chilled her nipples, and Dylan was oh so hot between her thighs. And then he was inside her, hard and thick, making her gasp his name and look for something to hold onto. His hand lay splayed between her shoulder blades, pinning her down as he thrust into her. Hard. She wanted harder still. “More,” she gasped. “More.” He paused, then moved back a fraction and lowered them both down until her knees felt the cool, hard floor behind the bar. “Like this?” he ground out, throwing his hips forward so his cock hit home again and again. He wound her hair around his hand when she dropped her head back. “Will you come if I touch your clit now, English?” She was pretty sure she was going to come just at the sound of his rasped words. Her stomach muscles jumped when he slid his hand over them, gliding down between her spread legs. Greedy for him, she spread her knees wider, and he responded with an intensely sexual, guttural moan. His steady, hard thrusts pounded faster, harder, and she met him slam for slam, taking him to the hilt, trembling as her orgasm happened beneath his fingers and around his cock.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his body juddering behind her once, twice, and then again before he finally slowed. Dylan crouched over her, pulling her down with him when he collapsed sideways onto the bar floor. He surrounded her, his heart beating hard against her back, every bit as erratically as her own. Bob Marley crooned in the background. Is this love, he asked? ‘No,’ Kara replied in her head, euphoric, dreamy. ‘It’s not love, but it sure as hell is the best sex ever.’ Dylan wrapped himself around the warmth and softness of Kara’s body, filling his hands and his mind with her to keep it from all of the bad stuff. Bob Marley suggested putting his cards on the table, as he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her. No way. No fucking way.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Blissful didn’t cover Sophie’s joy when Tilly and her nanny arrived in Ibiza the following weekend. The little girl shattered the peaceful vibe of the villa into a million pieces, much to the satisfaction of her daddy. Sophie watched them from the kitchen window, Lucien lifting a shrieking Tilly over his head in the swimming pool, that big baby laugh shaking her entire body when he splashed her down again into the water. Of all of the changes she’d witnessed in him over the years, the way he’d embraced fatherhood had been the most profound. To the rest of the world he was still the charismatic, uber-glamorous poster boy of the adult entertainment industry; it was only within the confines of their home that he relaxed his guard. Sophie alone knew his intricacies, the fears that drove him and kept him strong. He was a different man in many ways these days. He’d turned the hot glare of danger to a lower simmer; the heat was still there, but quietened by the safety of being loved. In other ways he’d become stronger still. He was a warrior for his family, their strength and their protector. She watched him climb out of the water with Tilly on his shoulders, her sweet limbs wrapped around the lone wolf tattoo inked over his shoulders. Sophie knew it by heart. She’d traced her fingers over it countless times, reminded each time of his heritage, his dark days, and gladdened that Lucien was no longer lonely. “I think I’ve tired her out.” Lucien walked inside a couple of minutes later, the sleepy child, wrapped in a towelling robe, resting on his shoulder. Tilly’s flopped arm and relaxed fingers told Sophie she was already snoozing, and a peep over Lucien’s shoulder confirmed it. “I’ll put her down if you like,” Kara offered, walking in from poolside and pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head. She wasn’t a woman who went mushy at the sight of a baby, yet something about Tilly had got under her skin. They seemed to connect, probably because Tilly was showing signs of being every bit as precocious as her mother’s best friend. Lucien dropped on the sofa as Kara left the room with Tilly in her arms, and Sophie flopped beside him. The sun had dried the pool water from his skin, leaving him warm to the touch and smelling of holidays and good times. She looped her arm over his bare midriff and snuggled into him, grabbing the moment to be alone. “I’ve been thinking about the wedding…” she said, enjoying the weight of the arm Lucien slung across her shoulders. “And?” he said, rubbing the top of her arm. “I thought Norway?” He turned his head and looked down at her, thoughtful. “I thought here.” “Here? In Ibiza?” Sophie said, surprised. He nodded. “At the end of the summer.” “As in… the next couple of months?” she said, even more surprised. They hadn’t talked about timescales, she’d just assumed that it would be some time the following year. “Just you, me, and Tilly.” Sophie paused, struck by the romantic image of the three of them in the sunshine, daisies in Tilly’s hair. “We’d need witnesses, at least,” she said, uncertain if she loved his idea or not. “Kara and Dylan,” Lucien said, slotting the pieces into place. “I’d like to take you home to London as Mrs. Knight,” he smooched the sensitive skin below her ear. It was the first time he’d ever said the words ‘Mrs. Knight,’ and a slow zing of happiness spread a smile across her face.

The more she imagined it, the more she loved his plan. “Okay,” she said, laughing, turning into his kiss. “Okay. Ibiza it is. And soon.” The next couple of weeks slipped by with alarming speed, each day a day closer to launch night at the club. Kara’s heart flipped whenever she drove past one of the huge, sexy roadside hoardings for Gateway Ibiza. VIP guests were invited, a celebrity DJ had signed on for a residency, and the press would be out in force. Lucien’s PR machine had swung into full assault; there couldn’t be many people on the island who didn’t know they were there. With twenty-four hours left to go, they were ready. Kara had spent her days over the last fortnight almost continually at the club, and her nights in bed with Dylan aboard the Love Tug. Her body ached pleasurably from being used in every way possible, and from using him right back. Had it really only been a few weeks since she’d first laid eyes on him? It felt much longer as the essence of him seeped under her skin, into her bones. He made her laugh, he made her moan, and he made her scream. He made her happy. To: mollymk@toscanomail From: mmk@toscanomail Hey mom, Thinking about you, be strong. Billy wouldn’t want you cry today, okay? It’s launch night here for the new club, I’ll raise a beer to him tonight. M x To: mmk@toscanomail From: mollymk@toscanomail I’m not sleeping son, I was just looking through some old photographs of you boys. I doubt your brother will even register the date. Three years without Billy already. It feels like so much longer. Hope your day goes well. I rest easier knowing that you’re out of it. Mom xx Dylan pushed his mobile into the pocket of his jeans, hating the image of his mom sitting alone late at night going through photos of her children in happier times. Scabbed knees and awful haircuts aplenty, no doubt, Billy always the joker with the biggest smile in the room. Familiar, unsettling pain jostled his heart at the thought of Billy, his older brother by two years and his best friend as they grew up. He scrubbed his hands over his face harshly, trying to erase his melancholy mood. He owed it to Lucien to give this day his all. He was more than aware that without this job he’d most likely have had to move on weeks ago to someplace else, with no clear plan in mind. Drifting didn’t suit him. He’d grown up in the heart of a big, bustling family; he wasn’t accustomed to being cut adrift. Somehow he’d fallen on his feet here, into a job that consumed him, with people who invited him to bask in the warmth of their family. And then there was Kara. Everything about the girl was pure gold, and every day the seeds of fear embedded themselves deeper into his gut. He was letting her invest her feelings, and he was investing his own, but it was all built on a house of cards. One push, and it would all fall in. Bitter experience had taught him that he could live through pretty much anything, but now, when it came to Kara, he wasn’t so sure. If he was any kind of man he’d call a halt to it, but she had him enthralled. His brain said back off,

but the rest of his body refused to listen. His cock stirred at the scent of her, and his mood lifted whenever she was near. When it came to Kara Brookes, he feared he was a very selfish man.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The staff had all been on site since just after five, and Kara’s entire body vibrated with first night nerves. This was by no means her first opening night, but that knowledge did nothing to slow the flood of adrenalin through her veins. She lived for nights like this - the thrills, the anticipation, the risk. Not that there was much risk, really. Lucien and Dylan had made sure of that where the club was concerned, and she and Sophie were one hundred percent ready for curtain up in the boutique. She looked slowly around, a careful three hundred and sixty degree spin. Every shelf stocked, every cabinet artfully lit, every mannequin unsuitably dressed. It looked beautiful; an elegant boudoir, a sexy prelude to the main event. Over the past few years she’d become accustomed to the adult club scene, grown to love it even. She’d never been inside one as a paying customer. She wasn’t sure she would have ever been brave enough, yet the idea of working here alongside Dylan over the summer made her body thrum with lust. Not that they could or would take part in the front of house action, but every time she looked at the bar she could only think of being bent over it by Dylan. Launch night. The calm before the storm. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. This was no mean feat, given that Sophie had laced her aubergine velvet corset dress with some gusto an hour or so back. They both wore the same outfits, a suggestive uniform that set the tone perfectly, both sophisticated and sexy as sin. The three freshly trained boutique staff were similarly attired and almost as excited as she was. She glanced up as Lucien appeared in the doorway. “Got five minutes?” he asked. Even Kara had to admit he looked lethal, dressed in black from head to toe, the perfect canvas to set off his bronzed Viking looks. “Looking good, Mr. K,” she grinned, following him towards the bar. And then she saw Dylan, and acknowledged that good as Lucien looked, he didn’t have the same flip-flop effect on her heart as the beautiful American currently popping the cork on a bottle of vintage champagne. Sophie was perched on a high stool at the bar, laughing at something Dylan had said. Lucien crossed to stand behind her, his fingers idly toying with the laces down the back of her corset. “If you keep that up, the boutique customers will get more than they bargained for,” she said dryly, wriggling her shoulders to stop him from inadvertently loosening her bodice. “You can keep it on for now. But I get to take it off later,” he murmured, for Sophie’s ears only. “Are we celebrating already?” Kara asked, accepting the glass that Dylan held out to her. His fingers brushed warm against hers. She noticed how his eyes were drawn to her mouth and lingered for a beat longer than could be considered polite, and knew that whatever was going on inside his head that very second would be deliciously filthy. A month spent in his bed had taught her that he was a man who loved sex voraciously, and when it came to him the feelings were mutual. She couldn’t get enough. They screwed, and she just wanted him all over again, only harder. Rinse and repeat. He had a way of making her feel alive and beautiful, as if her every curve was his idea of perfection. He went straight to her head, and she found that she just wanted more, more, more. “Okay. Doors open in fifteen, and we all need to be outside to meet and greet. The press are out in force from what I can see out there, so be ready to turn on the charm and smile for the cameras,” Lucien said, his eyes on the screen of the outdoor surveillance monitor tucked away in the corner of the bar. No one noticed the frown that puckered Dylan’s brow as he followed Lucien’s gaze, sipping his champagne automatically. “A toast,” Lucien said turning back to them once they all had a glass in their hand. “To Gateway Ibiza,

and all who screw in her.” Kara raised her glass to the others with a smile. She’d heard the toast several times, but it still amused her. “To all who screw in her,” she murmured, her eyes touching Dylan’s again, knowing that he was thinking exactly the same as she was. And to all those who’ve already screwed in her. Or was he? He looked more unsettled than he had a few moments ago, less relaxed. His laid-back Californian feathers definitely seemed ruffled to her eye, practised as it was at looking at him good and hard. “So what’s your plan tonight?” Kara asked him as Sophie and Lucien wandered away towards the office, his arm protectively around her waist. She leaned over the bar to afford Dylan a clear view down her Jessica Rabbit-style cleavage. “Because I can offer you a really special discount if you come by the boutique. What’s your poison, Sailor?” she murmured, touching the folded back sleeve of his slate grey shirt. “Cuffs?” She circled her fingers firmly around his wrist, feeling the beat of his pulse beneath her thumb pad when she pressed down. “Nipple clamps?” She shimmied her shoulders to jiggle her breasts, gratified by the way his expression softened from tense to turned on. Whatever was on his mind, it was a thrill to know that she could make him forget about it. “Or maybe you’d like something a little kinkier…” she murmured, fucking him with her eyes. “Maybe you’d like to bend me over your knee and spank me with one of our leather riding crops. Because Dylan…” she whispered, pausing to lick her lips. “When this place closes tonight, I plan on being a very, very bad girl.” Outside ten minutes later, and the place was alive with queuing customers and the flash of cameras hungry for a shot of Lucien Knight, patron saint of the world of erotic clubs. They’d gone to great pains to create Hollywood red carpet-style glamour for the opening night, although the carpet was deep purple rather than scarlet. It was soon obscured by VIP guests milling around and posing for the cameras before entering the club, all keen to be portrayed as risque to enhance their images. Lucien and Sophie stood to the side giving interviews to the press, and he turned to beckon Dylan and Kara across for a photograph of the management team. Kara nodded across the hordes in acknowledgement and placed her hand on Dylan’s arm. “We’re needed,” she murmured, leaning close so as not to interrupt the conversation he was holding with a group of excited first night attendees. The scent of him filled her head, making her want to lick his neck. He turned to her with a smile, which slid from his face as his gaze moved to Lucien and Sophie and the waiting press photographer. He excused himself from the conversation, his mind racing. He badly didn’t want to let Lucien down tonight, this was the acid test. Equally, he didn’t want his image splashed across tomorrow morning’s local papers, or more worryingly, over the pages of entertainment industry magazines. The slim chance that someone back home would see the picture was enough to bathe his body in clammy foreboding. He followed Kara slowly because there was no other choice that he could see. A few weeks here and already this place and these people felt dangerously like home. He didn’t want it entangling with his former life. Fuck. He met Lucien’s eyes as he drew close, and saw the question in them. Was it written all over his face how much he didn’t want to be photographed? “So much charisma in one photograph,” Kara said, linking her arm through Sophie’s, her eyes on Dylan and Lucien. “Hope they don’t break the camera lens.” Lucien reached into his pocket for his phone, flicked the screen on for a second and frowned. “Sorry guys, minor emergency,” he murmured to the photographers. “Dylan, the DJ’s having some last minute hitches with the energy supply. Would you go and see what’s going on? We open in five.” Lucien moved between Sophie and Kara, an arm around each of their waists. “A thorn between two roses,” he

smiled graciously for their benefit, jerking his head imperceptibly at Dylan to disappear. Moving away into the safety of the crowd, Dylan was well aware that the DJ would not be waiting for his help. He let his breath out on a long, slow huff. That had been close. Too close, and he now owed Lucien his thanks and some kind of explanation. He’d already been more economical with the truth than sat easily with his conscience. He really didn’t want to lie to these people, but there was no way he was dragging them into his mess.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN A couple of hours later, and Dylan was too busy and too fascinated to give any more thought to his problems. The club was full to capacity, the opening night guests were spending freely on cocktails and champagne, and the steady, sexy beat of the music provided a perfect backdrop to the scene unfolding in front of him. He knew clubs like the back of his hand, but not this one. He knew clubbers like the back of his hand, but not these people. They had the same exterior gloss as conventional clubbers, more so, actually. They were exquisitely groomed and dressed to impress, albeit in flesh-revealing outfits and in some cases, lingerie. He’d ducked into the boutique earlier and found it full of interested customers, with Kara in her element as she helped someone choose between two different vibrators. He laughed softly as he moved back towards the bar, remembering back to the first time he’d met her, brandishing a vibrator at him like a gun. She sure was a woman of many facets. Unflinchingly honest, sexy beyond words, and sweet as spun sugar on the inside and out. Around him, people drank and danced, warming up for the night ahead. There was a sense of expectation in the air, an alive, sexual pulse that throbbed through the entire place. He was finally experiencing the difference between this club and any other he’d managed. Here there was a sense of freedom and of daring, of anything being possible for those brave enough to grasp the opportunity. Lucien appeared as he moved around the bar and checked in with the staff. “Walk with me.” His low tone brooked no argument, not that Dylan would have shied away in any case. He needed to clear things up with Lucien, to show him that the trust he’d placed in him was not misdirected. Satisfied that all was well behind the bar, he caught up alongside his boss as he began to weave through the throng. Together they worked their way around the periphery of the club. “What do you think?” Lucien asked. Dylan heard in the question confidence and pride but also a desire for reassurance. He knew how much this mattered to Lucien. Dylan took a few seconds, drinking in the images around him. Dancers. Couples entwined around each other. Groups of revellers in the booths, a few celebrity faces among them. Their clothes would stay firmly on, but their status would be enhanced by gossip column inches and pictures the next day. Dylan knew that most of them were there at the behest of their PRs and advisors, targeted carefully by a comprehensive Gateway publicity campaign. Champagne corks were flying. Nearby, a woman naked from the waist up ground slowly against the guy behind her, her eyes closed as his hands moved over her breasts. A regular club with added erotic extras. “I think it’s fucking amazing,” he said truthfully. Lucien nodded, leading the way through to the spa area. Things had certainly kicked up a gear since Dylan had last been in there an hour back. Several people lounged naked in the jacuzzi, talking, flirting, and as he watched, one woman turned to another beside her and kissed her lingeringly, their bared breasts pressed together as their arms moved around each other. It wasn’t so much exhibitionism as uninhibited freedom, a distinction Dylan hadn’t fully appreciated until then. When a third woman joined them, he glanced away, back to Lucien’s knowing eyes. It was a hard line to walk, being here in a professional capacity rather than as a pleasure seeker. He supposed it was like being on the set of a classy porn movie

and having to keep your jeans on. “It’s natural to be turned on by it. It’s the best fucking job in the world,” Lucien said, interpreting Dylan’s thoughts without difficulty. “It gets easier to detach in one way, but the day you stop wanting to strip off and fuck someone is the day to walk away. You need a healthy appreciation for sex to do this job justice.” A healthy appreciation for sex was one way to put it. A burning desire to hunt Kara down and screw her hard against the wall in the next five minutes was another. Lucien headed up the nearby staircase at a jog, a man at ease in his environment. Dylan followed, knowing that if what he’d seen downstairs was any kind of yardstick, then upstairs was going to blister his eyeballs. “This is how it’ll be here, night in, night out. People come to drink and to fuck, simple as that. No drugs, no fighting, just fucking.” “As someone who has managed some rough clubs over the years, that is music to my ears, man,” Dylan said, peering into one of the playrooms as they passed the open doorway. Seven or eight naked clubbers writhed on the oversized bed, a nest of nude bodies, their mouths feasting on each other. Painted lips sliding over rigid cocks. Tongues lapping between spread legs. Hips banging hips, mouths sucking nipples. It was a veritable sex carnival, the players utterly lost in the acts of giving and receiving pleasure. “There’s an absolution and purity to fucking that strips people back to their primal core,” Lucien said, and his eyes moved from the playroom to Dylan. “Life is filled with double meanings and hidden secrets. There’s no hiding here.” They moved along from room to room, scene after scene of sex, from vanilla through to deepest darkest kink, the kind of stuff Dylan had barely even considered let alone taken part in. And he was no prude. But Lucien’s words sat heavier on his mind than the scenes unfolding before him. No hiding. Was he hiding? And what kind of a man did that make him? “Lucien, I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me.” Dylan watched the man he’d come to think of as a friend lift one shoulder, the other leaning on the doorframe of a room set out for people who liked a little pain along with their pleasure. Cages. Shackles. Whips. And suddenly Kara was foremost in his mind once again, her promise of being a very bad girl suddenly more real as he watched a blonde gasp with pleasure as a riding crop left red welts across her exposed ass. “Trust is a strange thing. Sometimes we give it even though it hasn’t been earned, because something in our gut tells us to,” Lucien said, as the man swung the crop down on the woman’s cheeks again. “She’s putting her trust him, even though she probably doesn’t even know his name.” He went on, “And I’m trusting you with my club and my friend, even though I’m well aware that I don’t even know your name.” Dylan nodded. That didn’t surprise him. Lucien was way too acute not to have looked into Dylan Day’s background. He’d have done the same himself in the other man’s shoes. “And I don’t need to know it,” Lucien said, turning abruptly from the door and walking towards the stairs at the far end of the corridor. “But whatever trouble you’re in obviously has you running scared. I’ve been that man, Dylan. It’s tiring, isn’t it?” Dylan leaned his back against the wall at the top of the quiet stairwell. “Fucking exhausting.” Lucien looked away for a few seconds and shook his head, then looked back again. “Can I help?” Dylan huffed softly. “I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know, man, but no. No one can.” He pushed his hands through his hair. “And just so you know, my troubles are my own, and hand on heart, they will not and cannot follow me here. Your trust is not misplaced.” He stood with his hand outspread on his chest, feeling his heart beating too fast for comfort. He

wouldn’t lie, but the truth wouldn’t come out either. It had no place here, and Lucien’s opinion of him would inevitably change. Right now it meant a lot to count him as a friend. They both turned at the sound of footsteps and found Kara coming up the staircase. “Hey Sailor. I’m on break. Keep me company?” Lucien placed his hand on Dylan’s shoulder for the briefest of seconds, then left him to Kara’s ministrations. “What was that all about?” Kara asked, gazing after Lucien. “Boy stuff.” Kara arched her eyebrows with a grin. “Boy stuff, huh? Dylan and Lucien, sitting in a tree...” Dylan dropped his hands to Kara’s waist. “The way you look in this outfit?” He ran his palms appreciatively over her velvet-clad hips and pulled her against him. “Not a chance.” Kara wound her arms around his neck. “I’ve got ten minutes,” she murmured, kissing the golden hollow at the base of his neck and sliding her hand down over his crotch. “Take me somewhere private and find out what’s underneath this dress?” Dylan didn’t need any further encouragement. He felt in his back pocket for his keys as he tugged her down the stairs. “In here.” He flicked through the keys to the right one and slid it into the lock, not easy with Kara already wrapped around him, sliding her hands inside his shirt. In the darkness, he reached for her. “Tell me this isn’t the broom cupboard,” she whispered, her nimble fingers already unbuckling his belt. “It’s the broom cupboard.” Dylan rucked Kara’s dress up her thighs, running his hands over her stocking tops. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.” “You betcha,” he muttered. “I wish I could see you. Stockings make me horny.” Kara freed his cock into her waiting hands. “I can tell.” “Fuck… English,” he groaned. “You’re pretty good at that.” “I know.” Dylan pulled Kara’s lace knickers to the side and backed her against the wall. It was her turn to groan. “You’re pretty good at that.” “I know,” he said, exploring inside her. “I’ve been thinking about you all night.” He lifted her and pinned her against the wall with his body. “Thinking about fucking you.” “So do me.” “Do me?” Dylan reached into his back pocket for a condom and sheathed himself. “You sound like a teenager,” he murmured, thrusting his cock deep into her, making her cry out. “It was your idea to screw in a cupboard,” she panted, dragging his mouth onto hers. “It was a good idea,” he said, fucking her hard, loving the sounds she made and the way she wrapped her leg around his ass to clamp him close. “The best,” she said, her voice trembling when he reached down and fingered her slick clitoris. She was going to come, he knew it and she knew it, and he put his hand over her mouth to muffle her yells. He held her up with the weight of his body, his hips pumping hard as he let go of his control. “The best,” he repeated, lowering her slowly back down to her feet. He kissed her slowly, smoothing her dress back into place regretfully as she stroked his hair. “The best, English.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN “I’m bushed.” Kara fished around in her bag for the keys to the Mustang as she walked back to the car with Dylan at the end of the night. He held out his hand. “Let me drive.” She handed them over willingly and flopped into the passenger seat. “Remember to drive on the right.” “We drive on the right in the States,” he said. “It’s only you guys who do it the wrong way.” “The right way,” she objected automatically, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation of being taken care of. Dylan threw his arm over the back of her seat and glanced over his shoulder as he reversed. “You have good taste in cars.” “Mmm. I seem to have a thing for all things American at the moment.” “You have a thing for me, English?” Delicious, sexy humour threaded its way through his drawl. “Hmm,” Kara said. “You. Mustangs.” She yawned. “You.” “You said me already.” “Like New York,” she muttered, half asleep. “So good I said you twice.” When she opened her eyes again, she was in Dylan’s arms being carried along the pathway at the edge of the beach. “I did not go to sleep,” she said, nuzzling her face into his neck to get closer to the scent of him. “Of course not,” he said. Then added, deadpan, “But you were snoring.” She opened her eyes wide. “I so was not.” “You’ve turned into that teenager again,” he said, kissing her softly as they approached the boat. He set her on her feet and held her hand as she stepped aboard. “Coffee?” she asked as he unlocked the door. Dylan moved in close behind her in the small kitchen and kissed her shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to go straight to bed?” “You’ve woken me up now. Let’s have coffee first,” she said, flicking the gas on beneath the kettle. He shrugged assent and turned on the radio, the station playing slow, chill-out tracks designed to lull the island’s clubbers to sleep. Dylan carried their mugs down into the living area a couple of minutes later and sat down on the lurid couch that ran around the edge. Kara dropped next to him, her head on his shoulder and her feet propped on his knees. “So. First night done,” she said, accepting her mug from Dylan. He settled back, his own mug in his hand. “It sure had some highlights.” Kara touched her mug against his with a lazy smile. “To Gateway Ibiza, and all who screw in her broom cupboard.” They fell silent, both tired and still coming down from the high of the successful launch. Dylan looked out over the dark, star-studded skies. Dawn was still a couple of hours away. I love this time of morning," he said quietly, his eyes on a lone fisherman in the distance loading nets into his vessel. "My brother Billy used to night fish." Kara stilled, surprised by his words. It was the first time he’d volunteered any personal information. “Are you close?” “We were.” Dylan drank deeply from his mug, letting the coffee scald his throat for a pain he could

concentrate on. “He died a few of years back.” “Shit.” Kara placed her mug down and sat up, her arm along the cushion behind him. “I’m sorry, darlin’.” She stroked the warm skin at the back of his neck, waiting to see if he wanted to say more. She hoped he would. “It was a rough time.” Dylan swallowed hard. “Still is. My mom struggles.” Kara blew out slowly, thankful that she was unable to comprehend the level of grief. “Do you have any other brothers or sisters?” Dylan’s breath left his body in a long sigh. “One other brother. Justin.” A different bleakness lined his face. “We’re not so close.” There was obviously much that he wasn’t saying, but she was delicate enough not to push him. “I have twin brothers,” she said instead. “They’re seven years younger than me and drive me crazy most of the time.” Dylan laughed softly. “I bet their friends have crushes on you.” “What can I say?” she grinned. “I’m irresistible.” Dylan stroked her thigh. “You are.” Kara’s stomach flipped at his serious reaction to her flippant remark. “You are completely and utterly fucking irresistible,” he said. “So how the hell are you still single?” “Am I?” she said. “You know what I mean, English,” he chided. Kara’s grip tightened around her coffee mug. She knew what he meant. “You really want to know?” she asked, not sure that she really wanted to tell him. He nodded, his perceptive eyes searching. “I was with the same guy for five years. He asked me to marry him and then forgot to turn up.” “No fucking way,” Dylan said. He was genuinely astonished. Kara, jilted? He couldn’t imagine anyone daring. “Yes fucking way. Turned out he forgot quite a lot of things. Like to tell me about his other women, or the fact that one of them had threatened to gatecrash the wedding if he went through with it.” “He sounds like a piece of work.” Kara shook her head. “You don’t know the half of it. He lied, and he lied, and he lied. I hate liars.” She didn’t look up to see Dylan’s expression. Now that she’d started to talk the words were tumbling out, unchecked. “And the best of it is that you’d think I’d have been able to spot a liar, because my dad was the king of them all.” An unexpected lump rose in her throat. Why the fuck was she telling him all of this? But his hand was still warm and comforting on her leg. She wanted to get it out now. She wanted him to know all about her. To understand. “He lied about pretty much everything, to all of us. To me, to my brothers, and to my mum. I haven’t seen him since I was twelve years old.” Dylan sighed, and Kara looked up with a small smile. “So there you have it. I’m single because I’m the idiot who was stood up at the altar.” “You were definitely not the idiot in that story,” Dylan said, drawing her against him and kissing her hair. “It doesn’t bother me any more. It did, but now it doesn’t. It seems that you’ve cured me.” Dylan’s mouth moved over her face, kissing her damp lashes. “Promise me you’ll never lie to me?” she said when he finally reached her lips. “Kara…” he murmured, and then he kissed her until she had forgotten she’d even asked a question, let alone noticed that he hadn’t answered.

The boat rocked in gentle motion to the slow beat of the music as Dylan’s tongue slid between Kara’s lips, exploring the sweetness of her mouth, trying to forget the things she’d said. Her father was a liar. Her ex was a liar. He was a liar. Her fingers picked open the buttons of his shirt and smoothed it from his shoulders. “You know, it’s a crime to have that thing in here and not dance,” she whispered, standing up, still holding his hand. He flicked his eyes to where she was looking, at the outlandish glitter ball slowly rotating above the lounge, and then shrugged with a half smile and stood up. They smooched slowly, two late night lovers moving to lovers’ music on a dance floor made just for them, arms wrapped around each other, their mouths grazing each other’s shoulders. Dylan unpicked the laces of Kara’s corset, making his fingers work patiently but so badly wanting her skin against his, her heat to warm him, her body to hold him. Her dress slid off in his hands, leaving her beautiful in lacy lingerie and stockings. She was tired in his arms, pliant, yet still her nipples beaded against the lace and her hips undulated into his when he held her close. Her skin was silk against his, warm and vital, and the need to stay there in her arms blindsided him. “The most perfect girl in the world,” he said, his mouth against her ear, only half aware that the words had come out loud. She pulled him closer until they pressed against each other from shoulder to hip, and a sigh of pleasure left her lips when he stroked her back. Dylan buried his face in her hair, loving her some, despising himself more. He understood her so much better after what she’d told him tonight, and he hated the knowledge that he was the next liar in her life. Over at the villa, Lucien finally got to unfasten the laces on the back of a similar dress and make love to the woman he adored. He needed Sophie as he needed oxygen. She was the reason he could sleep at night and the reason he got up in the morning. He buried his cock deep inside her in the centre of their big bed, and he knew with complete certainty that he wanted to screw only this woman for the rest of his life. Married. He felt the passion in the idea growing, captivating him. My Sophie. Soon to be my wife. Dylan woke to the sounds of Kara moving around overhead. His watch told him that he’d slept in late: he could hear the whistle of the kettle and the sound of Kara singing along to the radio. Stumbling as he pulled on his jeans, he made his way up the ladder. “Morning sleepyhead,” she smiled, a vision in his shirt as she poured water into the coffee cups. “I made breakfast.” She held up a brown paper bag and he caught a waft of cinnamon. An image of her going to the bakery dressed in his shirt filled his head, pleasingly. “You really should think about bringing a few things down here. Clothes… that kind of stuff…” he trailed off, aware of the significance of the suggestion. She laughed, making the most of the moment. “You asking me to move in with you, Sailor?” He rolled his eyes, carrying their coffee up onto the roof terrace as Kara followed him with the pastries. They sat at the small rickety table, the sun already hot on their exposed skin. Kara dropped her sunglasses down over her eyes, messy-haired and looking deliciously like a woman who’d spent the night not sleeping a whole lot in a lover’s bed. Which she had, of course. His bed. An unexpected wave of possessiveness swept over him from nowhere. He wanted to be the only man who got to spend the night with her. She opened the bag and handed him a pastry. “You’re a fabulous cook,” he said, biting into it.

“You did say cook?” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively as she smoothed the bag out over her knees to serve as a plate. The double whammy of sugar and strong coffee seeped into their bloodstreams and worked its magic, revving them up for the new long day and night that lay ahead. “I’ll bring some clothes by later,” she said, and, as simple as that, they agreed to spend the next couple of months together on the Love Tug. “And about what I said last night…” she said conversationally, ripping the warm pastry apart with her fingers. “ I meant every word of it, Dylan Day. Lie to me and I’ll cut your cock off and pickle it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY The club went from strength to strength over the following few weeks, as did Dylan and Kara’s love-in on the Love Tug. Every day she fell a little deeper for the laidback American’s charm, and he fell a little harder for her English sense of humour and disarming honesty. They worked hard, and they played hard, from sunny afternoons around the pool with Lucien, Sophie and Tilly to long steamy interludes that made the Love Tug rock despite the serene seas. They found things they shared in common: a love of Thai food and horror movies. They found things they were never going to agree on: the merits of reality TV and punk music. But most of all they found solace in each other’s arms, and peace in each other’s body. Each new act of sex bonded them closer. Sometimes slow, intimate and intense, other times red hot sexy rip-your-shirt-offand-fuck-me-right-now, but always consuming. Dylan’s skin turned a deeper shade of gold lying out on the deck with Kara, and he lowered his guard enough to feel insulated from the worries of his old life. Settled. Happy, even. It turned out to be the biggest mistake of his life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE A stranger on a hired moped followed Kara’s red Mustang along the coast road, his face obscured by a helmet. He watched as she and Dylan parked the car and disappeared into the closed up club just after lunchtime. He watched Kara leave again half an hour later and contemplated following her, catching up with her first instead. That would make for a very illuminating conversation. Tempting as it was, given the way her luscious ass had looked in those cut off denim shorts, he decided against it. He had more to gain from going inside. He walked around the perimeter of the club, noting the dusty Estrella beer truck unloading, with professional interest. He slipped soundlessly into the unlocked cellar with the ease of a practised thief, waiting for a few minutes after the sound of the delivery truck’s engine faded away before he unfurled himself from behind the crates. Helping himself to a bottle of beer, he knocked the lid off and drank deeply. A second beer followed the first, for Dutch courage. Now he was ready. Upstairs in the office, Dylan worked on the staff rosters for the coming month, deep in concentration. Downstairs behind the bar, Lucien flicked through the morning’s mail, an espresso on the bar beside him. He’d left Sophie at home with Tilly for an afternoon of wedding planning with Kara, or more likely a wide-ranging chat over a glass of wine, if Kara had anything to do with it. A sound behind him had him instantly on high alert, and he looked up a second before the man appeared through the door at the end of the bar. “Who the fuck are you?” the stranger blurted, clearly not expecting his company. “That’s a fairly fucking audacious question, given the circumstances,” Lucien said coolly, placing his cup down as he watched the smaller man with shrewd eyes. The guy’s attire suggested that he was a holidaymaker, and a vain one at that. Cheap shorts, vest cut to show off his physique, a flashy identity bracelet and a thick chain around his wrist. Aggression emanated from him in waves, and only some vague familiarity in his face stopped Lucien from removing him by force from the premises without bothering to ask any more questions. “Get your boss down here, man,” the guy said. “And I’ll have a Southern Comfort while I wait. In fact, make it a double.” Lucien made no move, considering the intruder’s American accent. The stranger mistook his silence for trepidation, and reached arrogantly for a glass. “No? I guess I’ll just get my own then.” He had misread the situation. Big-time. His hand froze half way back down from the shelf as Lucien took a step towards him and said, his voice laden with menace, “No you won’t. Put my glass down and get the fuck out of my club.” The stranger blanched and took several steps back and around the bar. “You have precisely ten seconds before I post you home to your mama in a series of blood-stained envelopes,” Lucien added, conversationally. The guy slid the glass he’d snagged back onto the bar and swallowed hard. Then, both turned sharply at the sound of footsteps jogging down the stairs. A couple of seconds later, Dylan emerged through the staff doorway. “Lucien, do you know whether…” Dylan’s words died in his mouth as he caught sight of the visitor.

Lucien watched Dylan’s expression go from easy to stricken, and the pieces tumbled into place. The man was a stranger to Lucien, but not to Dylan. Now he knew why he’d had the sense of recognising something in his face. “Hey big bro,” the guy said, oily now that he felt he had the upper hand again. “Long time no see.” “Justin.” Dylan could not have loaded the word with more despondency if he’d tried. He threw the paperwork in his hand down on a nearby table. “What the fuck are you doing here?” His heart thumped uncomfortably behind his ribs. How long had Justin been here? What had he said to Lucien? “That’s no way to welcome your little brother, is it?” Justin said, the same sly grin on his face that always irritated the hell out of him. “How did you find me?” Dylan said flatly. He hated the fact that Lucien had to hear this. Justin practically sneered. “Because you couldn’t help sucking up to mom, even from thousands of miles away." It figured that their mother would have trusted Justin around her computer. She always wanted to think the best of him. "Hey mom, I remembered Billy’s birthday,” Justin said, affecting a mocking, whiney voice. “Hey Matthew, you’ve always been a good boy, Justin’s always been the bad boy. Stay in Ibiza and enjoy yourself while he rots,” Justin went on, an awful impersonation of their mother that hit the mark anyway. “Just like you let Billy rot.” Those weren’t their mother’s words, they were pure Justin. Dylan’s heart constricted with pain at the low jibe. He looked at his brother for several long, silent seconds, searching for something worth loving and coming up with nothing. As kids they'd shared little in common, as men even less. There was an underhand slyness to his kid brother that had made Dylan's skin crawl his whole life. “Go home, Justin. You have no place here.” “And yet it seems you do, Matty.” Justin gestured around the club, the bracelets on his wrist clashing against each other in the quiet room. Dylan flinched at the sound of Billy’s nickname for him, his eyes sheering away from Lucien’s unreadable ones across the room. “Maybe I see what you’ve got going here and I want in. I saw that hot piece of ass you were with earlier.” Justin cut an hourglass shape in the air with his hands. “Maybe I want in on that, too.” It was debatable who reached him first. Within a second he was surrounded, Dylan on one side, Lucien on the other, fury white hot on both faces. Like prey caught between two prowling lions, Justin’s eyes darted for an escape route, knowing there wasn’t one. “Okay, okay,” he said nervously, holding his hands up. His bravado had dissolved once again. “At ease, boys.” Neither Lucien nor Dylan moved a muscle. “For mom’s sake, I’m going to let you walk out of this place alive,” Dylan said, his voice low and steady. “And for Matthew’s sake, I’m going to give you until night fall to leave the island before I send out for those envelopes,” Lucien said in his ear, his fist itching to smack into their intruder’s jaw. Hearing his emphasis on the name, Dylan couldn’t meet Lucien’s eye. “And I came all this way just to deliver your mail,” Justin said, rallying slightly, drawing a beige, official-looking envelope out of his back pocket. Dylan took it from him, not even glancing at it. “Get out,” he said heavily, feeling the fragile new life he'd built for himself unravelling thread by slow thread. He watched his brother leave with Lucien close on his heels. He sank down onto the nearest chair, shoving the envelope addressed to Matthew McKenzie into his back pocket and dropping his head into his hands.

Outside, Lucien pinned Justin up against the wall with a hard shove. Edgy and rigid with fury, he towered over the other man in both stature and power. In that moment, he wasn't Lucien Knight, lover and father. He was Lucien Knight, loyal friend, the man you'd want in your corner when the chips were down. The man you really didn't want to be on the wrong side of. “You speak to no one, or I will know. You go straight to the airport, or I will know. You board a plane, or I will know. Set foot on Ibiza again, and I will know.” He leaned his arm against Justin’s wind pipe, his face inches from the other man’s. “Have I made myself clear, or do you need me to fucking spell it out?” The shifty fear in Justin’s eyes answered for him. He was on his way. He was a low life of no substance or worth, and he thought too much of his charmless face to risk its rearrangement by such a formidable foe. Lucien watched the younger man walk away, certain that he would never lay eyes on him again. Justin made his way back to the airport, his pride stinging and his throat sore, but satisfied that he’d thrown a grenade into his brother’s life in the form of a screwed up, beige envelope.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Lucien walked back into the club, passed by Dylan’s table, and strode straight to the bar. Two glasses and a bottle of vodka in his hands, he returned and pulled up a chair at the table. “Do you mind if I stick to Dylan?” His tone was neutral. “I’m kind of used to it.” He poured two good measures and pushed one across the table. Dylan scrubbed his palms into his eye sockets. “I’m sorry, man.” He didn’t have any words to explain the weight his brother’s unexpected appearance had dropped back onto his shoulders. His hard won peace had dissolved around him like ice on a hot day, showing up his life on Ibiza for the cheap illusion of smoke and mirrors it was. There was a long silence. They both drank a measure, not meeting eyes. “So. You’re nothing like your brother,” Lucien said, eventually. Dylan swallowed the remaining contents of his glass in one mouthful. “That’s just about the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Lucien refilled Dylan’s glass. “There were three of us. Billy. Me. Justin.” Dylan didn’t raise his eyes from the bottom of his glass. “Billy was the best of all of us. Now there’s just me. And him.” “What happened?” Lucien watched Dylan’s face as he searched for the right words, and he recognised the expressions that twisted his features. Grief, and guilt. He recognised them because he’d shouldered the same emotions for too many years himself over someone he’d loved too. “Billy… he was my big brother, and… my best friend. Sunshine followed him into every room, you know?” Lucien didn’t know. Not when it came to family, anyhow, but for the first time he was learning it now about a friend. Dylan had brought a new aspect to his life that he hadn’t even known had been missing. Brotherhood. “He got himself into trouble… gambling… debts he couldn’t make… I missed the signs. Too busy on my way up to notice, and he was too proud to come to me.” Dylan swirled the vodka in his glass, and Lucien sat still, in silent solidarity opposite him. “They found him hung by his own belt out in the woods behind his house. Open and closed case.” Dylan shrugged, his face etched with disgust. “Was it?” “Hell, no. Billy was no coward, and no matter how much shit he was in he’d never have broken our mother’s heart that way, on purpose.” Lucien’s affinity with the man opposite increased with his every word. Both of their lives had been overshadowed by loss and consumed by guilt. The difference between them was that Lucien had worked his way out the other side, thanks to Sophie. Dylan was still living in his own version of hell, and his brother’s appearance had just turned up the heat to unbearable levels. To Lucien’s eyes, he looked very much as he had the first time they’d met. Beat. “Justin has been spoiled his whole life. He grew up with a sense of entitlement, for no good reason. He was always going to get himself in trouble, and I was always going to be the one who had to bail him out. I think he gambled too just to prove he could succeed where Billy failed, to be the big man. Except he wasn’t. He got in way over his head, debt on debt, and then he came to me with his hands out. ‘They’re going to kill me, they’re going to take mom’s house.’” Unconsciously, Dylan adopted his brother’s drawling tone, his expression miserably disgusted. He shook his head, his eyes still downcast. “So I

bailed him.” He shrugged. “It took my club and my home, but I did it, because I couldn’t fail a brother again.” “And then you came here?” Dylan nodded. “I didn’t plan on lying.” He knocked back the vodka. “I just wanted to be someone else for a while. To get away. Just…” He tailed off. Lucien sighed heavily. He could understand that. “Seems to me that you’ve pulled it off pretty well up to now,” he observed. “I was a fool to think I could make it work.” Dylan’s tone was savage, castigating himself. “Way I see it, nothing has changed.” Dylan’s laugh held no trace of humour. “I don’t think Kara is going to see it that way. She deserves so much better than another liar in her life.” “She told you, huh?” Dylan nodded. “And trust me, I could not feel like a bigger shit than I do right now.” “Look,” Lucien sighed. “I can’t tell you what to do, and I won’t lie to Kara and Sophie for you. But find your own way to tell her over the coming weeks. I won’t push you. And in any case, I don’t think that brother of yours is likely to come back any time soon.” Dylan nodded slowly. He recognised the wisdom of Lucien’s words, and appreciated the trust he’d bestowed by allowing him to dictate the pace. His idyll had to end, but he could choose how and when. It was a bittersweet privilege. “Don’t underestimate Kara,” Lucien said, leaning back on his chair. “She might just surprise you.” “She already does. Every single day.” Lucien nodded, cradling his glass in his hands. He knew a woman like that too, and he recognised in Dylan the signs of a man falling hard. “About the wedding…” Dylan looked up, his troubled expression clearing a little at the change of subject. “We’re keeping it low key,” Lucien said. “Just a handful of people, and I… I kind of wondered if you’d be my best man.” Dylan was unaccustomed to hearing Lucien sound anything but ultra confident, making the trace of nerves behind his question all the more noticeable. “I’d love to, man,” he said, feeling the tension leave his body as he reached out and shook Lucien’s hand, clasping it with both of his own. “I’d really love to.” The bond of friendship between the two men deepened as Dylan added more vodka to their glasses. Maybe there was hope, after all. Lucien would have been within his rights to ask him to leave, but he’d chosen instead to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “Thank you,” Dylan said. “Your faith in me means a lot.” Lucien lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “Just don’t expect me to hug,” he said, pushing his chair back as he stood. “I like you, but this isn’t Brokeback Mountain.” As Lucien walked away, Dylan couldn’t repress an inner smile, a feeling of warmth, despite the disagreeable events of the evening, as he gazed into his shot glass. He hadn’t only found a remarkable woman in Ibiza. He’d made a true friend. At the villa, Kara and Sophie sat on the terrace beneath the shade of an umbrella, little needed now the evening had drawn in, an open bottle of chilled white wine on the table in front of them. “Here in Ibiza? In a few weeks time?” Kara repeated Sophie’s words. “I was looking forward to a trip to the land of sexy Vikings.” “Sorry. Blame my Viking. He wants to get married here.” Kara shrugged with exaggerated resignation. “I’m probably not in the market for a Viking anyway,” she

admitted. “You’ve changed your tune,” Sophie grinned, topping up their wine glasses. “I take it that the divine Mr. Day is the reason for your change of heart?” “God, Soph,” Kara said, feeling the flush of pleasure on her cheeks at the mention of him. “He really is divine. He’s like… I don’t even know how to put it. He melts me.” Kara ignored Sophie’s knowing smile. “I mean it, I’ve never met anyone like him before. It’s like… he really gets me.” “And does he?” Sophie said, raising her eyebrows questioningly. “ Does he really get you?” “Holy fuck. Yes. God, yes!” Kara laughed. “Does he ever.” “Good. You deserve someone to make you feel like that,” Sophie said. “God knows, you’ve kissed your share of frogs.” “You really think he might be my prince?” “Any man who can make you blush like that gets my vote. I like him a lot Kara. I really do.” Kara lay back and closed her eyes, a serene smile on her face. Maybe it was time for her luck to change. Dylan Day was the first man she’d ever met who seemed to genuinely want her for who she was, without any hidden agendas, without any skeletons in his cupboards, without any secret girlfriends waiting to jump out on her if she let herself get in too deep. Maybe. Maybe it would be okay. Kara really wanted it to be okay. She realised that she believed it could be. It would be. Really.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE “What shall we do with our night off, Sailor?” Kara twirled Dylan’s hair around her fingers, massaging his scalp as they lay baking on the deck of the Love Tug in the late afternoon sun. Once a week, Sophie and Lucien gave them a precious night off together, and they did the same in return. Tonight was Kara and Dylan’s turn to play hooky, and she wanted to kick back and make the best of every moment. With each day that slid by beneath the warmth of the Ibizan sun, she became more aware of how little time they had until the end of summer. And she resolutely wasn’t thinking beyond that. “Shall we take this little boat and sail off around the island?” she said. Dylan rolled onto his side, his warm hand on her ribs as he looked down at her. “Do you know how to sail this thing? Because lovely as it sounds, I don’t have the first idea.” “Well that’s that plan scuppered,” Kara said. “Any more ideas?” Dylan slid his hand down over her stomach, tracing his fingers along the edge of the triangle of her lime green bikini. “How ‘bout I help you get out of this and take you downstairs, show you who’s boss?” Kara laughed. “Do you have handcuffs? Every good boss needs handcuffs.” “No. You want me to get some?” “I already have some, and I might just have to fetch them and show you who’s boss,” she grinned, catching his wrists and encircling them with her hands. He let her hold him down for a few seconds, his eyes lazily turned on. “I might bring my whip too,” she murmured, her chest against his as she slid her knee over his shorts-clad crotch. “Will you wear black leather?” he asked, lifting his head to catch her kiss, letting his tongue flicker into her mouth. “No." An amused glint lit her eyes. “You will.” He laughed, rolling her over and pinioning her beneath him with ease. “You crossed the line, English.” He restrained her wrists beside her head, his body deliciously heavy on hers. “You wear the leather, and I’ll take it off you.” He dipped his head and kissed her again, slow and easy this time, that world-class mouth of his stealing any argument that might have been in her. There were no two ways about it. She was wildly turned on by the idea of wearing leather for him and letting him take it off her. “Soon then,” she said, when he let her come up for air. “But not today.” She stroked his back when he released her hands, enjoying his sun-warmed skin. “Take me somewhere new today. Take me on an adventure.” She ran her hands over his ass, and he rocked his hips into hers. “You know that wherever we go, the plan involves fucking, yes?” he said, kissing his way along her jaw. It was an entirely unnecessary question. “In the Mustang,” she whispered, grazing his earlobe with her teeth. “I want you to fuck me on the back seat.” He lifted his head, and that lazy turned on look in his eyes had notched up to crazy turned on. “Say that again.” The desire in his murmured voice turned her body inside out with lust. “Tell me again how you want me to fuck you.” Kara’s smile took over her whole face as she wrapped her leg around his thighs tighter to bring his cock harder against her. “Fuck me, Dylan Day. Drive me somewhere quiet and make me come all over the back seat of the Mustang.” She dragged her nails down his back. “I want you to strip me naked and bend me over the bonnet.”

Dylan ground against her, making her lips part on a sigh of pleasure. “Where I come from, it’s a hood.” “Call it whatever you like, darlin’. Just bend me over it and screw me with your big, hard cock.” “You have a filthy mouth, English…” Dylan reached between their bodies and pushed her bikini top up over her breast so that he could roll her already rock-hard nipple between his thumb and fingers. “Tell me some more.” Kara opened her mouth, and he dropped his face to hers, all the heat from their conversation spilling into their hard, hungry kiss. She moaned, writhing beneath him, not caring if anyone could see them because her head only had room for him in it. “Dylan…” she breathed his name, her eyes closed. “Plan B. Let’s not go anywhere. Take me downstairs.” She bit gently on his lip. “Take me to bed.” He groaned into her mouth. “Much as I’d love to,” - his hand covered her breast, warm and massaging “I can’t get the idea of the Mustang out of my head now.” Kara lifted her hips, cradling his erection between her legs. “I’m too far down the line, Sailor,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me wait.” He smiled, rocking himself against her. “It’ll be worth it, I promise,” he whispered, holding her face. “Next time you come you’ll be sitting up on that folded down roof with my head between your legs.” Kara moaned against him, and he slid a finger into her mouth. “Can you see it, baby?” She swirled her tongue around his finger, her eyes closed. She could see it, hell, she could feel it, but the fantasy just wasn’t enough. He was driving her slowly out of her mind. He stroked her hair back from her forehead with his other hand, moving his hips into hers again. “I’m gonna open you, and look at you, and put my mouth on you.” He slid his finger in and then back out of her mouth again, running the tip over her damp lips before sliding it back inside. “I love the taste of you,” he said against her ear. “Sweet as honey.” She was so close, moaning on every laboured breath, and he just wouldn’t give her enough. “Please…” “Beautiful girl,” he said, and when she opened her eyes, his were serious and so full of raw emotion that he took her breath away. “Get the keys, Sailor. We’re going out right now.” In the car ten minutes later, Kara’s body still burned hot for him beneath the cut-offs and vest top she’d thrown on over her bikini. He drove the Mustang with the same laid-back confidence he did everything else in his life, and as she watched his tanned hands on the wheel, she was already imagining them on her body instead. She frowned when he turned down a lane and eased the Mustang into a parking space amongst a few other cars. “I was hoping for somewhere more private,” she said, taken aback, glancing around at the smattering of shops and restaurants. “You’re going to be hungry by the time I’ve finished with you. Let’s get dinner to take out.” Dylan swung her door open for her, holding his hand out, and she grinned despite herself. “You know me too well.” “I sure know you well enough to know how cranky you get when you’re hungry.” “Not as cranky as I’m going to get if you don’t give me my orgasm soon.” “I have it right here,” he said, running his finger across his mouth, catching her around the waist with his other arm. “It’s on the tip of my tongue.” He bent his head and kissed her, brief yet off the scale sexy. “Can you taste it?” She nodded, barely. She could. He tasted of sex and promises as yet unmet. He took her hand and steered her into the nearest store, picking up a basket as they went in. There was something endearingly domestic about shopping with him for their post-orgasmic supper, and

it heightened Kara’s anticipation even more. He ran his hand down her back as she placed water into the basket, and she kissed his cheek when he leaned down for potato chips from a rack near the till. She chucked in a few beers next to the warm cheese- and ham-laden pastries he’d added, then a punnet of fresh strawberries too. Dylan chose marshmallows and a block of chocolate. “For you. You’re gonna need sugar for energy,” he said, dropping the last couple of things in and smiling at the woman behind the counter as he set the basket down. “Big talk,” Kara murmured, adding a half bottle of brandy to the pile of provisions and watching him chat idly with the cashier as she rang their food through, packing it for him even though she hadn’t packed for the customers ahead of them in the queue. He had a way about him that made people do things they wouldn’t normally do. Women, anyway. He did it to her, to pretty much any other woman who crossed his path, and she was pretty sure he didn’t even know he was doing it. Come to think about it, it wasn’t just women that Dylan Day charmed. Men and babies too, if Lucien and Tilly were any kind of yardstick. Lucien seemed more relaxed in Dylan’s company than she’d ever seen him with another guy before, and Tilly had fallen for him on sight. He seemed to sprinkle his magic wherever he went, and Kara just wanted to stay close and mesmerised. Plus she wanted that damn orgasm from him a hell of lot more than she wanted chocolate or strawberries or beer. She wanted it more than she wanted pretty much anything else, and then she knew full well that as soon as she’d had it she’d want another. Greedy as she might be, she wasn’t planning on being selfish: she also intended to give Dylan Day some unforgettable memories of his own in return. That prospect in itself was seriously sexy. The sun was starting to set as Dylan killed the engine on the Mustang, this time somewhere without any other cars in sight. “This better?” He turned to Kara, who was looking out over the beautiful scene laid before her. They’d wound their way through a pine forest to a tiny, deserted beach. Dylan had parked the car on the fringes of the sand, and right in front of them the huge sun tracked low in the sky, casting long, peachy bands of shadow across the sea towards them. “Better than that. It’s perfect.” “I thought you’d like it.” There was the tiniest suggestion of smugness in his voice. Kara slanted her eyes at him, her eyebrows raised. “You think you know me pretty well, huh?” “I’m enjoying getting to know you better every day, English,” Dylan said softly. With a slight change of tone, he added, “So, shall we walk for a while?” “Or I could just climb into the back?” Kara was finding it hard to think about anything else right now. “You could. There’s something I want to do first though.” He got out, coming around to open her door. Kara gave in gracefully, swinging herself out of the car. “This better be good.” Dylan took her hand and led her towards the trees. “We need to gather firewood.” “Firewood?” He nodded. “I’m gonna build us a campfire.” “Are we playing Scouts and stuff?”’ Kara said. “’Cause I have to tell you here and now, I was thrown out of the Girl Guides.” Dylan laughed, bending to gather sticks. “Why does that not surprise me?” “Fraternising with the Scouts was frowned on, apparently.” Dylan whistled low. “You’ve got me almost wishing I’d joined the Scouts, back then.” “So why didn’t you?” He sighed, and Kara felt his melancholy despite the fact that he wasn’t looking her way. “I guess we just weren’t a Scouting kind of family.”

She grinned when he turned towards her, anxious to restore his good humour. “Thank God for that. You don’t learn to kiss the way you do by being a good boy.” She stood on tiptoe to meet his mouth, his arms full of wood. “Time to go back to the car yet?” she murmured when he let her up for air a few minutes later. He placed the logs in her arms. “Soon. Go dump this on the beach. I’ll be there in a sec.” Kara frowned, resigned. “You’re not expecting me to sing Kum Ba Yah or anything, are you?” “Sing what? No.” He dropped his voice. “I’m expecting you to let me make you come by firelight.” She was suddenly hot all over and completely on board with the fire idea. The Mustang plan had been a great one, but sex by firelight was compelling enough for her to set it aside, for the moment at least. “Okay. So, go gather wood, Sailor. Quickly.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR When Dylan strolled out of the treeline five minutes later, it was all he could do not to drop all the wood he’d gathered. Kara was naked. Stark naked, standing waiting for him with her hands on her hips, her hair falling in waves around her shoulders. The setting sun dappled her skin, turning her ethereal. He walked closer, bending to lower the wood onto the sand. “I always had a thing for mermaids,” he said, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt and dragging it off over his head. “So very lovely,” he murmured appreciatively, walking around her. “I used to wonder how they had sex.” He ran his hand around her waist and pulled her back against his body, nestling himself against the softness of her backside, enjoying her soft intake of breath. “Everyone knows our tails turn into legs on shore,” she said, leaning her head back onto his shoulder. Dylan moved one hand up to cover Kara’s breast, and slid his other hand down to run the tip of his finger slowly into the crevice between her legs. “You’re definitely all woman right now,” he said. Her nipple strained hard in his fingers as she stepped her feet wider apart on the sand to let him touch her more intimately. “Make a really thorough check,” she whispered, arching an arm up around his neck, her nails raking the skin at his nape. Dylan squeezed her breast, kneading her flesh in his hand. “All in order here,” he whispered. “Beautiful. Warm. Soft.” He punctuated each observation with a rock of his hips. “And here?” she said, covering his hand between her legs with her own. Dylan groaned against her ear. “I think I need to investigate a little more.” He cupped her in his hand, enjoying the warmth of her palm holding him against her. She closed her eyes, and he watched her face in the dwindling twilight. How could she look so fragile and yet so powerful at the same time? She trusted him. She told him so with her body, and he found himself needing to swallow hard as his fingers moved inside her folds. She moved him in a way no woman ever had before. Everything about her was honest, and each day was better because she was in it. He kissed the corner of her mouth when she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting for him to touch her where she needed to be touched. She looked caught somewhere between pain and pleasure, surrendered, womanly. He ran his free hand up her body and laid his forearm along the curve of her neck, his hand massaging the back of her skull. He kissed her because his mouth needed hers, deep, wide open kisses, as close as he could get. His tongue stroked inside her mouth as he spread her wide and exposed her clitoris, both of their hands on her. Her fingers slid between his and he was suddenly hyper-aware of every sensation. Her body was so ready for him. Slick. Her head moved against his shoulder. Restless. Her back was warm against his chest. Pressed. Her hips undulated into his erection, massaging him. Hard. She was right on the edge of her orgasm. Shimmering. He built her up. Steady. And then, at the very second he knew she couldn’t take any more preamble, he pulled her hard against him and fingered her clitoris fully, giving her everything he had in an erotic onslaught. His mouth. His

hands. His thrusts. His tongue. His moans. She reacted instantaneously, her body shaking and juddering as her orgasm hit her hard. Jesus, she was beautiful. Abandoned. Totally fucking breath-taking. “Well?” Her voice shook when her eyes flickered open some seconds later, heavy-lidded with satisfaction. “Woman, or mermaid?” He dropped his jeans on the sand and swung her up in his arms, walking out towards the sea. “There’s only one way to know for certain.” “You build a good fire for a boy who never took his Scouting oath.” Kara sat on the sand with her arms wrapped around her knees as Dylan added a couple of logs to the fire he’d built after their swim. Skinny dipping with a drop dead sexy man by silver moonlight was a memory she’d filed away in the ‘keep forever’ file, and sitting beside him in the firelight was another tableau she never wanted to forget. Bare-chested and tousle-haired, he looked as if he’d been cast from gold. Solid, gleaming gold. She sipped brandy straight from the bottle, letting the warmth of the alcohol burn slowly inside her mouth. Every bone in her body felt heavy, totally relaxed. Heart-stopping sex, a lazy swim, and the perfect makeshift dinner can do that to a girl. She smiled as she watched Dylan spear a marshmallow on a stick he’d whittled into a skewer. “You really are the all American boy,” she smiled softly, watching him toast the candy over the flames. He glanced up. “You think so?” She nodded. “Hair, teeth and toasted marshmallows. Case closed.” “I see.” He held out the stick, the golden-toasted marshmallow on the end of it. “Is it going to burn me?” “Not if you’re cautious.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Do you even know what the word means?” Kara rolled her eyes. “I can be cautious. I just don’t feel like I need to be where you’re concerned.” She took the stick and lifted the marshmallow to her nose, taking in the sweet, burnt sugar smell. It reminded her of candyfloss, bought and greedily consumed on chilly evenings at the bonfire night funfair back home as a kid. But she wasn’t cold tonight. She was warm inside and out from the fire Dylan had built on the sand, and in her heart. Dylan heard Kara’s words, felt her trust, and wanted more than anything for them to be true. He wanted to be the man she made him feel like he was, rather than the guy who’d let his brother die and lost everything he owned trying to save the other one. Thoughts of Justin ran like a thief through his head, stealing his happiness away, leaving him empty and imprisoned by the awareness that he needed to tell Kara the truth. And he would. He didn’t know when, but he would. He’d honestly tried to a couple of times already, but each time the words got stuck behind his selfish need to stay on the pedestal where she’d put him. The view from up there was so good. Life with Kara was blue skies, mile wide smiles and smoking hot sex. The skies would no doubt still be blue after she knew, and he could survive without sex if he had to, but the idea of wiping that beautiful smile from her face nearly broke him. Watching her now as she tried to exercise caution with the hot marshmallow, he knocked back a mouthful of brandy and tortured himself, wondering how she’d react. Would she hate him? Would she be furious? God, please let her be furious rather than cry, because he’d rather cut out his own tongue than make Kara cry. He kidded himself that he wasn’t like the other liars in her life. He was a liar by circumstance rather than choice, he wasn’t hiding truths from her for his own benefit. Or was he? She didn’t even know his name, for God’s sake. She couldn’t Google him, because she didn’t know his name. She couldn’t read all

of the salacious scandal about his family, because she didn’t know his name. And the problem was that with every passing day, he wanted to stay Dylan Day more and more. Kara held out the empty stick towards him. “See? Cautious. And delicious.” She licked her lips. “Do me another?” Dylan pushed the stick into a second soft, white marshmallow, trying to shake off the blues and enjoy the moment. The firelight warmed Kara’s skin tone to toffee and danced roses in her cheeks. She looked like the best cheerleader in the world. He let himself imagine her for a couple of moments, all short skirt and pompoms, spelling out his name with that huge smile of hers on her face. ‘Gimme a D…D.Y.L.A.N. D.A.Y!’ And there it was again. The big lie that sat between them. And he wanted more than anything for her to know the truth. “What’s on your mind, Sailor?” He looked up from turning the stick close to the embers. She was way too in tune with his emotions. Could she see the mess inside his head? The darkness? He sighed heavily. Was this the right moment? “Here.” He held out the stick. “It’s ready.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Kara sensed Dylan’s mood shift from carefree to pensive, despite the fact that he was clearly trying to cover it up. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed his withdrawal, and it confused the hell out of her. She wanted in… into his head, and into his body. And not just sometimes. All of the time. Planting the used marshmallow stick in the sand, she scooted over and swung her leg over his jean-clad hips. Pleasure returned slowly to his face as she straddled his lap, wrapping her legs around his back and her arms around his shoulders. “I’m treating you to the full-on, all-body Brookes special here,” she said, loving the way his arms moved to hold her close even as the heavy sigh left his body. “This hug has been known to end wars.” An appreciative sound rumbled in Dylan’s chest. “I can well believe that.” He twisted her still damp hair in his fingers. “It’s almost perfect.” Kara pulled her head back. “Almost?” Dylan peeled off her vest top. They’d both pulled minimal clothing on after their swim. “You’re wearing stuff. You need to be naked to achieve war-ending status.” “Nice line, Sailor.” Kara climbed out of Dylan’s lap and shimmied out of her cut-offs, dropping her vest top on the sand beside them. Back in position a couple of seconds later, she wrapped herself around Dylan for a second time. “And now?” she asked. “Fucking perfection,” he said, scooping her close to sit on his erection, his crotch hot and hard between her spread legs. “Am I?” “Stop fishing, English.” “I just wanted to make you forget whatever it is that creeps up on you sometimes and steals your smile.” Dylan’s hands roved over her back and ass, following her curves as if he were committing them to memory. He let his forehead rest on her shoulder for a few seconds, and Kara stroked the back of his head. His body language told her two things. He needed to talk, and he needed to fuck. “So, tell me.” Dylan lifted his head, and the bleak expression in his eyes scared her hard. She wrapped her arms around him, her mouth close to his ear. “Nothing you can tell me will make me run, Dylan.” He shook his head lightly and kissed her shoulder. “You don’t know that, English.” She straightened in his lap, took his hands, and placed them over her breasts. “You’re right. I don’t know that.” Her nipples hardened as he circled them with his thumbs. “But I don’t trust easily Dylan, and everything in me knows that I can trust you.” “You show me with the way you listen to me.” She ran her hands down his arms, down the hard, lithe muscles from his shoulders to his elbows, grasping them to move herself even closer over the heat of his crotch. “You show me with the way you touch me,” she breathed, closing her eyes for a second as he measured the weight of her breasts in his hands, his eyes on her curves. She moaned a little when he dipped his head to close his mouth over one nipple and then the other, almost reverential. “And you show me with the way you fuck me,” she said, a catch in her breath when he moved his hand down between their bodies.

“I trust you, Dylan Day. Her mouth was just a breath from his. “Simple as.” Kara tilted her mouth over his and kissed him. Brandy, sugar, and Dylan Day, just about the most erotic flavour she’d ever tasted. The heat inside his mouth made her moan, his tongue slow and searching. His kiss gave him an unfair advantage. If her hugs could stop wars, then Dylan’s kiss was his secret weapon. His fingers stroked between her legs as he deepened their kiss, as natural as breathing and bonedeep sexy. “Touching you makes me forget the bad stuff,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside her to the knuckle. Kara gasped, opening her eyes wide, breathless. “So touch me some more.” Suddenly this was an urgent priority, whatever the bad stuff was. Dylan smiled against her lips, his other arm around her waist holding her close. Kara’s mouth opened on a groan when his thumb covered her clitoris. “Like this?” he said, massaging. He wasn’t asking because he was unsure. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Like that,” she squirmed on his hand and tightened her legs around him as he thrust inside her. He kissed her again and again, his tongue and his thumb moving in rhythm. She opened her eyes and looked into his, dark green glitter and more emotions than she knew what to do with. “Let go, English,” he said, screwing his fingers deep inside her, his thumb faster on her clitoris. “Let go.” And she did, and it made her yell his name and clutch him close until they were skin to skin. The weight of his arm around her waist held her down on his thrusting hand, making her come harder, longer, louder, and he kissed her right through it until she fell against his chest, spent. Dylan smoothed her hair back from her face when she lifted her head again a few minutes later. She swam back slowly into the moment, recalling the unfinished conversation. “Feel like talking, Sailor?” she said softly, needing him to let her in. His eyes moved from her face and settled on the distant lights of a boat out at sea. “I guess so.” His words sounded resigned, and twilight closed in across his expression. She wasn’t even sure why she was pushing him, except for the need to be able to help him, to know what put those shadows beneath his beautiful eyes so she could chase them right away again. He’d shared barely anything with her aside from the fact that his brother had passed away. Was he still grieving? She couldn’t begin to fathom the magnitude of a loss like that. She laid her hands on his shoulders, massaging. “Is it your brother?” She prompted him gently, offering him a hook to make the conversation easier to start. His eyes flicked to hers, unreadable. “Billy.” One small word, and a whole world of longing. Kara’s heart broke a little watching Dylan search for the words to tell her whatever he needed her to know. “He died because of me.” Shit. Her heart didn’t just break a little, it cracked wide open. “What happened?” She wasn’t massaging his shoulders any longer, she was gripping onto them. Onto him. “I let him down. Didn’t see he was in trouble. I was going up, and he was going right down, and I never stood still long enough to notice.” Dylan shook his head, his eyes far away, remembering. “I’d got everything I thought I ever wanted. Flashy club. Fancy home. Fast cars.” He made no mention of fast women, but it was pretty obvious that they would have been part of his lifestyle back then. “You sound like Lucien used to,” Kara said softly.

Dylan shrugged. “Lucien is far more sorted than I ever have a hope of being. I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, Kara. Always in scrapes, all of us, but Billy always seemed to come out of it smelling of roses. I guess I let him fool me he was okay because it was easier than asking questions.” He looked back at Kara. “He got himself into all kinds of trouble. Dabbled in drugs, but gambling was his downfall. Debts up to his neck.” He paused, looking down and sighing heavily. “He was my best friend, and yet he couldn’t come to me when he really needed my help. What kind of a brother does that make me, Kara?” He shook his head. “Don’t bother answering that.” He scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “He was found hanging. They say he did it himself, with his own belt.” Tears filled Kara’s eyes as she stroked the back of Dylan’s neck. “It wasn’t your fault.” “As good as,” Dylan said, desolation clear in his every word. “Ignorance is no excuse. I should have been there for him, and I wasn’t.” Few situations left Kara lost for words, but the injustice that Dylan had served on himself left her reeling. “From what you’ve said of Billy, I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.” “No. He would have wanted me to save him. I’ll never know for sure if he hung himself or if the bastards did it to him, and I don’t know which is fucking worse anyway. He died alone and desperate, or he died terrified at the hands of someone else… either way my mother had to bury her firstborn son.” Kara brushed her fingertips tenderly over his cheeks, not sure he even knew his tears were there. “And then there’s Justin.” “Your younger brother?” Dylan’s mouth set in a grim line and the look in his eyes altered in a way that chilled Kara’s bones. She saw the he didn’t just dislike Justin. He hated him. “You’re not close?” “He’s my brother, and I never want to lay eyes on him again.” “Oh.” Kara didn’t want to say anything to stop him talking now he’d begun. “Shall I tell you something really terrible?” Dylan’s anguished eyes settled on Kara’s, and she wasn’t certain she wanted him to say his next line. Not because she feared it would change her opinion of him; rather that she feared how he’d feel after letting the dark thoughts out. “I wish it had been him.” His quiet, hollow words hung in the air. “I wish he’d been the one swinging from that fucking tree, not Billy.” Kara considered this, studying his face. “Do you expect me to think badly of you for that?” He half-laughed, a harsh, humourless sound. “Don’t you? I just wished my baby brother dead.” “No. No you didn’t. You wished that Billy wasn’t dead.” Kara placed her hands flat over Dylan’s collarbones. “You’re a good person, Dylan, but you’re only human. You’ve lost someone you loved, and it hurts like hell.” “How do you know I’m a good person Kara? We’ve only known each other a couple of months. I could be anybody.” It stung to hear him diminish their relationship, and he was wrong, in part at least. They might not have known each other for a long time, but they knew each other well. It had been like the speed date that never ended since the moment she’d met him: so much intensity crammed into such a short time. Never in her life had she met a man who felt so effortlessly right. The fact that they were having this conversation while she was naked and wrapped around him on a beach was testament to that. She followed where he led, because she trusted him not to take her anywhere she didn’t want to go, and she trusted him to follow her when she wanted to lead, too. She felt utterly herself with him, free to be as bold, as brazen, as

womanly as she wanted. “You’re right,” she said, almost exasperated. “Sure. You could be anybody. I could be anybody. There are no guarantees that this won’t all go spectacularly wrong, but right now it feels spectacularly right to me. And to you.” Kara ran her hands over his hair and down the back of his neck. “Spectacularly right,” she whispered again, feeling him coming back towards her from the dark places in his head. “There’s other stuff I should tell you,” he said, making her heart twist with the pain and vulnerability in his eyes. “Tell me another time,” she murmured. She didn’t want to wring it out of him. She trusted him to tell her in his own good time. “There’s no rush.” He reached out then and traced his fingers down her face. “But…” Kara placed a finger over his lips. “Shh. Look around us.” She glanced around the tiny bay, at the glow of the fire, and then back to the incredible man beneath her. “We might never get this kind of perfect again.” Dylan’s eyes tracked around as Kara’s had, taking in all of the magical details. “Spectacularly right,” he said softly, and she turned her mouth into his hand and kissed his palm. The gesture was all it took to tip the emotionally charged conversation over the edge, sending it spiralling into back into the roiling deeps of desire. He gathered her against him and kissed her breathless with hot, hungry kisses that sent intense, sexual throbs shooting through her body. She didn’t just want him. She needed him in a way that bordered on primal. He shifted position when she reached for the button of his jeans, taking her with him and lying her down on her back, settling over her as he kicked his jeans off and ripped the silver foil on the condom. She swallowed hard around the sudden ache in her throat as he positioned himself, wanting him more than she’d ever wanted anyone in her life. He paused then, lowering his head and closing his eyes to give her the slowest, sweetest of kisses as he held her hands in the cool sand beside her head. She heard the catch in his breath as he lowered his hips down onto hers, and the answering gasp in her own as he sank himself all the way inside her. Kara felt in that moment how intense pleasure could be almost painful: so excruciatingly, mind-numbingly good that it filled every cell with a fierce yearning for more, and for sweet, sweet release. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders when he let go of her hands, and they moved in slow, sacred union. Kara opened her eyes. “I could love you, Dylan Day.” He kissed her again, open-mouthed, his hands in her hair. “I could love you too.” Lit by the firelight and bathed in the warmth of the deepest intimacy, they eased each other’s weary hearts with a meander through the best cocktail menu in the world. A supremely slow, comfortable screw. A gasping, mind-blowing orgasm. The most incredible sex on the beach ever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Lucien poured wine first into Sophie’s glass and then into his own, watching her as she watched the sunset. They’d discovered the laid-back beach restaurant on their last visit to the island, a sultry open air place hewn from the rock with mellow music, fabulous cocktails and great food. “About being married, Sophie…” She turned her attention to him, and for a second her gentle smile and the sunset gleam on her bare shoulders made him forget the conversation he wanted to initiate and contemplate taking her home to fuck her instead. “What about it?” He dragged himself back to the matter in hand. “I don’t want it to change things.” Sophie smiled. She’d been half expecting this conversation; marriage had always been low on his agenda and she recognised that he feared what it would do to their relationship. She didn’t share his fears. “Lucien. We’ve been together for years. We have a child. Being married won’t change any of that.” “How can you be so sure?” “Because you won’t let it, for starters.” He huffed under his breath. “I don’t want to start fucking in bed with the lights off once a month.” Laughter bubbled up in Sophie’s throat. “Okay. Twice a month, if you insist.” “I’m being fucking serious, Sophie. I see people get married and then, boom. It’s all gone. Tedium. Mundaneness.” He scowled. Or worse.” Sophie knew what he meant, but still his thoughts amused her. Lucien wouldn’t know how to be dull if he tried. He'd made the seismic shift into parenthood look easy. Being someone's husband would only serve to make him sexier still, and she intended on being an anything but routine wife. She slipped her high heel off underneath the table and ran her bare foot up his leg and into his crotch. “I solemnly promise not to let our marriage get dull, Lucien.” He caught hold of her ankle and massaged it, holding her foot against him. Around them, sun worshippers who’d gathered to drink cocktails and watch the sunset broke into spontaneous applause, and it took a second for Sophie to register that they were acknowledging the majesty of the sunset in the way that had become customary on the island rather than applauding her solemn promise to Lucien. “We can write our own vows if you like,” she offered, swirling her untouched wine around in her glass as she moved her toes against his hardening erection. “Tell me more,” he said, glancing downwards almost imperceptibly, meaning ‘Do it more’ as well. His arm lay along the low sand-hewn wall behind him, the open sea beyond that. To anyone else in the restaurant, he looked supremely relaxed; nonchalant even, despite the fact that he was sexually aroused. Pinprick fairylights lit up the inside of the rattan ceiling like a million tiny stars, and the ethereal sound of the wind chimes dotted around underscored the low, sexy jazz music. It all came together to create a bohemian vibe, a place to let go of inhibitions and chill out. “Well…” Sophie said, lazily rotating her foot, enjoying watching his poker face. She’d been thinking about their vows for a while. “I thought we could keep them as a surprise for each other. Kind of like a wedding present.” Lucien looked sceptical. “Are you going to promise to obey me?” “Do you want me to?” “No. I quite enjoy it when you step out of line.” They both fell silent for a moment, remembering the handcuffs incident in Lucien's office.

She smiled into her wine glass, then pushed it away and sipped from her tumbler of water, dragging herself back to the present.“Are you going to promise to obey me?” “Your wish is my command, Princess. You know that already.” Sophie mulled over his light-hearted words for a while as they gazed out at the scattering of glossy, illuminated yachts anchored off the bay. He wasn’t lying. He gave her everything she ever wanted and a whole lot more besides. A lifestyle way beyond anything she could have dreamt up for herself, and a love that filled every corner of her heart. “I went for a wedding dress fitting today,” she said, and he raised his eyebrows. “Is it sexy? I like sexy.” “I know you do,” she chided. “And yes, I think so. It’s also a little tighter than last time.” He looked unusually perplexed, and she left him hanging for a few seconds before she spoke again, savouring the words. “I’m pregnant, Lucien.” Sophie had grabbed a test that afternoon after trying on her bespoke wedding dress and finding her breasts uncomfortably restrained despite the careful tailoring. She watched his perplexed expression melt into a slow, incredulous, joyous smile. He dropped her ankle and slid around the alcove bench until he was beside her, one arm around her shoulders, the other cupping her face. “Sophie… are you sure?” he said, his shining eyes searching hers. He kissed her briefly as she nodded, then lifted his head, shaking it in disbelief. “Another baby. When?” "I'm about six weeks, I think." She dashed away a rogue tear from her lashes, unable to keep the smile from her lips. Lucien laid his hand over her stomach, and lifted his eyes to hers. “Are you happy?” she asked, quietly. He lowered his eyes and drew in a long breath. “You have no idea.” Sophie stroked his cheek. “I think I do.” He looked at her untouched wine glass, and then took it from the table in front of her and dropped it into the sea behind them. Sophie sighed. “You’re not going to go all caveman on me again this time are you?” Even under usual circumstances Lucien was protective, but during her pregnancy with Tilly he’d gone into overdrive. “Yes.” He was totally uncompromising, and she loved him all the more for it. At the villa later that night, Lucien made slow love to Sophie until she trembled, and then slept with his head on her stomach, keeping watch over the newest love of his life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Dylan sat alone on the deck of the Love Tug a couple of weeks later, his eyes on the beach even though his mind was miles away. He’d tried to tell Kara the truth, he really had. The burden of lying sat heavily on his back. He’d gone over events a million times in his head, trying to make what he’d said and not said into less of a lie and more of a misunderstanding. But the plain truth was that there had been no misunderstanding. He’d invented a name because he didn’t want to be the person he’d always been, because he didn’t want all of the negative associations of his old life or the people in it. He’d lied to make his own life easier, and in the process he’d made other people’s lives more difficult. Lucien was lying for him, or at least covering for him. His mother was lying to anyone who asked where he’d gone. And then there was Kara. Kara, who’d given him so much of herself and asked only one thing of him in return. Honesty. He placed his empty beer bottle down on the table in front of him and pulled the battered brown envelope Justin had delivered towards him. Dog-eared and bent, it remained unopened, but Dylan had known all along what he’d find inside. His stomach turned over with clammy nerves as he picked at the edge of it. Papers. Legal papers. Divorce papers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT To: mmk@toscanomail From: mollymk@tosacanomail Hello Matty, Hope the job’s still going well. I’m so sorry that Justin found you from my emails, I’d have warned you if I’d realised he was coming to find you. One day I’ll learn my lesson. It’s hard not to trust my own son. There’s something else you should know, love. Suzie was in town visiting her mother last week. Seems she’s having that baby real soon, and she was asking where to find you. I didn’t tell her of course, but Justin… I really hope he kept his mouth shut this time. I’m sure it’ll come to nothing, she’s gone again now back to whatever hellhole she crawled out of. Stay safe, Mom xx To: mollymk@toscanomail From: mmk@toscanomail Hi Mom, It wasn’t your fault that Justin came here, he is what he is. Just don’t wait for him to change, because hand on heart I don’t think it’s ever going to happen. Thanks for not telling Suzie where I am. She made her choice when she got herself pregnant with Donovan’s child, and I’ve made my choices here in Ibiza. I’m scared to even say it, but I’m real happy here, mom. The only thing I miss about the States is you. Love you. Matty

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE “So, Dylan,” Kara said, admiring his ass as he turned to pour them both a shot of brandy. They’d locked up and seen the last of the staff out of the building after a long, busy night. They had the whole club to themselves before the cleaning team arrived in a few hours, and they were suddenly wide awake and ready for each other’s company. “A little bird tells me it’s your birthday today.” Dylan slid her glass over with a roll of his eyes. “Do they now?” He didn’t need to work very hard to figure out how she knew. “I might have to take a shotgun to that six foot something Norwegian little bird.” Keeping things simple, he’d used his real birth date on the employment paperwork he’d filled out for Lucien all those weeks back, never thinking anyone would trouble to mark the day here on Ibiza. He’d assumed it would slide under the radar, another unwelcome link to his real life. He guessed he hadn’t bargained for Lucien’s eye for detail. Kara slid off the stool, her drink in her hand. She was wearing another of her club work outfits, this time a strapless black dress that finished mid thigh and gave her a cleavage that Dylan couldn’t keep his eyes off. She worked it for his benefit, wriggling her shoulders as she loosened his tie and unpopped his top button. A slow, sensual fire licked low in her gut. He looked sexily dishevelled, like the late night bartender in all the best movies. “Come on birthday boy. Since you haven’t offered me a slice of your birthday cake, I thought you might like to choose yourself a present.” "No cake," he said. "I don't want you getting a sugar rush and passing out on me." She trailed his tie over her shoulder as she walked away, not turning because she knew he’d be behind her. She headed towards the boutique, but as they reached reception Dylan drew back, pinning her suddenly against the wall. He held her captive with his body, his hand braced on the bricks beside her head. “The only good thing about birthdays is the kisses,” he muttered into her open mouth, then kissed her hard and filthy and made her legs weak. She sank her fingernails into the firmness of his ass and yanked him deeper against her, wrapping her leg around his calf. “I could fuck you now, right here against this wall,” he whispered, putting his hand up her skirt and rubbing her through the silk of her knickers. “Rip these panties right off and slide my cock inside you.” He pulled the silk to one side and pushed his fingers into her folds. He wasn’t delicate, but it didn’t matter because he was a man who knew exactly how to touch a woman. Who knew when to take it slow, and when to come on hard. He found her clitoris without preamble. “You like that, English? You want me to get you off?” He licked into her mouth and slid his fingers inside her, making her yelp. Yes. Yes. Yes. But… no! It was his birthday, and from somewhere in the recesses of her mind she dredged the recollection that she wanted to be the giver first, not the receiver. But with every nerve ending in her body wanting the orgasm he was offering her, it was a Herculean task to put the brakes on. “Dylan…” she regretfully unwound her leg from his and pushed lightly against his chest. He lifted his head a fraction, his hand still between her legs. “I want to give you something for your birthday first,” she managed, breathless and almost boneless as his fingers stopped thrusting but carried on caressing. “Watching you come is all I want,” he whispered, playing his fingertips over her clitoris, his body up close and sensual against hers, his breath in her mouth. She wanted to come. Really wanted to. She was being pinned against the wall by the man who rocked

her world, and he was doing things with his fingers that were probably illegal in several countries. She’d never wanted to come that much in her entire life. Since the last time, at least. Dylan’s eyes told her that he really wanted her to come too. They were hot, urgent and mesmerizing, locked on hers. He pressed his weight harder against her, hitching her thighs apart with his own. “I’ll stop if you want. Just say the word.” She wanted to say the word. He licked her lips, his fingers sliding in the slick juices between her legs. She wanted to come. No. She wanted him to come first. “Don’t fight me, baby,” he murmured, and Kara felt the beginnings of her orgasm glitter in her veins. She didn’t want to fight him. She was seconds away from not being able to fight him. Stop. Don’t stop. Never stop… “Stop,” she croaked, pushing him hard enough to dislodge his hand. Her body cried out for him to come back, but he nodded with a slow, quizzical look and straightened her skirt over her thighs. “You were so close,” he said, pulling her near again. “Drenched.” She moved, restless. “It’s your birthday. You first.” “You English and your impeccable manners.” Kara breathed out shakily. “Trust me, Sailor. I’m right behind you in the queue.”

CHAPTER THIRTY A couple of minutes later, Kara stood in the centre of the softly lit boutique and twirled slowly on her heel with her arms spread wide. She felt a little more in control of herself now they were on her professional territory. “Take your pick, birthday boy. Anything you like, my treat.” “One of everything,” Dylan said, not even glancing around. “Now take your dress off and let me back between your legs. My birthday, my rules. I say you come first.” Okay, maybe not quite in control. The urge to strip and open her legs was really quite overpowering. She swallowed hard and moved to stand behind a glass counter for safety. He followed, standing in front of the counter with his head slightly to one side. Kara looked down and tapped her fingernails on the glass, deciding what to offer him first. He splayed his hands on the countertop, amused, ceding to her will for the moment. “Okay. So what would you recommend, English?” His eyebrows flicked up and a lazy smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. She reached out and slowly unknotted his tie, tugging it from around his neck as she reached into the glass cabinet for a black leather riding crop. “Do I get to take your clothes off too?” “Not yet.” She stroked the end of the crop down her neck, closing her eyes as she moved it across the swell of her breasts. “That would look even sexier if you lost the dress,” Dylan said, his voice rich, deep and very, very interested. Kara licked her lips, contemplating his suggestion. He was right, of course. She rounded the counter and presented her back to him, turning to glance suggestively over her shoulder. “Unzip me?” He thought he had the upper hand, but he was dead wrong. He was coming first tonight, whether he wanted to or not. She steeled herself as his fingers brushed her back, and closed her eyes and bit her lip when his mouth lingered warm against her neck as he slid the zip all the way down to her backside. She held it in place with one arm, stepping away and turning to face him before letting it drop to the floor. She’d dressed carefully, knowing that she wanted to seduce him. Her corset – deep ruby with black seams - cinched her waist in and pushed her breasts up, transforming her into his very own vintage dancing girl. It didn’t quite cover her breasts. It lifted them up and offered her exposed nipples to him like sweet cherries. She licked her lips and traced the leather crop down the side of her neck again, this time drawing it down around her nipple. He tracked it with his eyes, watching her stroke herself for him. She placed the crop in his hand and unbuttoned his shirt, trailing her nails down his skin as she went. Then she turned to the side, placed her elbows on the glass counter, and cupped her chin delicately in her hands. Her tiny silk knickers hid nothing of the curves of her bottom. “No one’s ever spanked me before. I’d like you to be my first.” He stepped closer, and Kara jumped a little as he stroked the cheek of her ass with the crop. She wasn’t lying. Spanking wasn’t something that had ever happened in her sex life before. “You would, huh?” He trailed the crop down the backs of her thighs, feather-light over the tops of her suspenders. “I’m not sure I want to mark your beautiful creamy ass,” he said thoughtfully.

“Please? Just once?” she breathed. “I want to know what it feels like… and I want you to be the man who shows me.” He licked his lips. “Close your eyes, English.” She gulped, closing her eyes, her heart beating crazy fast in her chest. He ran the crop down between the cheeks of her ass, lower between her legs, over the silk there. “You look sexy as fuck,” he said, his voice thick with lust. And then he bought the crop down on her, sharp enough to make her cry out. Fuck, it hurt, and fuck, she wanted him to do it again, only harder. “More,” she whispered, and he did. The pain was momentary, sharp, thrilling. Kara was exhilarated, high already on the endorphins, ridiculously turned on. “Harder,” she gasped, and he did. The lash fizzed white-hot across her buttocks for the third time, an exquisite sharpness that was a hair’s breadth on the right side of bearable. “Enough,” he said, placing the crop down on the glass counter top, then leaning down to place a trail of hot kisses on her stinging skin. He licked lower, his tongue and hands roaming all over her ass. He’d enjoyed it too, his low groans of appreciation told her so. He was turned on as much as she was, and once more she was overwhelmed by the need to let him between her legs. He was almost there already, his teeth grazing her thighs as he dropped to his haunches behind her. And then he tilted his head and he was there, the barrier of her knickers ineffectual against the searing heat of his mouth. He scorched her, his tongue moving against the silk. “Let me in, English,” he said. If she did, he’d have her in seconds. She’d been ready ever since he’d slammed her against the wall in reception and put his hand up her skirt. If it hadn’t been his birthday she’d have opened her thighs and welcomed him in, but as it was, she grit her teeth and stood up, turning until he was in front of her, still on his haunches. He shook his head, laughing softly as he planted a kiss against her pubic bone and stood up too. “You will come before I do,” he said as he shook his shirt off his shoulders. Kara laughed, shaking her head slowly, raising one delicate shoulder as she dropped her eyes and played with her nipples. She was going to win this battle. She counted to five before raising her gaze again, giving him time to really appreciate watching her touch herself. She stepped away from him, running her fingers over the shelves as she decided on his next birthday gift. “There are so many things I’d like to give you,” she said. He didn’t take his eyes off her. She picked up a large, deep purple vibrator. “This maybe?” She slid her hands down the shaft. “Would you like to fuck me with this, Sailor?” He stepped closer, and she noticed the harsh movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “Because I’d like you to,” she said, running the tactile rubber down her stomach and between her legs. Dylan’s lips parted slightly, his eyes molten as he took the vibrator from her fingers and placed it on the counter behind them beside the crop. “Another time, baby,” he whispered, dragging her against him. “Tonight I need to fuck you properly.” His fingers explored the stinging cheeks of her ass as he kissed her. She relished the heat of her buttocks under his palms. “Feel what you’ve done to me, Kara.” His erection strained hard against her. She reached down between them and massaged him, making him groan. “I think you’re ready for a special present.” She slid his zip down and pushed her hand inside. Her stomach turned somersaults as her fingers curled around him, iron hard silk as he rocked himself in her hand. She had him naked within seconds. “Do you trust me, Dylan?” she whispered against his ear, working his shaft slowly. “Right now? With my life,” he groaned, fondling her breasts.

She reached for his discarded tie. “Good.” She led him to sit on a high backed chair and covered his eyes with his tie, knotting it behind his head. “English…” “You trust me, remember?” She stood for a second and gathered a couple of items, then returned to stand behind him. She leaned down, her bare breasts brushing his shoulder. “What shall I do with you, Dylan?” she said against his ear, sliding her palms down his chest. “I’ve taken off my knickers. I could sit astride you, take your cock all the way inside me.” She slipped her hand lower to pump his shaft a little. “Should I do that, do you think?” He turned and caught her mouth with his own. “Yes, Kara. Yes. You should do that.” He reached for her and she dodged his hands. If he caught her now it would all be over. She’d straddle him, and he’d make her come, and it would be incredible… but she had other plans, and she was sticking to them. Picking up her chosen sex toy from the floor, she knelt in front of him and placed it in his hands, spreading his knees to sit between them. “What the hell is this thing?” “Shhh,” she said, and licked the length of his shaft. “Fuck.” She opened her mouth and took him inside. “Fuck...” He was so very hard, and it was so very tempting to keep going. He’d come, she’d win, and then he’d make her come and she’d win all over again. But today was his birthday, and she wanted to give him an experience that no one else had ever given him before. So she took the toy from his hands, a skin-warm, slim silicon oval designed to pleasure him. It hinged open to reveal supple, textured rollers that would close around him like lips. She flipped it wide, lubricated it, then closed it around the base of his cock, making him jerk with surprise. “Easy,” she murmured. “You have no idea how filthy you look right now. I so want to grab my phone and take a picture.” She gripped the silicon oval at either end and moved it slowly up his cock, watching the rollers clasp and massage his shaft as she moved it up and down. “Fucking hell…” he moaned. The toy was one of their newest and most expensive items, and judging by Dylan’s pleasure, it was worth every penny. Designed for couple play, it left the majority of his cock free to lick, suck and fondle, and Kara took full advantage. She rolled it up and down the length of him, following it closely with her mouth. Dylan moaned, his hands in her hair, sometimes stroking, sometimes pressing her down on him. Kneeling cross-ankled between his thighs in the middle of the boutique was another memory she committed to the forever vault, and as he shoved the tie up off his face to watch her, his frenetic movements told her that he’d let go of his control. She twisted the toy in her hands, giving him new sensations even as his hips spasmed, and seconds later her name ripped from his chest as his salty semen hit the back of her throat. Looking up at him in those moments, a profound sense of rightness settled on her shoulders. He looked overwhelmed. She’d given him that. She’d put that look of intense pleasure on his face. She loved this man. “You give the best birthday presents,” he said, his hand lazy in her hair, his other arm dropping towards the floor. “What is that thing anyway?” She removed the toy and put it to one side. “Did you like it?”

“I’m kind of glad I was blindfolded,” he admitted, eying it dubiously. “Yeah, yeah. But did you like it?” “Sure. I liked it.” A languid, lopsided smile tipped his lips. “It felt fucking amazing.” Kara nodded. “So I can tell our customers that the boss endorses it?” “Not a chance.” She smiled, standing up and and crossing to the counter to gather his gifts together. The leather crop. The purple vibrator. The slender oval masturbator that she planned on using on him again some time very soon. Dylan moved to stand behind Kara, sweeping her hair over one shoulder and lowering his mouth to the warm curve of her neck. He breathed her in deep. The familiar, clean scent of her hair, the delicate perfume she always used. His tiny bathroom on the boat smelled of her, as did his bedsheets. She surrounded him. “You lied to me,” he said against her ear. “You’re still wearing your panties.” He ran his hand under the slim band of silk on her hip. “Knickers,” she corrected, aware of his naked body against hers. “And you made me come,” he said, cupping her breasts, his cock stirring against the softness of her behind as her nipples hardened in his fingers. “It is your birthday,” she said, leaning her head back on his shoulder. “It is.” Not such a bad thing to have been found out after all, Dylan reflected. They stood for a second, caught up in each other, Dylan savouring the feel of Kara’s responsive body in his hands, Kara savouring the feel of Dylan’s questing hands on her body. He moved then, returning a moment later with his jeans tugged on and his shirt in his hands. “Put this on. There’s something we need to do.” "Let's do it here," she said, not wanting to do anything that didn't involve his hands between her legs. He laughed under his breath. "Just put the shirt on, English. I'll make it worth the wait." He helped her into his shirt, and gathered their belongings in his arms before leading her out through the club. He flicked the alarms on as he locked up, then led Kara out to the Mustang, the only car left on the small staff parking lot. Dylan deposited their stuff on the driver’s seat. “I’ve fantasised about this for days, English,” he murmured, lifting her lightly and sitting her on the folded-back material of the convertible roof. He swung himself over the edge of the car to kneel in front of her on the back bench seat, implausibly sexy and shirtless by moonlight. “My shirt looks good on you,” he said, opening it to reveal her breasts to his waiting eyes and mouth. “I might keep it forever,” she said, bracing her hands behind her, letting the material slide back on her shoulders as he licked the sensitive undersides of her breasts. She sighed a little when his hand moved to touch her between her legs. “This feels like the best teenage date ever,” she said, breathless as he pulled her knickers to the side. “The girls back home never looked like you do right now,” he said, and slid his fingers all the way inside her. Kara gasped down a big lungful of the balmy Spanish night air. “The boys back home never made me feel the way you do right now,” she managed to say. Just. The idea of anyone else touching Kara like this triggered his kill instinct for a few seconds. “Thank fuck for that.” Dylan hunkered down and buried his head between her legs, his mouth hot all over her. She tasted sweet as sugar, of longing, and of frustration, the best birthday surprise he’d ever had. He let his eyes roam up over her curves as he tasted her, over her swells and her hollows, and his heart

contracted. He loved this woman. Kara leaned her head back and looked up at the stars. He had her spread wide, exposed and vulnerable, yet she’d never felt as safe and secure with anyone in her life. Dylan drew her clitoris into the heat of his mouth and took his time over making sure that even when she’d buried her hands in his hair and screwed her eyes tight shut to absorb the bone-drenching pleasure, she could still see stars.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Sophie opened her eyes slowly. Dawn sunlight shafted through the gauze curtains onto Lucien, turning her sleeping Viking into a fallen angel. Today was the day she’d become his wife. His fingers were curled loosely around hers as he slept and she tightened her grip on them as she closed her eyes again, thanking her lucky stars for the love of the best man in the world. Aboard the Love Tug, Dylan stirred. Kara slept beside him tangled in the white cotton sheets, her skin lustrous gold from a summer spent working and playing beneath the Spanish sunshine. The sun had added blonde streaks to her tawny waves too, and to Dylan’s eyes she surpassed any of the surf-streaked Californian beach beauties back home. Back home. Dylan frowned at the thought. California didn’t feel like home anymore. His home was here in Ibiza now, but he knew that for Kara it had always been intended as a temporary arrangement, a secondment for a few months over the summer while the boutique established itself under local management. She had a whole life to return to back in England: family, friends. Sophie and Lucien too, because they’d be heading back to the UK a couple of weeks after the wedding. It was all ending. He’d let himself live the lie for long enough, had kept awarding himself an extra roll of the dice to give himself more time as Dylan Day, more time in this gilded bubble of pleasure with Kara. He’d allow the dice roll to in his favour as far as the wedding, but then that was it. No more. He’d stand beside Lucien as his best man, he’d dance with the most beautiful bridesmaid he’d ever lay eyes on, and then he’d confess his dark secrets and let the chips fall where they will.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO “Champagne for the bride,” Kara carried two full flutes into Sophie’s bedroom, dressed in a cream silk slip with her hair wound around velcro rollers. She set one glass of bucks fizz down on Sophie’s dressing table and sipped from the other. “Don't worry, yours is mostly orange juice," she grinned. “How are you doing?” “Good,” Sophie raised her glass with a smile a mile wide. “This is probably the coolest wedding ever,” Kara said happily. “Hardly any guests, sand under your toes, and champagne on tap.” Sophie sipped her fizz. “Yeah, well, I did the big dress and party number last time around, remember?” This was the second time that Kara had been Sophie’s bridesmaid. She made a rueful face, casting her mind back for a moment to Sophie’s wedding to Dan, her first husband. It all seemed so long ago now, and they’d all done a lot of growing up since those days. “Jeez, remember your mum? She was practically hysterical by the time the wedding day actually arrived. Thank God you’re getting married while they’re not around,” Kara said. “I don’t think she’d be able to stand it all over again. Especially with it being shot-gun, and all.” Her mock-scandalised gaze dropped dramatically to the almost imperceptible swell of Sophie’s tummy. Sophie laughed. Kara had a point. Her mother had no desire to reprise her role as mother of the bride; she’d found it terribly stressful first time around, almost as stressful as she’d found her only daughter’s divorce. Lucien had of course charmed her parents completely in the intervening years; even her father seemed to enjoy his son-in-laws company. They all got along like a house on fire, under the tacit understanding that no one mentioned Lucien’s line of business under any circumstances. Her parents liked to consider themselves liberal, just as long as no one used the ‘sex’ word. Still, they’d been thrilled to hear about the wedding plans, delighted to hear about the new baby, and ecstatic at the thought of throwing a small wedding party at the golf club when they were all back in England in a few weeks time. At this precise moment, Sophie’s parents were enjoying a long-anticipated cruise, and the timing could not have been more fortuitous for all concerned. “Yes, I think it’s worked out pretty well for everyone,” Sophie agreed. She eyed herself in the mirror. In just a few hours she would finally become Lucien’s wife. The fact that she’d been someone’s wife before hadn’t even figured in her thoughts in the days leading up to the wedding, because this felt brand new. Being Mrs. Knight would bear absolutely no relation to the time she’d spent as Mrs. Black. In truth, being Mrs. Knight was a unique proposition: their relationship hadn’t followed any of the conventional patterns and she had no doubt that their marriage would be all the stronger for it. They knew each other so very well now. Behind her, her ivory wedding dress hung on the wardrobe door. Raw silk tulle overlaid with a cobweb-fine layer of beaded vintage Spanish lace, the delicate empire line dress shimmered with nineteen-twenties glamour. Sheer capped sleeves and a gracefully scooped v neckline made the very best of her pregnancy bloom, highlighting the swell of her breasts and skimming over the new curves of her abdomen. It made her feel like a million dollars, a film star for the day. “Come on Juliet,” Kara said, putting her already half empty glass down and starting to unravel Sophie’s hair from her rollers. “Let’s get you ready for your Romeo.” Sophie caught her friend’s eye in the mirror, her own expression merry. “You do know how that ended, right?”

Kara tittered. “Imagine that. You and Mr. K.” She drew her finger across her throat dramatically. Sophie arched her eyebrows and reached for her champagne flute. “If we’re talking star-crossed lovers, how about we get onto you and delicious Dylan?” Sophie didn’t miss the way Kara’s face softened at the mention of his name. “I can’t believe I’ve only known him a few months,” Kara said. Then, more seriously, “Is it too fast, Soph?” Sophie laughed softly. “There isn’t a rule book, Kara. You could spend your whole life looking and never find anything close to how you feel now ever again. You remember how it was for me with Lucien? He came out of the blue and totally blindsided me. It was like love on fast forward, and look at us now. Look at us today.” Kara nodded, drawing in a deep breath. “I… I love him.” “I know you do,” Sophie said, as if Kara had just told her that the sun rose in the east. “And I know he loves you right back.” “How can you know?” Sophie sighed. What was it about love that it could make nervy, moonstruck teenagers out of two usually confident, self-assured adults? “Because it’s written all over his face every time you’re in the same room. He can’t take his eyes off you.” A slow tingle of happiness ran deliciously through Kara’s body. She knew that Sophie was right. She could feel Dylan’s love all around her, and it was time for them to act like grown ups and talk about it. This wasn’t like all the other times in her life. He wasn’t like Richard, some selfish prick living two lives just so he could have his cake and eat it. He wasn’t like her father, someone who always put his own happiness first at the expense of the people who loved him. He was Dylan-fucking-yankee-doodle-Day, resident of the floating shag palace, world-class kisser, and the owner of her heart. “I’m going to tell him tonight.” “Well, you picked a good day for it.” Sophie’s eyes shone over-bright as she met Kara’s in the mirror before her. “The best, Soph.” Kara squeezed Sophie’s shoulder then laughed a little, breaking the emotional charge. “Now pull yourself together, you daft cow. Those baby hormones have a lot to answer for.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Sometimes, very rarely, there are perfect days in our lives. Sometimes they happen unexpectedly, they start out normal and then something happens to make them burn brightly in our memories forever. And sometimes they happen because there’s no way they could be anything but perfect, because they are so jammed full of special moments that thinking back over them warms our hearts even on the coldest of days. Lucien and Sophie’s wedding was always going to be one of those days. The afternoon sky seemed a little bluer and the sun a little brighter to Sophie as she stepped out of the villa with Kara and Tilly at her side. She’d grinned with delight as she’d dressed her daughter in her meltingly gorgeous white cotton bridesmaid dress, every inch her daddy’s little girl with her blonde locks and his blue steel eyes. Sophie saw in Tilly the child that Lucien must have been, precocious and funny, as happy to run in the arctic snow as she was to play on an Ibizan beach. Already well travelled, Tilly was destined to grow up a cosmopolitan young woman with the world at her feet. Sophie pitied her boyfriends in decades to come; it was hard to imagine a more formidably protective father than Lucien. She imagined the boys quailing under his gaze. He was protective of all of them. Of Sophie, and Tilly, and of the unborn child who had already begun to weave its gossamer thread into the fabric of their family. She turned as Kara squeezed her elbow, beautiful beside her in a bias cut, calf length nude pink dress that suited her sun-kissed complexion perfectly. “Time to go,” Kara said, propelling her gently forward towards the waiting car. “I know,” Sophie said softly, breathing in the scent of the wild flowers she held, a larger version of the corsage on Kara’s wrist and the tiny posy clutched in Tilly’s hand. She kissed her daughter’s apple cheek as Esther, her nanny, appeared and scooped her into her arms to go and secure her in the car. Sophie stilled on the steps and turned to Kara. “Don’t you dare start crying,” Kara warned. “Lucien is expecting radiant, not the bride of Dracula. I’m not bringing any fresh mascara.” “I’m not going to cry,” Sophie said. “Not yet, anyway.” She looked out beyond the villa at the lush Ibizan landscape. “This place has been good to all of us, hasn’t it?” Kara nodded, suddenly nostalgic even though the summer wasn’t quite at its end. The day was heavy with portentous, magical romance, of lifetime love being sealed with a promise, and of precious new love being acknowledged for the first time. Despite her stern warning to Sophie, tears lodged in her own throat and she resolutely swallowed them down. “Come on, lady. We need to get you to the beach on time.” Dylan drove Lucien to the secluded private cove in Kara’s red Mustang, roof down, shades on, a whole lot of handsome that turned the head of every woman they passed along the way. Lucien’s perfectly tailored black-blue suit followed close against the lines of his body, his open necked white shirt an elegant contrast with his golden skin. He epitomised laid-back glamour in the way only a beautiful, self assured man can. At the wheel, Dylan was a different kind of sexy. A little more subtle maybe, a little less intense, yet no less capable of commanding any room he walked into. They made a formidable duo as Dylan parked the

car at the top of the cove, flicking his phone onto silent when it buzzed for the third time since they’d set out. He wasn’t in work mode today. “I’m guessing there’s no need to say it’s not too late to back out,” he said with a grin, getting out of the car and running his hand over his inside pocket for the tenth time since that morning. Yes, the rings were still there. “You’d have to be one crazy fool to not marry someone like Sophie.” Lucien rested against the side of the car, his arms crossed lightly over his chest. His tone was thoughtful. “I used to think you’d have to be a crazy fool to marry anyone.” Dylan looked out across the still, blue sea, keeping his personal feelings towards marriage firmly out of the conversation. “So what changed?” Lucien shrugged. “I still think everyone else is a crazy fool to do it.” “But not you?” “Hell, yeah. I’m as much of a crazy fool for Sophie as the next guy. Whatever love is, it’s what I have with her.” Around them, the sounds of nature filled the quiet air. The chirp of crickets, the light breeze moving through the leaves, the distant lap of the Mediterranean. “From where I’m standing, that makes you lucky, not crazy.” “Crazy and lucky. I can live with that.” The cherry red Mustang was conspicuous when the car bearing Sophie and Kara eased into the tiny clearing that served as the beach car park. “Looks like you haven’t been stood up at the altar,” Kara said lightly, glad to be able to be flippant about a subject that a few months previously would have wounded her deeply. As they stepped onto the sand, she straightened Sophie’s train and made last minute adjustments to her artfully romantic up-do, checking that the tiny fresh flowers she’d pinned in the back of it still looked perfect. A single diamond on a golden trace chain glittered at Sophie’s throat, a wedding gift from Lucien. The bracelet around her wrist was her only other jewellery, another gift from Lucien, given to her back when he hadn’t known how to express his love in words. He’d shown her instead by entrusting his mother’s bracelet into her care, one of his most treasured possessions, and now one of hers. A slow, steady bloom of joy unfurled inside Sophie’s chest as she and Kara picked their way along the path towards the beach, Tilly scampering ahead of them. The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting the whole scene peachy gold. The tiny, private cove provided the perfect, intimate setting for this most special of days, with its sugar-white sands and a tiny pavilion restaurant nestled at the edge. The soft, joyful sound of steel drum music floated on the air as Kara caught up with Tilly and took her hand. She shook it off and set off purposefully across the deeper sand, wobbly and ungainly but determined, making Sophie and Kara laugh as they clutched each other’s forearms to kick their shoes off. In the distance, a raffia pergola stood close to the sea’s edge, fresh island flowers wound around its struts. Inside it were three figures. The wedding celebrant. Dylan. And Lucien. Sophie stopped for a second and caught her breath as she looked at him, so distinctive even from a distance. He turned at the sound of Tilly running towards him, breaking into a huge smile and hunkering down with his arms out towards the little girl. Sophie watched him swing her up into his arms, and whoosh, her heart burst wide with love for them both. Kara gripped her hand tight.

“I hope I have what you have one day, Sophie.” Sophie hugged her quickly. “You will, Kara.” Sophie saw Dylan turn and raise his hand in greeting across the beach. “You might just have found it already.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Lucien walked to meet them a little way before they reached the pergola, handing Tilly over to Kara as she moved away to join Dylan. “You look so much beyond beautiful,” he said softly when they were alone, and Sophie found herself breathless and close to tears. He’d never looked more handsome, and the rare edge of vulnerability in his eyes made her heart swell with love for him. He’d laid aside all of his fears and prejudices against marriage for her, long held beliefs that had crumbled in the face of their big, huge, unconditional love for each other. “You too, Lucien,” she said, reaching out to lay her palm on his cheek. He turned his face into her hand and kissed it. “You ready?” She laughed gently. “I’ve been ready since the first day I met you, Lucien Knight.” He leaned down and lifted her in his arms. “You’re supposed to do this after we’re married,” she said, looping her arms around his neck as he walked towards the pergola. “When did we ever do things the conventional way?” he said, his fingers finding the hidden zip at the side of her dress. “Lucien…” “Just checking for later,” he murmured against her hair, depositing her on her bare feet beneath the raffia canopy, then dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Come on, Princess. Let’s do this thing.” Kara sat down facing the ocean with Tilly sitting on her knees and Dylan alongside her with his arm slung across the back of her chair. In front of them, the celebrant began the informal ceremony, welcoming them to witness the marriage of Sophie and Lucien. A tingle ran down Kara’s spine as she listened to the words, and for the first time ever she silently thanked Richard for standing her up at the altar. This was a real wedding. This was true love. Lucien and Sophie stood in front of her, facing each other, and no one else existed in their world at that moment. Sophie looked down at Lucien’s hands holding her smaller ones, his thumbs gentle over her knuckles as the celebrant asked if there was anything she’d like to say to Lucien before she gave him his ring. She nodded and swallowed hard. There was so much she wanted to say. “Lucien.” She looked into his beautiful eyes and stepped close. He held on tight to her hands. “You’ve taught me that love is so much bigger than I ever knew it could be.” She paused, gathering herself together. “I love you for so many different reasons. For your generosity and your spirit, for your loyalty and your strength, and for your vulnerability. I love you because you let me in.” She couldn’t keep the catch from her voice, and his eyes burned over-bright with emotion. “I promise to love you forever, with every breath in my body.” She smiled, and then added under her breath, for his ears alone, “More than once a month with the lights out.” He laughed softly and looked at the floor, nodding. “You made me into the princess from all of the fairy tales I loved as a child, Lucien,” she said, and when he looked up at her again his eyes told her he loved her in a million different ways. “I love you for the man you’ve always been, for the father you’ve become, and for the husband you’re going to be.” She took his ring from the celebrant’s outstretched palm. “Lying with you beneath the northern lights, or here beneath the Spanish sun… you’re my Viking and my

sunshine.” The tears ran unchecked down her cheeks now. “You’re my hero, Lucien Knight.” She slid the ring onto his wedding finger, holding it there for a few seconds, sealing it forever with her love. “Always, Lucien. Always.” Behind them, Dylan rubbed Kara’s shoulder, seeing the happy tears glittering on her cheeks as she cradled Tilly in her arms. He knew without question that he wanted her in his life forever, and he knew with almost as much certainty that he was going to lose her. Lucien breathed in hard as Sophie slipped the ring on his finger. He hadn’t counted on the amazing sense of peace that seeing it there would bring him, or that he’d finally, finally understand the reason why people all around the world of all different faiths wedded themselves to each other forever. Why they placed their blind faith in someone else, and their heart in someone else’s hands, and trusted them not to break it into smithereens. He drew Sophie close, her face in his hands, and kissed her mouth. Her lips were warm and pliant, salty with her tears. “I think you’re supposed to wait until the end to do that,” she whispered, laughing shakily. As if Lucien was ever going to follow the rules. The celebrant held his palm out, and Lucien took Sophie’s ring between his fingers with the reverence it deserved. And then he looked up at Sophie with all of the devotion she deserved, too. “Sophie,” he said, and wiped the tears from her cheek with his fingertips. “There isn’t a single part of my life that isn’t a hundred times better for having you in it.” He wanted to remember the look on her face forever. “You’re the girl who kisses envelopes before you mail them,” he said. “The girl who still surprises me every single day. The world’s a better place through your eyes than mine.” He stroked the back of his fingers along her jawline. “Before you, I thought I was a lone wolf. I was wrong. I need my pack. You. Tilly.” He laid his hand on her stomach. “This baby. All the important lessons in life I’ve learned have been from you. You’ve shown me that love doesn’t have to break people.” Reaching for her left hand, he stroked his thumb over the place her ring would fit. “I promise to love you forever, Sophie, and to honour every perfect inch of your body with my own. Often. Daily. Sometimes twice a day,” he added. Behind them, Kara and Dylan’s soft laughter carried on the breeze. “I promise I’ll never leave you, or screw anyone else, or break your heart.” He slid the ring onto her wedding finger and knew he’d never seen anything as profoundly perfect in his life. Sophie gasped softly, tears on her cheeks all over again. “I look at you today, barefoot and beautiful, growing our baby inside you, and I wonder how the hell I got this lucky.” He moved her in close, sliding his arm around her waist and lifting her hand to his mouth. He placed his lips over her wedding ring and set the seal. “You’re my fucking hero, Sophie Knight.” They danced as the sun set over this most blissful of days. Encircled in Lucien’s arms, Sophie laid her head on his shoulder and let her gaze slide slowly over the scene as he stroked her back. Tilly, crashed out on a cream, calico-covered lounger that had appeared out of nowhere just when it was needed. Kara and Dylan, their arms wrapped around each other. Sophie could see Dylan’s face as he rested his chin on top of Kara’s head, and his expression told her all she needed to know about the depth of his feelings for the woman in his arms.

She breathed in a deep, happy sigh and closed her eyes, wondering if she'd ever experience such a perfect moment again. Lucien Knight. Her love, her hero, and finally, her husband.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE Kara and Dylan made their way home in the Mustang a couple of hours later. He slung his arm around her waist, her sandals hanging from his fingers as they walked slowly along the beach towards the Love Tug, close enough to the water’s edge for the sea to wash over Kara’s bare feet. "That was, hands down, the best wedding I've ever been to," she said, winding both of her arms around Dylan's midriff. It had been the most impossibly romantic of days, and she was ready now to tell the man at her side that she loved him. He kissed the top of her head. "Starry-eyed fool." Kara wriggled her toes in the shallow water. "I used to be." She stilled, smooched him a little. Warm mouths, soft sighs. "Still starry-eyed. But not a fool anymore," she said. "I picked you." Dylan's conviction to tell her the truth dissolved in her kiss. He let himself roll the dice one last time. It had been the best of days. Let tonight be the best of nights, and come morning he’d tell Kara everything. They were good plans. Great, even. Brave courses set for the best of reasons. But what neither of them had factored in was the vulnerability of their plans to outside interference. As they strolled up the beach, both spotted the lone figure ahead at the same moment. For Kara, there was no moment of instant horror and panic, but for Dylan there most definitely was as the man drew himself up to standing as they approached the pathway. Dylan’s fingers bit suddenly into Kara’s waist, her first warning that something was amiss. “About time too,” the man said, a triumphant grin on his face as his sly gaze moved between Kara and Dylan. “What the fuck…?” Dylan ground out. Kara felt her world tip a little at his expression, at the rage in his voice. “I told you never to come back here,” Dylan said, his voice low and full of menace as he stepped protectively in front of Kara. “Extenuating circumstances, bro.” Justin shrugged his shoulders with the look of a man who knows he’s holding an ace. Fear spiked through Dylan’s heart as he remembered turning off his phone earlier that day. Had Justin been trying to reach him? Had something happened to their mother? Kara stood stock still, her mind reeling. Bro? This was Justin? This was Dylan’s surviving brother? There was little to link them, aside from their familiar accents and maybe their eyes. She made up her mind within seconds that Justin was a man with none of his brother’s virtues. She placed her hand on Dylan’s arm as he moved threateningly towards the other man. “Dylan…” she murmured, and Justin looked her straight in the eyes and laughed. “Dylan?” He rolled his eyes. “Fuck, man!” Dylan had his brother by the scruff of the neck within a second and had him pinned against the rocks. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled. “Not like this.” Kara’s world tilted even more queasily to the side. There was something very, very wrong. Dylan drew his fist back, but it stilled in mid air as Justin inclined his head towards someone new approaching the tense gathering. Kara swung around too, and they all watched as a woman headed towards them, stumbling awkwardly as she dragged a pushchair through the deep sand. Tall and skinny, her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, her cotton dress was rumpled, and the tight, resentful look on her face spelled even more trouble. “So you finally decided to show up,” she drawled, her eyes on Dylan as she came close to them.

Kara wrapped her arms around her midriff, an instinctively protective stance. She couldn’t speak. The look on Dylan’s face had again taken her breath. Whoever this woman was, she was no stranger to him. Silence reigned for a few long seconds as the woman’s gaze shifted from Dylan to Kara. “Looks like it’s down to me to make the introductions, darlin’,” she said, her eyebrows raised over her bitterly triumphant eyes. Dylan let Justin go with a shove and turned to Kara. The look on his face broke her heart clean in two. Her world was about to turn upside down. She knew it in that split second as she waited mutely to hear what Dylan – or the woman - would say. “Kara, please…” “Oh, this is gonna be fuckin’ priceless,” Justin laughed. Without a second’s hesitation, Dylan swung around and punched him so hard on the jaw that he fell to his knees. Kara flinched, as much for the anguished, animal sound that left Dylan’s body when the blow struck its target as for the sound of knuckles smashing against bone. “Some things never change, Matthew,” the woman said coolly, watching with apparent disinterest as Justin staggered to his feet, swiping blood from his mouth on the back of his hand. Dylan’s heart was beating hard enough to give him a coronary. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. “Kara…” he said, hating the hunted look in her eyes and wanting like hell to hold her. “She called you Matthew,” Kara whispered, her face ashen even in the moonlight. “Why did she call you Matthew?” The woman’s eyes widened and a small laugh escaped her throat. “Oh my God,” she said, amused, furious, dangerous beyond reason. “She doesn’t even know your fucking name.” “Shut the fuck up, Suzie,” Dylan said, never taking his eyes off Kara. He reached for her hands but she stepped backwards, out of his reach. “Who is she?” Kara demanded, terrified of hearing his answer. Suzie didn’t shut the fuck up. She stepped up alongside Dylan instead and stuck her hand out. Kara stared at it dumbly. “I’m Suzie, honey,” she said, retracting her hand with a shrug, laying it on Dylan’s bicep instead. “His wife.” She glanced sideways and waved her other hand towards the pushchair. “And that’s his son.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX Kara ran. She ran barefoot across the beach, as fast as she could without looking back. She heard Dylan call her name, once, and then again closer behind her. He caught her easily, his arms banding around her midriff, holding her against his chest as she struggled, throwing her elbows back into his body as hard and viciously as she could. “Let me go,” she panted, fighting against him with every ounce of strength in her. “She’s not my wife, Kara,” he said desperately, still holding her tight. “Not any more, I swear to you.” She stilled in his grasp, winded by his words. He let go slowly, as if he feared she was preparing to run again. But she wasn’t. She didn’t want to run, suddenly. She wanted to hit him, to hurt him, to give him even the smallest taste of how much he was hurting her at that moment. “But she was your wife, and you just conveniently forgot to mention her,” she spat. “I only ever asked you for one thing, Dylan.” She laughed, acid-harsh, as she said his name. “Or Matthew. Which is it?” She shook her head, and the icy revulsion in her eyes chilled his bones. “I only ever asked you for honesty.” “I wanted to tell you, Kara,” he said hopelessly. “I wanted to tell you more than anything.” “Well, you had plenty of fucking opportunities,” she threw back. “Months. Months of working alongside me, of screwing me all over this goddamn island, of listening to me spill my guts to you about fucking Richard, and my fucking dad.” She was crying now, big, heavy sobs dragging on her chest that made talking hard, but the words kept tumbling out regardless. “You really saw me coming, didn’t you?” In the distance, the baby cried out. “You’re not the man I thought you were,” Kara said, her voice broken and quiet. “I was going to tell you that I love you tonight. That I wanted to stay with you forever on that fucking boat.” Dylan stared at her, hating himself, loving her so much it physically hurt. He could feel himself losing her and nothing he could say was going to make her stay. “You’re someone else’s husband, and you let me fall in love with you,” Kara said. “She has your baby, and you pretend it’s never happened and let me fall in love with you.” “It’s not my baby,” he whispered. “You expect me to believe that?” Her eyes were daggers. He didn’t. “Kara, we’re divorced. I have the papers on the boat…” Raw desperation hollowed his voice. He reached out for her and she backed away, shaking her head vehemently. “I don’t want your papers, or your lies, or your fucking hands on me ever again.” Her voice shook with rage. “You make me feel dirty.” It was the hardest thing anyone had ever said to him. She carried on retreating, watching him like a wounded animal, her furious face telling him how much she didn’t want him to follow. “I don’t know who you are,” she said flatly, a few metres away from him now. “I don’t know who you are.” She pressed her hands against her cheeks. Shock was setting in. She was cold, shivering despite the warmth of the evening. “Yes you do,” he said softly, desperate to touch her, knowing she didn’t want him to. “You know me better than anyone else has ever known me.” He glanced back up the beach. “I don’t belong with them, Kara. I belong here, with you. I love you.” For the briefest of seconds he saw her falter, and hope flared bright in his heart. Would she stop? Would she come back? The truth was so dreadfully overdue, but he would tell it all, right now, if she gave him the chance. Please come back. Pain etched lines across her forehead as she fought to make sense of the evening’s revelations, to pick

the bones of truth out from amongst the lies. Kara had made her mind up. “Go.” she said, clearly. “Go back to your family.” She jerked her head towards the end of the beach, her expression determined. “I never want to see you again.” Dylan watched her walk away, taking his heart with her. He didn’t try to stop her. How could he? He had no defence. Every word she’d said was true. He had lied to her from the moment he’d met her. He had chosen not to take a single one of the many opportunities there had been to tell her the truth. He watched her walk towards the Mustang, heard the hard slam of the door reverberate across the beach, stood bone still until he saw the tail lights had climbed the hill and disappeared around the curve of the road. She was gone, and he was left there holding her silvery sandals, Prince Charming without his Cinderella. Except he wasn't the hero. He was the villain, the liar, the man who always lost in the end. He turned away and walked slowly towards the two people he hated most in the world, and the child he’d never laid his eyes on in his life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX Every dread-filled step back along the beach towards Justin and Suzie was a step back into his old shoes. He could feel Dylan Day dissolving into the Ibizan sand beneath his feet, leaving him exposed as Matthew McKenzie, the man who let his brother die. “Leave us,” he snarled at Justin as he approached them. Justin shrank back into the shadows, presumably not wishing to have his face rearranged for a second time that evening. Suzie sat on the rocks, disinterestedly feeding the baby in the pushchair in front of her from a plastic bottle. Dylan sighed heavily and sat down a couple of feet away from her, his head in his hands. The sea washed unnoticed over his shoes. “What the fuck is going on here, Suzie?” he said eventually. She looked across at him. She looked worn out, more jaded than the last time he’d seen her. “This is your kid.” She set the baby’s almost empty bottle down on the rocks and reached into the pushchair to lean him forward, rubbing his back, his chin resting between her thumb and forefinger as she winded him. Dylan stared at him, his tiny face and startling mop of dark hair. How could that be his son? “I was pregnant when I left you.” Suzie answered the question he hadn’t yet asked. She continued patting mechanically, not looking at the baby, her attention on Dylan. “Yeah, and you’d been screwing Donovan for months before then,” Dylan reminded her, certain that he hadn’t fathered the child. He’d barely had sex with Suzie in the last few months of their doomed-from-the-start marriage. Just once or twice, and unhappily, thanks to too much tequila when he’d been especially maudlin about Billy. The discovery that Suzie had been screwing around behind his back had come as no great surprise. They’d married in Vegas not long after Billy had died, and neither of them had much recollection of the ceremony or of their reasons behind it. Billy had been their link. His brother, her ex-lover. He’d tried to lie in the bed he’d made for a while, but the truth was that it had been a cold and hard place. Numbed by so much unhappiness, he hadn’t been one bit sorry to see her pack her bags. Suzie had been a symptom rather than the cause. It hadn’t even hurt that she’d left him to shack up with Donovan, the very guy to whom both of his brothers had gambled their lives away to, the very same guy who had taken everything Dylan owned beside the shirt on his back in recompense for Justin’s unpaid debts. It had been a stark choice. His club, or his brother. The fact that his wife had thrown herself into the equation too barely even registered. He’d made the choice he wished he’d been able to make for Billy. He did it for Billy, and to save his mother from the heartache of burying another son. “He’s been tested,” Suzie said, nodding down at the baby. “He’s not Donovan’s. He even looks like a fucking McKenzie.” Dylan digested her words, every one a death knell for him. “So what… you’ve come here after money?” Dylan guessed. “If he’s my child then you know I’ll pay.” “I don’t want your money,” she said. “And I don’t want your child, either.” He jerked his head up, not understanding, and she shrugged. “Come on, Matthew. Do you really think Donny’s going to raise a McKenzie brat?” It had been a long night. Given time to absorb the facts and think about it, Dylan wouldn’t have wanted Donovan anywhere near his son either. But as it was, in his state of numb shock, he needed her to spell things out for him.

“Suzie… what are you actually saying?” She stood up, and thrust the pushchair towards him. “He’s three weeks old. Everything you need for him is in his bag.” “Suzie, for fuck’s sake!” Panic galvanised Dylan onto his feet, knocking into the pushchair handles. “You’re his mother, he needs you. You can’t just walk away from him.” She was doing exactly that. She turned her back and set off across the sand. “Suzie! Jesus, Suzie, stop! I don’t have the first fucking clue what to do with a baby.” His former wife paused and turned around, her hands flung out to the sides. “So learn. Or give him up. I don’t really care either way as long as I get on that plane without him.” “You can’t mean that,” he said, appalled. Suzie sighed and looked at him flatly. “Donovan loves me, Matthew. He takes care of me. He has money.” Dylan laughed. “Yeah, my fucking money.” Suzie shrugged, stony-eyed. “He has money,” she said again. “He doesn’t want your kid.” She glanced back at the baby, just once, but her expression didn’t change. “Feed him every few hours. Change his nappy. It’s not fucking rocket science.” The baby stirred, opening his eyes and blinking up at Dylan. He had Billy’s eyes. “What’s his name?” Suzie paused, almost embarrassed. “He doesn’t have one.” Dylan sighed heavily at Suzie's retreating back. "He does now." She walked away without a backward glance, off towards Justin further up the beach, off back home without her ex-husband’s bastard child weighing her down. Kara drove aimlessly, following the coast road. She couldn’t go back to the villa. It was Sophie and Lucien’s wedding night. If she went back now, they’d rally round her, enveloping her in hugs, wiping her eyes, plying her with brandy as she spilled the whole sorry tale of how she’d been deceived again. Sophie would comfort her, and Lucien would want to kill Dylan, and their wedding day memories would be forever tarnished. Kara had enough experience of that herself to know that she couldn’t and wouldn't inflict it on her best friends. The traffic around her thickened, and she found herself amongst the brash lights and raucous revellers of San Antonio, otherwise known as party central. She could park up the Mustang and lose herself here amongst these people. Drink until she couldn’t remember who she was. Screw someone without even asking his name, and forget the man who hadn’t loved her enough to bother even telling her the truth about his own. People spilled out onto the pavements from the neon-lit bars on either side of the road, laughing, shouting, kissing. She drove on, leaden-hearted, until the lights thinned out again, and then on some more, meandering around the island until she found herself drawn to somewhere familiar. She swung the Mustang down a sandy lane, nosed through the fringe of pine trees, and turned off the engine as her wheels touched the edge of the sand. And there she stayed all night, dry-eyed and empty-hearted, overlooking the beach where she’d made love beside a campfire with a make-believe man called Dylan Day.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT One look at Kara’s pale face when she walked into the villa at just after seven the following morning was enough to tell Sophie that something was very, very wrong. Why was she here at all? Sophie frowned, trying to make sense of it amongst the happy detritus of yesterday in her head. Kara was supposed to be with loved up with Dylan. All thoughts of the blissful wedding night she'd just spent with Lucien flew from her mind as she put the coffee cups down with a clatter and half-ran across the room. “Kara,” she cried, taking in her best friend’s dishevelled bridesmaid dress and mascara-streaked cheeks. “What happened?” Her mind raced with disastrous scenarios. Had there been an accident? “Is Dylan okay?” she pressed. It had to be Dylan. Kara’s face was ashen as she put down her keys and shook her head. “No.” Kara’s expression was so foreboding that Sophie’s hands flew to her cheeks and tears spiked her eyelashes. “What’s happened? Tell me, Kara. What is it?” Kara lifted her tired eyes, realising that Sophie had misunderstood. “Don’t worry Soph,” she sighed. “He isn’t hurt.” Relief unclouded Sophie’s features, followed swiftly by confusion and concern. “So… what is it, then?” Kara flopped wearily on the sofa and Sophie followed her, tight with anxiety. At that moment, Lucien appeared up the stairs, his hair still mussed from Sophie’s fingers, naked aside from his oldest, most loved pair of jeans, T-shirt in hand. The honeymooner smile dropped from his mouth as he looked at their two faces: Sophie’s worried and Kara’s something far, far worse. In a moment he was hunkered down next to them, his senses on high alert, a feeling of apprehension chilling him and overriding the warmth of the morning. Sophie rubbed Kara’s back, willing her to explain, willing her to be all right. “What’s wrong, honey?” Kara put her elbows on her knees and dropped her forehead on her palms. “Just about everything, Soph.” They sat in silence for a few seconds, each of them wrestling with their own questions. Sophie knew that Kara had been planning to declare her love to Dylan. Had he thrown it back in her face? Thinking back to Dylan’s expression as he’d danced with Kara at the wedding yesterday, she couldn’t make any sense of it if so. He loved her, of that much Sophie was certain. Lucien sat on Kara’s other side, deeply troubled. He knew more about Dylan than either of the women beside him. Had he been complicit in Kara’s distress by holding his silence? Could he have prevented this? “I’ve been an idiot all over again,” Kara said at last, her eyes downcast. “A gullible, stupid fucking idiot.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. She was tired - really, really tired - and as Sophie’s arm settled around her shoulders and she leaned into her for comfort, her remaining self-possession deserted her. “Lies, Soph. Lie, after lie, after lie.” She batted the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, furious with herself for crying over him. “I didn’t even know his fucking name.” She knew that she wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, and she loved Sophie for listening without asking all of the questions that must be racing through her head at that moment. “I thought I loved him, and

I didn’t even know his name.” It seemed ridiculous, it sounded ridiculous. “And do you know it now?” Lucien asked, low and ultra calm. “Matthew.” A long breath left Kara’s body, and she closed her eyes again. “His name is Matthew.” She didn’t even like saying the word. It seemed so utterly unconnected with the man she thought she knew. Sophie frowned over her friend’s dipped head at Lucien, unsure of what was going on, and even more confused by the fact that Lucien didn’t seem all that surprised. “He isn’t who I thought he was,” Kara said, to neither of them in particular. “But why would he do that?” Sophie said. “I don’t understand why he’d lie.” “Maybe he had his reasons,” Lucien said, careful to keep his tone neutral. “Oh, he had his reasons,” Kara said, and a harsh laugh rattled in her throat. “I met them on the beach last night. His wife, and his child.” “Oh no, Kara,” Sophie whispered, realising the extent of the betrayal Kara was trying to process. She squeezed her friend’s ramrod-stiff shoulder tighter. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. “I’m so sorry, darling.” “Fuck,” Lucien said. “Fuck.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair and stood up, grabbing his T-shirt from where he’d dropped it and shrugging it over his head. “I’m going down there.” “Lucien, don’t.” Kara said dully. “There’s no point.” Sophie glanced up, knowing from his dark, purposeful expression that Kara’s words wouldn’t stop him. He grabbed his keys from the stone side table and stalked out of the door. Betrayal burned hot in Lucien’s mind as he drove down the coast. He’d trusted Dylan too. He’d brought the man into their lives and their home, and he’d covered for him when the chips were down. But a wife, and a child? He couldn’t fathom how they fitted into the picture that Dylan had drawn for him. Lucien trusted his own instincts, and cheating jarred with everything in his mental assessment of Dylan Day. But it was hardly something that Kara could have been mistaken about. He could almost feel his brain unpicking all of the ties that he’d thought had bound them together as similar men, re-assessing, distancing himself from someone he’d thought he had the measure of. It wasn't just injured pride at having been taken in. It cut deeper than that. Lucien had lowered his guard because he’d thought they were friends, and his life had felt richer because of it. He thumped his hand down on the steering wheel, furious with Dylan, and also with himself. He’d let Dylan into their lives, and it was down to him to kick him out again. Today he was going to lose not only his club manager, but also someone he’d come to think of as a kindred spirit and true friend.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE It had not been an easy night aboard the Love Tug. Dylan didn’t even know how to hold a baby, let alone feed one or change its nappy. Suzie had left him with two drums of formula milk powder, a pack of diapers, four sleep suits, a half used pack of wipes, an open shaker of baby powder… and the baby. Surely the baby needed more than this to stay alive? Feed him every few hours, she’d said. On what? How much? How often? He had no clue, and his head was all kinds of screwed up. He couldn’t think about Kara, because every thought of her hit him like a blow to the stomach and rendered him even more incapable of caring for the tiny human being now sharing the Love Tug. A tiny human being with massive lung capacity, if the amount of screaming he’d done during the night was anything to go by. Out of frustration, he’d considered emailing his mother at around three am, desperate to know how to make the baby stop the head-splitting noise. But then he’d thought it through, and he’d known she’d put herself on the first flight out, even though she had a pathological fear of flying, and he’d feel like a complete shit when she got here and saw him living on a freak show boat with a wild-haired baby, outcast and jobless to boot. So he’d picked the baby up instead, and one whiff had told him exactly why he was howling like a banshee. The amount of crap one small baby could produce had been a revelation that Dylan could really have done without in the small hours of the morning, when his life had just crashed down around his ears. As it was, the baby was plastered, all up his back, down his legs… it was a full stripdown situation. Dylan heaved his way through the process of peeling the baby’s clothes off and wiping him down, finally resorting to dunking him in the tiny kitchen sink, where he screamed even louder throughout his unceremonious bath. Was it normal for babies to turn purple when they were mad? He’d finally quieted when Dylan wrapped him in the biggest towel he could find and held him against his shoulder while he tried to mix formula from the instructions on the side of the tin. He’d taken him up on deck and settled into one of the low-slung deck-chairs to feed him as the sun came up over the horizon, heralding the start of a brand new day. His first day as a father, and his first day without Kara. He closed his eyes a few seconds after his son did, equally exhausted and infinitely more terrified.

CHAPTER FORTY Lucien stalked across the beach at Vadella, still deserted aside from a couple of early dog walkers and a yoga class in session on the sand outside a cafe. He jogged past the impressive boats moored in the bay, all the way to the smallest boat moored at the very end. Although he knew where Dylan was staying, he hadn’t visited. And like most visitors, he’d never seen anything like it before. Lucien lifted his sunglasses to peer more closely at the Love Tug as he drew level, then dropped them again hastily, assaulted by the carnival of clashing colours that hit his eyeballs. Trying to put aside his newly formed personal opinion on Dylan’s choice of abode, he stepped on board and peered inside through the open sliding door. A can of formula milk sat on the counter, and the kitchen looked and smelled as if a bomb of baby powder had been detonated in there. The presence of a pushchair in the small space confirmed it. There was a baby on board. “I’m up here.” Dylan’s voice came from the roof deck, low and resigned. Lucien backed out of the junked kitchen and stepped up onto the roof deck. He surveyed the scene in silence. Dylan’s tired, haggard face, and the tiny infant swaddled in a towel in his arms. “Seems the rumours are true then,” he said eventually. “Should I say congratulations? Offer you a cigar?” He enjoyed the flare of anguish that his words ignited in Dylan’s exhausted eyes. “Where’s your wife? Still in bed after your fucking reunion?” “Ex-wife,” Dylan said, monotone. “We aren’t married any more.” He looked up at Lucien, the sun’s glare hurting his eyes. “Sit down, please man.” “I’ll stand.” Dylan shook his head, resigned. He couldn’t blame him. “She’s gone, for what it’s worth. My ex-wife. She came, dumped a kid on me I didn’t know existed, and then she left again with my fuckwit of a brother in tow as her escort.” Lucien stared at him for a long time, and then dropped into the seat opposite Dylan’s. “Spectacular fuck up.” “I know that.” “I should lay you out cold for what you’ve done to Kara.” “I wouldn’t hit you back.” Lucien looked out over the mirror-still water, his mind on the broken girl back at the villa. She was the closest thing he had to a sister. “That’s the thing about Kara. She’s bold, and people can mistake that for tough.” “I didn’t mistake it.” “No. But you went ahead and hurt her anyway, which is worse,” Lucien said. “And the most fucked up thing is that if you’d just had the balls to tell her the whole unvarnished truth, she’d probably have loved you anyway.” Dylan closed his eyes and sighed wearily as he leaned his head back against the wooden back of the chair, but Lucien knew that every word was going in. He went on, relentless, “She has a heart as big as anyone I know, and you’ve broken it by lying to her.” Dylan scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “How is she?” he said, so quietly that Lucien almost missed it. “Do you really need me to fucking answer that?” Dylan didn’t. He knew exactly how hurt Kara was, because he’d hurt himself exactly the same. He

wanted Lucien to understand that, but the words wouldn’t put themselves together properly in his sleepdeprived mind. “It seemed so goddamn simple when I came here,” he said. “I just wanted to live an uncomplicated life. Everything back home was fucked up.” “Trouble has a way of following trouble,” Lucien said. Dylan huffed. “Doesn’t it just.” The baby stirred against his bare chest, and he fell silent for a second. “I should never have married Suzie. It was a stupid, drunken mistake that we both regretted the morning after. We didn’t love each other. Hell, a lot of the time we didn’t even like each other.” He looked over at Lucien’s unreadable face. “She threw her lot in with the wrong crowd, skipped town months ago with the guy who took my club in recompense for Justin’s debts.” He paused. “I missed the club for a while.” Lucien was listening without comment, and Dylan was grateful. Now he’d started talking, he didn’t want to stop till the end. He wanted it all out, now. “So when I got off the plane here and someone asked me my name, I lied.” He shook his head. “Dylan fucking Day. You have no idea how much easier it was to sleep at night.” The baby wriggled again, and laid his small, soft palm flat against Dylan’s chest, his fingers so tiny they were almost translucent. “And however crazy and fucked up it sounds, in here,” Dylan touched his fingers against his heart, “In here, I feel like Dylan Day. I didn’t lie to hide the truth. I lied because I couldn’t stand to be Matthew McKenzie any longer. The world I grew up in wasn’t like this, Lucien.” Lucien knew more than Dylan could possibly realise about inventing a different life for yourself because the one you have sucks. “I don’t expect you to understand, and I’m not asking for your sympathy.” Dylan went on. “If I could wind the clock back and change things I would, but life doesn’t work like that, does it?” He levered himself up to sit straighter as the baby opened his eyes. Both men looked down at the child as he roused. “And then there’s him. A boy with a fraud for a father and a mother who doesn’t want him.” Lucien frowned. “She’s left him with you for good?” Dylan nodded. “ And I don’t have the first fucking clue what to do with a baby.” He moved the child awkwardly in his arms and the towel fell open. On cue, an arc of pee spouted all over Dylan’s knee, and both men looked on, aghast. “Jesus, man. He needs a nappy.” “I tried, they kept falling off,” Dylan said, exasperated. He mopped his leg with the corner of the towel as the baby fastened his gums around the bent thumb of his other hand. “Jesus. No one told me babies bite,” he said, trying to extricate his hand gently. “I think he’s trying to tell you that he’s hungry,” Lucien said, and sighed with resignation. “Where are the nappies?” Half an hour and a master class in the art of nappy changing later, Lucien picked up the baby boy and sat him on his knee, cradling his head in the way only a practised father can. He contemplated the tiny child for a moment and then looked up at Dylan. “He has ridiculous hair.” Dylan smiled for the first time since the moment he’d laid eyes on Justin last night. A half smile, a tired smile, but a smile, of sorts. “I kinda like it.” Lucien nodded, digesting the implications of the comment. “I take it you’re planning to keep him?” Dylan nodded. There was no question in his mind. From the moment that the baby had opened his eyes and looked at him last night, he’d known what he had to do. “He’s my son. My responsibility.” “And you’re going to live where? Here? On this boat with a baby?”

“Lucien, I don’t have a fucking clue what happens next. I didn’t know he existed this time yesterday. I’m not even sure how to keep him alive, but one way or another, yes. He stays with me.” Lucien had to respect the conviction with which Dylan had accepted the parental responsibilities so unpromisingly foisted on him. He scrubbed his hand over his chin, at war with himself, because the truth was that sitting there listening to Dylan, he almost understood. He couldn’t condone the fact that he’d lied, but he could understand how one lie had led to the next, and that none of those lies had been borne of maliciousness or an underhand attempt to deceive. But then he thought of Kara, hollow-eyed and heartbroken, and he wanted to grab Dylan around the throat out of pure frustration. “And what about Kara?” he said. “Kara.” Dylan said her name with the quiet reverence of a priest, then closed his eyes and sighed raggedly. Lucien looked away, settling the baby in the crook of his arm to give Dylan a few seconds to get himself back together. “I’ve never met anyone like Kara before,” Dylan said. “She is good, and clean, and pure, and all of the things I’m not. She was falling for Dylan Day, and she made me want to be him forever. I still do. I can’t go back to life as Matthew McKenzie.” He looked down at the baby. “Especially not now.” Lucien didn’t envy Dylan his new life as a single father. It seemed unfathomable that they were even having this discussion, when just yesterday they’d all laughed and toasted their idyllic Ibizan summer. “Tell her I’m sorry?” “You know I can’t do that.” Dylan nodded. “These past few months have been the best of my life.” Lucien looked down at Dylan’s son. “That’s good. Because these next few will be amongst the hardest.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE Lucien found Sophie sitting alone at the dining table when he returned to the villa a little while later. She looked up immediately as he came in the door, her face a study of concern as he dropped into the seat opposite her. “Did you see him?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s Kara?” Sophie shook her head miserably. “She’s gone.” “Gone? Gone where?” “Home. Back to England. She threw her things into a bag just after you left. I couldn’t persuade her to stay. I couldn’t even get her to let me take her to the airport." Lucien pushed his hands through his hair. He’d been gone a few hours. Numerous flights left the airport every day bound for the UK: there was every chance that Kara was already airborne. “What an absolute fucking mess.” “She couldn’t stand the idea of running into Dylan again. She was desperate.” Tears filled Sophie’s eyes. “I’m so worried about her Lucien. She went through so much with Richard, I really thought Dylan was…” her words tailed off as a tear dripped from her cheek into the mug of cold coffee cradled in her hands. “I know, Princess,” Lucien said. “I know.” “So did you see him?” she asked again, and this time Lucien nodded. “Yes. I saw him.” Sophie’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing. “What did he have to say for himself?” “It’s complicated, Soph,” Lucien said softly after a couple of seconds, making her frown. “Please don’t tell me you’re about to defend him,” she said quietly. Lucien sighed. “I’m not defending him. It’s just not as cut and dried as you think.” She stared at him blankly. “If he has a wife and child, then it’s pretty cut and dried from where I’m standing.” “She’s his ex-wife. They are divorced.” “But she still turned up here, and he has a child with her. Was she there?” Lucien shook his head. “No. She’s gone.” Sophie looked at him steadily, waiting for more. “She’s gone, Sophie. She dumped a three week old kid on Dylan and then shot through back to the rock she crawled from under.” It was too ridiculous an idea for Sophie to process. “She left a three week old baby? For how long?” Lucien nodded. “Forever. He’s all kinds of screwed.” Sophie took the news in. “Do you expect me to feel sorry for him?” she asked after a moment. “Because I don’t. For the baby maybe, but not for him.” “I get that.” Sophie shook her head, not convinced Lucien did get it. He’d left the house furious and returned almost ready to fight Dylan’s corner. Dylan, or Matthew, or whoever he was, was clearly a very accomplished liar, because Lucien didn’t suffer fools gladly. Still she couldn’t find it within herself to be mad at Lucien for wavering. She’d watched him grow

close to Dylan over the months, and it had warmed her to see those bonds of friendship. Over their years together she’d watched him learn to open his heart, first of all to her, and then to Tilly, and over time he’d encompassed Kara in his circle of trust. Dylan had brought something new and unfamiliar to his life, a sense of brotherhood and friendship that he’d never before known as a grown man. It wounded her to think he was going to lose that, and it wounded her to think that Dylan wasn’t the man she’d honestly believed him to be. She’d thought him a better man. A man worthy of Lucien’s trust, a man worthy of Kara’s love. “I need to go home too,” she said gently. “I need to go back for Kara. The staff at the boutique are ready anyway, it’ll just mean bringing the handover forward a couple of weeks.” She’d already spoken briefly with Aida, their assistant manager, after Kara had left, and set the wheels in motion for her own early departure. Their flights were arranged, and Esther was packing Tilly's things up as they spoke. She knew Kara well enough to know that she wouldn’t go running to her family and friends for support when she arrived back in England. She’d try to shoulder her burden alone, most likely drowning her sorrows in the bottom of countless wine bottles. Sophie had been there herself, and she shuddered to think what might have become of her if Kara hadn’t come to her rescue with her unique blend of common sense, good humour and tough love. “I’ll have to stay on here, for a couple of weeks at least,” Lucien said, disgruntled but resigned. He accepted immediately that Sophie needed to be there for her friend. For their friend. “There’s no way Dylan’s in any position to come into work.” “Do we still even call him Dylan?” Lucien studied her face. “He’s still the same man, Sophie,” he said, and the despondent expression in his eyes sliced through her heart. “Sometimes good people do bad things for good reasons.” She stared at him for a long time. “And do you think he had good reason?” Lucien shrugged. “The jury’s out. Go home and take care of Kara. She’s the one who matters right now.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO As it turned out, Kara hadn’t sought comfort in the bottom of a wine bottle. Not because she didn’t want a drink, but because she wanted one so much she feared that she’d drown her own lungs in alcohol if she let herself pour so much as a glass. She had previous form in heartache, after all, or somewhere on the scale, at least. When Richard had jilted her at the altar, she’d anaesthetised the pain and humiliation with liquor. She knew now that it didn’t really help. She’d thought at the time that she couldn’t possibly feel worse. She also knew now that she’d been very, very wrong. Loving and losing Dylan Day made what Richard had put her through seem like a walk in the park. The transition from loved to lonely had all happened so fast. Two weeks on and she was still reeling from the impact of that night on the beach, nurturing a glowing ball of pure hatred for the man who’d melted her heart and then stamped all over it. He’d been so very, very lovely. How could it not have been real? Never for one second had she harboured even the tiniest of doubts, yet their entire time together had been nothing more than a fabrication. Her emotions veered wildly between the raw, gaping misery of loss and fury hot enough to want him dead. How dare he? How fucking dare he? She’d lost any faith in her own ability to know the bottom from the top, he’d robbed her of her self respect and dignity right along with her heart. Twice already she’d looked up flight information to Ibiza, half certain that she wanted to go back and face him, to make him tell her what she’d done to deserve it. Had he been looking for someone to lay the con on and judged her gullible enough to be the one? Someone to warm his bed in the absence of his wife? But why go to all that trouble? He could have found any number of willing women on Ibiza without needing to woo or lie. He was the beautiful boss of a sex club - if anyone could get sex without trying, it was surely him. Was it just the thrill of the chase that turned him on? Or did he get his kicks from lying, from watching her fall into his web of deceit? All of these thoughts and many other, darker ones filled Kara’s brain on a loop until she held her head in her hands and cried, needing the haranguing voices to stop. He was married. He was divorced. He had a child. The child wasn't his. The child was his. He'd lied about so many things that she had no clue which amongst them were the truth anymore. She didn’t get up from the kitchen table when she heard Sophie’s key in the door, but she was relieved to hear it none the less, grateful always for her friend’s quiet, strong solidarity at her side. Sophie came into the room, flicking the kettle on as she passed it, toting carrier bags from which she began to unpack fresh food. She unravelled the soft woollen scarf from her throat and wound it instead around Kara’s neck, ruffling her friend’s hair. She swiped the cold cup of coffee from Kara’s hands and replaced it with a fresh one for each of them. “Did you sleep last night?” Kara lifted one shoulder. “Some, I think.” She sipped the hot drink and sighed, pulling the folder on the table towards her and flipping it open. "Remember we talked about the possibility of opening some stand alone boutiques over the next couple of years? I've been doing some research and I think it's got potential." She sifted through the paperwork quickly, frowning. "I made some lists..." Sophie reached out and stilled Kara's increasingly erratic hands. "Kara, stop." "No, it's here somewhere. I made lists... locations..." Sophie squeezed her fingers, knowing full well that Kara was using work to block out thoughts of

Dylan. "Okay," she said. "We'll find the list, and we can talk about work if you want to, but you can't pretend that this hasn't happened forever, you know?" Kara withdrew her hands and propped her forehead in them instead. "It's all I've got right now, Soph." She sighed heavily. It wasn't all she wanted, but it was all she'd got. Every time Sophie came she battled with herself not to ask questions about Dylan. Today, she lost her battle. “Have you spoken to Lucien today?” Sophie nodded. They spoke all the time. She stroked her wedding ring beneath the table top, wishing he was here instead of still wrapping things up on Ibiza. A one-night honeymoon wasn’t what they’d had in mind. “And is he still there?” Kara asked tonelessly, and Sophie didn’t need to wonder who she meant. She faltered, wondering how her friend was going to take the news. “For now. He told Lucien yesterday that he’s decided it’s time to move on.” Kara let the information sink in. “Move on where?” “He didn’t say. Back to the States, I expect?” The man Kara had thought she knew wouldn’t head back to the States. A slow, cold creep of panic stole over her bones. He was going to disappear, and she’d never see him again. But so what, she hated him. He was going to disappear, and she’d never get the chance to force him to answer all of the questions that haunted her. But he wasn’t worth even one single moment more of her time. He was going to disappear, and she’d never have the chance to beat her fists on his chest until he was as black and blue on the outside as she was on the inside. But he didn’t deserve to feel the touch of her hand ever again, even in anger. He was going to disappear. Dylan needed to disappear. It had been two weeks since Kara had left, two weeks since Billy had arrived. It seemed a lifetime longer on both counts. He needed to step up to the plate and make a plan for the future, find some place to lay down roots for Billy, a job with regular hours. The baby had turned his entire world upside down and inside out. He wasn’t just a tiny person. He was a mini-dictator, and Dylan his foot soldier as much as his father. The first few days had been a living hell of not knowing why Billy was screaming or how to make it stop, but little by little, he was learning to read his son’s cues. He wasn’t confident that he was doing a very good job, but he did at least feel pretty sure that he could keep Billy alive and well, which was several significant steps forward from the day Suzie had left him literally holding the baby. He owed most of his new knowledge and a big debt of gratitude to Lucien. He’d fully expected to find himself unemployed and unwelcome, but Lucien had turned out to be a measured, loyal friend who didn’t turn away in times of trouble. Dylan knew that Lucien had found himself caught in the most delicate of positions, and his admiration for the other man deepened ten-fold as he observed how he managed to remain true to himself without feeling obligated to entrench himself on one side or the other. Instead of firing him, he’d given him paternity leave. Paid paternity leave. Company rules, he’d said. No big deal, he’d said. But it was a big deal. A big, huge deal. It was the gift of precious breathing space, of time to get a handle on the enormity of what had happened to him, to get to know his baby, to grieve for the love he’d lost.

Billy was the most effective distraction imaginable when he was awake, but when he slept, Kara came. She came to Dylan in his daydreams and in the snatches of sleep he managed at night, sometimes smiling, sometimes furious, and beautiful all the time. His whole body ached with missing her, as if he’d been trampled by wild horses. The only time of day when he could find any solace at all came at sunset. Most nights, Billy’s fledgling routine allowed for him to be fed, winded and bathed by then, and they’d developed a habit of sitting up on deck, one man and his baby, to watch the horizon darken. Billy seemed able to sleep easiest held skin to skin, his tiny chest against his daddy’s, his blanket tucked around him until just his small round face and wild-child hair poked out above. Dylan often found his own eyes closing too, drifting into a doze along with his son. It was there, in that exact position, that Kara found him, two weeks and two days almost to the hour after she’d left.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE It was the way he cradled the damn baby that made her cry. All of that big, powerful strength rendered gentle and tender by the presence of the infant in his arms. How could a man who held a baby with such infinite care be the same man who’d broken her heart? Kara wiped her fingertips over her damp cheeks, glad that Dylan was sleeping. He didn’t deserve to see her tears. She wavered, uncertain, considered walking away. She’d come here in anger, with an outraged sense of unfinished business, fury that he’d left her feeling a million times worse than Richard had. If she let it go by the wayside without ever setting the record straight, she feared that she’d never trust her own instincts again. Her self respect was a cause worth fighting for. But now he was here in front of her, she realised she’d come for something else too. She’d come to be near him one last time: her traitorous heart hadn’t yet completely cast him out and the knowledge of this scared her witless. If he opened his eyes now and lied some more, would she believe him? Her faith in herself was on the floor because of Dylan Day. Then he opened his eyes. “English.” He spoke on the softest of intakes of breath as he looked at her, and the expression in his eyes confirmed Kara’s fears. She was in trouble, because she could see him going through the same overwhelming emotions that she’d experienced herself a few minutes earlier. She saw it all play out on his face: incredulous surprise, the bright, against-all-odds flare of hope, and then the bitter, crushing weight of disappointment. Kara didn’t speak because she found herself out of suitable words. He glanced down at the sleeping baby, and then back up at her. “I’ll go and put him in bed,” he said, getting up carefully. He turned back before he disappeared inside, uncertainty on his face. “I’ll be a couple of minutes…please don’t go.” And there it was again, that hot ball of tears burning her throat. She didn’t answer him, just turned away and sat down in the low deck chair he’d vacated. The heat from his body warmed hers. Yes. She’d wait. Below deck, Dylan laid the baby down in the makeshift cradle he’d fashioned himself over the last couple of days. He could have bought one, but the idea of a shopping trip with a baby in tow terrified him, and besides, he'd needed to keep his mind busy during Billy's naptimes. It’d never grace the pages of a design magazine, but it was good enough, and that needed to be enough, for now at least. Kara was here. He’d worked hard on resigning himself to the fact that he’d never see her again, but she was actually here, right now, here on his deck, cowboy boots and all, and he had no idea how the hell to play it. He unfolded a second chair on deck a few minutes later and sat down alongside her. The answer was simple. He would play it straight. He owed her that at the very least. “Why are you here, Kara?” His question held no trace of confrontation, more a resigned sense of defeat. “To hear the truth from you, I guess.” Kara shook her head, her eyes on the horizon. “I need to know why. Was it all a big game for you?” “Kara, no…” “I wake up every day and wonder how I could have been such a monumental fool. I thought I knew

better, but it feels like I’m the girl who never learns her lessons. My father. Richard. You. Is there something about me that marks me out as a pushover, Dylan? Something pathetic, needy?” Deep frown lines creased his brow. “I lied, Kara. I lied and you believed me, which makes you a good, trusting person, which is a fucking miracle given the number of people who’ve let you down. That I’m the latest name on that damn list kills me.” “I hear you’re planning to disappear,” she said tonelessly. She’d come here to reclaim her self-respect, even if it meant stripping him of his. “That makes you a man who lies and then runs from his problems. Not exactly daddy of the year material. I should know, I grew up with a father like that, remember?” Anger made her harsh, and she twisted to look him directly in the eyes. “I don’t envy your child.” It was a lie. She did. She envied the baby that he’d get to spend every day with Dylan. But every one of her words hit their target, and he took her arrows because she had every right in the world to hate him. “Can I tell you the truth?” he asked. “Oh, that’s funny, coming from you,” she said. “You mean the sob story about your evil ex-wife dumping your newborn baby on you? Don’t bother, I’ve had it all relayed second hand already.” Dylan nodded. “I figured you would have heard.” “So what else is there I need to know?” He sighed heavily, his head leaned against the wooden sidebar of the seat as he looked at her. “I’ve apologised to you a million times over in my head, Kara. For not finding the right time to tell you all my fucked up, ugly truths, for not giving you the choice to walk away from me, for the fact that you had to find out in such a cruel, humiliating way.” “You should have told me yourself,” she said quietly. “I’d have believed anything you told me.” “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s not a pretty life back home, Kara.” “You think I’m that shallow?” she said. “I’d rather have ugly truths than pretty lies.” He nodded. “That’s the thing, Kara. The lies weren’t for your benefit. They were for mine. It was a fairytale. My fairytale. One where my brother hadn’t died, where I hadn’t married a woman I didn’t love, one where I didn’t lose everything I ever owned.” The fierce longing in his eyes held hers. “I needed a holiday from my real life, but I didn’t count on you. You were so much more than a holiday romance. You made me want to be Dylan Day forever.” “I wanted you to be him too,” she whispered, her tears threatening again. She’d loved him so very, very much. He looked at her, brittle and broken, and he knew that the moment had arrived, finally, to do the right thing by the woman he loved. “Kara, I miss you every day. Every morning. Every night. All of the time.” He badly needed her to know how very much she meant to him. “I know it doesn’t matter now, and I know you can’t come back to me, because it isn’t just me any more. It’s me and Billy. Billy and me. ” The river deep conviction in his voice made her envious of the baby for the second time that evening. “I’m a father, Kara. I have a son. I’ve been all kinds of stupid, but you’re wrong about one thing. I’m not going to be a bad father to Billy. Maybe I suck at it right now, but I’m learning. He stops crying when I hold him, so I figure I must be doing something right. And I’ll get better. I won’t lie to him, or let him down. I’ll do the best I can and hope like hell that it’s enough.” It was the speech of his lifetime, the protective words of a new father who loved his child, and for a few seconds they stared at each other, shell-shocked. She made his heart ache. He made her heart break. “Go home Kara. Go home and be happy, because you deserve to be more than anyone else I know. Go home knowing that I truly fucking loved you. You didn’t get it wrong. I didn’t fool you, and the next man who loves you won’t automatically be lying to you. He’ll be the luckiest guy in the world. Don’t run

away from love because of what I did. I lied about many things, but never once about how I felt about you.” Kara stopped trying to hold her tears in. It was a battle she’d never win, and Dylan was barely hanging on himself. He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers over her damp cheek. “Go home knowing I love your huge fucking heart, and your laugh, and the way you do everything full throttle even though there’s every chance you’ll break your neck. I’m not going to ask you to stay. Not because I don’t want you, or because I don’t love you, or because I don’t need you. I do. I love you, and I want you, and I need you so much it hurts to wake up in the morning without you.” His voice cracked. “Let that be my liar’s penance.” He stood up, and she took the hand he held out and stood up with him beneath the Ibizan stars, back on the deck where it had all begun. He settled his jacket around her cool shoulders, then pulled her close and kissed the top of her head for a long time. When he stepped back and held both of her hands tight in his, Kara never wanted him to let go. “You are the fucking coolest girl I’ve ever met, and the craziest, and the kindest,” he said softly. “Go home, English. You’re out of my league. You always were.” She left him standing there, knowing he was right, wishing he was wrong. She couldn’t stay. Everything had changed, yet he’d given her so much more than she’d come for. He'd restored her self-respect, and he’d set her back on her feet as a woman. So why didn’t she feel whole again? The thing he hadn’t given her back was her heart. Dylan Day was a man who was going to take a lot of getting over.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR Kara sat at a small, scrubbed pine table inside the Happy Days Beach Bar nursing her second cup of coffee of the morning, her eyes scanning the sand. The summer crowds had left the island now, leaving the beaches to a different clientele who took Ibizan life at a gentler pace. It was still early as she watched the sunbeds being laid out in ranks across the sands, their padded cream cushions a touch of luxury for the well-heeled off-season crowd. She couldn’t see the Love Tug from her vantage point, but that was okay. She wasn’t in any hurry. Dylan strapped Billy to his chest in the cotton baby-carrier that one of the boutique staff from the club had donated to him, along with a box of sleep suits and baby clothes. He’d been astounded by the power of the baby to melt hearts at twenty paces: one look at that shock of hair and big brown eyes and he had them in the palm of his little hand. Dylan hoped for Billy’s sake that his power over the opposite sex never dwindled. “Come on, small guy. Daddy’s hungry.” He made his way around the rocky path towards the beach, his path set for the bakery at the far end, his mind set on Kara. Where was she this morning? Had she gone back to the villa? Lucien was due to go home to England over the next day or two, he’d have been around for her last night. The thought gladdened him. If there was any man he trusted to look out for Kara, that man was Lucien Knight. Kara tensed as Dylan appeared on the beach. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him walk by the cafe, barefoot and bare-chested aside from the baby carrier. Even from a distance she could see the baby’s startling shock of hair, and a smile touched her lips. Dylan walked the beach with the ease of a local, pausing briefly to pass the time of day with the guy who dragged the sunbeds across the sands. She saw him smile, and wanted his smile to be for her. She didn’t get up. Just watched him, sure of where he was heading. She caught the eye of the waitress cleaning a nearby table and ordered another coffee, this time to take away. Dylan walked slowly back along the beach, the warm, scented pastries in a brown paper bag in his hand. He’d visited the bakery as much out of habit as out of hunger; the familiarity of routine had become important in these most unsettling of days. He chatted inanely to Billy as he walked back towards the boat, even though the baby couldn’t understand a word he said and was half way towards his morning snooze. He didn’t even notice that someone was walking towards him until she fell into step beside him on the sand. “Hey, Sailor,” she said softly. “You forgot your jacket.” “You’re supposed to be someplace else,” he said, gladdened beyond belief that she wasn’t. “Anywhere but here with me.” “I have coffee?” she said, knowing that there was nowhere else in the world she'd rather be. He held the bag up. “And I have pastries.” She moved towards a sun-bed set beneath a thatched umbrella close to the azure shoreline and sat down. Dylan sat alongside her, Billy fast asleep on his chest. Kara looked down at him for a few long,

silent seconds. “That’s some hairstyle.” “I know. I kind of like it.” “Me too.” She reached out and touched a soft strand of it. “He has a good name.” “The best,” Dylan said without missing a beat. She nodded. “Can I still call you Dylan?” He stroked the baby’s hair and sighed. “It’s just a name, Kara. I’m still the same man, and for what it’s worth, I was more myself with you than I’ve ever been with anyone else.” She reached for the pastry bag he’d placed down on the sunbed between them and ripped it open. “I know that now.” She passed him the coffee, and then teased a warm pastry apart in her fingers. “I couldn’t get on the plane back to England. I tried, I really did. I queued, but when it came to my turn, I couldn’t get on the damn plane.” He sipped the scalding drink from the tiny hole in the lid, leaning sideways so as not to hold it over Billy’s head. “You should have.” “Should I?” Dylan placed the cup down and accepted the chunk of pastry she held out. “It would have been the sensible choice.” “I don’t do sensible. I do full throttle, even though it might break my neck,” she said. “Or my heart.” “I never wanted to break your heart, English.” “You put it back together again last night.” “I broke my own heart too, if it’s any consolation.” They sat in silence then, man, woman and child. She screwed up the empty pastry bag, set the coffee cup down in the sand, and sank back against the sun lounger. “Lie with me for a while?” Dylan swallowed hard. He wanted to lie there with Kara so much that he feared his banging heart might wake Billy. He lay back slowly beside her and offered her the crook of his shoulder. She met his eyes for an uncertain second and then accepted, settling herself against the warmth of his body. He was so warm. So warm, and vital, and so intrinsically, basically right that she sighed heavily. His arms felt like her home. “Dylan…” she said. He stroked her hair. “Ssh. Just for one minute. Don’t say anything.” And so she didn’t. She closed her eyes and let him stroke her hair, her arm flung across his midriff beneath Billy’s tiny toes. Little by little she tilted her face, and little by little he dipped his, until his mouth was a breath away from her own. He opened his eyes, and in hers he found absolution. She opened her eyes, and in his she found devotion. “How are we gonna play this thing, English?” he said, cupping her face with his palm. “One day at a time,” she whispered. “Kiss me?” His gaze fell to her lips, and then back up to her eyes. No kiss had ever felt so important. Her gentle sigh of longing filled his head when he lowered his mouth over hers. “Kara,” he whispered, her name his prayer as he closed his eyes and let his feelings take over. Her mouth opened and invited him in, let his tongue slide over hers, into her heart, her everything. He buried his hand in her hair and held her head to his. “I love you so very much,” he breathed, and then he kissed her again, aching all over with how much she meant to him.

She hadn’t said why she was here, or if she intended to stay, but he needed to say it anyway, and he needed her to hear it. “I love you too,” she said, her hand gentle over the warm skin at the nape of his neck when he lifted his head. “Can I stay?” Dylan eased back, his fingers still on her jaw. Such a casually phrased question, but he could feel her trembling. “Are you sure you want to?” Kara looked at him, clear eyed and very, very clear in her mind. “I’ll never love anyone else the way I love you. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” “It’s not just me, Kara,” he said, glancing down at the top of Billy’s head. “We’re kind of a package deal.” “Hey, the cute baby clinched it,” she smiled, stroking the baby's foot. “You should thank him someday.” “Every day for the rest of my life.” “I’m going to stick around to make sure you do, Sailor.” Dylan kissed her hair as she settled her head on his shoulder and looked out towards the sea, towards the Love Tug nestled at the far end of the rocks. “I knew the moment I saw that crazy-ass boat that I was in trouble,” she said. “But you didn’t turn around and walk away.” “Trouble is my middle name.” “Then we match.” Kara felt his soft laugh against her hair. “I don’t know the first thing about babies. Just so you know," she said, and touched Billy’s pink cheek. “Me neither, but I’m learning,” Dylan said. He reached down and un-clipped the baby carrier carefully, then manoeuvred the still sleeping Billy down onto the cushion of the shaded lounger. Unencumbered now, he stood, and Kara stood with him. “Come here, English,” he said gently, pulling her near. She wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes, breathing his scent in deep as his restless hands moved over her back, in her hair, over the flare of her hips. “You fit me, Kara,” he said. “You know every fucked up part of me, and you still see someone you can love.” She wrapped him closer. So much man. So much more than he gave himself credit for. “You fit me, Sailor.” She tipped her head back and offered him her mouth, an offer he accepted and then some, kissing her breath away. They lingered at the water’s edge, eyes closed, her face in his hands as his tongue moved against hers. Love and lust sparkled low in her stomach, as warm and welcome as a summer’s day. “You feel that?” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “I feel it.” She didn’t have the words to tell him how much. “Say you’ll never go,” he said, even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t ask it of her. “Tell me you want me to stay forever,” she murmured, knowing he was the love of her lifetime. “Always, English,” he said. “Always.”

EPILOGUE Ibiza, two years later. “Not much further now,” Kara laughed, tugging Dylan along the beach. He almost stumbled on a rock in the sand and reached up to push off the blindfold Kara had insisted he wear for the duration of the car journey from the villa. She’d been elated and giddy all day, a sure indication that she was up to no good. “No, don’t,” she said, catching his arm and smacking it away. “You’ll spoil the surprise.” “I’ve told you what I want for my birthday,” he grumbled. “And you’ll get me.” She stroked her hand down his ass, enjoying him being at her mercy. “Later. After your surprise.” She tugged him towards the rocks at the end of the beach and then stopped and slid her arms around him. “This surprise just got a whole lot more interesting,” he murmured, running his hands down her spine appreciatively through her clinging dress. He kissed her, hot and open mouthed, his hands moving over her body, and for a little while all thoughts of the surprise waiting at the end of the rocks flew out of her head. “This isn’t the first time you’ve blindfolded me on my birthday,” he murmured, and she laughed softly into his kiss, remembering. “I know.” She slid her hands beneath his T-shirt. “You trusted me then.” “I trust you now. Untie the blindfold, English,” he said, his hand cupping her cheek. “I want to look at you.” She kissed him once more, long and lingering as she slowly untied the blindfold, letting her hands play in his hair as she took her time over loosening the fastening. Finally he blinked around, freed, letting his eyes adjust to the starlit night. Recognition flitted across his face as he took in his surroundings. “Vadella,” he said simply, with a smile. Kara nodded and took his hand. He narrowed his eyes as she smiled serenely and led him along the rocky path at the edge of the beach. He hadn’t walked the path in a good while, not since it became apparent very soon after Billy’s arrival that babies and boats didn’t mix. Not boats like the one he’d called home, in any case. The pretty hillside villa he shared now with Kara and his toddler son afforded them more space and convenience and presented many fewer hazards for a wobbly new walker and inquisitive explorer, though it had to be said, it lacked the kitsch charm of Dylan’s previous abode. Very occasionally, he missed the old boat’s quirks. They passed by the newer boats moored there now, including several impressive looking cruisers and a couple of fishing boats, and Kara kept going all the way along to the very end of the rocks. So they were going back. Back to the Love Tug. Dylan started to laugh softly. He could see it lit up ahead now, the multi-coloured fairy lights around the railings of the deck winking bright against the dark skies, low music floating out from the speakers. “Have dinner with me?” Kara said, and the look in her eyes promised a whole lot more besides. “You know all the best places to eat,” he said. "Let me guess. Take-out paella?" “Not exactly,” she said with a small, uncharacteristically nervous smile. She handed him a set of keys he recognised instantly.

"It's yours," she said, watching his face as her words sank in. "You bought the boat?" His incredulous grin wiped the anxiety from her face. "Every sailor needs a boat," she said, leaning in to kiss him. "Or a weekend shag palace…" "Shag palace?" he said, mimicking her accent, smiling against her lips. "So English, as always." Kara loved the sight of him stepping aboard the old boat again. So many good memories were wrapped up in one small, crazy old vessel. She accepted the hand he held out and stepped aboard, the heels of her cowboy boots loud against the deck. Dylan pulled her against him, running his fingertip along the neckline of the tube dress he loved her in. “Did you wear this for me?” he said. “It is your birthday.” She leaned in close and kissed the warm skin beside his ear. “And I’m not wearing anything underneath it.” “You know I’m going to check that later, right?” “I’m counting on it, Sailor.” She started up the steps to the roof deck, then glanced back over her shoulder at him. “You can look up my skirt. Birthday treat.” Dylan's eyes were so firmly fixed on Kara's backside that it took him a few seconds to realise that they wouldn't be dining alone. Lucien and Sophie sat alongside each other on the familiar low deck chairs, conspirators in Kara's birthday plan. Sophie jumped up as soon as Dylan appeared. "Happy birthday!" she said, laughing as she threw her arms around him. He hugged her hard, blown away by their surprise arrival on the island. He kissed her cheek when she stepped back. "You guys have been plotting,” Dylan smiled wide and easy. “When did you get here?" "A few hours ago.” Sophie grinned, her eyes dancing with the thrill of the successful ambush. "We dropped Esther and the kids off at yours as soon as you guys went out." Lucien unfurled himself from the chair as Kara bent to kiss his cheek then pulled Sophie into an expansive hug and led her away below deck. Lucien advanced towards Dylan. "Happy Birthday, bud,” he said, pressing a bottle of Dylan's favourite bourbon into his hands. Dylan laughed, still a little shell-shocked by the unexpected birthday gathering. "It's so good to see you, man," he said, pulling Lucien into a bear hug even though he knew his friend wasn't the most tactile of men. "Drink?" he asked, reaching out of habit into a low cupboard to the side of the deck where barware had always been stored in his time. He found a couple of glass tumblers and uncapped the bottle, splashing amber liquid into them. They stood alongside each other, elbows on the railings and a generous measure of bourbon in their glasses. "How long are you guys staying?" "A week or so," Lucien said. "If you can stand it. Oskar’s cutting teeth. We make bad house guests. Trust me, you'll be ready for us to leave." Dylan grimaced. "Teething, man. Gruesome. Billy screamed for weeks." They contemplated the sea in silence for a few seconds, both men ruminating on how much had changed since they met. Lucien and Sophie's family had expanded with the arrival of their son, Oskar, making Tilly a proud and mostly delighted big sister and Lucien an even prouder and more delighted father. Knight Inc. continued to go from strength to strength, with Lucien on the final countdown to the opening of his eleventh club. The Knight family skipped happily around the globe in his private jet, a tightly knit clan rarely separated for more than a few days.

Kara and Dylan had taken a far more Bohemian approach, and it worked just fine for their relationship. Living together, absorbing Billy into their routine, his long afternoon siestas affording them the opportunity to make the most of each other’s company in all the ways they liked best. Ibiza suited them, and they suited Ibiza, having entrenched themselves firmly amongst the eclectic group of native and parttime residents they now counted as friends. The Ibizan club had met and then exceeded even Lucien’s expectations under Dylan's expert stewardship, so much so that the venture had expanded this season to launch a luxury weekend party boat, currently the hottest ticket in town in every sense of the word. Kara had flexed her business muscles that summer too, opening a standalone boutique on the neighbouring island of Mallorca. Kara’s and Sophie’s friendship was stronger and brighter than ever, and their two families grew ever closer, outside of work. They met up as often as their busy schedules would allow; snatched weekends in London, the occasional week soaking up the sun in Ibiza, idyllic Christmastimes in Norway. It was a good life. Lucien reached into the battered leather jacket he’d hooked over a chairback, then produced two cigars from the inside pocket. He shrugged, then smiled at Dylan’s surprised look. “It’s your birthday,” he said by way of explanation, coming back to lean beside his friend with a lighter in his hand. “I haven’t had one of these in years.” Dylan placed the cigar between his lips, then leaned towards the flame that Lucien sparked. Lucien lit his own cigar and blew out a slow stream of smoke. “My brother was the cigar smoker of the family,” Dylan said, remembering late nights and good times. Lucien knew from the past tense that Dylan was referring to Billy. He took a deep slug of bourbon, the rich shot of alcohol combining with the taste of the cigar in his mouth. “I never had a brother.” Dylan huffed lightly. “Yeah, well. Take it from me. It’s not all good news.” Lucien nodded. From what he’d seen of Dylan’s surviving brother, there wasn’t anything to envy. In the moments of companionable silence that followed, nostalgic memories of Billy merged with the closeness Dylan felt to the man beside him now. “I know this kind of talk makes you freak out, but I'm gonna say it anyway,” Dylan said, laughing softly. “I fuckin’ love you, man.” “Jesus Christ,” Lucien muttered, re-lighting his cigar and holding the flame out to Dylan. It wasn’t his style to make such expansive comments, but he knew what Dylan meant all the same. Theirs was a friendship that he’d come to value very much in the years since their first encounter. Back then, he’d entrusted Dylan with the responsibility of running his club. These days, their bond ran so much deeper; as close as brothers, the best of friends. He met Dylan’s eye in a moment of silent acknowledgement, then shuddered despite the warmth of the evening. “And now I feel like we just had sex.” He knocked his bourbon back in one huge slug, and Dylan turned away to hide his smile. It was the best of evenings. A million stars lit the sky above them like an incandescent celestial map. Sophie rested her head back on Lucien’s arm and looked up as one streaked bright and brilliant across the skies over their heads. “Shooting star,” she said. “Make a wish.” “Can it involve fucking?” Lucien wasn't at all bothered by the fact that they weren’t alone. Dylan and Kara knew exactly how it was between them. Sophie laughed, equally unabashed. “You’re getting predictable.” Lucien shook his head. “I don’t need to make a wish, Princess,” he said, his hand warm on the back of her hair. He glanced around the table. At Dylan and Kara, wrapped up in each other, and then back at Sophie, caught up in him. He loved them all. “It doesn’t get better than this.”

THE END

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A note from the author Thank you so much for reading the Knight Trilogy. I really hope you've enjoyed reading it as much I have enjoyed writing it. I'll be back in 2014 with a brand new erotic adventure to share with you all. Please CLICK HERE to sign up for my newsletter to be the first to hear news of new books and competitions. You can also keep up to date with me on my facebook page, and I'm @kittysbooks on twitter.

Acknowledgements As ever, this book couldn't have happened without the help and support of some very special people. Thanks first and foremost to Charlie Hobson, editor extraordinaire and word magician. Also to Angela Oltmann, for being a joy to work with and for creating the stunning covers for the Knight Trilogy. I'm indebted. Thank you to my beautiful minxes of romance ~ the best writing buddies and friends this girl could ever wish for. I salute you. Special thanks to Sally Clements, formatter extraordinaire. Ditto the gorgeous ladies of Bobland ~ you know I love you all to pieces! Special, huge thanks have to go to all of the amazing book-bloggers and Facebook groups. You guys work so hard on behalf of the authors, I'm grateful beyond words for your support and encouragement. Extra love to Gitte, Jenny and all the delicious ladies at Totally Booked, you ladies really rock my world. Also, to all of the ladies who make every day brighter on Facebook and twitter, you are truly my cybersisters. Writing can be a lonely profession sometimes, but you all make it less so by being there. You make me laugh, you answer my many random research questions, you hold my hand when I'm nervous, and I've lost count of the number of glasses of wine we've shared along the way! Your support means the world to me. Behind the scenes, I couldn't do any of this without my own special people ~ my family, my kids, and my beloved Mr.F. Special big-up to Mr.F's emerging talent in the kitchen. Who knew? I'm a lucky lady in every way. x

About the author Kitty French is the USA Today best selling author of the Knight Trilogy. She also writes as romantic comedy under the pseudonym Kat French. Her debut novel, Undertaking Love, is out now. Kitty lives in England with her husband and two young sons. TO SIGN UP FOR KITTY'S NEWSLETTER, PLEASE CLICK HERE. ###