PLAYING DIRTY WITH THE HOT CEO

chapter 24

After a brief rest, we decide it’s time to start getting ready. We walk into the bedroom, and she retrieves her bag and goes into the bathroom.

“Can I shave while you put your makeup on?” I ask, leaning on the door jamb.

“Sure.” She doesn’t look up.

“Thanks.” I get my razor and can of shaving foam, take off my shirt, and join her at the big mirror.

As I run a sink full of hot water, she huffs a sigh.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“Nothing.” She glances at the tattoo on my back, scowls, then returns to touching up her makeup.

“I can’t shave with my shirt on,” I point out.

“Of course not,” she says sarcastically. “God forbid that I don’t get reminded about what I’m missing out on every twenty minutes.”

I chuckle and take the lid off the spray foam. “You don’t have to look.”

She purses her lips, and an impish glint appears in her eyes. She puts down her eyeliner. Then she crosses her hands, takes the hem of her top in her fingers, peels it up her body, and tosses it onto the floor.

“You don’t have to look,” she says tartly. Picking up her eyeliner, she leans forward to look in the mirror and resumes drawing a line along the top of her lid.

I blink at the sight of her beautiful breasts propped up in the lace demi-cups of a cream bra, and then a stream of foam erupts from the can right across the sink.

“Sorry,” I say, scooping it up with my fingers, “I got over-excited.”

“We can always cuddle,” she says, and giggles.

That makes me laugh, which makes her giggle again, and it takes a few minutes for us to stop setting each other off.

I finish shaving, wash the razor, then pat my skin dry with a towel, my gaze sliding over to her. She’s finished her eyeliner and foundation, and now she’s brushing the smoky-gray eyeshadow across her lids that gives her a sexy, sultry look.

I do my best not to look at her breasts, but it’s nigh-on impossible.

Her gaze meets mine in the mirror, and she raises an eyebrow, cheeky minx. I give her a wry look as I splash on some aftershave, then walk out and leave her to it.

Taking my clothes into the living room, I change into a white shirt and a navy suit, add a blue-and-silver tie, and some black Oxford shoes. Then I sit back and open up my laptop to check my emails while I wait for Heidi to finish.

Ten minutes before six, I hear footsteps and look up to see her approaching. She stops and glances down at herself. “Do I look okay?” she asks shyly. “I want to make a good impression.”

Closing my laptop, I put it to one side, then get to my feet. I let my gaze slide down her before returning it to her face. The black sheath dress clings to her slender figure, reaching to just above the knee. The top is covered with a layer of sheer black lace embroidered with big black roses that continues down her arms to her elbows. It’s elegant and sophisticated, and also incredibly sexy, mainly because I’m pretty sure from the shape and movement of her breasts that she’s not wearing a bra.

“Wow,” I say with feeling. “You look magnificent.”

She dips her head so her short blonde hair swings forward to hide her blush. “Thank you.” Then she looks up again, her gaze skimming over me. “You don’t look so bad yourself. You wear a suit superbly well.”

“Most men do.”

“Not like that. I’m guessing it’s bespoke?”

“Yeah. Off-the-peg suits don’t tend to fit me right. My shoulders and thighs are too big.”

She walks forward to stand in front of me. She’s wearing a pair of black high-heels, and although she’s still quite a bit shorter than me, they bring her lips slightly closer to mine.

She drops her gaze to my mouth. “Are you trying to turn me on?”

My lips curve up, and I watch hers mirror them. “You’ve put your lipstick on,” I murmur. “Now I can’t kiss you.”

“That was damn foolish of me.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Mmm.”

We study each other for a moment. Her smoky-gray eyelids have dropped to half mast, and her lips have parted. Her desire rises from her like perfume, and the longing in her eyes is like a silk ribbon, winding around me, ensnaring me.

I want her, so badly. If I don’t do something right now, I’m going to rip off her clothes, throw her on the bed, and make mad passionate love to her. I want to kiss her all over, slide inside her, and make her come over and over again.

God… I really, really want to do that…

“We should go,” I whisper reluctantly.

She blinks. Her cheeks flush pink. Then she moves back and says, “Yes, of course. I’ll just get my purse.”

I watch her walk away, my heart—as well as certain other bits of my anatomy—aching for her. I feel bad, as if I’ve embarrassed her, although we’re as bad as each other.

She comes back with her clutch bag, smiles, and says, “Okay! Shall we head out?” She turns and heads for the door.

“Heidi.” I stride to catch her up. I take her free hand, and she stops and turns to face me.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

She touches my arm. “It’s okay. You’re right. We shouldn’t.” She drops her arm. “Just stop taking your bloody shirt off and we’ll be all right!”

I chuckle, and she grins and opens the door.

“Wait, shall we call the house?”

“Nah,” she says. “Let’s walk up.”

“In those heels?”

“It’s okay, I’m wearing stockings, so they won’t rub.”

My eyes nearly fall out of my head as I follow her out. “Stockings?”

“Well, holdups.” She snaps the elastic at the top of her leg.

I scowl as we walk past the car and onto the grass pathway that leads the other side of the trees to the house. “You’re determined to torture me.”

“Says the man who ejaculated his shaving foam in front of me,” she replied, and we both laugh.“Come here,” I say, reaching for her hand, and I curl my fingers around hers. “Just to look the part,” I explain.

“Yeah,” she says. “This isn’t going to be torture at all.”

I grin. “I can’t think of a nicer place in which to be tormented.”

“That’s true. It’s very beautiful here.”

We walk slowly, Heidi pointing out the birds we come across: house sparrows, gold finches, chaffinches, wood pigeons, and even two blackbirds, serenading us from the trees.

It’s just after six by the time we get to the house. We’ve heard cars passing by on the drive, and we count fifteen parked, with another three or four making their way toward us.

“I thought it was just going to be an informal family thing,” Heidi mutters as we near the front door.

“Yeah…” I feel my first tingle of nerves. “Uh-oh.”

A young guy who looks like a waiter greets us as we go inside, and he directs us through the reception hall toward the drawing room. We’ve just walked in when Alan comes over.

“The guest of honor!” he announces. “And his beautiful lady. Welcome to you both.”

I look at Heidi, seeing that she’s as startled as me. Guest of honor? Holy s**t. Is this all for my benefit?

“What can we get you to drink?” Alan asks. “Stephen will be glad to make you any cocktail you like. Or we have several fantastic Islay malts.”

“Yeah,” I say, “How did you know that’s my drink of choice?”

“A little birdie told me.” He grins.

“I’d love a G&T,” Heidi says.

“I’ll have an Old Fashioned, please,” I add.

“Of course.” Alan gestures to a waiter who’s standing nearby, who goes over to the long table that’s been set up as a makeshift bar by the drinks cabinet. “How’s the cottage?” Alan asks.

“It’s lovely,” Heidi says, “thank you so much, especially for the After Eight Mints. The little birdie again?”

He chuckles. “I’ve been talking to Elizabeth Tremblay. She gave me a few tips on what you both liked.”

I laugh. “Ah, that makes sense.”

“Once you have your drinks,” he says, “we’ll start making the rounds and introducing you. There are lots of people who are excited to meet you.”

I glance at Heidi and run a hand through my hair. “Yeah… about that. We thought this was an informal party.”

“It is. Well, I mean, it’s not a sit-down do.”

“But… you organized it… for me?”

He gives me an amused look. “Of course we organized it for you. Everyone wants to meet the computer superhero who’s changing the future of IVF.”

“You should have worn your cape and tights,” Heidi teases.

“I’m not a superhero,” I say, embarrassed.

Alan just chuckles, then takes the drinks from Stephen as he brings them up and hands them to us. “Come on. We’re out on the terrace.”

He leads the way out through the conservatory onto the large paved area dotted with a few chairs and tables. It’s not dark yet, but the place looks like a grotto. Fairy lights have been threaded through the branches of small trees in pots, and strings of them also run above our heads and hang down like a curtain to either side, leaving the front free so the view of the wildflower meadow and the moors is clearly visible. More bottles filled with coiled up strings of lights are placed strategically around on tables and the low walls that run around the terrace. Waiters move slowly through the guests with platters of canapés filled with exquisite-looking nibbles. Music filters through speakers, and with some surprise I recognizePineapple Head—a song by the Kiwi band Crowded House. Alan is originally from New Zealand, but immediately I know the music is for my benefit.

“Hello!” Vicky walks up with a big smile. She’s wearing an elegant summer dress and high-heeled sandals, and she has a small red flower in her hair. “Heidi, you look so beautiful.”

“So do you, I love your dress.”

“And Titus.” Vicky reaches up and kisses my cheek. “I’m glad you’re here. Carrie’s been so low lately. Believe me, I know your work isn’t going to be a miraculous cure, but it’s exciting to think there’s hope, even if it is a few years away.”

She gestures for us to follow her and leads us across to where a woman in her thirties is standing talking to a small group of people, although she’s watching us. She’s tall and very thin, and I can see the impact the years of disappointment have taken on her.

“This is Carrie,” Vicky says. “Carrie, this is Titus and his partner, Heidi.”

“I’m so pleased to meet you,” Carrie says, sliding her hand into mine, and oh my God, she’s actually trembling.

“Carrie,” I say, placing my other hand on hers, “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s great to meet you at last. And you must be John.” I greet her husband, who I recognize from the photo that Alan sent me.

He shakes my hand, too, pumping it up and down. “We’re honored you could come,” he says. “We’ve been so thrilled to hear about your work, and it’s so cool to meet you at last.”

It turns out that the other people with them are Alan and Vicky’s other two daughters and their spouses, and we all shake hands and introduce ourselves. Afterward, I turn back to Carrie, seeing from the way that her husband has his arm around her that she’s genuinely overwhelmed to meet me. My conversations with people undergoing IVF have enlightened me as to how hard infertility can be on a couple, but for some reason Carrie’s obvious emotion moves me more than any others I’ve met.

“I understand you’re a librarian,” I say to her. “I’ve always thought that must be such an excellent job. What library do you work at?”

She brightens and proceeds to tell me about it, and I ask her a few questions before Alan comes up and gently says he’d like to introduce me to a few more people.

“Of course,” she says, blushing. “I didn’t mean to hog him.”

“Not at all,” I reply. “I’d love to talk to you more over the weekend, if you’re available,” I say to her and John. “If it’s not too difficult for you to talk about, I’d like to hear your experience with infertility, as the more information I can get, the better.”

“We’d like that,” John says, because she’s too emotional to talk, and I nod and move on, holding Heidi’s hand and taking her with me.

“That poor woman,” Heidi whispers as we walk away. “She looked close to tears. You’re going to make such a difference to people’s lives, Titus. I’m so proud of you.”

I’m so humbled by her words that I have to have a big swallow of my Old Fashioned to cover my emotion.

“Stay with me,” I murmur to Heidi.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she tells me, and her fingers tighten on mine.