PLAYING DIRTY WITH THE HOT CEO

chapter 18

The hair on the back of his head is short and prickles my fingers as I slide my hand to the nape of his neck, and his answering shiver sends a flicker of pleasure through me. I’m affecting him as much as he’s affecting me. The thought fills me with delight, and I’m unable to stop a purr of pleasure escaping.

Ohh… he liked that. He’s trying to be gentle and go slow, but I feel a thrill as his passion flares. He answers with a growl, deep in his throat, and fire ignites between us. He lifts a hand to tangle in my hair as he tilts his head to change the angle of the kiss. His tongue delves into my mouth, and I respond with a thrust of my own, lowering my hands to clutch at his shirt, my body burning.

He slides his other hand beneath the edge of my top, his fingers brushing my skin. As they move up my ribs, my n*****s tighten in anticipation, and he pushes me back—but we’re further away from the counter than we realize. I stumble and meet the counter with a bump, and the shock breaks us apart as we both exclaim.

Titus takes my face in his hands again. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He studies me, brushing my cheeks with his thumbs. “I don’t know how you do it, but you make me lose myself.”

I slide my arms around his waist and bury my face in his shirt. He sighs and wraps his arms around me, and we stand there like that for a long time.

“We should go to bed,” he murmurs. “Our own beds, I mean.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to…”

I move back, reach up, and kiss his cheek. “It’s okay, Titus. I know. Thank you for the kiss.” But I’m unable to suppress the bittersweet feeling that settles over me. My brain is calm and collected, telling me it makes no sense to get involved, because Reasons, Heidi—distance and Jason and Oliver, and it’s only been two days, and I’m getting carried away, and I should know better. But my heart doesn’t want to listen, and neither does my c******s, goddammit.

The thought makes me give a short laugh, and he lifts my chin so he can look at me. “What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. What time do we need to leave tomorrow?”

He sighs, lowering his hands. “I said we’d be there around four, and it’s about ten minutes east of Exeter, I think. So, about three thirty?”

“Sure. Um, in the morning I’d like to call in and see my grandparents. I don’t suppose you want to come?”

“Sure. Your mum’s folks, right? I met them once when they came out to New Zealand.”

“Okay. I’ll say we’ll be there around eleven?”

“Sounds great.”

We study each other for a moment. The flickering candlelight highlights his face, so handsome it makes my heart ache. I wish I could take his hand and lead him up the stairs to my bed, but I don’t want to ask because I can’t face rejection. I don’t want him to have to turn me down.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say softly.

He nods. Ooh, the look in his eyes makes me melt. Poor Titus.

“Is Sir Richard giving you as much trouble as Countess c******s is giving me?” I ask.

That makes him laugh. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“It was worth it.” I smile. “Goodnight.”

It’s not easy to walk away. But I don’t have a choice. So I do my best to ignore his sigh, and head up the stairs to bed.

*

Titus

Ten thirty the next morning finds us on the road to Heidi’s grandparents.

It’s another beautiful morning. We’ve been so lucky with the weather, and it looks as if it’s going to be nice for the next few days, too. All the news programs can talk about is the amazing heatwave, even though this is just an average summer day where I come from.

I worked for a couple of hours this morning, while Heidi did some baking. I’m holding the results of her endeavors on my lap in a tin—a fantastic-smelling lemon curd and blueberry loaf cake.

Heidi’s driving us this morning in her rattly car, heading southwest to the tiny town of Ugborough, which I insist on pronouncing Uger-boruger.

She’s wearing her short shorts and a crisp white T-shirt. Her blonde hair is like a slice of sunshine. She’s gorgeous.

As the Devon countryside flashes by, I think about kissing her last night, how her lips felt beneath mine. How they parted for me, and the way the soft moan escaped her as she slid her hand into my hair.

“How’s the Countess today?” I ask mischievously.

She laughs. “She’s okay. I gave her a bit of attention last night, so she’s not as sulky now.”

Okay, so that backfired. I lean an elbow on the sill and massage my brow, and she giggles. “Oh come on,” she scolds. “You can’t say something like that and not expect me to have a comeback. Besides, don’t tell me that Sir Richard didn’t get to go jousting.”

“Jesus.”

“Do you deny it?”

“No. I’m expressing shock at your terrible euphemisms.”

She gives me a longing look. It’s obvious that the thought of me indulging in some DIY is as much of a turn on for her as the other way around.

I raise my eyebrows. Her lips twitch, and she returns her gaze to the road. “Maybe we should stop talking about… you know…”

“You think? You’re extremely bad for my blood pressure.”

“Ah, get some beta blockers like the rest of us, then you can daydream all you like.”

I laugh and change the subject, and she chats away happily until she pulls into the village.

I send myself a warning though as I get out of the car and follow her up the path to the pretty little cottage. I really shouldn’t flirt with her. I’m only making things more difficult for myself. I should shut down the conversation and move on, and she’d soon pick up on it.

But it’s so hard when she turns on that impish smile, and when her eyes dance as she teases me. With some surprise, I realize it makes me happy. She makes me happy.

Well, isn’t that something?

She doesn’t go to the front door, but instead walks around the side of the cottage, past some roses bushes that scatter pink petals like confetti on the lawn as she brushes past them, and through a wooden gate to the back of the house.

“Hey,” she says, and I hear an answering, “Heidi, my love,” as I close the gate behind us and follow her around.

Heidi is hugging her grandmother, a slender, attractive woman in her early sixties, with silver hair that tumbles to her shoulders in waves. She has her arms around her granddaughter, but she’s looking at me as I approach.

“Titus,” she says, releasing Heidi and coming over to me. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Hi, Mrs. Craven.”

“Laura, please.” She kisses me on the cheek, then moves back to look at me, holding me by the upper arms. “Goodness, look at you. You were such a skinny thing the last time I saw you. You’ve filled out nicely.”

“Grandma,” Heidi scolds.

“What? It’s a compliment. And those tattoos. Wow. They’re gorgeous.”

“You should see the one on his back,” Heidi says. “It’s pretty amazing.”

She turns away to greet her grandfather as he comes out, missing the way Laura’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline.

“I was shaving,” I say wryly.

“Hmm.” She gives me a mischievous look—oh ho, so that’s where Heidi gets it from.

“Titus,” Graham Craven says, coming over to shake my hand. “Good to see you, lad.”

“Likewise.”

Laura looks at the tin in my hands and says, “Ooh, is that for us?”

“Lemon curd and blueberry loaf,” I tell them. “And that makes it sound as if I had something to do with its creation, and I didn’t, obviously.”

“Lovely. We’ve got some butter or whipped cream to go with it. Coffee or tea, Titus?”

“Coffee would be lovely.”

“Heidi?”

“Tea, please.” She grins as her grandparents go inside to make the drinks. “I’m turning English.”

“So I see.”

“Bloody hell, let’s pop the kettle on and have a cuppa,” she says in her best English accent, and I laugh.

“Your grandmother thinks we’re sharing a bed because of your comment about my tattoo,” I tell her.

“Oh s**t, really? Sorry, I’d better put her straight.”

“I tried. I don’t think she believed me.”

“Of course she didn’t. I have a gorgeous, smart young guy staying in my home. There must be something wrong with me if I haven’t jumped his bones.” She crosses her eyes.

I chuckle, because I’m supposed to. But my gaze lingers on her as she tips up her face to the sunshine. She thinks I’m gorgeous. That warms me to the core.

After her comment this morning, it’s impossible not to think about her lying in bed, closing her eyes, sliding her hand down her naked body, and pleasuring herself until her o****m sweeps over her. I want to do that for her. I want to kiss her, and have her moan my name against my lips as I make her come, with my fingers, my tongue, and while I’m thrusting inside her.

God, why do I insist on torturing myself like this?