Jessica Hart – Paradise Nights: Taken by the Bad Boy (страница 18)

‘But enough about work,’ she said lightly. Here they were in a room with a blissfully large bed in it and an entire night at their disposal. Her thoughts turned wicked as she started pulling pins from her hair, the ones that had kept her businesslike chignon in place. ‘I’d like a shower,’ she said, shaking her hair free and dropping the pins on the bedside table before padding towards the minibar, her stockinged feet sinking into the deliciously plush carpet. ‘A glass of wine.’ She opened the fridge, selected a bottle and tossed it on the bed. ‘Some chocolate.’ She perused the selection on top of the counter, chose the Swiss variety, and tossed that on the bed too. ‘I know it sounds trite but I’d like to slip into something a little more comfortable.’ She had a white silk cami and matching panties in her luggage. She found them, threw them onto the bed as well. ‘And then I’d like you.’ She looked meaningfully at the pile on the bed and then back at Pete. Pete’s lips twitched. ‘Feel free to arrange yourself any way you like.’

‘I’d like to oblige,’ he said. ‘Really. And I’m sure we can come to some sort of mutually agreeable arrangement at some point in time.’ He was peeling off his shirt as he spoke, heading towards her, grabbing her by the hand. ‘But my fantasy started the minute you mentioned the shower.’

He made her laugh as he turned on the shower taps and pulled them both under the spray, and her still fully dressed. Made her gasp as he peeled her out of her clothes and set about devouring her body.

Later, much later, he wrapped her in a towel, carried her to the bed and fed her wine and chocolate as she relived the high points of her interview for him, and the low. And then the wine and chocolate went on the counter and the towel went on the floor and he reached for her again.

This time, the sheer perfection and intensity of his lovemaking nearly made her cry.

Pete flew her home the following morning, his body utterly exhausted and his mind fogged with the pleasure only Serena’s touch could bring. He’d had lovers before. Generous, accomplished lovers, but not one of them had ever brought to lovemaking what Serena gave to him.

A sensuality that held him breathless. A generosity that left him reeling.

And a hunger for more that he didn’t know how to deal with.

She had to get back to Sathi. He had to get her there and then go take care of Tomas’s business. That was his agenda for today. He couldn’t think any further than that. He didn’t want to think further than that. Because then he’d start thinking about what he’d begun to want from this woman and it had for ever written all over it.

And he sure as hell didn’t want to think about that.

So he took her home and he played the game she’d asked of him and grinned at the scene that greeted him when they touched down in Sathi.

There was no shark, no ten-inch boning knives, no father and uncle with narrow-eyed glares and faces carved from rock. But Theo was sitting on the bench across from the helipad sharpening a box full of frighteningly large fish hooks and the majestically built Marianne Papadopoulos was there as well, pounding octopus on a flat weathered rock with a glint to her eye and a strength to her wrist that put him in mind of a cat o nine tails and some poor unsuspecting sod’s back.

It was a warning, beautifully executed, almost effective. Serena slid him a long-suffering glance. Pete grinned at her.

‘This is the part where you leave,’ she told him dryly.

‘I knew that,’ he said.

‘And never come back.’

‘Now that’s unlikely.’ He gave Theo a nod, Marianne Papadopoulos a smile he reserved for the hardest of hearts and laughed when she narrowed her eyes and stopped pounding in favour of grinding that octopus hard against the rock with a swift, twisting motion. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said and lightly bussed her lips. ‘Count on it.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN it came to women and the wooing of them, Pete Bennett could justify just about any hare-brained scheme. Everything from a daily bombardment of flowers to remote location helicopter joyrides with a picnic basket and blanket packed for good measure. From tandem parachute jumps to Symphony Orchestra concerts by way of a spot of deep-sea marlin fishing in between. But he’d never, ever, done anything as stupid as jumping in a helicopter when he should have been working and setting off for a sleepy little Greek island that no one else seemed to want to go to on the off chance that once he got there the ache around his heart might ease.

He should have been checking into an Athens hotel, grabbing a bite to eat, and bedding down early in readiness for the five a.m. start his clients had requested the following day. He had a schedule to stick to, passengers to collect. He should have phoned Serena when he’d got the urge to talk to her. That was what a sane man would have done.

Instead he was flying the little Jet Ranger fast and low en route to Sathi, his mind firmly fixed on getting to his destination before the sun disappeared over the horizon.

After that … well … after that he didn’t much care what he did so long as Serena was a part of it.

Pete touched down just on dusk, secured the rotors, and locked the little helicopter down for the night before finally heading for Chloe’s hotel. Discretion. He knew the need for it, tried to think of a way to act with it and still make contact with Serena. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled. ‘Where are you?’ he said when she answered the phone.

‘Halfway down the goat track,’ she said somewhat breathlessly. ‘And if that wasn’t you in that damned helicopter I’m going to strangle you.’

Always nice to feel appreciated. Pete grinned. ‘Have dinner with me.’

‘Where?’

‘Anywhere. I’m heading for Chloe’s.’

‘I’m two steps in front of you. Is it too late to be coy about dinner and tell you I’ll check my calendar and get back to you?’

‘How fast are you coming down that hill?’

‘Fast.’

‘It’s too late. Besides, coy doesn’t suit you. Neither does discreet. Feel free to jump me in the foyer.’

‘Keep dreaming,’ she said. ‘I can be very discreet when I need to be. Get a room. Order something from room service. And wait.’

‘If there’s a God this fantasy will include you, a short black skirt, a frilly white apron, and not a lot else.’

‘God is not a minimalist,’ she told him blithely. ‘God is bountiful.’

‘Amen,’ he muttered, and finished the call before he fell over his feet in his haste.

‘No,’ Chloe told Serena sternly. ‘You can not be a room-service maid. Nico would kill you. Then he’d kill me for letting you.’

‘Who’s going to tell him?’ countered Serena, not begging, not yet. ‘Not me.’

‘This is Sathi, Serena. Everyone will tell him because five minutes after I put you behind the room-service trolley everyone will know. Wait. Meet the man in public, where everyone can see what you’re doing. And what you’re not.’

‘But I told him to call for room service.’

‘And I’ll tell him he can’t have any. Anticipation is good for a man.’

‘That’s all well and good, Chloe, but it’s killing me.’

‘You need a distraction.’

‘He is the distraction,’ she said earnestly.

‘Then you need another distraction. Here, read the paper. I circled a job in there for you.’

‘What is it with people thrusting newspapers with job applications in them at me?’ she grumbled, reluctantly taking the paper Chloe held out to her.

‘Gee,’ said Chloe. ‘Could it have something to do with your burning ambition to leave this place and make your mark on the world?’

There was that.

‘You can read it in my office,’ said Chloe.

‘Why can’t I read it here at the reception desk?’ While waiting for Superman to show up.

‘Office,’ said Chloe. ‘I mean it. Think of your reputation. Everyone else will be. And if that doesn’t stop you think of your family.’

‘I’m going,’ she muttered darkly. ‘But I want you to know you ruined a perfectly good fantasy. My body hates you.’

‘There’s baklava in the office. Marianne Papadopoulos brings it in as payment for letting her use one of the tables in the taverna for her bridge game.’

‘My body forgives you.’

‘Your body is fickle.’

‘No, it’s just a sucker for perfection in all its many and varied forms.’

‘Office,’ said Chloe. ‘And stay there ‘til Pilot Pete has gone to his room.’

‘I’d like a room,’ Pete said to Chloe, his duffel at his feet and his anticipation running rampant.

‘And it’s nice to see you again too,’ she said dryly, leaning against the counter and all but ignoring the credit card he held out to her. Finally, she took it and proceeded to open the bookings ledger with not nearly enough haste for his liking. ‘Looking for someone?’ she added as he scanned the foyer for a wanton goddess wielding a room-service cart.

‘If I were being indiscreet I’d say Serena, but I’m not so I can’t. And it’s nice to see you too, Chloe. How’s Sam?’

‘Waiting impatiently for the weekend, so he can go out fishing with Nico again. What kind of room?’

‘Any room.’ He paused to reconsider. ‘Something out of the way. Possibly soundproof, with a domed-glass roof and a view of the hinder stars.’

‘Uh-huh.’

A slight sound came from the direction of Chloe’s office, just behind the reception desk. The door was almost shut. Almost but not quite. ‘Did you just whimper?’