The Good, the Bad and the Wild Page 5

  Because he’d been spellbound. That was why. Even now, the memory of her lush body writhing in his arms, the weight of her full breasts in his palms and the sound of her stunned gasps as he ran his hands over the puckered pink flesh had the blood surging south. He’d been mesmerised by her ever since he’d spotted her in the gallery. And once he’d got her back here, got her naked, the last semblance of restraint had been swept away on a wave of lust so intense he’d been determined to have her.

  Hearing the trickle of running water coming from behind the bathroom door, he slid out of bed and stripped off the stained bed sheet, feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself.

  He’d lost control, let instinct and lust take over—something he’d worked really hard never to do again—and had sex with a woman he hadn’t bothered to find out a damn thing about. He knew her name, that she had studied anthropology and that she had written a script she wanted him to look at, which had to be why she’d been so keen to meet him.

  Lobbing the soiled linen into the laundry basket, he grabbed a fresh sheet out of the drawer and wrestled it on while riding out the dull flush on his cheeks.

  He’d admired her honesty and her forthright manner when she’d told him their meeting hadn’t been accidental. And been hopelessly turned on by her refreshingly artless approach to sex and then blinded by her quick and instinctive response to his caresses. So much so that he hadn’t stopped to question her.

  He let out a calming breath.

  Stop beating yourself up. You’re not exactly an expert on virgins.

  Despite his varied and extensive experience, he’d never been any woman’s first lover before. How could he have known her innocence wasn’t faked? That the sheen of grateful tears in her eyes when he’d stroked her to orgasm was a sign of her inexperience and not, as he’d assumed like a conceited jerk, his superstar abilities in the sack?

  He hadn’t forced her. She’d been willing. More than willing. And while the possibility that she might be younger than he’d thought bothered him, surely she couldn’t be a teenager. She’d been far too intellectually astute and not nearly self-absorbed enough for that.

  All of which meant he was off the hook. He slung the duvet back onto the bed, but as he settled under it to wait for her return the tight feeling in his chest refused to go away.

  Maybe he didn’t need to feel responsible. But unfortunately he did, because while he’d had one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life, he’d hurt her.

  His eyes narrowed, trained on the bathroom door. Which brought them to another burning question. Why hadn’t she said anything? Before letting him barrel into her like that? He’d seen the shocked look on her face when he’d been putting on the condom. He was a fairly big guy, and for all her lush curves she was a small woman, but even so if she’d said something, anything, he would at least have attempted to get a stranglehold on his desire and use some degree of finesse.

  A sick feeling settled in his stomach. Had she wanted him to hurt her?

  The horrible suspicion that she might have been intending to use her virginity to give her some leverage tomorrow, when she showed him her script, sprang into his head. And was thankfully almost as quickly quashed. If she were that devious, wouldn’t she have mentioned her virginity straight afterwards? Made a bigger deal of it? And her seduction techniques were hardly practised. Just the opposite in fact. Plus, how could she have known he would find her refreshingly untutored reaction to him such a major turn-on? Hell. He wouldn’t have suspected he’d find it a turn-on himself until tonight.

  He forced himself to relax back against the headboard and folded his arms over his chest, the insistent beat of his heart punctuating the seconds ticking by as he waited for her to reappear.

  One thing he did know: when Miss Eva the sexy anthropologist finally ventured out of his bathroom, she was going to have a whole lot of explaining to do.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CONCENTRATING on the two deep grooves bisecting her brow in the bathroom mirror, Eva forced her fingers to release their death grip on the sink.

  Hiding out in Nick Delisantro’s bathroom for the rest of the night is not an option.

  The metallic tinkle of rain hit the fire escape outside and she shifted her attention to the partially open window. Then sighed, stifling the urge to leap onto the vanity unit, wedge herself through the small gap and run off into the night.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she whispered to her pale reflection.

  Apart from the fact that she was stark naked under Nick’s oversized robe, her bag was still on the kitchen counter and it was the middle of the night, she was in a strange city in a strange country and it was pouring with rain. If she didn’t die of hypothermia, she’d probably get arrested. So running away was not an option either. The frown on her forehead deepened.

  Plus she had an important appointment with Nick tomorrow, which she couldn’t duck out of. As difficult as it was going to be to assume any kind of professional etiquette after sleeping with him, he’d probably throw her out on her ear if she showed up after doing a vanishing act in the middle of the night.

  Which left option number three: be mature and dignified, something that had eluded her so far this evening, face up to her responsibilities, and give the man some kind of explanation—before she ran out on him.

  She straightened away from the sink and glanced at the door. Assuming, of course, she ever got up the guts to stop cowering in his bathroom.

  Not that she intended to tell him the truth—that her secret fantasy life had taken one wild leap into reality during the space of one motorbike ride. Not only would that be way too much information for a one-night stand, but he’d probably think she was a lunatic.

  She twisted on the tap, and splashed one last dose of cold water on her cheeks. The scarlet hue making her freckles look like bullet points faded to a dusky pink.

  At least she’d had one lucky break. She hadn’t bled very much, so he need never know what a pathetic cliché she actually was. A twenty-four-year-old virgin, whose experience of men and sex up until fifteen minutes ago had been gleaned from the pages of romance novels.

  Unfortunately she now knew the truth. That the novels had lied. Or at least been guilty of omission. They really ought to have mentioned how mortifying it was to face a complete stranger who had given you two stunning orgasms after the haze of afterglow had cleared.

  Time to stop prevaricating—and face the fire. She could save the self-flagellation for tomorrow, when she was safely on the plane back to the UK, with his signed agreement to a DNA test tucked in her bag.

  She yanked the lapels of the robe up to her chin and retied the belt. The sooner she faced Nick, the sooner she could start putting her night of insanity behind her. The next ten minutes were going to be awkward in the extreme. No question. And it was a pity she hadn’t considered that a bit sooner. But the good news was he’d probably be just as keen to get this whole episode over with now as she was.

  Her courage rallied as she gripped the door handle in a determined fist. You never knew, he might even have fallen asleep, then she could simply leave a polite note.

  Eva took two paces into the room, then stopped dead, her heartbeat and her pheromones both leaping into frantic action as her gaze landed on the bed.

  With his back propped against the headboard, Nick Delisantro sat watching her.

  ‘You’re still awake.’ She winced at the inane remark and the rush of blood to her nether regions. With his arms crossed over his chest, his pectoral muscles looked even more well defined than she remembered them.

  Oh my. She took a steadying breath, riveted to the spot. How could she have forgotten how beautiful he was?

  ‘Hello, Eva. Long time, no see,’ he said dryly.

  She felt the dusky pink rise back to scarlet. ‘I’m sorry I took so long. I didn’t mean to keep you awake.’ She gestured down the corridor with her thumb. ‘I should probably get—’

  ‘Come here,’ he said, releasin
g his arms and beckoned her with one finger.

  She crossed to the bed as if drawn by an invisible string. It would probably be better to get this over with—her eyes dipped and then jerked back to his face—and not notice how low the duvet sat on his hips.

  He patted the mattress beside him. ‘Sit down.’

  She perched on the edge of the bed. ‘I really ought to be going,’ she managed, her mouth so dry the words rasped against her throat like sandpaper. ‘Tess will be wondering where I am.’

  His eyes searched her face and then he lifted his hand, and brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. She stiffened, the contact unexpected. ‘How old are you?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Twenty-four.’

  He released a long breath. ‘You look younger without make-up on,’ he murmured.

  ‘I should go,’ she said more demonstrably this time, the insistent melting sensation between her legs getting more acute.

  She tried to stand, but he grasped her wrist, and held on. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not?’ she asked breathlessly, the feel of his thumb absently caressing the thin skin of her wrist not doing a thing for her sanity issues.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Tell you what?’ she asked, the blood surging into her cheeks as her stomach dipped. Did he know? How could he know?

  ‘That this was your first time?’

  She swallowed convulsively, looked away from his seeking gaze, the blood coursing so hard now she was fairly sure her cheeks could double as fog lamps. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about…’ Her voice trailed off as she faced him. She’d never been a good liar, and from his penetrating stare it was clear he wasn’t fooled.

  ‘I had to change the sheets,’ he said matter-of-factly, and her cheeks burst into flame.

  She stared down at her hands, clasped in her lap, and his long fingers still looped around her wrist. Could he feel her pulse hitting his thumb like a jack-hammer?

  She croaked out a laugh. Forget about awkward, this was now officially the most humiliating experience of her entire life. And given her pitiful history with members of the opposite sex that was quite an achievement.

  Hooking a finger under her chin, he raised her gaze to his. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  Good question.

  And one she had no intention of answering in any detail. ‘I thought…’ She paused, gave a stiff shrug. ‘I thought you might stop if you knew.’

  His thumb continued to circle her pulse point in lazy strokes. ‘Why would I have stopped?’

  ‘I don’t know…’ she murmured. ‘I thought you might not want the responsibility… Or something.’

  He sent her a puzzled smile. ‘You’re an educated woman who’s past the age of consent. Why would your virginity be my responsibility?’

  The blush flared back to life. ‘It’s not. Obviously it’s not,’ she said, backtracking furiously to cover the excruciating embarrassment. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  He tipped his head to one side, considering. ‘So what did you mean?’

  How had she dug herself into such a huge hole? And how was she going to climb out again with even a small measure of her dignity in tact? ‘Just that, if you knew I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, you might not want to…’

  She mumbled, the last of her confidence leaking away under his unwavering gaze. ‘You know… Do it… With me.’

  Her pride crumbled to dust when he choked out an incredulous laugh. ‘You’re not serious?’

  The astonished amusement in his tone crucified her. He was laughing at her, and while she already knew how ridiculous she was, she couldn’t see the funny side. ‘I have to go,’ she said, tugging on her hand.

  Instead of letting go, his fingers tightened. ‘Shh, calm down, sweetheart.’

  The careless endearment touched that lonely place deep inside her she’d always tried so hard to ignore and her abject humiliation was complete. She’d always known she was a pathetic cliché, but she’d never known quite how pathetic.

  She pulled back, wanting not just to run away now but to hide under a very large rock.

  He gripped her other wrist and drew her back towards him. Still chuckling, he pressed his forehead to hers. Then to her astonishment placed a kiss on her temple.

  ‘Eva, you’re one of the sweetest, cutest, sexiest women I’ve ever met. How could you not know that?’

  He gave his head a little shake, the stunned pleasure the compliment caused making her chest hurt.

  ‘Really?’ she asked, then flushed redder, realising how needy she sounded.

  But he didn’t seem to notice, the mocking twist of his lips disappearing as he smiled.

  ‘Put it this way, I nearly lost it in the living room and I hadn’t even got you naked.’ His voice had roughened, scraping over her skin. ‘Are you in any pain?’ he asked softly.

  She shook her head. ‘It’s a bit tender, that’s all,’ she said, her senses reeling as the swell of emotion thickened her throat. She swallowed, forced the boulder back down. He couldn’t possibly know how much it meant to her to know the passion between them had been mutual.

  Giving a gentle tug on the tie of her robe, his hand snuck under the towelling and settled on the curve of her waist. ‘Come to bed.’

  The husky invitation sent all sorts of fireworks off in her nerve-endings, but she caught his wrist, stopped his hand from wandering. ‘I don’t think I can do it again yet.’

  He grinned. ‘I meant, so we can get some sleep.’ Taking his hand out of her robe, he rubbed his thumb under her eye. ‘You look shattered. And for that I am responsible.’

  She opened her mouth to try and deny it, but it stretched into an enormous yawn.

  He laughed. ‘I rest my case.’ He lifted the duvet and scooted back to make a space for her. ‘I won’t ravish you again tonight. You have my word.’

  Given the smouldering look in his eyes, she wasn’t sure she could trust him. But the sight of his muscular body, shadowed by the duvet, was so tempting, and the thought of spending a little more time in his arms, however meaningless, so seductive, she nodded.

  He’d been patient and understanding and surprisingly gallant. And he’d told her she was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. Which was obviously a lie, but a really nice one.

  She settled into the lee of his body, curled her back into his chest. He anchored one arm around her waist, bundling her into the towelling robe like a child, and kissed the back of her head. ‘Sleep tight.’

  The feel of his big body cocooned around hers felt so safe, so comforting she drew in a deep breath, let out a shaky sigh. Her wild night hadn’t been a complete catastrophe after all.

  While the whole experience had been a lot more affecting than she would have anticipated. Not to mention exhausting. She’d remember Nick Delisantro—and the rainy autumn night in San Francisco she lost her virginity—for the rest of her life.

  She closed her eyes, the lids weighing several tons, and drifted into a sleep filled with wonderfully vivid and earthily erotic dreams.

  Nick watched the rain run in rivulets down the bedroom’s bay window, the droplets tinged orange in the dawn light, and diligently counted the streams. Eva shifted beside him, her flannel-clad bottom bumping his hip. He sucked in a breath, heat surging back to his groin, her scent flooding his senses—and he lost count of the rivulets. Again.

  What had possessed him to suggest she stay the night? He wasn’t a snuggler, and he wasn’t responsible for Eva despite the dark smudges under her eyes or the astonished wonder on her face when he’d told her how sexy she was.

  But even knowing that, he’d been lying here for hours now, kept awake by the double whammy of an erection that shot back to attention every time she brushed against him and the questions that refused to stop bouncing around in his head like hyperactive sheep.

  How had a woman as passionate as Eva stayed a virgin for so long? And why had she? And why the hell had she picked him, of a
ll people, to be her first? A guy who’d left innocent behind a lifetime ago.

  Easing his arm out from under her shoulders, he rolled away from her onto his side.

  The answers didn’t concern him. They didn’t matter. He shouldn’t even be asking the questions. Just as he’d told her—and she’d agreed—those were her choices, not his. But somehow, he couldn’t stop the questions from circling like buzzards, and pecking away at his certainty.

  He stared at the early morning light shining on the ugly antique dresser he’d inherited when he bought the apartment two years ago. He should wake her up. Call her a cab. He had to be up in a couple of hours, had to get the first draft of the script he was working on finished this week if he was going to meet the production deadline. But somehow he hadn’t been able to find the will to do it while her soft, scented body was curled so trustingly by his side.

  For some strange, inexplicable reason, he’d wanted to keep her with him. For tonight.

  He shut his eyes, felt the tired, gritty texture on the lids that signalled insomnia. Willing himself to ignore the murmur of her breathing and the aroma of spring flowers and talcum powder that teased his nostrils, his brain finally began to unwind, and the erection to soften.

  As he fell into a fitful sleep he promised himself he would hustle her out first thing in the morning no matter how soft and tempting she looked in his bed. This was physical attraction. Pure and simple. All he had to do was control it, the way he’d been doing for years.

  And he wasn’t going to ask a single one of those damn questions either.

  Those were her choices. Her business. And nothing whatsoever to do with him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NICK rolled his shoulders to ease out the kinks, and tried to persuade himself the freezing shower had refreshed him. Grabbing a pair of old sweatpants and a UCLA T-shirt out of the dresser, he slipped them on, his eyes fixed on the woman still curled on his bed.

  He felt the familiar tightening in his groin. The sunlight streaming through the window gave her pale skin a soft glow and cast a halo of light over the curls of hair mussed around her cheek. She looked cuter than a Botticelli angel. His gaze dipped to the sliver of cleavage visible above the lapels of the robe she’d slept in. An exceptionally sexy Botticelli angel.