Billionaire Bad Boy (22 page)

From the way Vane looked at her, she got the
impression he thought so too. Like a compass pointing to magnetic north, he
couldn't keep his eyes off her.

"How did you know I was from Sydney?" he
asked, suddenly focusing on her eyes.

"Um, management told me."

He nodded slightly. His gaze shifted down again,
lingering around her breasts and Abbey suddenly wished she hadn't worn such a
revealing top. She also wished she'd worn a bra because her nipples were
puckering
—
and not because she was cold. In fact, she was far from
it. Her body felt like it was sizzling and his intense gaze wasn't cooling her
down any.

"You sure you're a masseur?"

His eyes traveled lower to her waist where a patch of
flesh was revealed between top and skirt, and down to the hem of the mini
skimming her thighs just below her butt.

"An
official
hotel masseur?"

His eyes flew to her face and Abbey swallowed.

"Of course," she said, walking
over to the phone beside the couch. She picked up the receiver. "Call
reception if you like."

Damien Vane strode over and for a sickening moment,
Abbey thought he was going to call her bluff. But he reached for the receiver,
took it from her fingers and placed it back in its cradle.

He looked down at Abbey with that stare which
entranced her and heated her to boiling point. "I believe you." His
voice was low, dangerous. "I don't know anyone in Melbourne. No one who'd
send me a ... masseur, already paid for."

"Good," she said lightly, ignoring the
implication that she was there to give him more than just a massage.

"Let's just get one thing straight," he
said, his tone back to its deep hum. "I've never had a...massage...before
and if this one isn't what I expect then I'll ask you to leave. Got it?"

Abbey nodded. Damn. The implication that he would
refuse her if she gave him anything more than a massage came through loud and
clear. So he thought he had willpower of steel, huh? She'd just see about that.
Let him try to resist Abbey McPherson in full sensuality mode.

"Sit," she ordered. He sat on the couch and
she knelt beside him.

Lucky for her the couch was facing the window,
although there was another chair in the way. She stood and moved it.

"So I can see the moon when it finally
appears," she said.

He eyed her as if she were a nut job then bent his
head forward, waiting patiently for her to touch him.

She did, and the same tingle zinged through her as
when he'd looked at her in the bathroom mirror. It started at her fingertips,
where his flesh met hers, and rippled up her arms, into her breasts, her
stomach and thighs.

Abbey sucked in air and willed herself to concentrate.
She couldn't let passion take over
—
she had a job to do. Besides,
he was a complete stranger. A sleazy one, so Lucy had told her, and married.

She kneaded his shoulders and neck, rubbing the
muscle, enjoying the way it rippled beneath her fingers. Damien Vane had
fabulous skin. Smooth, unblemished with a golden tan. She pressed harder and
was delighted, and surprised, to hear a small moan. Surprised because she
didn't have a clue what she was doing.

When it felt like his body was softening up and
relaxing under her, her left hand roamed around to his chest and played with
the tiny hairs. She pushed her own chest into his back and rubbed until her
nipples peaked.

His body stiffened.

Abbey's heart rate doubled and she hoped he couldn't feel
it. This was it. He was either going to throw her out or cave in. Most men
would cave in, and going by his file at Lucy's office, this man should too. The
list of mistresses, supplied by his really pissed-off wife, was too long to fit
in the database.

But he didn't seem to be relaxing anymore. Quite the
opposite, he seemed to be growing tense, and Abbey started to panic. A massage
with them both fully clothed probably wasn't explicit enough for Lucy's
purposes. She needed photos, the sexier the better, to send to his wife in
Sydney.

Try again, Abbey.

Her hand returned to his back and
continued kneading. She looked up at the window and mouthed the word
"sorry" to Lucy who would be watching her through her camera lens
from the office building across the road.

Abbey needed to go slower. Not just so this man was
relaxed beyond suspicion, but to also calm her own racing nerves.

She could hear Lucy's words, spoken to her just before
she entered Le Meridian. "Just enjoy yourself, Abbey. You're going to be
in the Executive Suite of a five star hotel with an attractive man. Just let
whatever happens, happen."

"But what if he, you know, expects me to have sex
with him?"

"Just do it, Girl," Lucy had said. "Enjoy
unadulterated sex with a complete stranger. For once, let yourself go. You
deserve it after what you've been through. No strings, no expectations, no
waiting by the phone tomorrow. Trust me, it's exhilarating."

Sure, that was all right for Lucy to say. She'd always
been the wild child, the love 'em and leave 'em type, even seven years ago at
University. Lucy knew how to get a man to want her more than he wanted anything
else. She'd have Vane begging for it right about now.

All Abbey could manage was a moan.

Damien's head rolled forward. His hair was cut short
but had enough length in it to be sexy. The back of his neck was long,
perfectly arched and smooth. So very smooth beneath her fingers.

Her touch lightened, changing from the hard rub to a
gentle brush. She ran her finger from his hairline, down the curve of his spine
to where it disappeared into his towel. Then using her palm, she took the same
route back up, slowly. She marveled at the smoothness of his skin, the way he
shivered, just slightly, and the way tiny goosebumps formed on the flesh she
touched.

She rubbed both her hands along each shoulder admiring
the hard muscle, then bent forward and kissed him lightly on the back of the
neck. He didn't move. In fact, he was completely still.

Too still.

She gave him another kiss in the same place, this time
using her tongue, savoring the tastes of citrus soap and sexy man.

Her kisses continued down his neck, onto his right
shoulder, all the while tasting, devouring. He turned so that he sat sideways
on the couch with his back to her, one knee on the cushion.

Abbey settled herself in behind him, touching his bare
back with both hands and pressing her breasts into him.

Damien let out a ragged breath, his head came back,
and Abbey could hear him sucking in air.

Good, she thought. It was working.

But not only on him.

Abbey's nipples screamed to be released from beneath
her top. She almost obliged. She wanted to feel skin on skin, but she was all
too aware of that camera with the telephoto lens on the other side of the road.

She let her hands slip around Damien's waist. Instead
of flinching, this time he pushed back into her, as if he wanted to feel her
nipples, harden them. She played with his, twisting them into points, and was
gratified to get a gasp in return.

He was hot, she realized. Ready. He was getting as
much enjoyment out of this as ... she was.

No, this was not supposed to happen. She was
not
supposed to enjoy it! Sex with a complete stranger was wrong. Bad.

Abbey was never bad.

Then again, he wasn't a
complete
stranger. She'd
read his file...

She closed her eyes, but they flew open again when
Damien's hand brushed her leg. It moved higher, stroking, caressing the bare
flesh.

Her own breath had become ragged now. The higher that
hand moved the more she realized she wanted him. She wanted to push him down on
the couch and ride him until they were both spent.

Control, Abbey. Get a grip.

But control was long gone. The higher that hand went,
on its too-slow journey, the less control she had.

Her heart was racing now, thudding against Damien's
back, and her skin felt papery thin, fragile, as her nerve endings screamed for
his touch.

Damien half turned toward her to get into a better
position so his hand could continue. It moved upwards and inside, under her
skirt, heading higher.

Then it stopped.

She caught her breath and her gaze rose to his face. He
was looking at her. Dark, hooded eyes glazed with heat and passion flashed back
at her, questioning her.

In answer, she moved, just an inch, but it was enough,
and his fingers brushed against the film of lace. She drew in a sharp breath
and her nails dug into the muscles of his back.

More. She wanted those fingers higher, inside her. She
wished she'd dispensed with the underpants tonight as well as the bra to make
his job easier.

Damien obliged her need and rubbed, his fingers
dipping into her wetness, the lace offering little barrier. Abbey moved her
hips so his fingers slid further inside. She was almost kneeling on the couch
beside him now, and his face was at her breasts.

She took his head in both her hands and gently pulled
him to her. He licked at one nipple through her tight top and it puckered,
begging for more. He focused for a moment on the other one, drawing it into his
mouth, sucking, nibbling.

Abbey's gasp shocked even herself. And it was enough
to bring her crashing back to earth.

This wasn't right. She was supposed to be seducing
him, not the other way around. And although Lucy may have got some great shots
already, she'd stressed the part about getting him naked. And he wasn't. Not
yet.

With a sigh of regret, Abbey released herself from
Damien's fingers and his tongue and concentrated on him instead.

She unwrapped the towel from his waist and drew it
open, exposing the steadily beating, hard as a rock, erection. It was up,
straight up, almost flat against his stomach. It begged to be stroked, caressed,
licked.

He let out a sigh then a tiny moan as she took it into
her palm. He leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes as Abbey explored
with her fingers, lightly touching the ridges, the veins, the smooth tip.

His breathing became loud, forced, and his eyelids
fluttered.

"That feels so good," he whispered. "Don't
stop. Please."

The plead made her heart thump. It was as if he hadn't
felt a woman's hand there in a long time. As if he wanted
—
no,
needed
—
it to go on, until the end.

She watched his face as her hand massaged. The muscles
along his square jaw jumped and his sensuous lips parted.

Damien Vane was a gorgeous man. No wonder he had so
many women. The thought of that long list of mistresses, and the angry wife,
made Abbey's hand miss a beat.

But Damien didn't appear to notice. His Adam's apple
leaped once, twice, and his hand found Abbey's leg again. He pushed her skirt
up the short distance it needed to go so he could get his hand inside. He
rubbed against the damp panties, pressing her swollen folds.

Abbey closed her eyes, then forced them open. She
removed her hand from Damien and stood, nearly overbalanced, then wobbled on
her high heels to the window. If she was going to take this further, she at
least wanted to keep some of her dignity.

"What are you doing?" Damien asked thickly.

She closed the blinds and turned back to him. He
looked like a pagan God, sitting naked on the couch, his legs parted, his
manhood standing to attention.

"The moon's too bright." The sound of her
voice surprised her
—
it was heavy with lust.

She pulled the tiny top over her head then unzipped
the tight skirt, wiggling it down her bottom and thighs and letting it puddle
at her feet. She hooked her thumbs into her lacy thong, and began to lower them
too, but Damien, entranced by the show, held up his hand.

"Stop," he said huskily. "Turn
around."

Something in his voice made her obey. His was a voice
used to commanding, used to getting him his own way. Usually she hated being
spoken to that way, but not tonight. Tonight she wanted to obey every command
he gave to bring the evening to its logical, inevitable and very satisfying
conclusion.

She turned, slowly, giving him full view of her butt
and the cotton thong slicing her cheeks in half.

Aware of his black eyes on her, she did something
she'd never done for any man. She swayed to a rhythm in her head. With her back
facing him, Abbey ran her hands down her waist, round her gyrating hips and
placed one on each cheek. She let them explore across her skin, enjoying the
way she felt and knowing he wanted to do the same. She glanced over her
shoulder, cheekily giving him a view of her breasts and behind at the same
time.

His face was distorted with desire as he stood,
mesmerized. She turned to face him fully.