The Right Side of Mr Wrong (9 page)

* * *

Pink shrimps, she’d let it happen again.
And how.

They walked into the light of the porch, and Shea grimaced as the latest wave of shame swept over her. She was following Brando through the back door on tip toe, trying to be exceedingly quiet so as not to disturb anyone, not that there was anyone there, trying to pretend that what had just happened had happened to someone else, not to her.

As he led the way into the kitchen she pulled out the clips from her tangled hair, dislodged a twig and tried to smooth the crumples out of her dress, noticing that he looked no more dishevelled than usual. What else could she expect from a guy who carried condoms everywhere? And what the hell had got into her? When exactly had she become wild and sex-crazed, begging for it from a man like him?

‘No need to look so guilty.’ He shot her a grin, which made him look way more playful than the hard-nosed player he was. ‘We’re old enough to have sex in the park if we want to.’

The way she flinched at the word ‘sex’ only seemed to amuse him more. There was something raw about the way the word sounded when he said it, and the resonance left her trembling. It wasn’t the idea of sex in the park which shocked her, but simply that sex with him was so thunderous and raw and explosive. Like nothing she’d ever known.
The sheer animal ferocity blasting away her better judgement, blitzing those guilt qualms.

He crossed to the fridge, laughing as he opened the door. ‘Hot chocolate? It’ll warm you up, even if you don’t need the endorphins from the cocoa.’

After what she’d just experienced she suspected she had endorphins to last for the next ten years. She watched him saunter around the tiled floor, relaxed as he heated the milk, laid-back as he collected the mugs, dark and achingly beautiful as he stirred in the chocolate, his full-on masculinity seeming somehow incongruous in this domestic setting. Her heart flipped uncomfortably.
Oh jelly beans.
Definitely needing a bit less of the beautiful, and a lot less of the aching.

‘Fancy a shortbread with your drink?’ He tossed a packet of biscuits from one hand to the other, and slapped them onto a tray.

Shortbread? Who cared about shortbread? Right now she could happily have devoured him. Whole.

Again!

Her eyes fixed on the indentation at the base of his throat, slid down to where she could see a smudge of chest hair, as she imagined undoing his buttons and peeling off his shirt, tasting the planes of his hard, perfectly-muscled torso, carrying on downwards … 

She swallowed hard. Pulled herself together.

She’d always professed indifference whenever her housemate Ellie enthused about mentally undressing guys. After the tree-shaking orgasm she’d just had, she should feel satiated, but it only seemed to have made her want more.

Longing to rip off his clothes and ravish him? Really not a good place to be.

Not with a man like him. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

‘I’ll take that as a yes for the shortbread then!’ His deep voice resonated, shook her back to consciousness. ‘Come on, open the door for me, and we’ll go upstairs.’

REAR of the year. Impossibly broad shoulders. And a tray of hot chocolate. One tiny clue that he might, after all, have a human side. Step by step, she promised herself she was hardened to each of these, as she followed him up the stairs in silence. He only spoke as they reached the door of her suite.

‘Still an hour and ten to run on the clock I reckon.’

There it was. As expected. She could hear the swagger in his voice. Calm, cool, confident Brando Marshall. Homing in to get his way.

And dammit that her body was thinking exactly the same.

Nice try.
She gritted her teeth, determined, decided. ‘Thanks. But I don’t think so.’

‘Fine. Whatever.’ He turned quietly, impassive. ‘I’ll say goodnight then.’

Then he held out the tray towards her, and with one crestfallen look he floored her.

Because instead of seeing Brando, she was looking at a small, vulnerable boy. One it was impossible to say “no” to.

* * *

‘You know that the sex against the tree didn’t count, don’t you, even though you did get hot chocolate straight after?’

Brando was stretched out on the rug in front of the fire in Shea’s bedroom, next to his empty mug, idly folding a sweet wrapper. ‘Admittedly I
was
more involved in the sex than when you jumped me, and it was great, but I didn’t kiss you, we kept all our clothes on and it was over way too fast. Proper moving-on sex requires you to be naked, unresisting and pleasured at length, by someone who knows how to deliver. That’s the only way it works. And incidentally, you’re unlikely to find anyone who delivers as well as I do.’

Sure of himself, or what?
With the goods and the talent to back it up.

She sighed as he looked up at her with that triumphant grin she was getting to know too well. Vulnerable boy had legged it pretty fast then. Not that she minded. There was something comfortable about this version of Brando, lounging on her bedroom floor like some rumpled sex-god, with his shirt out and his boots kicked off, that made for a perfect moment. She was unlikely to have another like this, so she might as well savour it.

Seize it even.

After what she’d done the last twenty-four hours, would once more be so bad? She was aching to touch him again. Maybe he
was
right. Once more, properly, might be just what she needed.

Let him take her.
Then
move on. If only she dared … 

Sherbet fountains!

She tried to get a grip! Her heart was jolting hard enough to make her feel sick. Had he just said that sex with her was great? She tried not to feel ecstatic about this, and failed.

‘You wouldn’t be about to offer your services again now, would you?’ She gave him a hard stare, tried to keep the laughter out of her own voice, and mentally berated whatever part of her body was sending ripples – or would that be seismic waves? – of anticipation through her.

He flicked the folded wrapper, sent it spiralling into the air, and snatched it back again, neatly.

‘It could be arranged … ’

She watched him press the wrapper against his lips, narrow-eyed and pensive. Foil and teeth. How was that familiar?

She reeled as the penny dropped.

‘Bloody hell, Brando! That’s a condom you’re throwing around, isn’t it?’

‘It might be … ’ Unrepentant. He flashed her the wickedest smile. ‘Bad guys like to come prepared!’

‘You are so beyond the pale!’ She aimed a random kick at him but missed. ‘And you are so in trouble!’ She knew nothing this man did should shock her. Who else would lie on her hearth rug uninvited, throwing a condom around?

‘Did you just try to kick me?’ Even as he made his indignant enquiry he closed one outstretched hand around her ankle.

One sharp pull, and she slid off the chair where she was sitting, and landed with a resounding thump beside him on the floor. A bump that should have been big enough to knock some sense into her … 

Except now she was on her back, he’d pinned her wrist to the floor, and his face was over hers, deliciously close. Close enough for her to feel his hot breath, shuddering onto her cheek, close enough for her to count every beautiful eyelash, the smoky flecks in his eyes, to see him swallow hard.

He was coming down, excruciatingly slowly.

She bit her lip, found she’d lost the ability to breathe. Noticed a tiny nick of a scar in the stubble shadow on his upper lip. Then his mouth landed on hers, and she tasted him, dark and sweet, and earth-shattering. She surrendered then, gave in to his velvet tongue. A reckless desire pulsed through her as he plundered her mouth. He drew her in, made her want to give him as good as he was giving her. She began to kiss him back, to tangle with him, grabbing his hair with her free hand. Fighting was good. Fighting let her keep control.

She slid a hand under his shirt, buried her nails into taut muscle until he shrugged away.

‘Playing dirty?’ His gruff growl reverberated across her cheek. With one tug of her arm, he’d flipped her over, undone her zip. Another tug, and he’d peeled her dress over her head, and she felt the burn of carpet on her spine as he tossed her to the floor.

Thank sherbet Ellie had insisted she bought matching underwear.

He leaned back and surveyed her, a lazy smile playing across his sensuous mouth. ‘Nice work, Shea perfect-in-every-way. How did you guess I liked stockings?’

Her eyes slid to the bulge that was threatening to burst through his chinos. Holding her gaze, she lifted her foot slowly, planted her heel firmly on the hard ridge of his erection, watched him jack-knife. She wasn’t up for scrutiny, she wasn’t up for slow, but, whoa, she was up for touching him.

‘Lie down Marshall, I’m going to take your trousers off.’

‘Or else?’

She applied a sharp pressure with her heel, watched him wince, close his eyes. Rubbing the ball of her foot along his shaft, she saw his head drop sideways.

‘Stop that!’ He gave a low moan. ‘I mean it, you’ve no idea … ’

‘Hurting?’

‘No, idiot, you’re going to make me come.’

She pulled her foot away like lightning, then brought it back achingly slowly. Holding it an inch away from him, she gave him one last teasing nudge. ‘Sorry! It just felt really nice.’

‘No, no need for sorry, but just take it easy. You make me very … ’

‘Very what?’ She twisted up, knelt in front of him.

He’d thrown his shirt off, looking at her with blurry eyes. ‘Over-excited.’

She hooked her finger over the edge of his chinos, ran it along until she met the skin of his tip, hot and taut. Heard him gulp, groan again, as she tugged at his fly.

‘Wait … ’ It was more of a murmur than a word, muffled, as he deftly peeled down the edge of a lacy bra cup and circled an aching nipple expertly with his tongue. She shuddered, forgot about zips, forgot about everything except the white hot pleasure which effervesced down her body to form a molten pool between her legs, and rendered her helpless. Then he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, and she thought she was going to die. Teasing, biting, playing.

He brought his thumb to graze the other nipple.

She shook her head, trembling, moaned in protest. ‘Both – I can’t breathe.’

She parted her knees, dug her fingers into the flesh of his biceps, arched towards him; her whole body was crazy, pulsing, vibrating. Nudging her hip bone against his stomach now, she lifted a leg, blindly seeking the jutting mound of his erection, desperate to find it, rub it, force it against the sticky, throbbing ache between her legs.

That was good – good enough almost to … 

One, two, three pushes, and a rush of pure chaotic pleasure erupted through her, and she heard her own feral moan, echoing, distant, beyond the ocean rush in her ears. And then he was holding her, steadying her, as she gasped through the blur of aftershocks.

Only the brush of his rough jaw against her cheek some time later stung her back to life, and the thrust of his erection against her stomach sent new flutters of desire spiralling through her. With fingers that fumbled against the straining fabric, she undid the buttons of his fly. He stood up, turned to throw off his chinos and boxers. The naked view of the most beautiful bum in the world ever, made her catch her breath. Tight. Delectably curved. She closed her eyes as he turned back again. She’d seen his front view before, and he’d been big, but then he’d been sitting down, on an office chair. She opened her eyes, a crack at a time to take him in standing.

Pink shrimps! Although on second glance, that definitely wasn’t the right thing to say here.

And pheromones.
The scent of pure male, mixed with the sex they’d had before, whacked her heart rate to pounding.

‘Wow … ’ She couldn’t hide her admiration, or her wide eyes. Huge, awesome, massive. What Ellie would refer to as an XXL. She bit her lip, sucking away the saliva that had rushed into her mouth.

‘There’s only one place to take anyone as sexy as you, and that’s bed!’

She heard his animal growl, caught her breath as her chest constricted in pure panic.
Bed? Who said anything about bed?
She stalled for a second.

‘Hey, Mr Conventional!’ She steadied herself, regained control. Slipping off the silky scrap of her pants, she tossed them aside. ‘Bed’s for boring people, and we are so not boring. Lie on the floor … please … now … ’

Luckily for her, he was one compliant man.

Sheathed and ready. Most impressive. Another glance at what was on offer rebooted her desire dynamo, then he was down and she was astride him. One last coherent thought, rasped hot in his ear, in gratitude for the exquisite pulse of pleasure that rocketed through her as she found his length. ‘Bed’s for later … ’

And then he was grazing her uncovered nipples mercilessly as she rode him, fingers ripping into his shoulders, taking every incredible inch of him, thrashing, wanting, needing, tearing. Then all hell broke loose, she heard herself scream, heard his deep groan as he went with her, and she thought she might die from the whole glorious explosion.

* * *

He raised himself up on one elbow to watch her as she pulled the lace bra cups back over her breasts, fiddled with a stocking top. Twisted his mouth thoughtfully.

She was ready for him. Might almost have read his mind. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that didn’t count either?’

He gave a shamefaced grimace. ‘Didn’t meet the criteria at all – you still aren’t naked, it was still too fast.’

No need for her to know that when he wasn’t doing fast and hard, he was the king of long and slow. She was so real, her need so immediate, she had him wired like a powerhouse. Each time she’d demanded a fast finish he’d gone for it like a National winner. Three times now. And each time there had been pure, raw pleasure, like he’d never known. And he was already up for more.

He sprung to his feet, dragged on his chinos, and looked at his watch. ‘By my reckoning, we still have ten minutes left.’

‘But you’re leaving anyway?’ Her crestfallen expression spoke volumes.

‘Hell no. Just off to get condoms.’ Grins seldom came more wicked than the one he sent her now. ‘I seem to remember someone suggested bed later?’

And he belted out the door, leaving her to pick up her jaw.

* * *

Brando woke in the early hours with a telegraph pole of an erection, and the unfamiliar sensation of a soft pillow under his cheek.
Crikey, he was in a bed.
That was a first. How long since he’d done that? Plus he’d woken up, which meant he must have been sleeping. And soundly too by the feel of it. What the hell? He stretched a tentative arm across the bed.

Oh no.

There was a drowsy groan, a soft warm body rolled against him. He went rigid as a sleep-heavy arm flopped onto his chest. A trickle of cold sweat meandered down his neck.

‘Jeez … Shea?’ At least that explained the erection. As for the rest, he
never
made the mistake of sleeping with a woman.
Dammit.
‘Got to go!’

He’d shrugged off her arm, made a muttered goodbye, catapulted out of the bed and was halfway across the sitting room before he remembered.
Clothes.
He banged to a halt, groped for the light switch, then zigzagged round the room, blinking, snatching up the strewn items. He’d blown this one good and proper. Great evening, but leaving five hours too late. One last shoe. He bent for it by the coffee table and froze – a chain and a wedding ring, lying oh-so-innocently.

His heart jolted up to his throat and a bolt of anger made his head pound.

Damn the woman, with her wedding ring and her fire-raising body.

He was out of here.

* * *

‘You mustn’t mind Brando. He hasn’t had it easy.’

Mrs McCaul passed Shea a stack of towels, and she put them on the shelf.

‘I know. Edgerton would have been a huge responsibility for anyone at the age of twenty.’

Mrs McCaul’s answer to Shea asking if there was any organising she could help with had been to take her along to help tidy a linen cupboard, and this morning Shea was desperate enough to take any distraction she could get.

‘There were other things too.’ Mrs McCaul’s voice dropped, ominously.

Shea grimaced. She didn’t want details. She was grateful to Mrs McCaul for giving her a job to do, even if it was patently unnecessary, given they were sorting out a cupboard which was perfectly organised to start with, but she’d been hoping to wipe Brando out of her mind, not discuss him. She’d been so relieved when she discovered he’d left early for London, and spared her the huge embarrassment of waking up in bed with him. Even now she was finding it hard to handle the triple shivers that gripped her whenever she thought about last night. First, a shiver of horror at what she’d done, followed by double aftershock shivers at the recollection of the pure rip-roaring pleasure of it all. Hoping she had concealed her latest wobble behind a towel, Shea looked back to Mrs McCaul, who was waiting for her attention to continue.

‘Though you should know all about facing things when you’re young, as you were widowed so young … ’