The Millionaires' Cinderellas. Sharon Kendrick
rid of her as fast as he could.
But even though it had been less than a month since he’d met her, he could never remember feeling quite like this before—as if he would die if he didn’t possess her. Was that the power of the forbidden? Because for so long he’d thought he couldn’t have her? What was it they said—that forbidden fruit was the sweetest? Yet through the dying waves of his anger he realised something else—something which was far more dangerous than acknowledging the allure of the forbidden. He didn’t want it fast and furious, with him just unzipping his fly and thrusting into her eager flesh. If it was only going to be once, then it was going to last all night. One unforgettable night.
He picked her up with the minimum of effort, enjoying the way her eyes snapped open and registering her delighted gasp with a grim satisfaction. So she, who had expressed disbelief that women liked masterful men, was discovering that she’d been wrong all along, was she?
He carried her into the bedroom, where he set her down on her high heels and sucked in a deep breath while she steadied herself, her hands holding on to his shoulders.
‘Take off your shoes,’ he said.
He was so … so in control, she thought as, shakily, she bent down to slip each foot free. Without the added inches of the gold stilettos, she was suddenly much shorter, and once again a feeling of vulnerability swept over her—particularly when she heard his next comment.
‘Is this dress new?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you bought it especially for me,’ he mused, his lips hardening. ‘That’s interesting. Was it expensive?’
She shrugged. Did she look foolish, buying a new dress for what was supposed to have been an innocent date all along? Did it seem as if she’d been expecting this to happen all along? ‘It was enough.’
‘Then bill me for another,’ he said savagely as he peeled it unceremoniously from her body and threw it to the floor, where it pooled in a silken white puddle. He shrugged off his dinner jacket, and it joined the dress on the floor, black against white—as stark as the contrast between his dark skin and her pale flesh. ‘Now unzip me,’ he commanded unsteadily.
The dark eroticism in his voice filled Emma with an urgency she’d never felt before. And once again the dizzy realisation hit her that this was how it was supposed to feel. As if nothing else in the world mattered at that moment other than what was taking place between this man and this woman.
Tremblingly, her fingers struggled with the zipper, which was straining against his hardness. She was terrified that she would ruin it. But he gave a groan of what sounded like satisfaction as his erection sprang free—though he clamped his fingers around hers when she attempted to stroke his steely length through the black silk of his boxer shorts.
‘Don’t,’ he warned. ‘Not this time. Just unbutton my shirt. Leave the rest to me.’
This time? What was he talking about? But there wasn’t time to think—not to do anything—because now Zak was removing his shoes and socks and kicking off his trousers and she was busy sliding free the buttons of the fancy dress shirt.
His hand skimmed its way down the side of her body as if he was learning her through touch alone and Emma was suddenly aware that they were both wearing nothing but their underwear. That she was standing in front of him in her bra and pants and that soon they would reach the part where it might go as hopelessly and as disastrously wrong as it had in the past. Would it? Would Zak Constantinides turn to her and snarl his frustration and his rage at her? Hotness flooded into her cheeks and he lifted her chin to meet the blaze of his eyes.
‘Blushing?’ he questioned in a thoughtful voice, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.
‘It’s all been a bit … sudden,’ she prevaricated. ‘It feels … fast.’
‘If you want me to be slow, I’m not sure that I can.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What is it you want from me, Emma?’
‘I just …’
Her words tailed off because she was unsure of how to express herself. Even she knew that it would be madness to warn him that it might all go terribly wrong. Because what if that made him stop? So instead, she just spoke the words which came straight from her heart. The ones which were inspired by the desire she felt for this daunting and powerful man. ‘I just want you to be you,’ she breathed.
There was a brief pause. ‘Oh, do you now?’ His soft words to her were at odds with the hardening of his mouth. How like a woman, he thought bitterly. Couldn’t she see the irony in what she’d said? That all this time she’d been deceiving him and now she had the temerity to make a breathless little request like that!
Through the beat of desire he felt another flicker of fury, but he sublimated it by concentrating on undressing her, recognising that rage would get in the way of his enjoyment. And one thing he was certain of was that he was going to enjoy this. Theos, but he had waited for it long enough!
He unclipped her strapless bra—a skimpy little thing, which was having to fight against gravity to contain her luscious breasts, and he was unable to stem his instinctive murmur of appreciation when they sprang free. Urgently, he turned his attention to a tiny white thong, which skimmed the pale curve of her hips and which he slid down over her thighs before kicking off his own shorts so that they were both naked. For a moment he sucked in a deep and unsteady breath, because this was happening—something he had never envisaged happening, other than in his tortured dreams.
Her pale green eyes looked blurred and he wondered if he imagined the faint wariness which lurked at their depths. And he knew that he didn’t want her to have any doubts. That nothing was going to stop this. Not her. Not him. Nothing. He put his arms around her and dipped his face so that it was close to hers.
‘You want this?’ he questioned urgently.
‘I do,’ she whispered back.
With a small groan he tumbled them down on the bed as skin met skin, their bodies sinking into the deep mattress as his fingers threaded through the pale spill of her hair.
‘Oh, Emma,’ he groaned. ‘Emma. I’ve dreamt of doing this. Every night, this has been my forbidden fantasy and now it’s finally coming true.’
He kissed her lips. Her neck. The lobes of her ears. He kissed her until she made sweet little sounds in the back of her throat. Dragging his lips downwards to her breast, he weaved his tongue over the puckering pink of her nipple, his hand drifting irresistibly down over her belly towards the soft fuzz of hair at the juncture of her thighs.
‘Zak!’ she moaned as his hand moved to cup her intimately and all her shyness and fear was banished by the expert way he was strumming his fingers against her moist heat. Pleasure rushed through her in a warm, unstoppable stream. She could feel the powerful beat of his heart and smell the scent of her own arousal as her body thrilled to his touch. And something made her fingernails dig into his back—some urgent need to have more than this. To have Zak as close as it was possible for him to be. To see whether this time …
‘Please …’ she breathed.
Briefly, he released her—reaching out to the drawer in the antique locker next to the bed, until he had found what he was looking for.
He couldn’t remember ever having quite so much difficulty slipping on a condom and it wasn’t helped by Emma planting urgent little butterfly kisses all over his shoulders. But when he had sheathed himself he moved over her, savouring that last brief moment against her moist heat before he entered her long and hard and deep.
Her gasp was unlike any other he’d ever heard because wasn’t it tinged with a note of what sounded like … surprise? He stilled as, briefly, he felt her stiffen.
‘Emma?’ Confusedly, he stared down at her, but she had now closed her eyes tight shut, her chin lifted upward—like a flower reaching for the sun. ‘Emma?’ he questioned again.
‘Just