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“I don’t know what I want,” she said softly. “I don’t know what we’re doing. I just know…I like it.”
“That’s how it should be.”
Portia dug her teeth into her lower lip. “But I’m not like you. I’m a planner. With work and with my whole life. I don’t just follow my instincts.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s how you make mistakes.”
“There are no guarantees in life. You got engaged to someone you thought you could trust; he hurt you.” Marco reached for Portia’s chin, tilted it towards himself. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Portia’s eyes flashed to Marco’s. Her stomach twisted. “I’m not going to let you hurt me. This is just sex. When we’re done, I’ll walk away.” Defiance flooded her voice with confidence.
“Good girl.” Marco kissed the tip of her nose; Portia’s stomach filled with butterflies.
“I mean it,” she murmured. “After Jack, I just need a break from anything serious. And you’re definitely not serious.” To underscore the point, she kissed him, relieved that their physical connection was what had brought them together. There was none of the ‘getting to know each other’ rigmarole to go through because they knew enough of each other to be comfortable with what they were doing on the physical side.
It was supposed to be a kiss to prove a point, but Marco’s mouth was some kind of magic and as he kissed her back, she felt herself slipping, falling, her body surrendering, his mouth claiming hers with heat at first and then sheer desperation. On a groan, she clung to his shirt, her body cleaved to his, and he kissed her hard enough to push her head back against the supple leather of the car seat, his body warm, his masculine fragrance driving her senses haywire.
“You have to go to work,” he said, his hand creeping up her thigh, under the skirt she wore.
Portia’s throat constricted. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She was on fire, flames licking her, pleasure a drum beat from which she couldn’t escape.
“Do you want to go to work?” He asked again, this time with a sinful grin, as his fingers brushed her sex and she instinctively bucked her hips off the seat.
“No,” she whispered. “Yes. God, yes,” as he brushed her underpants aside and slid a finger inside her moist warmth, her muscles clenching around him. “God, Marco.”
“Fun is good,” he reminded her, kissing her now as he teased her most sensitive cluster of nerves, making thought impossible, filling her body with lava-like heat.
“I want you to have fun,” he dragged her lower lip between his teeth. She groaned. “I want to fuck you until you forget him and anyone else who’s ever hurt you.”
As Portia rode a wave of pleasure that was obliterating her ability to remember even her own name, she almost admitted that Marco was halfway to achieving his objective already.
It wasthe fourth yawn she’d stifled in the course of the afternoon, so it wasn’t really a surprise when Dante commented, “You’re tired.”
Heat threatened to colour her cheeks. “My neighbours kept me up last night,” she fibbed. “I’m fine.”
“Do you need to go home?”
For someone who was regarded as being a hard-out alpha bastard a lot of the time, he had a really soft, sweet side. Besides, his reputation was wrong. He wasn’t a bastard. He’d lost more than anyone should have to in their life, and that grief had sculpted him.
Portia shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“Okay.” Dante poured two cups of coffee, carried one to Portia. “Where are we at with Taiwan?”
“Waiting on a P and L report to be audited. It’s due after Christmas.”
He shook his head. “Anything we can do to expedite it?”
Portia made a note. “I’ll call them.”
He nodded once. “What else?”
She tapped her pen on the edge of the desk, reading through the agenda. “The Acto deal. Any movement?”
Dante scowled. “I’m beginning to think Marco might be right.”
Her heart stammered at the mere mention of Marco; memories of how he’d touched her in the car that morning flooded her brain.
