Loving Hard (Single Ladies' Travel Agency Book 3) Read online

  “Slower? After what we just did?” she asks. “What do you have in mind?”

  I stare into her eyes, watching, waiting for her to come to her senses and tell me that she’s only joking. Waiting for her to stop this in its tracks. If we touch again, there may be no going back. Neither of us will want to stop. We won’t be satisfied until we’ve stolen one another’s hearts and souls.

  She doesn’t flinch away, though. Doesn’t pull back when I slip my right hand onto her waist, pressing my fingertips in the softness of her flesh and pulling her body to mine. Slowly I slide my hand upwards under her jacket, testing her further, until my thumb is hooked under her left breast, threatening to advance even more.

  Good lord, this woman drives me mad.

  “This is extremely over the line,” I murmur as I stroke my thumb over her nipple, which is hard enough to show its outline through her bra and her blouse. “I’ve just broken every rule twice, you realize.”

  “I’m breaking the rules by letting you,” she says, that sexy, wise smile of hers making me want her all the more.

  I pull my mouth next to her ear and whisper. “You might think it’s mathematically impossible, but I’ve fantasized about sucking your nipples a million times since we met a few days ago.” With that I pinch the hard peak between my fingers, rolling it slightly to draw out the pleasure.

  “Fuuuuck, that feels good,” she whisper-moans back.

  “I would love to take you home and bend you over,” I tell her. “For that matter, I’d tear this skirt off you and eat you out right here, if you asked me to. Damn the rules. Damn our resolutions. I want you, Riley. It’s not enough to finger you in public. I want to be inside you. But you know that, don’t you?”

  “Mmm hmm,” she purrs, her eyes closed.

  “So tell me what you want.”

  Her breath strokes my neck again as she whispers her reply. “You. Just once. Just one night. That’s all. Then we can go back.”

  “To tour guide and tourist?” I ask.

  “Yes.” She opens her eyes and looks at me. “We’ll find our way back there tomorrow if we have to. But tonight, I need to be with you. Take me home with you, Galen. If we stay here for the second half of the concert, neither of us will be able to stand by the end of it.”

  I pull back and search her eyes for doubt, but I find none. So I hold out my hand. “Come, let’s go,” I say. “I don’t want to give you a chance to change your mind.”

  Eighteen

  Riley

  Steps: Who the hell cares? I’m going home with Galen.

  Mental state: There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe it.

  A strange but familiar feeling is surging up inside me. I’m sitting in the front car of a roller coaster that’s slowly edging its way upward. I know perfectly well that we’re about to come crashing down at high velocity, but in spite of my terror, I’m not tempted to get off. Not tempted to run away.

  I’m exactly where I want to be.

  I’m simultaneously terrified, exhilarated, happy, and tormented.

  I think Galen must feel the same way, because as we walk down the street, we don’t touch. We don’t even talk. There’s a mutual understanding between us that for the rest of the night we’ll be lovers, first and foremost. Somehow, we’ve both convinced ourselves that this is a good thing. That if we just have sex at last and let it all out, we can wake up tomorrow as nothing more than good friends. We’ll be able to go back to our pseudo-platonic relationship and forget about all the desire, which will have dissipated into the atmosphere.

  But I don’t even really want to think about that right now. Right now, my brain and body are consumed by the possibility of instant gratification. I only want to rock my hips against his mouth. I want to harden his cock with my lips. I want to feel Galen inside me, to be as close to him as I’ve ever been to a man.

  Because the truth is that I’ve felt closer to him in the few days since we met than I ever felt to my ex. I feel connected to Galen in a way that I didn’t think possible. And the thought of leaving this city without ever feeling his skin against mine is a travesty.

  Maybe this is what people talk about when they say they’re falling in love. I’ve never done it properly, so I don’t know how it feels. All I know is that I’m definitely falling into something.

  The question is whether anyone will be there to catch me.

  “My flat’s only a few blocks away,” he tells me as our legs propel us quickly through Hyde Park towards his neck of the woods. “I can’t say this is something I was anticipating, so it might be a bit of a mess.”

  “It’s all good,” I say, trying my best to issue a relaxed smile to the night air. “As long as you have a door and walls, I’m happy.”

  “Oh, I definitely have those. Rather sound proof walls, even.” He looks at me sideways, raising an eyebrow in a mischievous way. I swear that my pussy lets out a quiet meow.

  “I don’t do this, you know,” I blurt out like I’m trying to contradict my body’s sheer desire for naughtiness. “I don’t go home with guys on a regular basis. Even before I met Brian…” Damn it. My brain’s getting involved. Bad brain. Stop it.

  “I know,” he says. “I know you by now.”

  “So you don’t think this is weird?” I realize as I’m speaking that I’m breathing heavily, like a creepy prank caller.

  “If I thought it was all that weird, chances are I wouldn’t have invited you to my place so I could get you naked,” he says.

  I breathe a sigh of relief to know that the offer still stands. For some reason, my mind had suddenly begun to tell me that maybe we’ll just end up drinking tea and talking all night, once common sense returns to us.

  Doubt seems to have started to eat away at the confidence I felt back at the concert hall.

  “Okay, good. I was afraid…” I begin. No. Not was.

  With a gasp, I realize that I am afraid.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I nod silently. “I’ve been honest with you,” I tell him. “So I guess I can tell you that I’m nervous. It’s been a long time…”

  “I know. For me too. Quite a few months, at least.”

  “We’re going to have to re-train one another.”

  “God, yes,” he says. “The good news is that the training has already begun.”

  We’re walking by a low stone wall and he stops, grabbing me by the hand to pull me towards him. At first I press my forearms into his chest and just breathe, staring at everything but his face. But he sticks a metal fingertip under my chin and lifts it gently, quietly, so that I’m looking at his face again.

  “Riley,” he says, “we don’t have to do any of this if it’s worrying you.”

  “I know,” I tell him.

  “So what are you scared of? Are you frightened that you’ll repeat the mistakes of your past?”

  I inhale deep. “In my past I got together with someone who wasn’t right for me,” I murmur. “This isn’t like that at all.”

  “What is it like?”

  “It’s the opposite,” I confess, surprised at my candour. “This time, I’m getting together with someone who’s perfect, and I’m not sure how I’m ever going to walk away from that.” As soon as I’ve said the words I pull back, releasing myself from his grasp. “God,” I say, “Sorry, that was…”

  “That was honest and open, and I appreciate it,” he replies. No judgment. No scrutiny. It doesn’t frighten him off to hear that I’m scared of my own feelings for him.

  I nod again.

  But here’s the thing: he’s not returning the sentiment. He’s not telling me he feels the same, which probably means that he doesn’t feel much of anything, other than horny.

  I realize all of a sudden that maybe Galen’s interest in me is purely physical. I should take that as a warning. An excuse to run away again. “Maybe I should go home,” I say miserably, mortified at the thought that I’ve just opened up a little bit of my heart to someo
ne who only wants my body.

  He might be staring at me. I don’t know, because once again, I’m looking everywhere but into his deep blue eyes. I want to cry. I feel rejected, even though he hasn’t said a word about not wanting me.

  “If you want to go, you should go,” he says. “I don’t want to put pressure on you. It’s the last thing I want, in fact.”

  There it is. The coldness that every woman fears when she opens up to a man.

  I should have known better than to speak my mind. There’s no better way to make a man lose interest than to let him know you might be falling for him.

  “Okay. Maybe I will,” I moan. I turn away, my eyes ready to unleash a flood of tears on my cheeks as I take my first steps. I’m not even going to say good-bye. This was a mistake. Meeting him, letting myself be so damned attracted to him, all of it.

  “But Riley…”

  That heartbreakingly glorious voice of his stops me in my tracks. Perfect man. Cruel man. Let me go so I can be miserable all alone, Galen.

  “Riley, I should be honest, too. The truth is, I don’t want you to leave. I want you to come home with me.”

  I can feel him coming up behind me, the warmth his body engulfing my own, as his words drift through the air between us.

  “I want to make love to you,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “You don’t even know how badly. If we have to say good-bye tomorrow, I can live with that—even though I don’t want to. Fuck, you must know by now that I want you to stay here forever. But for now, all I can do is tell you how much I want you. I want to get my mouth on you. I want to suck on your nipples, I want to kiss your thighs. I want to feel myself deep inside you. I realize now that maybe the reason I’ve been single for so long isn’t because of some silly self-imposed rule; maybe it’s because I’ve been waiting for you to come along. So turn me down if you want to, but just know that it isn’t what I want. I only want one thing, and she’s standing in front of me right now, with her back to me.”

  A shudder overtakes my body, so deep that it never quite reaches the surface. Slowly, I turn to face him. Tears rim my eyes, threatening to fall, but it doesn’t matter anymore, now that I know he’s as hungry for me as I am for him. Now that I know he wants me to stay in this city.

  Now that I know that I’m not alone in my desire for something more than just sex.

  He holds out his right hand and I take it, letting him guide me towards his home.

  Before I know it, we’ve reached his front door. I feel the tension in his hand as he unlocks it and leads me inside, shutting it behind us.

  We’re standing in a narrow stairwell now, a chandelier high above our heads, sparkling light reflecting over the walls in pin pricks of shimmering white.

  Galen doesn’t wait until we’ve had a drink and made small talk. He doesn’t even wait until we’re upstairs. He presses my back to the wall of the stairwell, a hand cupping the back of my neck as he stares down into my eyes. I’m standing with one foot on each of two steps, my body slightly off balance, but I hardly notice. It doesn’t matter where my feet are anymore; I’m floating in the air, light as a feather.

  His face moves towards mine, but he pauses when our lips are close. I can hear his breath heaving as mine is doing, our lungs working overtime to control the adrenaline that’s flooding both our systems.

  Desire. The air tastes and smells of it. Something feral and sensual thickens in a mist around us.

  The last time we kissed, I ran away.

  This time, I intend to stay.

  A sea of butterflies makes its way through me as his lips crash into mine, the thrill of erotic excitement overwhelming my body. Galen’s mouth moves to my neck and he sucks gently, hungrily, as his fingers pull my jacket off and toss it onto the stairs.

  Next comes my blouse, which he manages to remove in record time, leaving only my white lace bra behind.

  He pulls back for a moment, his eyes locking on my breasts. He slips a thumb over the peak of each nipple, his prosthetic’s touch almost as sensitive as that of his right hand.

  “Can you feel that?” I ask.

  He nods. “Yes,” he says, “though my lips are more sensitive than either thumb.” With that, he looks into my eyes while his fingers delicately pull the lace down over my nipples, which are hard as rock. Breathing hard, I look down at my chest, waiting for what’s to come.

  He positions himself a few steps below me and runs his tongue over my left nipple, so gently that I literally swoon with the pleasure of it. Then his lips are on me, sucking, as his right hand slips up under my skirt, pushing it upwards, stroking my sex through my panties. A moan unlatches from his throat and mine at once when he pulls them aside and slips his fingers inside me.

  I step away, teasing, up one stair then two, unclasping my bra and letting it drop to the floor. He follows me, at first only with his eyes. Then he climbs the stairs after me.

  By the time we’ve reached the top I’ve dropped my skirt to the ground. All I’m wearing now are my panties and my boots.

  “Take these off,” he commands, reaching for the former. I oblige, slipping them down over my boots and letting them flit down onto the top step.

  Galen gets on his knees below me, pushes my thighs apart and pulls his chin up to bury his face between my legs.

  I’ve literally dreamed of this moment. I’ve pictured it a thousand times in my mind’s eye; his tongue on my pussy, lapping greedily.

  How it would feel, how I would react.

  But I had it all wrong. Nothing that my mind could conjure could ever have been as good as this.

  He pushes his fingers inside me, slowly working their way in and out of my very wet, very tight channel. All the while, his tongue is tending my clitoris with the most amazing gentleness. He’s a master at this; a master at reading my body like he reads my mind.

  Occasionally he looks up at me, sticking out his tongue to tease me with its tip. It turns him on to know that I’m watching. I get it; it turns me on, too.

  I offer him smiles in return for the pleasure he’s giving me. I feel greedy, selfish, letting him look after me like this. But we both know his turn will come.

  “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks,” he moans in a moment when he’s pulled away.

  “We only met a few days ago, Galen,” I laugh.

  “I know,” he replies, and I know just what he means. I think I’ve wanted him for my entire life, without ever having met him.

  The astonishing thing about what’s happening right now isn’t even that Galen Davies, the most gorgeous man in the history of the universe, is licking me, or that this is the second time tonight that I’ll be having an orgasm at his mercy.

  The most astonishing thing is that I don’t feel even a little bit self-conscious in his presence. I feel beautiful. Sexy, even.

  In five years with Brian, I never once felt beautiful. I felt taken for granted, like an old piece of furniture. I felt undervalued, so I placed no value on myself.

  I finally understand how good a relationship can feel. Right now, I feel like an adored queen who will one day have golden statues erected in her memory.

  Of course, right now there’s only one erection that I’m interested in.

  Nineteen

  Riley

  “Galen,” I whisper. I’m still watching him lave me with his tongue. Watching him devote himself entirely to my pleasure. The man is a sex god on top of everything else. How does such a man even exist, and how did I end up with him?

  “Mmm?” he asks without missing a beat, or a lick.

  “Come up here.”

  He seems reluctant to obey. But he pulls away after one sustained, gentle suck on my clit that nearly drives me over the edge. Even when he’s standing, he cups his right hand over my sex, pressing a finger inside me.

  “That feels so good,” I moan. “Why does that feel so good?” After a moment of ecstasy I collect my thoughts. There was, after all, a reason I asked him to stand up. “You’re not na
ked,” I tell him.

  “You want me to be?”

  I nod.

  He pulls away and unbuttons his shirt, yanking it away from his torso.

  Holy balls.

  This is the first time I’ve gotten a look at his tight, defined abdominal muscles, aside from in online photos. He’s even more beautiful in person.

  It’s when he draws his shirt off his shoulders, pulling off his sleeves, that I finally see the place where his prosthetic meets his skin. I’d all but forgotten about it; all but forgotten about the traumatic injury that he suffered so many years ago.

  Midway along his upper arm, flesh meets black, shiny surface, like a hard sheath covering the tissue around his bicep and tricep. Though his prosthetic hand is silver, the arm itself is onyx, roped with something that looks remarkably like muscle. Conlon has done a fantastic job of designing a left arm that matches the elegant shape of Galen’s right.

  Without thinking, I step forward and slide my fingers along the smooth surface.

  “Carbon fibre,” Galen says, watching me. “It’s very strong.”

  “As are you,” I reply, slipping my left hand’s fingers up his right arm, which is tight with braided muscle. He’s so powerful, so fit. “But how do you…?” I don’t know how to finish the sentence.

  “Exercise?” he asks.

  “Well, sort of,” I reply awkwardly. “How do you stay so strong, with only one arm?”

  “I’ll show you.” He grins at me before diving to the floor and turning out at least twenty quick one-armed pushups in a row.

  “Okay, that’s impressive,” I laugh. “I can’t do one pushup with both hands.”

  He jumps to his feet. “It takes practice, that’s all. But listen—we were in the middle of something. We can discuss my exercise regimen later.” His fingers move to undo his pants.

  Protesting silently, I slip forward and push his fingers away, undoing his button myself, just as I did at the concert.