Page 12 of Wife in Public

He laughed and squeezed her hand again. ‘Your pleasure will be my pleasure.’

Which surely meant she should have a marvellous time with him. Just relax and let it happen, Ivy told herself.

He drove into a large paved courtyard fronting a very large white house with a double garage on the left and another double garage below an extended wing on the right. ‘You have four cars?’ Ivy asked as he parked hers adjacent to the very elegant portico framing the double front doors.

‘Three,’ he answered. ‘The fourth space is taken up by Margaret’s.’

‘Who is Margaret?’

‘My housekeeper. She lives in the apartment above the garage on the right, and Ray, my handyman and chauffeur, lives in the apartment above the garage on the left.’

Naturally he would need people to maintain such a luxurious property, as well as cater to his needs. ‘How long have you had this place?’ she asked, wondering if he really considered it his home or whether it was simply one of a string of residences.

‘About five years. I like it here.’ He flashed her a smile before alighting from the driver’s side. ‘I hope you’ll like it, too.’

It didn’t matter if she liked it or not, Ivy told herself, watching him round the bonnet to the passenger side, his mouth still curved in pleasure at having achieved his aim with her. She had her own aim, which was simply to satisfy her curiosity. And then leave. It would be really stupid to be seduced into staying more than one night with him, by what he had in his house or anything else. But when he opened her door and she stood up beside him she found her body still shaken to the core by his physical impact on her. It took gritty determination to keep her wits.

‘My car keys,’ she said, holding out her hand.

He gave them to her as he closed the door. She locked the car with the remote-control button and put the keys in her handbag. ‘Lead on,’ she invited, trying to adopt a nonchalant air, desperately hoping her jelly-like legs would firm up enough to allow her to walk with dignity in the perilous high-fashion shoes.

They didn’t. She took one wobbly try and sat down on the steps leading up to the portico. ‘I’m taking off these killer shoes right now,’ she declared, bending over to unbuckle the straps.

‘Let me help.’

In an instant he was crouching down in front of her, his strong fingers brushing her fumbling ones aside. He propped her foot on his bent knee for easier access and Ivy leaned back and let him do the job—much easier than doing it herself. And she let herself enjoy the way he caressed her ankles and massaged her toes when he’d freed them from all constriction.

‘Better?’ he asked, the blue eyes twinkling satisfaction in his handiwork.

‘Yes. Thank you. Sorry about discarding the model image, but barefoot is more me,’ she said flippantly, not wanting him to know she was craving a lot more of his touch.

‘I’m happy for you to be comfortable with me,’ he purred, kicking her heart into pounding at the thought of how comfortable they might get together.

She picked up her shoes, placed her feet firmly on the wide stone step and stood up. Which brought her virtually face to face with him because he stood on a lower step. Their eyes met. Raw desire in his. Ivy had no idea what he saw in hers, probably the naked truth of what she was feeling because she’d had no time to disguise it.

Instinctively she scooped in a quick breath. Then he was kissing her again and she couldn’t help kissing him back. Her arms flung themselves around his neck, shoes and bag dangling from her hands. His arms crushed her into a fiercely possessive embrace. Excitement surged. She felt his erection furrowing her stomach, felt the moist rush of her own wild anticipation to experience him again. Her lower body automatically squirmed against his.

One hard muscular thigh pushed past hers, stepping up. He started arching her back, stopped, wrenched his mouth from hers. ‘Must be out of my mind!’ he muttered, shaking his head as though to clear it. His eyes blazed fierce determination. ‘Come on, Ivy. We’re going to do this in bed. In comfort!’

She’d completely lost it! Twice in one night! Passion-crazed!

Without his arm around her in support, she doubted her legs would have carried her to the front door. He swept her into the house with him. She didn’t have the presence of mind to notice any decor details of the foyer. She saw nothing but the staircase in front of them. When they reached it her foot didn’t lift high enough at the first step and she stumbled. He caught her before she fell, hoisted her up against his heaving chest and charged up the flight of stairs so fast he had to be taking them two at a time. It was like being rocked in a speeding train.

Ivy didn’t notice anything else.

They landed on a bed.

‘And we’re not going to do this in the dark!’ Jordan said, still in that tone of fierce determination. He reached across her and switched on a bedside light, but all she saw was his face hovering above hers, the strong masculine lines of it, the incredibly sensual mouth, the vivid blue eyes burning with wicked purpose, the black hair she had mussed with her fingers, the spiky look giving him a devilish aura.

I’m a fallen woman, she thought dizzily, but couldn’t bring herself to care, only too acutely aware that her body was willing her to fall all the way with Jordan Powell tonight.

‘Let’s get rid of these clothes,’ he said, taking her shoes and handbag and tossing them on the floor, then straddling her thighs as he worked on removing her sequinned jacket, cami, bra, half-lifting her up from the pillow, laying her back down.

It was easy to be passive, let him do it, silently revelling in the glide of his hands on her naked skin. She didn’t want to talk, only to feel. The bed linens were not linen. They were satin. Black satin. As befitted a playboy, she thought, but enjoyed the decadent sensuality of it for this time out of time.

He moved aside to strip off her skirt and panties—quick, deft actions—then paused to softly rake his fingers through her pubic hair, staring down at it as though fascinated, making Ivy wonder if the women he was usually with all had Brazilian waxes. She’d never had it done, only a bikini wax, and that only for indoor swimming. The sun was her enemy.

If her natural state turned him off…

‘Amazing,’ he murmured, and bent over to brush his mouth over the tight red-gold curls.

Definitely not a turn-off.

And the hot kisses he planted there were a nerve-jumping turn-on for Ivy. His tongue slid into the crevice between her thighs and teased her clitoris with mind-blowing delicacy—a tantalising tasting that generated an exquisite level of pleasure. It was all she could do to hold still. She wanted to focus on it, remember it forever. She forgot to breathe. Her whole being was concentrated on what he was doing to her. When he lifted his head, the trapped air in her lungs gushed out in a long, tremulous sigh.

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