Her Best Worst Mistake (13 page)

“
I’ve been dreaming about this.
About you,” he said, his voice very deep.

She lifted her hips as he delved between her thighs,
the movement sending the knife she’d used earlier tumbling from the
other end of the table.

“
Don’t worry about it,” she said
when Martin glanced at her.

She willed him to return to what he’d been about to
do but his gaze had fallen on something behind her on the
table.

“
Is that a mango?”

“
Yes.”

“
I love mangoes.”

There was something about the way he said it that
made her heart bang against her ribs with sudden, heightened
excitement. He leaned past her and picked up the mango half she’d
been about to eat before the bell announced his presence. He lifted
it to his mouth and took a bite.

“
That’s good,” he said.

“
Yes.” The word was barely a
whisper.

He considered the mango, then her widespread thighs.
His gaze lifted to hers. She reached for the edge of the table and
held on for dear life as he brought the mango between her thighs.
The cool, slippery, sensual pressure of the fruit against her sex
made her moan. His gaze locked with hers, Martin dropped to his
knees. She watched as he studied her for a beat, his cheekbones
flushed with desire. Then he lowered his head and replaced the
mango with his mouth.

His tongue lapped at her, by turns rough and firm
then fast and light. He tracked rivulets of mango juice across her
skin, sucking and licking and devouring her most sensitive flesh.
She lost all sense of time, all sense of place. The world was
reduced to his mouth on her and the hot, wet press of his tongue
and the rising tension in her body.

He pressed the mango against her again, and again
replaced it with his mouth. He was so avid, so ardent. She’d never
had a man go down on her like this, as though she was the most
succulent, delicious thing he’d ever tasted. As though he could
never get enough of her.

Her climax rippled through her body. She panted and
gripped the table and rode it out as he coaxed more and more
sensation from her. Only when she was sobbing with pleasure did he
pull back, pressing kisses into her thighs, smoothing his hands
over her hips and belly.

She closed her eyes for a second, trying to recover.
She heard the sound of a condom being opened. When she opened her
eyes again, he was rolling the condom down the thick length of his
erection. The slow, patient way he stroked the latex into place was
deeply erotic. She imagined him touching himself like that in the
privacy of his bedroom.

Did he think of her when he touched himself? Did he
imagine it was her hand instead of his own?

His gaze focused on the heart of her as he took
himself in hand. He found her entrance, wet and hot from her
climax, and slid the head of his cock inside. It felt incredibly
good, exactly what she needed. She murmured her approval. He lifted
his gaze to hers, then slid deep inside her.

He smoothed his palms up her ribcage to her breasts
as he started to pump into her. She wrapped her legs around him and
gave herself over to the slide of his body against hers and the
ratcheting need inside herself.

She came first, her body clutching at his, and he
followed seconds later, his breath leaving him in an anguished,
desperate rush.

He withdrew almost immediately, turning his back to
take care of the condom. She didn’t bother sitting up and making
herself decent this time.

She wasn’t decent. She was driven by and obsessed
with a man who used to be her enemy. A man who used to belong to
her best friend. If Elizabeth hadn’t called off the wedding, they
would be getting married in just a few weeks.

The thought made Violet reach for her skirt and draw
it back down over her thighs. Martin turned to face her and she
could see her own confusion mirrored in his eyes. He didn’t know
what this was, either.

It was some consolation. Not much, but it was better
than nothing.

The worst thing was, she couldn’t kid herself that
this would never happen again any more. She couldn’t deny him. And
he couldn’t stay away from her, if today and last night were
anything to go by.

His expression shuttered, Martin handed her her
sweater. She shrugged into it, then slid off the table and scooped
her panties off the floor. Martin followed her into the shop,
watching silently as she cashed out the till. Together they climbed
the stairs to her apartment, still not talking.

When they entered, she threw her bag onto the couch
and turned to face him.

“
I need a shower.” He’d been
incredibly thorough, but she was sticky with mango
juice.

“
Okay.”

She started for the bathroom, then glanced over her
shoulder. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

He looked delightfully surprised, as though it had
genuinely never occurred to him that they could shower together, or
that she might want him to. A small, almost naughty smile curved
his lips as he started after her.

Something in her chest got caught on that smile. He
looked happy. The notion that she might have the capacity to bring
him happiness—as distinct from pleasure—was a revelation.

He reached her side and lowered his head to press a
kiss against the side of her neck.

“
Tell me you have a big shower,” he
murmured against her skin.

“
It’s tiny. Barely big enough for
one.”

“
We’ll make do.”

Then he started undressing her again, and she let all
her doubts slide away, as she always did when he was touching
her.

Chapter Seven

Martin woke with a warm, soft body pressed against
his side. He lifted his head to check the clock—a full hour before
he needed to head home to get ready for work. He relaxed back into
the pillow, inhaling Violet’s perfume—an enticing mixture of musk
and deep floral notes—and let memories from last night wash over
him.

Violet in the shower, on her knees with him in her
mouth. Violet in her bed, her hair in damp ribbons across her
shoulders and breasts, her body bared utterly to him for the first
time. Violet shuddering to climax, his name on her lips. Again and
again and again.

She was like a drug, addictive and euphoric and
consuming.

Her back was to him, her backside snugged into his
hips. He slid his arm around her body, resting it beneath her
ribcage. He lay for long minutes, feeling the rise and fall of her
breathing, letting her warmth seep into him. After a while she
stirred, murmuring something in her sleep, her backside pushing
more firmly into his hips.

It was more than enough to make him fully hard. He
pressed his erection against the curve of her ass, then smoothed a
hand down her belly and between her thighs. She was hot and wet
down there already. Because of him? Because she was dreaming about
the two of them like this, in bed together?

He found the bud of her clitoris and stroked it
gently, lightly. The merest whisper of a touch. Her body seemed to
loosen, as though she’d been craving his caresses. He dipped his
finger into the slick moisture between her thighs, then traced her
clit again. She stirred a second time, her head lifting slightly
from the pillow.

“
Martin.”

“
Shh,” he said, stroking her more
firmly.

She subsided back onto the pillow, her hips rolling
slight backward so she could open herself more fully to him. He
loved that about her—that she never denied her desire, never shied
away from what she wanted. She was a perfect hedonist, unashamedly
sensual.

She was growing wetter, and he was growing harder,
imagining how good it was going to feel to slide into her tight
heat. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he nudged her top leg
forward and took himself in hand. Violet knew what he wanted,
rolling onto her belly more, arching her backside toward him. Lost
in hazy desire and need, he used his cock to tease her some more
before sliding inside her.

She fit him like a glove, velvet soft yet so tight.
He grunted deep in his throat and started to move. He’d intended
for this to be a leisurely morning shag, a slow awakening to the
day, but he should have known that Violet would have her own ideas.
Before many minutes had passed she was pushing up onto her knees,
arching her back, leaning into his penetration, taking him deeper.
Then she was gripping the headboard with her hands and he was
slamming into her, turned on beyond all reason by the twin, round
globes of her ass and her curving spine and the spill of red hair
across her shoulders.

“
Yes. Please. Yes.” Her cries filled
the room, wanton and abandoned.

“
Fuck
.” He lost himself for a few
seconds, pleasure rocketing through him, so intense it was almost
painful.

He came back down to earth, aware that Violet had yet
to find her peak. He was still hard inside her, and he snaked a
hand around her hips and found her clit. She dropped her head onto
the pillow, her whole body trembling with anticipation as he
stroked and teased and circled her. It wasn’t long before he felt
the tight clench of her inner muscles as she tipped over the edge
into climax. He kept her strung on the edge of desire for as long
as he could before sliding his hand free. They both collapsed onto
the bed, bodies damp with sweat, the sheets tangled around their
feet.

It was only when he reached down to take care of the
condom that he realized he hadn’t used one.

He swore softly.

“
What’s wrong?” Violet’s voice was
muffled by the pillow.

Despite his screw up, he couldn’t help but smile at
the fact that she was unable to lift her head. It probably made him
a caveman, but he liked that he could exhaust her so
completely.

It was a short-lived smile. She wasn’t going to like
what he was about to say.

“
No condom,” he said
shortly.

There was a small silence, then Violet pushed herself
up on her elbows. Her hair was in her face and she shoved it out of
the way so she could meet his eyes.

“
I’m on the pill, if that’s what
you’re worried about. And I don’t have anything else you need to
get sweaty over. I was tested last year and I haven’t been with
anyone since then.”

He tried to hide his surprise, but Violet must have
registered it because her mouth tilted up at the corner in a small,
cynical little smile.

“
Surprise, surprise, huh?” she said.
“Violet can keep her legs together.”

He knew what she was implying—that he saw her as
promiscuous and easy. Hell, he’d spent enough time giving her that
impression over the years, why wouldn’t she believe that was the
way he saw her?

“
The only thing I’m surprised about
is that the male population of England has been able to keep its
hands off you for that long,” he said.

Her warm golden eyes scanned his face, looking for
the truth.

“
You don’t need to butter me up. In
case you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of a push over where you’re
concerned.”

There was so much defensiveness in her guarded
expression. So much fear of condemnation and rejection. He reached
out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“
I trust you,” he said. “And I
happen to believe that what you do with your body is your business,
as long as you’re happy with the outcome. I’ve authored enough fuck
ups in my own life without judging anyone else on
theirs.”

She seemed puzzled by his words, as though she
couldn’t quite bring herself to trust them. Had he been that much
of a condemning prick toward her over the years?

He frowned, hating the idea that he’d hurt her.
Especially because he understood now that his animosity toward her
had sprung from a deep, primitive attraction that he’d refused to
acknowledge. Classic schoolboy stuff, really—pull the hair of the
girl you most want to notice you.

“
You don’t believe me?” he
asked.

“
You’ve got to admit, it’s a big
about-face from the death stare to this.”

“
The death stare?”

She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him,
her eyes coolly judgmental as they flicked up and down his
body.

“
At the risk of pointing out the
bleeding obvious, you weren’t exactly my biggest fan, either.
Droopy Drawers. Stick-up-my-ass. Ring any bells?”

She blushed, a delicate flood of color that rose from
her breasts up her chest and into her face.

“
I didn’t mean any of
that.”

He made a disbelieving sound. She smiled a little
sheepishly.

“
Well, I did. But only because I
secretly wanted to shag you senseless.”

They both stilled as her words hung in the air. The
truth that neither of them had dared admit out loud until this
second.

All those years that he’d been with Elizabeth,
telling himself and her that they were the perfect couple—and all
the time he’d secretly wanted to shove Violet to the ground and
have his way with her, repeatedly and at great length.

“
I want you to know, I would never
have so much as laid a pinky finger on you if you and E had
married,” she said suddenly, her expression very fierce.

“
I know.”

Just as he would never have touched her. Neither of
them were built that way.

She had a crease mark on her cheek from the pillow,
and a faint red mark beneath her ear that he suspected was from
him. Her lips were very pink, even without lipstick. He leaned
forward and kissed her, just because he could.