Melting Ms Frost (7 page)

‘Like the sound of that, do you? Good. I want you to think about how it’s going to feel to have me spread your legs so I can see all your secrets. How it will be to have me hold them wide so you can’t hide.’

‘Please.’ Her voice was breathy and desperate as the bottles shook along with her entire body. The twitch and burn of her locked muscles and the dizzying pound of her blood were so acute she feared she wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. ‘I’m going to drop the tray.’

Mouth dry, heart hammering, Annabel watched as Aidan smiled and reached towards her. But rather than help with the tray, or touch the throbbing ache of need his words had started between her legs as she realised she was silently willing him to do, he pulled her skirt back down into place and checked the elegant, leather-strapped watch on his wrist.

‘But right now,’ he said with regret, ‘it’s time for another busy night, Ms Frost.’

Bewildered by the sudden change in pace, she watched him tuck the waiter’s friend back into his hip pocket and take the tray.

‘I have to say I’m going to enjoy watching you work knowing you’re secretly exposed for me.’ He turned for the stairs and, in the rapidly cooling heat of the moment, she realised he was actually walking away – walking away and leaving her there. ‘Remember that, every time you catch me looking.’ His retreating voice floated down the stairwell. ‘I’ll be wanting you to tell me how it made you feel.’

Sweet Jesus.
He was in trouble.

Stepping out onto the pavement, Aidan paused to do up his jacket and suck in a fortifying breath, letting the brisk night air ease some of the heat of his ardour. Thank God that shift was finally over. And thank God he’d managed to get through it without doing something stupid – or downright illegal – like laying Annabel Frost out over one of the tables, sliding up her skirt and taking a taste of her through that diaphanous pale pink satin and lace right under the scandalised noses of the customers.

Just the thought had him fighting the urge to spin around, push back through the doors and turn the explicit fantasy into the ultimate X-rated reality. Forcing himself to move in the opposite direction, he started off down the street towards the Tube with long, purposeful strides, determined to put as much distance between himself and Cluny’s as quickly as possible.

Since the moment he’d cut away his lovely manager’s tights and uncovered those pretty panties and fiery curls, the knowledge of what was there under that figure-hugging skirt had been torturing him. The erotic vision of that delicate lace and feminine terrain so rudely framed by the shredded wreck of her tights had been all but seared onto his retinas, tormenting him every time he so much as blinked.

‘Hey, watch it!’ He was slammed back to his surroundings as he jolted hard against another body. It was a clear, cold Saturday night but despite the near-freezing temperature, Soho was in full party mode, the streets clogged with an overspill of weekend revellers amid a dazzle of coloured lights and a cacophony of sounds.

In the swirling mass it was impossible to tell who he’d run into. Raising his hands in a general gesture of apology, he started off again at a slower pace, trying to keep at least half his attention on where he was going.

He hadn’t spoken to Annabel again since he’d left her standing, shaking and enticingly submissive, in the cellar – hadn’t trusted himself to be able to keep his cool if he got too close. The woman was damned near irresistible. How he’d ever found the strength to walk away from the temptation of her and make it up those cellar stairs without tripping over his iron rod of a hard on, he didn’t know.

He’d come
that
close to breaking his own promise – to touching her. And that would’ve been a great shame. It was way too soon.

Brought to a stop at a busy intersection, he joined a clutch of people waiting to cross the road and puffed out a frustrated breath, watching it cloud in the cold air. He had no one to blame for his agitated state but himself. Having felt he’d had no choice but to come on dangerously fast and strong or risk having his advances batted away like an annoying gnat, the stunt he’d pulled down in the cellar had been designed to throw Ms Frost off her guard, make her flustered and breathless. He never for a moment expected her to let things go so far. If she really was as averse to his advances as she liked to insist, that would have been the moment she’d have put a stop to things. But she hadn’t, and the encounter had ended up being so intense, her first act of surrender so captivating in its reluctance, that he’d wound up well and truly caught by his own game. He’d only just found the strength to stop before he took things too far, only just resisted the temptation to cut through that flimsy barrier of lace and pull it from between her trembling thighs.

He’d hardly been able to take his eyes off her since, as much out of a surge of possessiveness as voyeuristic fascination to see how she’d cope with her secret state of
déshabille
while fulfilling her frontline public role. For her part, she’d been staunch in her refusal to so much as glance his way, spending a good portion of the evening tucked behind the reception desk, making only the occasional necessary foray to the boss’ table and tactically retreating every time Aidan approached to take care of anything drink-related. On the surface, she’d seemed to go about her business with her usual display of cool professionalism, but even in the artful gloom of the restaurant Aidan had been able to pick out the delightful blush shadowing her cheeks, the vaguest hint of self-consciousness any time anyone got a bit too close.

The traffic lights changed and he let himself get pushed forward with the crowd while his mind continued to pull back in the direction of Annabel Frost. Although he had more sense than to ever admit it out loud, those glimpses of uncharacteristic vulnerability appealed to his dominant side in some primal predator-and-prey way that didn’t give a flying fuck for the enlightened advances of social evolution, sexual equality or political correctness. The sight of that strong, independent woman trembling because of him was more potent than a double dose of Viagra.

Coming to the Tube station entrance, he jogged down the stairs, resigned to the fact that for the time being he was in for another long night with his fist and his fantasies. At least he could console himself with the knowledge that Annabel Frost was likely to be in a similar situation – able to think of nothing but him, and in for just as restless and rocky a night.

Annabel lay glaring at the numbers glowing red across the face of her digital alarm clock, counting down the minutes until the radio would spring into life and signal that it was time to get up. Though to be honest, she’d never felt more like keeping to her bed … or sofa in this instance.

Far too much of the night had been spent watching time crawl past instead of sunk in the re-energising sleep she needed to help her deal with the nightmare her waking life had become. Over and over again into the small hours, that scene in the cellar had replayed in her head, until every sordid, shameful second of what had happened was indelibly imprinted on her memory.

She’d been in a state of shock at the time, she’d come to realise. She must have been, otherwise how else could she explain what had happened? That she’d let a man she hardly knew and certainly didn’t like do the disgraceful things he’d done? Allowed him to control and degrade her in a way she’d sworn never to let any man do?

Worst of all – how had Aidan Flynn made her feel like she’d enjoyed it?

It seemed absurd now to think he’d been able to steal her will so effectively using nothing but the mesmerising power of those eyes and the hypnotic tone of his voice. It was even more disturbing that her body had reacted so readily to the cool authority of his words. It frightened her to consider that maybe she was more her mother’s daughter than she’d realised – that despite her determination not to make the same mistakes, she was destined to let the wrong type of men walk all over her, control and ruin her life.

Groaning, she rolled onto her back and flung an arm across her face trying to blot out the cold clarity of morning that illuminated more than she cared to see. Because, as much as it pained her to admit it, there was just no denying the rush of desire she’d felt as Aidan Flynn had calmly taken command and uncovered her – no ignoring the needy ache that persisted between her legs even still.

As if that wasn’t humiliating enough,
he
, by contrast, had seemed totally unaffected by what he’d done to her, simply walking away and leaving her exposed and wanting and mortified. The second he’d disappeared up the cellar stairs, taking the force of his will and whatever strange, spellbinding charm he wielded with him, she’d come back to her senses with a jolt, nearly collapsing on the spot as her knees had threatened to give out.

She’d had no option but to remove what remained of her tights, of course. Then it had taken all her nerve to appear on the restaurant floor shortly afterwards and brave it out as though nothing was amiss while every step, every swish of movement, reminded her of her state of undress. With the knowing weight of Aidan Flynn’s stare bearing down on her, she’d barely found the presence of mind to exchange pleasantries with Richard Landon, let alone take him aside as she’d planned.

After what she’d let happen, how could she have even contemplated making serious allegations? She’d have had to recount the story of what had gone on in that cellar and that would have cast as much doubt on her character as on Aidan Flynn’s. Maybe even more so considering the fact that while he had avoided laying so much as a finger on her, she hadn’t done a thing to put a stop to the proceedings … hadn’t run, hadn’t screamed, hadn’t fought. If she thought her case sounded flimsy to her own ears, she could only imagine how it would have sounded to her boss. Having watched the way Richard Landon and his all male guests had so casually included the Irishman in their conversation, their rounds of laughter – automatically accepting him into their boys’ club – she’d decided the only thing to do was keep her mouth shut.

Jumping as the radio blared into life and filled her sitting room with the chirpy jingle of a Christmas pop song, Annabel lashed out at the off button and sprang up from the sofa. As hiding under her covers was unfortunately not an option, she had no time to waste on feeling sorry for herself. There were things to do. Important things like trying to salvage what was left of her pride and working out how best to deal with Aidan Flynn now that the situation had become much worse than she could have imagined.

By the time she arrived at Cluny’s, Annabel was done beating herself up. Shit had happened. There’d been a moment of insanity. It was over. The roil of self-loathing that had been clouding her mind had settled into cold, hard clarity, letting her focus her thoughts and feel like her old self again. She was a twenty-seven-year-old professional, not some gutless girl. Calm, controlled, and cutting; she could take on anything when she had a cool head. Anything up to, and including, the manipulative sexual deviant who was behind the bar amid cleared shelves and a forest of bottles as he checked stock levels.

The irony wasn’t lost on her that someone so fucked up on the personal front could be pretty near faultless from a professional standpoint. Hard-working, self-motivated, dedicated – her nemesis was the type of employee she’d normally fall over herself to hire.

A quick visual sweep of the restaurant showed the only other member of staff in sight to be Donna, who was out of earshot on the far side of the dining room polishing cutlery. The waitress gave a guilty little jump when she spotted Annabel stepping through the door, quickly dropping the dreamy smile she’d been directing towards the bar.

Annabel wasn’t surprised. The meek little mouse seemed just the type to fall for the autocratic lord and master act. And thinking about it, surely someone like that was the perfect woman for Aidan Flynn? Agreeable, dependent, compliant. Yet for some reason Annabel couldn’t pick up the smallest vibe of the waitress’ interest being returned.

Lucky Donna.

Having decided on the quick rip plaster method as the best way of dealing with this painfully sticky situation, she marched straight from the doorway towards the bar, the sound of her heels striking the floorboards drawing Aidan Flynn’s attention from the clipboard he was marking.

The frown of concentration creasing his brow cleared as that silvery gaze locked on her. Annabel fought the pull for a breathless second as the space between them seemed to tunnel and contract. Those translucent depths that had seen far too much of her last night sharpened with an intensity that left little doubt they were remembering every intimate inch. Under that penetrating look she felt exposed, stripped all over again, vulnerable … then everything snapped back into place as she saw one of his infuriating smiles start to curl his lips.

‘Ann—’

‘Don’t!’ she interrupted, flinging her palm up to stop him. ‘You’ve got nothing to say that I want to hear. So just keep quiet and listen to me.’

Black brows jumped almost to his hairline, grey eyes flashed as they sparked with interest and – seriously – was that a glint of
amusement
she saw?

Well, let him see how funny he found this. She narrowed her own eyes. ‘I don’t like you,’ she told him. ‘I don’t like the things you say or the way you think you can behave towards me. This is not your personal playground, this is a place of business. And I don’t like that you’re in it,’ she enunciated tightly. ‘Take a word of advice and don’t go getting yourself comfortable because I’m going to have you out of here so fast it’ll blow that smirk right off your face. Until that happens, I don’t want you anywhere near me at any time. Understood?’

Aidan Flynn’s only reaction was to sweep what looked suspiciously like an appreciative gaze over her. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

More mockery? Annabel felt her icy resolve begin to melt under a renewed blast of anger. Why was she surprised? Rather than give him the satisfaction of seeing that he riled her, she spun away and strode towards the kitchens, unable to help snarling over her shoulder, ‘And roll your fucking sleeves down!’