Mr. Insatiable

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Gossip says he is hot between the sheets. Has Mr. Insatiable finally met his match?

Enya’s been curious about Kit’s bedroom exploits ever since his ex-girlfriend spilled the beans about his…skill. But he’s not for her. Enya can’t provide what he wants from life, especially not between the sheets.

After Enya admits she’s not good at sex, Kit persuades her to trust in him. Together, they can create fireworks in the bedroom. A few drinks followed by a discussion about kinky sex, and Enya succumbs to his charm.
 

Thrilled he’s been proven correct, Kit can’t keep his hands off Enya, and she’s unable, and unwilling, to resist him. But is it just great sex…or something more?

CONTENT WARNING:

Sexy, sizzling hot romance. Please read with air conditioning on.

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Kit stilled, and she wondered whether she’d overstepped the invisible boundary they’d erected over the years. Just like Tristan had always done, Kit had commented on her burgeoning figure as she’d grown up, made lewd comments when she’d worn a bikini and teased her about the generous size of her breasts, but it had always been done in a brotherly way, in front of the rest of the family. He’d never crossed that line and been suggestive or touched her inappropriately. When they were alone, he was the perfect gentleman, honorable and polite, and even if he did continue to tease her, she’d never felt uncomfortable with him. Sometimes she’d wondered whether he actually realized she’d grown up.
 

He moved back and looked down at her. Even though she wore three-inch heels, he towered over her, his shoulders broad beneath his jacket. She waited for him to make a joke, laugh, or look uncomfortable at being asked to say something personal like that.

Instead, to her surprise, he cupped her face with his hands. Looking into her eyes, he held her gaze for a moment, his blue eyes alight with desire. To her astonishment, he smiled wolfishly and lowered his head.

Mr. Insatiable

By Serenity Woods

Dedication

To Tony & Chris, my Kiwi boys

Chapter

1

 
“Okay, what’s up? You look like somebody died.”

Lost in thought, Enya O’Donnell jumped as the deep male voice sounded in her ear.

“Luckily, no one has,” she said, “or you’d be feeling two inches high right now.”

Kit Fawkes leaned on the balcony beside her. “I’ve asked everyone in the hall if they know why the chief bridesmaid has a raincloud over her head. If someone
had
kicked the bucket, I’d definitely know by now. But nobody knows, which means whatever’s bothering you is something you’re trying to keep secret.”

He surveyed her, his dark blue eyes interested. “I thought we didn’t have secrets, my little Celt.” His gaze strayed to the mop of red curls the hairdresser had piled on the top of her head. Enya was pleased with the style, even though rebellious strands already tumbled around her face.

Below, the wedding guests spilled across the hotel foyer like beads from a broken necklace. The breeze from the open doorway was cool, and she pulled her faux-fur wrap closer around her arms.

Fancy getting married on a cold, wet New Zealand day in July, the height of winter. But Lisette had been determined to hook Tristan as soon as possible after he proposed, as if worried he might change his mind if she left it too long. Which was ridiculous of course, because Enya’s brother adored Lisette, and he’d been happy to be bullied down the aisle in double quick time.

The guests removed their coats while they waited to greet the bride and groom at the doorway. The women’s colored dresses glowed against the dark suits of the men, brightening up the gloomy afternoon. “You promised you’d stop calling me ‘Celt’ when I turned twenty-one,” she said absently to Kit, who was waiting for her to answer, patient as ever.

“I lied. You’ll still be my little Celt when you’re ninety and I’m ninety-six, and I’m sitting next to you in the retirement home with no teeth, beating you at Scrabble. But you can carry on calling me Kit Kat in return, how’s that?”

She laughed then, and he smiled and put his arm around her. “That’s better. You looked so sad, honey. Can’t you tell me what’s up?”

Enya rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, comforted by his warmth and strength. She’d known him for what seemed like forever, and it was true–they didn’t have any secrets from each other. Well, hardly any. But although usually she would have confided in him, today she was determined to keep her news to herself.

“Is it because Tristan’s getting married?” He kissed the top of her head. “You are allowed to be sad when your brother gets hitched, you know. Or jealous. Are you jealous? You haven’t put poison in Lisette’s soup, have you?”

“Kit! Jeez. Come on. You know I’m thrilled they’ve finally tied the knot. She’s my best friend. I couldn’t ask for more than to have her as my sister-in-law as well.”

“So what is it then?” He slid an index finger under her chin and lifted it so she met his gaze. “Don’t make me resort to torture. But I will if I have to. I’m sure the hotel caretaker’s got a pair of pliers somewhere.”

Enya said nothing for a moment. He looked so handsome in his black jacket and white shirt. The bow tie emphasized the wing-tipped collar, and she loved his embroidered vest. He smelled good too, some classy aftershave with subtle sandalwood tones. But then Kit always smelled good.

“You look very James Bond,” she said. “Apart from your hair. It’s sticking up again.”

He ran a hand through the short, dark strands. “I used some hair product Sasha bought for me, but it won’t behave.”

“I thought Sasha would have given up on it by now.”

“Sasha would never give up on me. She adores me.”

“She hates your guts. She has a voodoo doll of you in her cupboard that she sticks pins in. I’ve seen it.”

Kit grinned, and she smiled back. He’d never believe her. His little sister adored him and thought the sun shone out of his butt. Mind you, everyone thought the sun shone out of Kit’s butt. He captivated men and women alike, old and young, with his warmth and generosity, his wit and his sexy charm. Enya adored him too. Although she refused to tell him because she’d never hear the end of it.

“Why are you single again?” she asked him. “I thought you’d hang onto the latest one for the wedding. What was her name–Ginny? Jenny?”

“Gaby.” He looked at the floor and scuffed his shoe on the carpet. “It didn’t work out.”

“None of them have since Beatrix,” she said. Kit didn’t reply, and she frowned at him, puzzled. “You never did tell me why you split up with her.” She’d asked him a couple of times over the eight or so months since they’d parted, but he’d always avoided the question. “I thought she was the one.”

“So did I.”

“Come on, you told me we don’t have secrets. What went wrong?”

“If I tell you, will you tell me what’s up?”

She pulled a face. “I can’t say no to that, can I?”

He grinned then. “No.”

“Okay, deal.” She held out her hand, and he shook it. “You first,” she said.

He dropped his gaze back to the line of guests snaking across the foyer and into the hall. “She didn’t want kids.”

“Oh...” Enya studied him. She was surprised that was the reason they’d broken up, but not shocked he’d ended the relationship if indeed Beatrix had told him she didn’t want children. Family was everything to Kit, mainly due to the fact that he and Sasha were adopted. He adored both Sasha and his mum and dad, and he’d never tried to find his real parents, as far as she knew, not wanting to upset John and Cate Fawkes, who appeared to worship the ground he walked on.

But Enya was aware that he wanted his own–preferably big–family, born of his own flesh and blood. He’d once told her–late at night at a friend’s birthday party–that he missed having roots, and that he wished he had a family tree he could research.

“I want my kids to have that,” he’d said at the time, and although he’d never mentioned it since, she realized now that it must be on his mind as he headed toward thirty.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He sighed. “To be honest, I think part of the problem was that she wouldn’t even discuss it. She wouldn’t consider why it was so important to me. It was just, ‘No, I don’t want them,’ and I had to deal with it. And I think the fact that she refused to take my feelings into account was the last resort, you know?”

Enya nodded. “You should have told me.”

“
Tea & Biscuits
had just opened,” he reminded her, referring to Enya’s cafe in Auckland. “You were immersed in that for a couple of months. And then you started going out with Andy, and I haven’t seen much of you since then.”

“Sorry.”

He smiled. “That’s okay. I’m just making the point that it’s not like I kept it secret from you.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. It felt like you went out with her for ages.”

“Three years.”

“Mm.” Since then, three or four girls had come and gone, none of which he’d seemed remotely serious about. She guessed he mainly dated them for sex.

Beatrix had once complained about his sex drive when talking to Enya, Sasha and Lisette, saying he was ‘insatiable,’ which had made Sasha plug her ears and Enya and Lisette giggle. But after that, Enya had watched him with Beatrix occasionally and wondered how often you had to want sex to make you ‘insatiable.’ Once a day? More than that? And for the love of God, why would you complain if you hooked up with someone like Kit Fawkes and he wanted sex every day? Enya would have hung out flags if she’d been in the same predicament.

Up close like this, the scar on his forehead, gained when he fell off his bike at sixteen, was visible. A hint of stubble already shadowed his chin, even though he’d shaved that morning. His irises were a light sky-blue, the same color as her bridesmaid’s dress, but flecked with navy blue and unusually, in the centre, orange.

“I dreamed about you a few weeks ago,” she said softly.

 
His lips curved. “Oh? X-rated, was it?”

“Absolutely. Every position you could name.”

He laughed. “Was I good?”

She opened her mouth to give a sarcastic reply, but the words fell away as her gaze dropped to his lips. “We were somewhere hot, the Northland, I think, during the height of the summer. We were walking under the lemon trees, and you…kissed me.” Her gaze moved back up to his as she remembered the way he’d lowered his head in the dream, brushing her lips with his.

He studied her. “Hmm.” His eyes showed curiosity mingled with something else, something she couldn’t fathom. Her cheeks grew warm.

“Then the lemons turned into footballs and Lady Gaga appeared and asked me to dance with her,” she said lightly, wondering what had possessed her to tell him about the kiss.