Chapter Thirteen
Nico lay on his back, his heart bucking.
Remnants of an erotic dream featuring Bronte in the starring role tortured his mind and his body.
In a fluid movement he jack-knifed off the bed, slapped on the bathroom light, blinking at the man in the mirror. And he took a shaky breath. He was so hard he could barely breathe. His pupils were dilated, full of arousal as well as a dazed bewilderment. Perspiration beaded on his forehead and his skin felt clammy and damp. He was an experienced man of the world, not seventeen and unable to control himself.
Under a freezing shower, he fought to come to terms with the last forty-eight hours. If he believed in magic he would swear she had bewitched him. His bones ached for her. She made him weak and that was simply not acceptable.
Never had a woman affected him like this.
Fury pulsed through his blood as he shivered under the onslaught of icy needles beating his physical response to the dream into submission.
With a towel slung around his hips, he stalked into the bedroom.
How the hell was he supposed to work, concentrate on running his business if he couldn't get a decent nights sleep? When was the last time he'd spent the night tossing and turning with dreams of wild sex with a gorgeous blonde? Never.
He snapped on briefs. Digging out jeans from his closet, he hauled them on and tugged a cream sweater over dripping hair. She'd been sending him mixed signals since he met her. He rammed his feet into Tod's loafers. He couldn't believe it when she was dancing with that young man and he realised she wore absolutely nothing under her dress.
Grabbing his car keys, Nico opened the door and strode down the hotel hallway to the first floor. He took the steps two at a time. Then he stopped dead when the memory of those huge eyes full of spitting fury and aroused confusion tortured him again.
It made him feel physically ill each time he thought of her trembling against the door.
He'd been too rough with her.
And whose fault was that?
Itch? He continued down the stairs. He would give her an itch all right. She was attracted to him was she? And he could give it a little scratch could he? And she would have men whenever she liked would she?
What was she thinking talking about herself like that?
Which was an unfortunate thought he realised when lust burned in his groin.
He closed the car door with a thud and jabbed the key in the ignition.
Once they made love, he assured himself, this anomaly would pass and he would return to normal. The Bentley screeched down the driveway. Little witch.
The car purred to the rear of The Dower house.
He checked the time. Too early? Too bad.
Stepping out of the car, the scent of warm apples, sugar and cinnamon poured across his senses.
Pure annoyance fired his blood pressure again.
She made cakes while he suffered the agonies of hell.
The building throbbed and boomed with the bass of a pop song.
Nico lifted his hand to knock the door and then shrugged; she'd never hear him over the noise. Ignoring the little voice that told him he was invading her privacy he tried the handle and opened the door.
Strolling into the house he cocked his head.
She was singing.
No, that could never be called singing, more like howling or screeching.
And he winced as her shriek didn't make a long top note.
Nico stepped into the kitchen and every particle of angry frustration drained away.
Oblivious she had an audience to her hips bumping and grinding, Bronte stripped off her top, swung it around her head and tossed it.
The sweater sailed through the air to land at his feet.
Nico picked it up without taking his eyes from her.
Absently, he rubbed the wool between his fingers. Absorbing the warmth from her body and inhaling her scent.
She wore black fitness pants slung low, low on her hips, a short skinny vest with no bra and bare feet.
Still blissfully unaware of his presence, she shook her bottom.
Blonde hair, piled in an incredibly sexy knot on top of head, accentuated that long delicate neck. Her ears, small and perfect, hugged her scalp.
Nico grinned as he spotted a black sock over the kettle and another in the middle of the fruit bowl. Rihanna blasted through the speakers telling everyone to please don't stop the music.
Please don't he begged leaning his shoulder against the door frame to enjoy the show. Guilt that he was witnessing something terribly private elbowed him in the ribs, but Nico ignored it. He wouldn't have missed this for the world. God knew she couldn't sing but the girl had moves.
Skipping to a fridge, her tight little bottom wiggled in perfect time to the beat and Nico bit down hard on a knuckle.
With a bottle of water as a microphone the fabulous Ms Ludlow step-touched with a sexy swing of her hips, shook her booty and strutted her stuff.
Spinning round he saw her stunning face was flushed with exertion.
She opened her eyes and saw him.
Those fabulous eyes bugged out of her head.
Jogging frantically on the spot Bronte screamed her lungs out.
Pure reflex had him catch the bottle that almost beaned him between the eyes.
"You bastard!" She was on him like a wildcat.
A flying fist caught him on the chin as she clung to his back.
An arm locked him in a strangle hold.
Endless legs wound around his waist like a vice.
"Christ, Bronte, stop."
Roaring with laughter, Nico couldn't catch his breath.
His eyes watered as she did her best to rip his hair out of his scalp.
When her teeth sank into his shoulder, he yelled, "Okay, that's it!"
"How dare you come into my home?" Through clenched teeth her voice growled in his ear, "You almost gave me a heart attack."
She made a determined effort to twist his earlobe off and he'd had enough.
Nico landed back against a wall. Her breath whooshed from her lungs.
He spun, pinned her arms above her head and pressed his body against hers.
Her knee thrust missed unmanning him by a whisker.
Panting now, her eyes spat green fire into his.
The feel of her struggling under him sent blood racing to his loins.
Those eyes grew wary now.
She trembled and not just from fury.
"Let me go. I mean it."
Her voice was high as her breath heaved in short bursts and he couldn't take his eyes from her mouth. Her heart bucked against his and the scent of her shampoo and pure Bronte made his mouth water. A pink tongue licked her top lip and he wanted, needed, to taste, to take.
A soft whimper made him look into her eyes and what he saw there, arousal battling with alarm, made him stop.
He'd already taken a misstep with her last night and he wasn't going to take another.
Chest heaving Nico released her and moved back, palms up in a gesture of peace.
She needed to take a minute.
Her heart was threatening to implode in her chest and Bronte thought she was going to have a heart attack. For a second she'd thought he wasn't going to let her go then when he had she'd been disappointed. Her emotions were all over the place.
What the hell was wrong with her?
And how much of that little exhibition had he seen?
She spun and switched off the music. The silence was deafening. Their heavy breathing sounded too loud as she stared at him.
"What is the matter with you? Have you never heard of knocking a damn door?"
Rubbing the side of his chin, Nico wiggled his jaw.
"I ... ah ... realised you would not hear me above the noise of the music. You really should lock your door."
"There's been an invention, perhaps you've heard of it? It's called a telephone. It's a very handy device. Before you visit someone, you give them a ring and see if it
's convenient for them before you descend unannounced. You can leave messages and everything on it." Her eyes went into icy slits and she took a long, deep breath. "How much of that did you see?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, his scalp and winced.
"Ah ... I caught it from the part where you took off your sweater. Nice moves, shame about the voice." He grinned.
Adrenalin still pumping through her system, Bronte's eyes narrowed on the knife block.
She moved fast, but he moved faster to put himself between it and her.
"You find this funny, big boy?" With a growl in her throat, she rolled onto her toes and ran her tongue around her teeth. She'd had plenty of fights with her brother. And knew exactly how to inflict pain on a man. She'd give anything to wipe that stupid grin from his face.
Her blood cooled as she took a deep, cleansing breath.
Then her lips twitched as she got a good look at him, that hair wasn't all slick and sleek now. Nope. It stood on end, all tousled and tangled. Was that a rip in the shoulder of his sweater? His grey eyes were full of fun and barely suppressed laughter as dimples flashed in his cheeks.
An emotion Bronte didn't recognise caught in her chest.
Turning her back to him, she filled the kettle with water and plugged it in. Pulling on a sock, she searched for the other one, found it in the fruit bowl and tugged it on, defiantly ignoring his rumbling laugh. The urge to take another bite out of him, to throw herself into his arms almost overwhelmed her. She needed to recover her balance, put a little distance between them and get a grip.
"Coffee?" Her eyes slid to him as he settled himself in a chair at the table. He grabbed a cake and bit into it.
"Please. Hmm, these are excellent. What are they?" He swiped another one.
"Help yourself." He ignored the dripping sarcasm in her tone. "Apple turnovers. Miss breakfast?"
She placed a mug on the table with milk and sugar.
Those dark eyes sparkled into hers and he sent her a wicked smile.
For a moment she saw the little boy in the man and her heart simply melted.
"I did, yes."
"Was there something you wanted from me?"
"Oh yeah."
Bronte frowned and scooped ground coffee into a pot, filled it with hot water.
She was missing something here but couldn't work out what it was.
"Something important?"
Glancing at him she saw those grey eyes were gentle on her now, the smile sweeter.
For some reason it worried her although she couldn't say why.
"I thought it was but it can wait."
His attention was diverted by her drawing and notes of Justine's wedding cake. When he turned over the page Bronte nearly fumbled the coffee pot.
Those dark brows drew together.
"Did you draw this?" He didn't take his eyes from it.
"I'm afraid I did." She poured coffee into his mug.
When deep grey eyes met hers she read humour mixed with appreciation and realised she'd been holding her breath.
"Is this how you see me?"
"Mmm hmm." She sipped her coffee.
"May I keep it?"
Surprised, embarrassed and secretly thrilled Bronte shrugged.
"Sure."
Nico tore the page from the pad and carefully rolled it up.
Feeling the chill now, Bronte rose found her sweater and pulled it on.
"What are you doing here, Nico?"