A mistake, that cocktail, because she should have been able to resist. She’d never had a problem resisting men. But this man wasn’t just any man. He was wicked and persuasive and clever, and his hand was inside her panties, touching her—thrilling her—with just one flick of his finger over her most sensitive place and any second now she was going to shatter into a million pieces and she knew she’d never be the same ever again.
‘Come for me.’ The voice at her ear transported her to undiscovered realms, lifting her higher to some pinnacle just beyond her reach—
The distinctive beat of Coldplay jolted her back to some vague resemblance of reality. Brie. With trembling fingers she yanked her phone from the jewelled bag slung over one shoulder. Brie’s picture smiled at her. She glared back, found her voice. ‘Now you call.’
His fingers stilled but his hand remained, hot and arousing and slippery, inside her panties. ‘Is it an emergency?’
‘I don’t think so, b—’
‘Then get rid of whoever it is.’
His dictatorial tone irritated. ‘No.’ However tempting, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—ignore her friend until she knew she was okay. ‘I have to get this.’
Reluctantly, she tried to push his hand away. It didn’t budge. In the end she had no choice but to answer—breathlessly. ‘Hi...’ She closed her eyes as if not seeing him would somehow make him disappear. Resisted squirming against his fingers—for all of three seconds or so. ‘You all right?’
‘I’m great. Fabulous. What took you so long to answer?’
Brie wasn’t the only one feeling fabulous. ‘I’m...’ what the hell, Brie would be happy for her ‘...being seduced by a man in black. He’s my Secret Sinner-Santa.’
‘Believe it,’ he whispered into her ear.
She pressed her lips together to stop the urge to smile and squeal at the same time and felt the scrape of his bristled jaw against her neck.
Pause at the other end of the phone. ‘Oh. Okay. Sorry I’m late but I’m here now. Are you still at the party? I’ve looked everywhere.’
Not quite everywhere, Brie. ‘Yes...’ Omigod... His thumb was doing something amazing. How could she think, let alone carry on any semblance of intelligent conversation while he manipulated her with such devastating expertise? Darts of pleasure were shooting through her body and lights were coalescing and swirling in front of her eyes. ‘Still...here. Already told you...’
‘Where?’ Irritated impatience.
‘I’m...not...good company right now.’
‘I disagree,’ murmured the muffled voice, this time against the top of her breasts.
‘What?’ Brie’s voice, confused. ‘Is there someone with you?’
‘Must be...the hand—the band.’ A breeze with scent of summer and sex cooled the raging inferno in her cheeks while Secret Sinner-Santa assumed control and drove her to a rising crescendo of delight and desire and sheer desperation with every manic beat of her pulse.
‘And what do you mean not good company? Ken’s waiting, stay right where you are, wherever it is, I’m coming to get you.’
‘No... I’m coming...’
And she was. Right now. Right here. Awareness narrowed down to a pinpoint of sparkling sensation and the hand holding her phone slid from her ear as the world receded like the tide before a tsunami.
She heard the disembodied moan—part plea, all pleasure—sprint up her throat as the crescendo peaked and rolled, sending her tumbling over the silvery crest and showering her body with gold.
A slow sigh escaped her lips. Sweet, sugar-coated bliss. Sagging against his hard-packed stomach and an impressive erection, she floated down, her feet still not quite touching the ground. She wasn’t exactly a virgin but no guy had ever done it for her the way he had. Now she understood how sinfully, devastatingly irresistible the right man’s touch could be.
On the downside, it reduced even the most rational, self-disciplined person to a quivering, mindless mass. It had changed a sane sensible woman with a mind and opinion of her own—and an ability to say no—to someone she didn’t recognise.
She flopped her head back against the wall and looked up at him, committing his face to memory, then kissed her fingers and pressed them to his lips. ‘Merry Christmas.’
From somewhere near her left elbow, she heard Brie’s voice. ‘Olivia, are you drunk?’
‘No.’ Just not herself. Without taking her eyes off him—the way a sailor wouldn’t take her eyes off an approaching storm front—she raised the phone to her ear. ‘Meet you on the driveway. Two minutes.’