A Question of Pride by Michelle Reid Read Free Book Online Page B

looking at her. She was wearing a white lacy bra beneath the blouse, and he could see the scalloped line where the lace finished and creamy flesh began. She sat down again, unaware of the way he followed her every move, taking pleasure in the sheer luxury of being this close to her. Clea never failed to ignite his senses—whether meant or unintentional. She was an instinctive sensualist—rarely, if ever, aware of her power over the male sex, yet always managing to achieve that air of deep sexuality that heats a man's blood.
    The papers he was holding dropped on to the desk beside her elbow and, with sudden need to touch her, he placed his hands on her shoulders, moulding the rounded bones in his palms, feeling her instant stiffening reaction, watching the way she stopped what she was doing and lifted her head to stare directly ahead. She felt wonderful to touch. He hadn't realised how much he had missed her until his sensitive fingertips made contact with her smooth throat. She quivered when he ran his hands down her arms, then bent to place his lips where his fingers had just caressed, his hands moved to trap her in the chair by gripping the desk edge either side of her.
    'You smell and taste delicious,' he murmured against the pulse beating madly at her throat.
    Clea closed her eyes, trying to fight the wave of desire he awoke in her with just the simplest of touches.
    She wondered bitterly if Dianne the model smelled delicious, too.
    What was the use? she thought on a long sigh. Max was touching her, here on prohibited territory, and she was no match against the rush of delight the realisation gave her. Her head tipped back to lean against his taut stomach, and Max moved his hands again, sliding them back along her arms until he found the open rever of her blouse, then slipping inside, to replace those lacy bra-cups with his warm and infinitely familiar hands.
    His mouth was busy tasting her, the tip of his tongue licking at the warm flush of her cheek, running gently over her flickering lashes. His lips brushed a line down her nose until they found her mouth, nibbling and chewing with a hunger so real he shook with it, instigating an answering hunger within her that had her turning her head enough to join him in the slow, moist, passionate kiss. She lifted a hand to lay it against the side of his face.
    'It's been a long time,' he whispered.
    A long time. Did that mean he hadn't yet made it with the model? Clea thrust the thought away. She didn't want to think of Max with anyone else. She wanted to delude herself that he wanted only her.
    On a wave of desperation she deepened the kiss, taking him by surprise by the violence with which she responded, and he shuddered as her tongue slipped into his mouth to stroke those sensitive spots she knew would drive him wild. Her blouse fell open for his urgent fingers, her breasts spilling out from the bra, now released, to expose her upper body to his heated gaze.
    'Beautiful Clea,' he breathed shakily. 'What is it about you that bewitches me so?'
    Clea turned, rotating in the office chair until she was facing him, their mouths never once breaking contact. Then she was on her feet and leaning against him, her arms going around his neck to pull him closer, as her body took fire in his arms with a need born of unfed love which made her fling all common sense to the wind.
    Max trembled in recognition of what was happening. Sometimes—very rarely—Clea would respond like this, suddenly becoming a wild and hungry wanton, intent on a devastating seduction, and he felt that mood leap to life inside her now. The way she clung to him told him; she was kissing him almost tauntingly, her body moving against his in a manner meant to provoke him, until they were both breathless and gasping, eager to remove all the barriers preventing their heated flesh from touching.
    His fingers were trembling as he released her from her skirt and helped it slither down her thighs, her blouse and bra