Read Online Detained by Ainslie Paton - Free Book Online

slut?
    This time would be different. Apart from the setting being the polar opposite. This time she’d have questions and expect answers. Starting with his name and finishing with how in hell she could get to see him again.

8. Knowing
    “See a person's means. Observe his motives. Examine that in which he rests.” — Confucius
    Outside the Palace Suite, he paused. He half expected her to let him stand at the door all night. He had his own swipe key. But despite how keen he was to see her again, letting himself in would be just wrong. Not that caring about rights and wrongs was high on his agenda. He’d left the agenda well and truly behind.
    He pressed the bell and waited. Rested against the doorjamb and closed his eyes, remembering what she felt like in his arms. How her mouth tasted, how she made a criminally hot little gasp when he’d played his fingers inside her that had him straining to keep things from going too far. He’d had enough of that though. If she let him in there’d be no holding back.
    He planned a quick seduction, and a long night of making her breathless, of forgetting the world and all the elements of it he needed to control.
    If she opened the door.
    He heard the slide and click of the lock and straightened up. She was standing in doorway in a simple green dress, her golden hair all tangling down round her shoulders and over her back. A lick of lipstick that wouldn’t last the greeting he wanted to give her.
    “God, you’re gorgeous.”
    She laughed and waved a hand to usher him in. “You’re not terribly discerning. You’d like me in a towel.”
    That made him cough. He’d made it into the lounge room. He turned back to her. “I’d fucking love you in a towel. Is that your opening offer?”
    She stopped in the entrance hall. “No!” Hands up, eyes wide. “No. My opening offer is an exchange of pleasantries.”
    “Sure. Nice weather. Hot and steamy. It’ll be hot and steamy tomorrow too. Your turn.”
    She laughed again. She came into the room and sat on the white sofa, pointed to the single chair next to it. “No. I want us to talk.”
    He sat on the sofa beside her. “I don’t have a problem with that. There are things I want to say to you and I want the lights on.”
    She stood, stepped up to the big glass coffee table and poured two flutes of champagne. “You’re deliberately trying to provoke me.”
    “That’s a distinct possibility.
    “You’re incorrigible.”
    “Lois, you can call me anything you want, but for God’s sake do it over here.” He stroked his hand over the soft white suede. He knew he was acting predatory. Not to would be a lie.
    She regarded him over the rim of the flute. “I want to know your name.”
    “Do you?”
    She took a step further away. She wasn’t going to hand him a glass. “You say that as though it’s a strange request.”
    “Not strange. Just unnecessary.”
    “You don’t think it’s necessary for me to know your name?”
    “My name is irrelevant.”
    “You’re not serious?”
    He stood, claimed his glass but let her keep her distance. “Look I understand what you’re saying.” He took a sip. Champagne wasn’t his thing, but it was a better fit with his ambitions tonight. More urbane than the sixteen year old single malt Scotch he preferred. “You want to know who I am before you let me inside your body again.”
    He saw the shock of his words in the way her shoulders shifted, the flare of her eyes and the parting of her lips. She was taken aback, but she wasn’t shut down. She took a sip. He wanted his tongue to follow where the bubbles led.
    “I, ah. Yes, that’s not unreasonable.”
    “Just redundant. You already know who I am.”
    She shook her head. “Don’t you want to know who I am?”
    “Gorgeous, I know who you are.”
    “Oh boy.” Said dramatically with an eye-roll that made him laugh. She refilled her glass. Ignored him. “You don’t know anything about me. How old I was when I lost my virginity