Read Online Hidden Heart (Love Is The Law 1) by Isabella Brooke - Free Book Online
Authors: Isabella Brooke
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were leading, but it seemed
that the events were spiralling out of her control, as Turner's lower leg began
to press against hers under the table.
She moved her leg out of the way,
but smiled up at him to soften her rejection. He was unfazed, and topped up her
wine glass once more. Wait, when did it even get empty? She had to slow
down.
Once more his leg was against
hers, hard and warm. This time she didn't move away. She met his eyes, and as
soon as she did so, he shifted his gaze to her neck, then her shoulders, and
down to her breasts and along her arms. She could almost feel his touch on her
as he walked his attention around her body, her whole body, and back up to her
face once more.
Fun and attractive. His
earlier compliment flashed back into her mind, and she smiled to herself.
And yet he didn't take the
flirting any further. They finished the bottle of wine, and ate their way
through a mountain of tapas. Emily found herself more and more on edge, waiting
for his next move. It never came. His leg remained pressed against hers, and
his gaze smouldered at her, but that was all. Every movement of his body, every
lick of his lips, tormented her with potential that was never realised and her
anticipation grew to fever pitch. When he reached out to hook a piece of bread
from near her plate, and his fingers brushed close to her arm, she felt all the
hairs on her neck rise up. But his hand didn't deviate from its course, and she
was left tense and wanting, with a pulsing deep in her belly.
Eventually, head spinning with
wine and lust, she allowed him to lead her out of the tapas bar and onto the
bustling quayside. Throbbing music unfurled from every building, mixing with
the shouts and laughter of the revellers as they span past. A siren blared, the
blue lights echoing from the neon-splashed walls. High-vis jackets, cat calls,
tempers flaring and fading in the ebb and flow of a Friday night.
"Whoa, this is crazy,"
Turner muttered, his head turned so that his breath ruffled across the top of
her hair. He wrapped his right arm around her, tightly drawing her into the
protected space of his body. She leaned in to him gratefully as he plunged
through the crowds, heading for the quieter streets away from the main
thoroughfares.
"That's better."
The noise was dulled by the angle
of the wall as he took her along a back street, and then another, working by
degrees in the direction of Manchester City Centre. It was a three-mile walk,
and Emily slowed, trying to get her bearings and look for a bus or a taxi.
Turner slowed too, matching her
pace. "Even for me, when I first got out of prison, this was just
terrifying. All the noise, I mean. My mates decided I needed to celebrate my
release and they took me on a night out. I couldn't tell them how scary it all
was."
"So what did you do?"
Emily nestled against him as they walked.
"Drank until I didn't
care."
"Oh."
Without warning, he stopped, and
pushed her back against a wall. His arms went either side of her shoulders, but
his body didn't quite touch hers. He kept himself a few inches away from her,
but his eyes pinned her as effectively as any force would have done. She quaked
at his sudden movement, but stayed still, her arms by her sides. She could have
pushed him away, and wriggled out under his upraised arms, and fled into the
night. Instead, she was fighting the urge to wrap her arms around him and pull
him even closer. Conflicted between what she thought she ought to do, and what
she wanted to do, she couldn't move at all.
"But not tonight," he
said, enigmatically.
"What?"
"Tonight. I haven't drunk
until I didn't care. Maybe I should. I've just drunk enough for this."
Before she could question or
challenge him, his lips were on hers, and her body just took over in primal
response. A small logical voice was still asking for more details, way back in
her mind, but she ignored it. She thrust her chest upwards, against him, as her
hands went first to his hips and then
that the events were spiralling out of her control, as Turner's lower leg began
to press against hers under the table.
She moved her leg out of the way,
but smiled up at him to soften her rejection. He was unfazed, and topped up her
wine glass once more. Wait, when did it even get empty? She had to slow
down.
Once more his leg was against
hers, hard and warm. This time she didn't move away. She met his eyes, and as
soon as she did so, he shifted his gaze to her neck, then her shoulders, and
down to her breasts and along her arms. She could almost feel his touch on her
as he walked his attention around her body, her whole body, and back up to her
face once more.
Fun and attractive. His
earlier compliment flashed back into her mind, and she smiled to herself.
And yet he didn't take the
flirting any further. They finished the bottle of wine, and ate their way
through a mountain of tapas. Emily found herself more and more on edge, waiting
for his next move. It never came. His leg remained pressed against hers, and
his gaze smouldered at her, but that was all. Every movement of his body, every
lick of his lips, tormented her with potential that was never realised and her
anticipation grew to fever pitch. When he reached out to hook a piece of bread
from near her plate, and his fingers brushed close to her arm, she felt all the
hairs on her neck rise up. But his hand didn't deviate from its course, and she
was left tense and wanting, with a pulsing deep in her belly.
Eventually, head spinning with
wine and lust, she allowed him to lead her out of the tapas bar and onto the
bustling quayside. Throbbing music unfurled from every building, mixing with
the shouts and laughter of the revellers as they span past. A siren blared, the
blue lights echoing from the neon-splashed walls. High-vis jackets, cat calls,
tempers flaring and fading in the ebb and flow of a Friday night.
"Whoa, this is crazy,"
Turner muttered, his head turned so that his breath ruffled across the top of
her hair. He wrapped his right arm around her, tightly drawing her into the
protected space of his body. She leaned in to him gratefully as he plunged
through the crowds, heading for the quieter streets away from the main
thoroughfares.
"That's better."
The noise was dulled by the angle
of the wall as he took her along a back street, and then another, working by
degrees in the direction of Manchester City Centre. It was a three-mile walk,
and Emily slowed, trying to get her bearings and look for a bus or a taxi.
Turner slowed too, matching her
pace. "Even for me, when I first got out of prison, this was just
terrifying. All the noise, I mean. My mates decided I needed to celebrate my
release and they took me on a night out. I couldn't tell them how scary it all
was."
"So what did you do?"
Emily nestled against him as they walked.
"Drank until I didn't
care."
"Oh."
Without warning, he stopped, and
pushed her back against a wall. His arms went either side of her shoulders, but
his body didn't quite touch hers. He kept himself a few inches away from her,
but his eyes pinned her as effectively as any force would have done. She quaked
at his sudden movement, but stayed still, her arms by her sides. She could have
pushed him away, and wriggled out under his upraised arms, and fled into the
night. Instead, she was fighting the urge to wrap her arms around him and pull
him even closer. Conflicted between what she thought she ought to do, and what
she wanted to do, she couldn't move at all.
"But not tonight," he
said, enigmatically.
"What?"
"Tonight. I haven't drunk
until I didn't care. Maybe I should. I've just drunk enough for this."
Before she could question or
challenge him, his lips were on hers, and her body just took over in primal
response. A small logical voice was still asking for more details, way back in
her mind, but she ignored it. She thrust her chest upwards, against him, as her
hands went first to his hips and then
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