Read Online Spice and Secrets by Suleikha Snyder - Free Book Online
Authors: Suleikha Snyder
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shrug wasn’t as carefree as she wanted him to believe. There was a tremor behind it, and her fists were clenched, knuckles white. “I can make love to you if it means keeping our show running smooth, but that is all it is. A deal. A time-pass.”
Liar. He smiled at her, the smug, officious smile that he knew drove her crazy. “Then you have two choices, darling: You can walk out that door and pretend we didn’t just break every law on the books about sexual harassment in the workplace…or you can take the left into my bedroom, where you’ve precisely one minute before I come in and tear your clothes off.”
She wasn’t quite good enough to hide the flinch, the widening of her eyes…and the sharp intake of breath that told him she wanted him just as desperately as he wanted her. And she knew it. So she swiftly turned away from him—and turned left.
She’d done it. She’d actually gone and bloody done it…and now she was standing in Davey Shaw’s bedroom, staring at the smokes on his night table instead of the wide expanse of his bed. Sunita didn’t know what demon had possessed her: making her come to his flat and then speaking from her throat as calmly as if they were discussing a business arrangement and not the prospect of having sex.
Jai had begged her to get a life, to have fun, to make room . What she was more than likely making was the world’s second biggest mistake—the first being Sam. But she hadn’t chosen the door, had she? Bas . The decision was done. Sunny lit a cigarette with a shaking hand before placing the pack and matches back on the nightstand. She counted in her head to thirty, inhaling and exhaling so frenetically that she was nearly down to the filter before twenty-five. Before the last number was even a thought, the bedroom door banged like a gunshot.
“Sunita.” Davey stood there on the threshold, that damned handsome, English face of his so smug and beautiful and his voice a husky growl. The way he said her name was maddening. It skipped off his tongue in three distinct syllables, like Lolita. Sue-knee-ta. So completely wrong, so lacking in flow and softness, and yet it made her pulse heat.
She stubbed out the cigarette in the waiting ashtray, wondering with a sudden bit of internal hysteria if she should pop a Chiclet before she kissed him. She’d never bothered with Sam…they’d both done plenty of damage to their lungs before doing damage to each other…and it had been so long since she’d slept with anyone else that she’d given no thought to the occasional nervous smoke. God , she was nervous now. And he was so…so British.
He crossed the room in two strides. “Sunita, you’re going to think yourself right out of this. Stop it.” His fingers closed around the end of her dupatta , pulling the cloth from her shoulders. Despite his earlier threat, he didn’t tear it; he only tugged, letting the scarf fall across the floor like a wave of yellow silk. And he didn’t let her hesitate, or allow her to continue puzzling over more irrelevant details. He just wrapped her in his arms and bent to kiss her, laughing softly when he tasted the smoke. He, too, tasted faintly of ash. “They are , after all, mine, darling…and, tonight, so are you.”
I’m no one’s , a faint voice in the back of her head cried out. But the harder, wilder press of his mouth silenced it. And, all of a sudden, it was not Davey Shaw doing the ripping of clothes. Nahin . It was her. Sunny pulled his shirt from its loose tuck into his waistband, practically popping the buttons from their threads as she undid it and pushed it off his shoulders. He was broad-shouldered but otherwise lean, tanned by the Mumbai sun. A light dusting of fair hair clung to the muscled expanse of his chest. Sunny wanted to mark him, to bite him and claw him, stamping him as her hunt for the night, but doing so would mean breaking their kisses…and that was impossible. Davey kissed her like he honestly meant it.
Liar. He smiled at her, the smug, officious smile that he knew drove her crazy. “Then you have two choices, darling: You can walk out that door and pretend we didn’t just break every law on the books about sexual harassment in the workplace…or you can take the left into my bedroom, where you’ve precisely one minute before I come in and tear your clothes off.”
She wasn’t quite good enough to hide the flinch, the widening of her eyes…and the sharp intake of breath that told him she wanted him just as desperately as he wanted her. And she knew it. So she swiftly turned away from him—and turned left.
She’d done it. She’d actually gone and bloody done it…and now she was standing in Davey Shaw’s bedroom, staring at the smokes on his night table instead of the wide expanse of his bed. Sunita didn’t know what demon had possessed her: making her come to his flat and then speaking from her throat as calmly as if they were discussing a business arrangement and not the prospect of having sex.
Jai had begged her to get a life, to have fun, to make room . What she was more than likely making was the world’s second biggest mistake—the first being Sam. But she hadn’t chosen the door, had she? Bas . The decision was done. Sunny lit a cigarette with a shaking hand before placing the pack and matches back on the nightstand. She counted in her head to thirty, inhaling and exhaling so frenetically that she was nearly down to the filter before twenty-five. Before the last number was even a thought, the bedroom door banged like a gunshot.
“Sunita.” Davey stood there on the threshold, that damned handsome, English face of his so smug and beautiful and his voice a husky growl. The way he said her name was maddening. It skipped off his tongue in three distinct syllables, like Lolita. Sue-knee-ta. So completely wrong, so lacking in flow and softness, and yet it made her pulse heat.
She stubbed out the cigarette in the waiting ashtray, wondering with a sudden bit of internal hysteria if she should pop a Chiclet before she kissed him. She’d never bothered with Sam…they’d both done plenty of damage to their lungs before doing damage to each other…and it had been so long since she’d slept with anyone else that she’d given no thought to the occasional nervous smoke. God , she was nervous now. And he was so…so British.
He crossed the room in two strides. “Sunita, you’re going to think yourself right out of this. Stop it.” His fingers closed around the end of her dupatta , pulling the cloth from her shoulders. Despite his earlier threat, he didn’t tear it; he only tugged, letting the scarf fall across the floor like a wave of yellow silk. And he didn’t let her hesitate, or allow her to continue puzzling over more irrelevant details. He just wrapped her in his arms and bent to kiss her, laughing softly when he tasted the smoke. He, too, tasted faintly of ash. “They are , after all, mine, darling…and, tonight, so are you.”
I’m no one’s , a faint voice in the back of her head cried out. But the harder, wilder press of his mouth silenced it. And, all of a sudden, it was not Davey Shaw doing the ripping of clothes. Nahin . It was her. Sunny pulled his shirt from its loose tuck into his waistband, practically popping the buttons from their threads as she undid it and pushed it off his shoulders. He was broad-shouldered but otherwise lean, tanned by the Mumbai sun. A light dusting of fair hair clung to the muscled expanse of his chest. Sunny wanted to mark him, to bite him and claw him, stamping him as her hunt for the night, but doing so would mean breaking their kisses…and that was impossible. Davey kissed her like he honestly meant it.
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