“Like what?”

“Like . . .” He slides into me again and his eyes roll back in his head.

I want to cut him off; I don’t want to hear what he has to say.

I know damn well how I was looking at him.

With ownership.

“Like I’m about to fuck your brains out?” I ask as I lift from his dick and slide it in deep as a distraction.

His knees rise as he takes me, overwhelmed by the sensation of our bodies locking together.

“Don’t open your mouth to say anything other than how hard you’re going to fuck me,” I whisper.

He chuckles and grabs my hip bones. “Yes ma’am.”

I smile down at him.

“What?” he grinds out.

“You sound so American when you say ‘yes ma’am.’”

“Funny that, seeing as I am a fucking American.” He lifts me up and slams me back down and I scrunch my face up to stop myself from crying out.

Oh God . . . that’s so good . . . too good.

“No.” I bend down and bite his lip. “I’m the one fucking an American.”

He chuckles and slaps my behind, with a crack as his hand connects. “Do it harder.”

We fall into a rhythm, and every now and then he lifts me too high and our skin slaps out loud.

“Sshh,” I whisper as I glance at the door. I grind down hard again, it’s quieter this way.

The feeling builds until it gets to fever pitch and I close my eyes to block him out. I can’t look down at him when I feel like this.

“Open,” he whispers.

I ignore him.

He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me down to his face. “Open your fucking eyes and look at me while you come.”

I drag my eyes open, only millimeters from his face, and we stare at each other.

Frantic, animalistic, depraved.

He’s moving at piston pace, my body wet and open for him. He reaches up and bites my lip as he jerks violently inside of me. “Oww,” I whimper.

His hands hold me close and I shudder as I come hard.

He moves back from me and he licks his lips as if still hungry, his gaze dark and dangerous.

So different from the carefree man who brought me into this room.

Uneasiness creeps over me. Dear God, who am I sleeping with?

There are two versions of Elliot Miles.

Chapter 13

My chest rises and falls as I struggle for air and I fall onto Elliot’s chest. He tucks me safely under his arm and kisses my temple, and we lie in comfortable silence for a while.

I look up at him. “How many people have you slept with?”

“I don’t know.” He drags his hand down his face. “A lot.” His eyes meet mine. “Why? How many have you slept with?” he asks.

I trail my finger in a circle on his chest; why did I ask? Now this is probably going to make me sound lame. “Seven.”

A frown crosses his face. “Seven?”

I nod.

“Including me?”

I nod.

“Oh . . .” He pulls me close and I feel his smile as he kisses my forehead.

“What does ‘oh’ mean?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Surprising, that’s all.”

“Why is it surprising?”

“I think I was at seven while I was in my teens.”

“That’s ’cause you’re a man whore.”

He chuckles. “Could have something to do with it.”

I lean up on my elbow so I can see his face. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.” He gives me a breathtaking smile as he reaches up and twists a piece of my hair as it curls. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

He frowns.

“What?” I ask.

“So . . . you’re seven years younger than me, I’m the seventh person you slept with, and you’re twenty-seven?”

I smile goofily as he does the math.

“When is your birthday?” he asks.

“Seventeenth of July.”

“What?” He sits up against the headboard. “Bullshit.”

“I swear.”

“The seventeenth of the seventh?”

I laugh. “Aha.”

He stares at me and I watch as his frown turns into a slow, sexy smile.

“What?”

“Your number is seven.”

“What does that mean?”

“Seven is the number of the gods, it’s magical.”

“What, since when?” I smile. “How do you know that?”

“Numerology. Google it.”

I lie down on my back. “Well, I don’t feel very magical.”

He rolls over on top of me and holds my hands over my head. “I’ll be the judge of that.” His lips drop to my neck and he begins to nibble his way down my body.

“Numerology doesn’t refer to my vagina, Elliot.” I giggle softly.

He takes my nipple between his teeth. “Yes it does.”

The hired car pulls into the driveway and I peer out of the window at the house before us. It’s white and traditional, with a large wraparound veranda and beautiful well-kept gardens. The driver stops the car and gets out to unload the luggage from the trunk.

Elliot dips his head to look in. “It seems okay.”

“You’ve never been here before?” I ask.

“No, but a friend of Tristan’s has, he said it was nice.”

I smile and hunch my shoulders in excitement. “Anywhere will do. I don’t care if we go camping. Maybe next time we can?”

“Yeah, okay.” He chuckles as he opens the door. “My brother has told me all about camping, I’ll meet you there.”

I smile: that’s code for I’m never going camping.

We get out of the car and Elliot tips the driver, and then he wheels our two suitcases up the path to the house.

The front door opens and a man comes into view. He’s wearing a white uniform that looks like scrubs. He’s elderly, perhaps in his sixties. “Hello Mr. Miles.” He speaks in a strong accent. His hair is dark and he’s quite handsome for his age.

“Hello.” Elliot shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“My name is Henley and I’m the caretaker of Brogana. Welcome.”

Elliot gestures to me. “This is Kathryn.”

“Hello.” I smile and I shake his hand.

“Come in, come in.” He gestures to the house as he walks in; we follow him inside and my breath is stolen.

“Wow,” I whisper in awe.

Elliot’s face breaks into a broad smile as he looks around. Everything is white and the furnishings are a dark timber, in the antique style. There are huge rugs in bold colors and abstract art is hung. The entire back wall is glass bi-fold doors with a breathtaking view over the beach and sea. A huge deep-blue infinity pool is by the deck. This place is out of this world.

“There’s a private track through that gate that leads down to the beach,” Henley says as he gestures to an antique-looking gate to the left. “The bedrooms, bathrooms, and gymnasium are down the corridor and you have twenty-four-hour room service—there are staff in the quarters on the property that are at your beck and call. If there is anything that you need, please just ring the bell.” He hands a remote to Elliot. “I hope the property is to your standard, sir.”