Chapter 39
1590words
Shock slammed into her heart.
Peter Ramsey was standing at the end of the bed, watching her, a satisfied little smile lurking on his lips, his hair wet, slicked back, his blue eyes taking their fill of her, his magnificent body unashamedly naked except for a white towel slung over one shoulder.
He was definitely real.
And she was in his bed, his apartment at Bondi Beach .
Memories of all they'd done together last night flooded through Erin's mind.
Her vaginal muscles instantly squinched, recalling the incredible pleasure of one amazing climax after another. It had been so fantastic, but…what happens now?
'Sleeping beauty awakes," Peter drawled in an indulgent tone."You could have waited for my kiss."
Relief poured into her smile. He wasn't setting their fantasy aside yet.
Maybe there would be more than one night. Lots of nights."I haven't slept for a hundred years, have I?" she tossed back at him, wondering what time it was and if he had any plans for today—plans that included her.
'No. But it's time you were up if you want to come to the races with me." 'Races?"
'I have a horse running at Randwick this afternoon. It's her maiden race and I said I'd be there to watch."
Horse-racing! Erin recollected he'd met with his trainer yesterday morning.
Billionaire playground, she thought. It had never been a part of her world but she was up for any new experience shared with this man. More adventure.
Colourful, too.
'Do people dress up for Randwick as much as they do for the Melbourne Cup?" she asked, having watched what was always billed as 'The Race That Stops A Nation" on television. It was a huge fashion scene.
'Don't worry about that," he said, arrogantly dismissive of the clothes
aspect, strolling around the bed to sit beside her, smiling as he stroked the mussed tresses of her hair away from her face."I'll dress you like a princess."
The connection to their fantasy didn't work for Erin this time. It was okay for Peter to invite her to go along with him. She wanted to. But dressing her… did he mean what she thought he meant?
'How do you intend to do that?" she asked warily.
He shrugged."I'm acquainted with the top designers in Sydney. All it takes is a call to get something suitable brought here. What style of clothes appeals to you…Lisa Ho, Peter Morrisey, Colette Dinnegan …?"
He hung the celebrity names out with such a blasé air of confidence, Erin felt herself bridling against his assumption that she would fall in with his plan— be his mannequin—because he had the power and the wealth to dress her any way he pleased.
'No, thank you," she said decisively.
'No?" The caressing hand stilled. He frowned in disbelief."You're saying
no?"
His eyes blazed into hers, determined on reigniting the intimate connection
they had made last night. It had been good…great…incredibly fantastic…and her body instantly rebelled against any negative dictate that might end it right here. She wanted to be with him, wanted what they'd shared to continue, yet some gritty part of her brain would not let her be taken over or made over by anyone.
If Peter thought he could buy her compliance…where was any respect for her in that?
'You don't own me, Peter," she said quietly."Last night I chose to be with you and I still have the right to choose what works for me."
His frown deepened."You can't want to end it now."
They were fighting words. He was gearing up to battle any barrier she threw at him. Which was certainly proof that he cared about keeping her, though whether that was for the sex or driven by an attraction on a deeper level, Erin couldn't tell.
The tension emanating from him tore along her own nerves. She didn't want to be in conflict with this man. He was special. Uniquely special. But this was real life now, not an impulsive adventure, and real life had taught her that any kind of domination was bad.
She'd had too many experiences with men who expected her to fall into line with them, following wherever they led, not even considering or respecting the
fact that she had a mind of her own—a mind that would not play second fiddle to anyone else's. As powerful as Peter Ramsey undoubtedly was, Erin was not about to crumble under his will.
'I'd be happy to accompany you to the races, but not as your doll," she said determinedly.
'Doll?"
He didn't like the description, but Erin couldn't think of anything more apt.
They weren't 'clicking" this morning. Maybe it was only fantasy that had brought about the 'click" last night. Disappointment cramped her heart. She couldn't stay in his bed if he didn't respect the person she was.
'I can dress myself, Peter. I was just checking with you what would be suitable for the occasion."
He grimaced, annoyed at not having read the stand she was making. The laser blue eyes softened with apologetic appeal."I only meant to smooth the way, not offend you, Erin. I didn't want you to feel out of place with the people who'll be there."
Protecting her?
The knots in her stomach loosened. That wasn't so bad. But the means of doing it was unacceptable. And there could be another motive behind his intention to put her in designer clothes."You think I might shame you in front of them?" she challenged, watching his eyes to see if she'd hit a chord of pride.
Cinderella was fine for the bedroom but not to be paraded out in public?
His chin lifted in dismissive scorn."I wouldn't care if you wear jeans." A cynical mockery glittered in his eyes."It's the women who enjoy pecking other women apart. It didn't seem like a good idea to subject you to that, but if you can let it float over your head…"
'Fine!" A joyous relief poured into a smile so wide Peter looked as though he was completely thrown by it."What time is it?" she asked.
'Almost nine," he answered somewhat absently. 'And what time do we have to be at the races?" 'About noon."
'I can do it." She hurled off the bedclothes, leapt out of bed and headed for a door, which stood ajar and obviously led to an ensuite bathroom."Would you call me a taxi, Peter?" she tossed over her shoulder."I'll be showered and dressed, ready to go in fifteen minutes."
'Go where?" He was on his feet, ready to take preventative action if he didn't like her reply.
Definitely a warrior, Erin thought, happily revelling in the secure knowledge that Peter Ramsey was not about to accept an ending to their relationship at this point and didn't care what anyone else thought of it.
'To David Jones in Elizabeth Street," she instructed. It was the classiest department store in Sydney. A couple of hours' shopping would see her dressed to the nines, nobody's fool at Randwick Racecourse."You can pick me up at the taxi rank outside the store at eleven-thirty."
Peter's whole body clenched with frustration as she walked towards the bathroom, her black silky bedmussed hair tumbling over her shoulders, the sexy curve of her spine drawing his gaze down to the even sexier derriere, its voluptuous sway reminding him of how provocatively exciting it had been last night. And the supple strength in those long legs…winding around him, inviting, inciting a possession which she now denied.
You don't own me.
He'd meant to have her again this morning. The sight of her stretching so sensuously had paused him short of the bed, desire for her kicking in so strongly he was amazed by how deeply she stirred him. Then seeing her initial shock at the recollection of where she was, he'd thought a quick assurance that what they'd shared was not a one-night aberration on his part would please her.
The hell of it was, he still wasn't sure he'd recovered the ground he'd lost with the clothes issue.
You don't own me.
The urge to stride into the bathroom and make her his again was burning through him—kiss her until passion exploded between them and she was happy for them to spend the whole day in bed together. Forget the damned horse and its maiden race! He didn't want anything getting in the way of what he'd found with Erin Lavelle .
But his rational mind warned that sex might not hold her. His wealth wouldn't hold her, either. There'd been no lure whatsoever in having designer gear freely showered on her. Quite the contrary. She hadn't liked that idea one bit. Hadn't even flirted with it for a moment. Erin Lavelle was up and running her way and that proud streak of independence in her was not about to bend.
Okay, so roll with her plan. But no taxi.
He'd drive her to David Jones himself, talk with her on the way, make sure she wasn't running out on him. Peter frowned over that thought as he strode into his dressing room to throw on some clothes. Women invariably hung onto him as
long as they could. Why was he feeling a lack of confidence in Erin's interest in him?
