LITMIR.BIZ

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flashed across his face. She had a weird blip of pleasure in seeing that her admission pleased him.

      ‘Why?’

      ‘You’re not my type.’

      ‘I’m not?’ He looked disbelieving.

      It made her all the more determined. Coldly she reinforced her reply. ‘Not at all.’

      She turned on her heel, went to the sink and started rinsing dishes.

      At a far more leisurely pace he followed, coming to stand too close, again. And his questions were too close too. ‘When did you last get any? You’re looking way too uptight.’

      Astounded, she turned. ‘You are sailing dangerously close to the wind.’

      ‘Hmm. I like a little dangerous.’

      She let her look say it all. Only he seemed to find it amusing rather than quelling. He leaned across, his hand trapping hers on the tap as he spoke low and tauntingly in her ear.

      ‘You know what you need? You need a good hard—’

      She yanked her hand out from under his. ‘Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.’

      ‘What was I going to say?’ He looked all innocence again—the devilish rake disappearing in a disarming smile.

      ‘It’s time you were leaving. My lover is due here any minute and he’s the jealous type.’

      ‘Liar.’ He laughed. ‘No jealous lover would let you loose at a man auction. No lover would leave you alone on a Saturday morning.’

      ‘Fine. No lover—jealous or otherwise. It’s still time you were leaving.’

      ‘No, it’s not.’

      ‘You are so confident, aren’t you?’ she snarled. ‘It’s a wonder your bed still stands with all the notches you’ve carved into all four legs.’

      ‘Why are you so determined to think me some sort of Don Juan?’

      ‘Well, aren’t you? Have you listened to yourself recently?’

      He chuckled, acknowledging the hit. ‘I don’t usually talk quite like this, Cally. It’s just that you make it impossible not to.’

      ‘Yeah, right.’

      ‘Look, I like to keep in shape, but I’m not the sleazy playboy you seem to think I am.’

      ‘Keep in shape? It’s a form of exercise for you?’

      He gave an outrageous grin. ‘Sometimes. It can be a wonderful stress relief, you know.’

      ‘Hasn’t anyone made it difficult for you?’

      ‘Not recently.’ He sighed. ‘OK, so I’ve had some fun in my past, but I don’t want some image-obsessed bimbo—a vacuous body too concerned with the pose she’s in to be able to give as good as she gets. That actually gets pretty boring after a while.’

      ‘To be able to give as good as she gets?’ Cally was stunned at his arrogance. ‘You really think you’re that good?’

      ‘No. But I always put my all into it and sometimes the chemistry…you can’t contain an explosion. But that kind of chemistry is rare.’ He paused. ‘This kind of chemistry.’ He inched closer, voice dropping. ‘I’m only interested in this kind of chemistry now and I haven’t encountered it in a long time.’

      ‘So, what, you’re telling me you’re celibate?’

      ‘Not entirely.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But I’m guessing you are.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘And you shouldn’t be.’

      She turned back to the sink. ‘It all comes too easy for you.’

      ‘Why not have some fun, Cally?’

      She wanted to bury her head in her hands. But it was strangely fascinating, liberating, to tackle it head-on.

      ‘When did you last have an orgasm?’ He sounded as if it were the most natural thing in the world to ask.

      She winced. Head on was right. She couldn’t believe she was leaning against her kitchen sink in the early afternoon with an almost stranger analysing her sex life.

      The last time she had an orgasm? How did she answer that?

      Cally was used to being in the minority for lots of things: in the small fraction of female entrepreneurs; the twelve per cent of the world’s population that was left-handed; well shorter than average; one of the few unfortunate enough to have a faded supermodel for a mother…and part of the small percentage of women who’d never had an orgasm during penetrative sex.

      Truth be told, Cally had never had an orgasm in any kind of sex. She’d faked it. Took her inspiration from the movies. It wasn’t that she was left cold. It was just that she’d never quite got there. She’d got close with Luc. She had. But he’d never taken the time. It had always been over just as she’d been getting warmed up.

      Of course, once she’d found out, she’d known he’d just been getting it over with. They’d only slept together a dozen or so times. A few weeks when she’d thought she was madly in love, and he’d been doing her mother a favour. Not even a favour—doing a job. Paid for and everything.

      She hadn’t tried much since. She’d kissed, and got to whatever base it was that was almost all the way there. But old insecurities were hard to let go of—that she wasn’t really attractive, that men were only interested in her because of her connections or her wealth. And once she found out the extent to which her endometriosis had hindered her chances of a family she knew she didn’t have much to offer a man.

      So Cally had decided she didn’t need a guy, didn’t need sex. She could be single and celibate and have a fabulous life—especially with her career. Most of the time she didn’t even think about it. The ability to trust men had been beaten out of her. Since Luc she’d embraced the ‘why bother’ approach wholeheartedly. And most of the time she was happy. She focused on her business, and smoothed over the scar on her heart that said husband and kids weren’t for her. That was fate. She didn’t need the grief of worrying about it any more. You didn’t miss what you’d never had—right?

      But then, occasionally, there were wants. And Blake McKay was all want for her.

      ‘I’m serious. When did you last have an all-body, all-screaming release?’

      ‘I’m not discussing that with you.’ In the split second after she’d answered the question every single doubt reared in her head and every single reason why she was single stood in her brain, itemised in a flashing neon bullet-pointed list. And, despite years of happily getting over it, getting on with it, it hurt.

      ‘You can’t even say it, can you?’

      ‘Orgasm!’ she shouted. ‘Orgasm, orgasm, orgasm, orgasm!’ She glared. ‘Satisfied?’

      ‘Not nearly.’ His grin was wide and wicked. ‘Five.’ He nodded. ‘Five times. Five times in one night.’

      She looked at him blankly.

      ‘Is what I promise you.’

      ‘You’re kidding. Five in one night?’ Transfixed, she gazed at him. ‘You really think you could?’

      ‘Like I say. Chemistry. Inevitable explosion.’

      So she was tempted—and he knew it. For one mad moment she considered it—a wild fling. Five big Os in one night—could he really? Was it even possible? Hell, if anyone could, he could. He might deny it but a playboy he was—experienced. And if nothing else mattered, if nothing was at stake—most definitely not her heart—could she be free long enough for it to happen? Hell, she didn’t need five, one would be enough.

      ‘No one ever has to know.’

      She bit hard on her lip to hold back the groan

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