Any Way You Want It (Brand Clan #2)(60)

They’d kissed frantically, panting hotly into each other’s mouths as he thrust into her. Deeper and deeper, harder and faster until his hips were surging so powerfully that her breasts bounced inside her bra and her bound hands kept slapping the wall.

Only when they exploded together did he groan. A raw, primal groan that reverberated throughout the stairwell and sent chills down her spine.

And that was how she and Remy had kicked off their first day in London.

Shagging in a hotel stairwell.

Zandra chuckled wickedly at the memory as she strolled down the busy street, clit pulsing between her thighs. Since she’d been banished from the conference, she’d decided to treat herself to a leisurely morning of roaming London’s swanky shopping districts—an activity Remy wouldn’t have enjoyed anyway.

She was standing outside a boutique admiring a silk sarong dress worn by the mannequin in the window when a man’s reflection joined hers in the glass.

“Zandra?”

She turned around. Her eyes widened in stunned recognition. “Heath?”

He nodded slowly, staring at her.

“Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed.

They moved toward each other and hugged.

“I can’t believe it’s you.” Heath Upshaw held Zandra at arm’s length and gave her an appreciative twice-over. “You look wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”

“Thank you, Heath.” Zandra wished she could return the compliment, but his handsome face had grown gaunt, the cheeks hollowed so that his gray eyes looked sunken.

She frowned, touching his face. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Too much?”

She nodded.

He smiled ruefully. “That’s because I haven’t had you around to look after me and fatten me up.”

She smiled, but only briefly. “Are you well?”

His smile dimmed. “As well as can be expected. I had colon cancer.”

“Oh, Heath,” Zandra whispered, stricken. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right. It’s in remission, and my prognosis is promising.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “I know I don’t resemble the strapping young lad you met thirteen years ago.”

Zandra smiled, because they both knew he’d never been what you’d call physically imposing. He was tall, yes, but too elegantly slender to ever be considered anything that approached strapping.

His gray eyes roamed her face, returning her silent appraisal. “How have you been, Zandra?”

She smiled softly. “I’m well.”

“I can see that. And you’re in love.”

His words startled her.

She stared at him. “Wh-what?”

A quiet smile touched his mouth. “Is he here?”

“Who?”

“The lucky fellow who put that glow on your face, the twinkle in your eye. The one you’re in love with. Is he here with you?”

“No. I mean, um, not at the moment. He’s, um, at a conference.” Zandra was flustered. And stunned.

In love with Remy?

“Heath, I—”

“Come along,” he said, tucking her hand through his arm. “Let’s sit down somewhere and talk. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Zandra smiled weakly. “Ten years’ worth,” she murmured as they set off for the nearest café.

Heath was one of the employers she’d had while attending Oxford. They met one afternoon while she was working at a museum of sex in the East End. Heath was part of her tour group, and he’d seemed more fascinated by her than her animated spiel on ancient Japanese dildos. She was nineteen years old and no stranger to male attention, though her sexual experiences up to that point had been limited to a few unsatisfying romps with two fellow students.

Heath was an older man, thirty-four at the time. His maturity and quiet elegance had appealed to Zandra, and something about his slow smile had reminded her of Richard Gere’s. When he asked her out for coffee at the end of her shift, she’d accepted.

Heath was an affluent businessman who’d lost his wife to a car accident three years earlier. Zandra could empathize with his grief, having lost her grandmother that past winter. She’d sensed that Heath, like her, felt lost and lonely more often than he admitted to others. So it was no wonder that they’d struck up an immediate friendship.

Over the next two years, he would take her to the finest restaurants, the opera, the ballet, Wimbledon tournaments, you name it. He was intelligent, cultured and worldly, and they thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company.

Several months after they met, she’d quit her job at the museum to become Heath’s personal assistant, earning twice what she’d been making before. She efficiently managed his busy schedule, ran his errands, even hosted dinner parties for him while juggling her academic workload. Her friends had teased her about having a sugar daddy, but she’d never accepted lavish gifts from Heath, and they weren’t lovers.

At least not at first.

One evening after class she’d arrived at his town house in Belgravia to find him in his study, sobbing over his wife’s picture. It had fallen off his desk, shattering the glass inside the silver frame.

Moved with compassion, Zandra had rushed to his side and folded him into her arms, holding and comforting him as he wept.