Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(9)

“Where are you staying?” I look up at him.

“The Athena.”

Of course, he is staying in the five hundred quid a night five-star resort. “I thought you were staying on a boat?”

“I’m between the hotel and the yacht.”

One half of the world doesn’t know how the other half is living. Some people are living between houses. This guy? He’s living between a five-star hotel and a yacht. I shake my head in disbelief.

“Do you usually walk home with your friend?” He frowns as we pass a few dubious characters lying on the curb. “These streets aren’t safe this late at night. This isn’t the best part of town.”

“Yes. She usually walks back with me to our place of residence.” I groan. “Only the cockroaches call it home.”

“Here we are,” I say.

He stares gobsmacked at the decaying apartment block with rubbish littering the doorways and dirty blankets dangling from the windows. “Now I understand why people prefer to sleep on the pavement.”

I’m mortified but also amused. “It’s cheap. We pay fifty euros a week for a studio.”

“You sleep here?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m backpacking, Tristan. It’s fine. Don’t you remember backpacking?”

“Not in this decade,” he says dryly. “I’m nearly forty.”

“Okay, don’t you remember being young then?” I tease.

“Cheeky.”

“Do you want to come up?” I ask tentatively, wondering if I can persuade the cockroaches to give me some privacy…or Megan to stop moaning.

“Absolutely not.” He makes a face. “But I’m not leaving you here either. Can I pay for a hotel for you?”

“No!” I shriek indignantly.

We shuffle awkwardly as we dance around what will happen next. This is it. He either says goodnight or he makes a move. Our eyes lock, and I angle my body towards him.

He steps back.

“Wait.” I grab his arm and smash my body into his wall of hard muscle.

His brow furrows and he actually shudders.

My cheeks burn with rejection.

Just as I’m about to step back, his face presses down to touch my forehead, and his open mouth comes down onto mine.

I open my mouth, too desperate and eager, and like I’ve opened a floodgate, his mouth takes hungry possession of mine. I press my body flush against Tristan, thrilled to find a growing hardness pushing against my stomach.

His hand grips the back of my head as his tongue invades my mouth with urgency now.

My thighs part and I wrap my arms around his muscular waist so I can press his bulge closer against me. Oh, that feels like something I want.

In response, he groans into my mouth, kissing me like he hasn’t kissed a woman in years. Then as quickly as it starts, he breaks away, looking at me for so long I think he’s going to say goodnight and leave me here.

I stare back at him with unashamed begging in my eyes.

“Would you like to come back to my hotel?” he asks quietly. “There’s a private beach. We can go for a walk on it. I can get you back safely here afterwards.”

“Sure,” I choke out. “Walking is fun.” My head warns me not to follow a strange guy to his hotel, but my body is ready to mount him like a jockey.

He takes my hand and leads me through the streets towards the posh side of town. The Athena is about twenty minutes away and, as we walk, his thumb draws teasing circles on my palm. It is a delicate movement that sends shockwaves directly between my thighs. By the time we reach the Athena, I’m at boiling point. I’m barely able to focus on what he is saying.

The Athena is perched high on a hill overlooking secluded beaches, blending in seamlessly with the landscape of whitewashed houses dotted along the Mediterranean coastline. Golden streetlights bounce off the water and the buildings in the darkness, creating shades of orange.

I gasp. “I wish I had my camera with me.”

“I doubt you’d get a good shot in this poor light though.”

“I invested in a good lens for night photography,” I explain. “I did a photography evening course last year at uni and I’ve been chasing the perfect night photo ever since. It’s one of the reasons we decided on the Greek islands, it’s such a beautiful landscape.”

“I would love to see some of your photos sometime.” Sometime hangs in the air. “Translator, trainee lawyer, photographer, a woman of many talents.” His eyes crinkle. “Maybe not bartending.”

I slap him on the chest. “You haven’t seen all my talents yet,” I return, winking. Christ, Megan would be proud of that one.

Caught off guard, his brows rise. “Come on, trouble, I’ll show you the best beach on the island.”

“Holy shit!” I say too loudly as he leads me through the hotel lobby. A few hotel staff look on, disapprovingly. “This place…I can’t imagine staying here.”

We walk out the exit door to the secluded beach where dark waves are crashing in the moonlight. I make a mental note to tell Megan I’ve found the perfect beach for nooky.

“I prefer the sea at night,” I muse. “Megan and I did a night kayak when we first arrived. It was amazing. You must spend all your time in the water here.”