CHANCE OF A LIFETIME - Portia Da Costa
When Rose takes a temporary job at a dilapidated stately home, while waiting to pursue her dream career in the Caribbean, she doesn't expect to get involved with her mysterious, attractive and rather kinky boss... The Marquis.
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At seven o’clock, I’m staring at the door to the little sitting room. It was half in my mind not to turn up. To try and pretend that what happened beyond that slab of oak never happened. But doing that would be to miss… well… miss the chance of a lifetime. I might never meet a man again who’s into the things that the Marquis is, and I might go through life having perfectly ordinary, perfectly satisfactory sex, but still wondering what it would have been like to try the extraordinary kind with spanking and strange mind-games.
I knock as firmly as I can on the door, and immediately that deep, clear voice calls out “Enter!” from within. Crikey, he already sounds like a stern schoolmaster summoning his tardy pupil.
I tremble.
But there’s nothing fearsome or intimidating when I step into the room and close the door behind me. It’s cozy and welcoming, with a nice little fire burning in the grate to ward off the unseasonal damp chill. The thick curtains are drawn, and soft lamps emit a friendly golden glow that flatters the fine old furniture and makes it gleam.
It flatters the Marquis too, not that he needs it. He looks stunning.
He’s in all in black again, as ever. Tight black jeans embrace his long legs, and the splendid lean musculature of his thighs and his backside. As he rises to his feet from the depths of one of the armchairs, I imagine, for a fleeting second, spanking him!
Blood fills my cheeks in a raging blush, and I falter and hang back. A huge waft of guilt rushes through me at even thinking that. I open my mouth, but I can’t speak, and he smiles at me.
“Come on in, Rose. Would you like a drink?” I notice that he has a glass with something clear and icy set on a little table beside his chair. Vodka? Water? Gin? Who knows...
“Um... er... yes.” I flick my glance to the sideboard and a few bottles, but I can’t seem to compute what’s there so I just say, “Whatever you’re having... please.
“Good choice... and do sit down.” He gesture like Renaissance courtier towards a free chair by the fire, and watches me as I make my way there, terrified I’ll trip or something, despite the fact my heels aren’t high or spindly.
I take my seat, and watch him mix my drink, swiftly combining clear spirit, ice, mixer and a sliver of lemon. He prepares the concoction perfectly, despite the fact that he’s studying me intently almost all the time.
I’ve dressed carefully.
Jeans are awkward to wriggle out of, especially if you’ve got a curvy bottom like mine, so I’ve chosen a soft, full summer skirt that almost sweeps the floor. A mini skirt would be too obvious, not lady-like and as I’m here with an aristocrat, I’m compelled to make an effort to be worthy of him.
On my top half I’ve got a little buttoned camisole, pink to match the skirt, and a light cotton cardigan over that, to keep out the chills. My shoes are low-heeled and quite pretty, and underneath I’m wearing my best and sexiest underwear.
I aim to please...
The Marquis comes across and hands me my drink, then retreats to his own chair. There’s a moment of silence, tense for me, but apparently totally relaxed for him, and I snatch the opportunity to feast my eyes on his gorgeousness.
He sits so elegantly, even though he’s totally at ease. Long legs out in front of him, booted feet crossed.
Boots?
Hell, yes! They do something visceral inside me. They make me shudder and my sex clench and seem to twist and flutter with their connotations of masterfulness. They’re old and soft and well polished and not all that tall, but all the same, I almost feel faint just looking at them.
And I get mostly the same feeling from the rest of him.
He’s got the most exquisite black silk shirt on, full of sleeve and so fluid it seems to float on his body. The collar’s fastened up for the moment, but I have the most intense urge to crawl on my hands and knees across the room and rip it open so I can kiss his throat and his chest and suck his nipples.
And not just his nipples.
His thick black hair is shiny with a fresh washed satin-sheen and his fine boned face has the delicious gleam of a recent shave.
Bless him, he’s made as much of an effort for me as I have for him. Another reason to worship and adore him.
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CHANCE OF A LIFETIME is part of the 12 Shades of Surrender promotion by Mills and Boon.
Available from eHarlequin, Mills & Boon, Books on Board,Fictionwise, All Romance eBooks, Diesel eBook Store, Amazon Kindle UK, Amazon Kindle and Sony Ebook Store.
