THE BILLIONAIRE'S GIRLFRIEND

TEN

Malora heard the soft, thick click of the door behind her, and turned around to face him.

He stood there, tall, dark and throbbing with sexual tension.

God! How she wanted this man.

A rough sound rumbled in his throat. She recognized it. Blind, earth-shattering desire. It had been a long time since she heard it. Made her rock on her feet. He shot out a hand and pulled her hard towards him. Her body slammed into his.

Malora had the impression of stone—unmoving. It will break, but it will never bend. But she could bend. She molded her hips into his. His erection was thick and hot against her stomach. The rawness of it awakened that great beast inside her. Greedy, relentless thing. It wanted more, it wanted it all, and it wanted it right now.

Intoxicated by the smoldering fire in his eyes her hands snaked up his chest and twined around his neck, but his strong hands came up and untangled hers . He caught them in his and took them behind her back. His clasp was a firm handcuff.

Very deliberately he held her away from him and let his half-lidded eyes rove her parted mouth, her breasts—thrust out toward him and heaving, down her body, to her legs. His eyes liftes again to meet hers. She was impossibly aroused.

"I had half a dozen fantasies of what I wanted to do to you when I got you naked. Tame sex is not one of them," he said, as he plucked out the pins in her hair and flung them away. Released, her hair fell all around  face and shoulders.

"My beautiful whore. Once I was good to you and you kicked me when I was down; now you get what you deserve."

Without warning he gripped the two sides of the high collar of her lovely dress and ripped it into two.

Malora clutched the torn ends of her ruined dress together and stared at him in shock.

He looked down at her, breathing hard. Strangely, he was as cold as ice. Her mind was in unbelievable chaos.

Malora had misjudged the extent of his fury. Underneath the façade of calm he was seething with anger at what he perceived to be her duplicity. She wanted to cry at the wanton destruction of something so beautiful, but in fact she was too shocked to cry.

"Dress only in what's in the box and meet me in the bedroom," he commanded curtly, and walked away from her.

Malora stood there a little longer, too dazed to move. She glimpsed the fierce hunger, and need; now all she saw was the iron control in his tense shoulders. He stopped in front of the bar and poured himself a glass of Glenfiddich. She picked up the box by the side table and went to the bathroom.

Quickly, she took off the torn dress and stuffed it into the chrome bin under the sink. As the lid closed over it a sob escapes her lips. Malora had never owned anything so fine before. It had suggested curves where there were jutting bones and made me feel so elegant and sophisticated. She could still see Janette grinning with delight and Laura's gasping, 'One of a kind. You will not find another like it.'

Malora pressed her hand to her mouth and avoided her reflection. She would not cry. She would be strong, she told herself while, another part of her stood appalled by his violence. She knew what was in the box. She pulled the satin ribbons and lifted the cover of the box.

And frowned.

It was not white lingerie and shoes.

As if in a trance, she picked up the familiar velvet box and opened it. Under the yellow lights of the bathroom the diamonds in the sapphire necklace glittered like the bling on a rap singer. The next thing she found in the box was even more surprising. Mika's gown, the ones she borrowed to wear to the party with Damian Gold. She must have left them behind. She had totally forgotten them. Malora remembered that night again. What did it mean? That he himself had gone through all her stuff and kept these?