For His Eyes Only by Liz Fielding

very first moment she’d set eyes on him, hit meltdown. She’d wanted it then, wanted it as she’d beaten butter and sugar into submission, wanted him inside her...
    She clutched at hard shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh through the soft cloth of his shirt as his knuckle hit the sweet, screaming spot. She had no breath to scream, urge him on; all she could do was make small desperate sounds as she arched upwards, demanding more, as he made her wait, taking his time, stroking, tormenting, teasing her throat, her breasts, her stomach with his teeth, his tongue, keeping her on the limit of endurance with his fingers, the subtle pressure of his thumb until her body, lost in bliss, slipped from her control and became entirely his. Only then did he release her in a shattering orgasm that went through her like a tornado, lifting, spinning, dumping her dazed, slicked with sweat and clinging to him like a life raft.
    Her head was a dead weight against his shoulder, her limbs like sun-warmed putty, and if he hadn’t been holding her she would have slithered to the floor in a boneless heap.

FIVE
    For a long moment the only things moving in the room were dust motes dancing in the sunlight streaming in from above. Then Darius eased back a little.
    ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
    Okay? Okay ?
    ‘Give me a minute to locate my bones and I’ll let you know.’
    ‘Hang on...’ He slid an arm beneath her knees and, lifting her clear of the bench, carried her to the sofa.
    ‘Mmm...’ She let out a contented sigh as she stretched out on the cushions, looking up at him from beneath lids too heavy to lift. She reached for his belt, planning to hook her fingers under it and pull him closer so that she could get at that deliciously flat belly beneath the baggy T-shirt, do a little nibbling on her own account. Ease the pressure of what had to be a very painful bulge against the zip of his jeans.
    He caught her, wrapping his hand around her wrist, keeping her from her goal.
    His eyes were burning her up and he held her tightly for a moment before, with a visible effort, he released her and then, taking care not to let his fingers touch her skin, lifted the lace of her bra and carefully replaced it over her breasts.
    ‘Darius?’
    He didn’t answer but began to refasten her shirt buttons with all the concentration of a bomb disposal officer defusing an unexploded bomb. One wrong move, one touch...
    ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. Then, as the reality began to sink in, ‘No...’
    ‘I work here, Natasha, and I meant it when I said I don’t have sex with my models.’
    ‘I’m not a model...’
    ‘No.’ A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘A professional model would never undress in front of an artist but, unless you’re carrying a stash of condoms in that bag, we’re done.’
    The implication that she went to work armed and ready for action was like a bucket of cold water. Did he think she did that with everyone who needed a little encouragement to use her services?
    Well, why wouldn’t he? He knew she was desperate—desperate enough to sit naked so that he could draw her.
    She’d completely lost the plot, forgotten that this was just business...
    ‘Sorry,’ she said, swinging her legs to the floor and forcing him to step back. ‘You’re not the only one who doesn’t get down and dirty on the job,’ she said, frustration making her snippy. ‘Sex with a client is definitely off the agenda.’
    ‘Just as well I’m not a client, then. Unless you’ve changed your mind about waiving your fee for selling the Chase?’
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘A deal’s a deal. I’ll settle for the perks.’
    ‘Perks?’
    ‘The chunk of bronze to go on the mantelpiece, the hand job. Thanks for that, by the way; it’s been too long...’ The words were out before her brain was engaged... ‘Give me a call when you want me to strip naked for you,’ she added, putting some stiffeners in her legs so that she