Chapter 7

• Taken aback by that prosaic comment and struck by an outlook that came remarkably close to his own, Lucas elevated an ebony brow. But it was a most enjoyable one.
• Layla almost hit him with the shocking survey figures on the level of female sexual dysfunction and dissatisfaction in society, but decided to keep wannabe-Dr-Layla firmly under restraint. "I certainly hope so," she said, her face heating at the very thought of what she had already agreed to do with him. She fretted that alcohol could be affecting her judgement, although she had only had two drinks and hadn’t finished the first.
• But no, she wasn’t drunk, not even tipsy because she always got giggly if she drank too much. Yet in retrospect, her agreement to spend the night with him seemed so cold-blooded that she agonized over it for a nerve-racked few minutes. Yet wasn’t that attitude more sensible than waiting in the nave hope that someone would eventually offer her both romance and commitment? She was almost twenty-five years old, and she had waited long enough for a man to offer her a picture-book perfect solution to the loneliness she worked hard at hiding from the outside world. It wasn’t going to happen in the foreseeable future, and she had to be level-headed about her prospects. Steve was a great study buddy and friend, but unfortunately not a lover material.
• In any case, she was an intelligent adult woman and free to do as she liked if she found a suitable, attractive partner, she reminded herself stubbornly. By tomorrow she would finally know what sex was all about, and at least she wouldn’t have to spend another night trying to stay awake in the reception back at the apartment block. In truth, even the offer of a bed for the night was ridiculously welcome.
• Lucas traced a strong brown forefinger along her slim freckled arm, lingering on the fine skin of her wrist. Her skin was very soft and satin smooth and much paler than his own. "I will please you," he insisted.
• A slight shiver racked Layla, as if, after that kiss, her entire body had become super sensitive to his touch. She badly wanted him to kiss her again, and the strength of that craving unsettled her. Never until that moment had she appreciated how powerful sexual hunger could be. Oh, she had read about it, heard about it, talked intellectually about it, but all of those stories and assumptions were meaningless when set next to the actual experience. She told herself soothingly that Lucas Jack would be like her personal science project, and in the process of her research she would learn much that she needed to know.
• She asked Lucas when Randolph had left, and for a few minutes they discussed the hotel scheme.
• "You were getting bored," Lucas commented. I should apologize for that.’
• Is your business based on nightclubs?
• "No, this is my only investment in that line. I started out as a corporate trader and built a property empire with my investments. Now I have hotels, mobile phones, transport companies, ’ Lucas shifted a hand to indicate the breadth of his interests with an elegance of movement that was compelling. I believe very strongly in diversification. My father once went bust because he concentrated all his energies on one field. What are you studying at university?’
• ‘I’m about to go into my final year.’ Layla responded as if she had misheard his question because she was in no hurry to tell him that she was a medical student. More than one man had backtracked from Layla in the past once they had discovered how clever she was. It was surprising how many men were turned off by her high IQ.
• She met his riveting dark eyes and discovered that below the lights they weren’t really dark at all. They were tawny gold and vibrant with power, and a tiny shiver of naked awareness snaked down her taut spinal cord.
• Lucas stared down at her, a brooding quality tightening his lean dark features. He had read about pheromones, and he was wondering if it was possible that she put out some strange invisible chemical message that turned him on hard and fast in a way that seemed to make no sense. After all, even if he was reacting like one, he wasn’t a teenager at the mercy of his hormones any more.
• He bent his head and the coconut scent of her shampoo filtered appealingly into his nostrils, but he wasn’t thinking about that when he looked at her ripe pink mouth. He moved nearer, his breath fanning her cheek. Almost imperceptibly, she swayed closer. His arms tautened around her and, without the smallest forewarning of what he was about to do, he devoured the voluptuous promise of her lips with a passionate intensity that sent arousal roaring through him like an out-of-control fire.
• The second kiss was even hotter than the first, Layla acknowledged dizzily, and she’d known it was coming, forewarned by the glitter of his eyes, the tensing of his arms around her and the quickened thump of his heartbeat beneath her palm when she was forced to plant a hand against his shirtfront to retain her balance on the edge of the seat. She had no thought of avoiding that kiss. In fact, excitement was zinging through her as an astonishing surge of awareness travelled through every nerve ending in her body, supersizing her every response.
• Lucas dragged his mouth from hers with the greatest of difficulty. "Let’s go," he husked.
• Layla acknowledged in dismay that she had only been with him a little over an hour. I’m a slut, I’m a slut, she reflected in mortification. Maybe sometimes sluts have more fun, said another voice inside her head, and she almost laughed, registering that she was on a kind of mindless adrenalin high as if she had just reached the top of a ski run. She looked up at him, her gaze skimming over the already familiar lines of his breathtakingly handsome face and her tummy turning over even as heat leapt through her lower body in a disturbing wave of reaction. ‘Go where?’
• "Back to my yacht," Lucas advanced, urging her to her feet while carefully avoiding the scrutiny of his bodyguards. Making out with an audience was not cool, and he had never done it before. What was he? A hot-under-the-collar kid? A dark flush had scored his strong cheekbones.
• "You’re here on a yacht?"