Her Singapore Fling by Kelly Hunter Page A

Five nights away.
    â€˜We should go out together before then,’ he said with obvious reluctance. ‘Somewhere public. See what happens.’
    â€˜Okay.’ The idea was a sound one. The reality was likely to bite. ‘So…goodnight?’
    â€˜Yeah.’ He nodded and turned away.
    Jianne climbed the stairs and closed the door behind her. She looked at Jacob’s bed and groaned aloud. Instead of the bed she headed for the bathroom, and brushed her teeth and plaited her hair the better to avoid tangles in it come morning. She approached the bed and changed into her sleepwear. She circled the bed without touching it, trying to choose a side.
    Not a soft bed, she thought when she’d finally gathered the courage to slip between the sheets. Jacob’s bed, and there was a sensuousness that came of being in it. Stolen pleasure, fierce and forbidden, and she closed her eyes and caught her lip between her teeth and allowed herself to remember a time when the pursuit of ecstasy had ruled her.
    She’d been too meek for him everywhere else. Too unsure of her role within Jacob’s unruly family. Too unfamiliar with her new way of life to navigate it confidently. Only in the abandon with which they’d surrendered to passion had they proven equal.
    In every way.
    Sleep would not come. One a.m. Two a.m., and still sleep eluded her and her body’s desire for sexual satisfaction grew stronger. She tossed the covers aside and paced the room, bare feet making no sound on the battered wooden floor. Jacob’s tapestries were made of silk and the impulse to touch them was one she couldindulge. She allowed herself that small pleasure, and that of sitting in Jacob’s reading chair, her legs tucked beneath her and her thighs pressed firmly together as she studied the spines of his books.
    His scent tantalised her. The need for touch tugged at her. She closed her eyes and rested her head back against Jacob’s chair and begged sleep to come and take her away.
    She almost managed it. Three a.m. and back in bed, with her breathing slow and easy and her mind shut down tight against the memories of her time in Jacob’s arms, she’d almost reached gentle oblivion. Until a faint sound came to her from below, a dull, irregular thudding.
    Not noisy pipes. Not the pounding of someone at the door. Something else.
    The door did not groan as she opened it. The stairs did not creak beneath her weight. Jianne crept halfway down them the way dusk settled over the day. Silently, stealthily, until finally she could sit on a step and lean forward and peer down into the training hall below.
    The light was the same as in the room above. Bands of striped moonlight and neon sneaking in through slatted windows. A man stood with his back to her in the shadowy corner of that room, naked to the waist, loose black trousers riding low on his hips. Desolation and desperation in his rhythmic pounding of flesh against a boxing bag that hung from a ceiling beam. Muscles rippling across his back as his patterns grew more complex and power ripped through him.
    Jacob’s balance didn’t falter. His intention didn’t waver. Oblivion through exhaustion. Peace in the wake of destruction. Jianne watched him for long minutesbefore finally retreating back to the room he’d put her in. She crawled between the bedcovers and closed her eyes as the muffled pounding continued.
    But she did not sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR
    T HE dojo day had well and truly started when Jianne came downstairs at around eight the following morning. Unfortunately the stairs fed down into the training hall below—there was no other way down. Discretion was not an option, but at least she was dressed for the day and not still in her sleepwear.
    She wore her usual work attire of grey tailored trousers, high heels, and a sleeveless shirt. Today’s shirt was hot pink and she wore her hair in a French roll, the better to present a professional