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‘Your flight home, the one that’s booked for tomorrow,’ he clarifies, the corners of his mouth lifting into an easy smile, ‘I think you need to call up your editor and change it.’

A nervous laugh escapes from my throat. ‘And why would I do that?’

‘Because you need more time to get whatever it is out of me that you need…’ he lowers his head to kiss me gently on the lips, my heart thrumming ‘…and I think you need more time to do some thorough research.’ His hand slides over my stomach, his fingers drifting along the top edge of my thong, toying with the lace. ‘And… I don’t want you to go.’

I feel dazed as he leaves a trail of soft kisses along my jaw.

‘Thoughts?’ he prompts, his breath warm in my ear and sending shivers rolling down my spine. ‘Don’t leave me hanging here.’

I swallow. ‘Obviously, I’d like to stay here a bit longer. For many reasons.’

‘Course, many reasons,’ he murmurs. ‘If that’s what you want, then change the flight.’

‘I… I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know,’ he repeats, his fingers sliding beneath my thong.

Oh my God . My breath becomes erratic as his thumb drags over my clit, his lips finding my earlobe and giving it a gentle tug with his teeth.

‘I guess… I guess I can ask if I can change it,’ I croak as he lifts his head to gaze down at me.

‘Ask?’ he says lightly, his thumb stroking me, the pressure beginning to build between my legs already. ‘That’s not like you, London.’

‘Tell, I’ll tell them,’ I say desperately, reaching for him and dragging his mouth to mine so I can kiss him hungrily as his fingers slide into me, causing me to gasp at his lips, my muscles clenching round him.

He’s breathing as hard as I am and when he pulls back to look at me, the heat in his eyes flares, as though watching me like this is enough for him.

‘Fuck, you’re so wet; say that’s for me,’ he says hungrily.

‘It’s for you,’ I rasp before I emit a quiet moan as his thumb presses on my clit, tightness and pressure building between my legs.

How is he so good at this? How is anyone so good at this?

How the fuck am I supposed to write an article about him and not mention this insane talent?

Fuck the surfing; this is surely what people will want to know about: that Leo Silva might just be the sexiest man on the planet and has the ability to give mind-blowing orgasms in a matter of seconds.

You can’t be real.

‘What’s that?’ he asks.

As the pleasure intensifies and my brain turns to mush, I realise that my thoughts have accidentally slipped out my mouth.

‘I’m what ?’ he persists, gazing down at me intently, his thumb and fingers driving me to oblivion. Oh God, how the fuck does he expect me to think straight?

‘You can’t be real,’ I manage to repeat breathlessly.

A muscle in his jaw twitches before he utters, ‘Funny, all this time I’ve been thinking the same about you,’ and dips his head to kiss my neck, his thumb increasing the pressure and ache of my clit, winding me higher and higher until I can’t hold back any longer.

The pleasure boils over and floods mercilessly through me, and his mouth is there to capture the loud moan he coaxes from my lips, my body arching and trembling, my hips grinding up against his hand.

Trailing a couple of soft kisses along my cheek, he watches me as I catch my breath.

‘Oh my God,’ I say, my body limp, my head spinning.

I reach for the hard erection in his boxers that I can feel pressed against my hip, but he stops me, breathing out and shaking his head.

‘I have to go,’ he says, his voice strained with regret.

‘What? You’re kidding. Where?’

He laughs, dipping his head to kiss me before he forces himself up from the bed. ‘Surfing, remember? You know, that big contest in Australia coming up that I have to train for. Kind of important.’

I press my palm against my forehead. ‘Oh, shit. I forgot.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘You fucking should.’

He chuckles again, heading to his wardrobe to grab some fresh clothes. ‘You can stay here as long as you like. In fact, feel free to stay here all day. All week. All month, whatever.’

Closing my eyes for a moment, I smile to myself, warm flutters expanding in my stomach. ‘Playing it cool, I see.’

‘I’m a surfer. I’m nothing if not cool.’

‘Uh-huh. We’ll let the readers decide on that one.’ I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him as he heads to the bathroom. ‘You got a hoodie or something I can borrow so it doesn’t look quite so obvious what’s happened here when I shamefully skuttle back to my place?’

‘Take whatever you want,’ he says, heading into the ensuite to turn on the shower before he re-appears in the doorway. ‘You look good in my clothes.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t walk home in those heels; you really should be looking after your foot.’

I give him a pointed look. ‘You weren’t complaining about the heels last night.’

He grins mischievously at me. ‘No, I wasn’t.

But I’d rather you gave yourself every chance of getting home in one piece since I can’t be there to make sure of it.

I have some of Marina’s old flip-flops. She left them here once when a few people came back for a party – she won’t mind you borrowing them. ’

‘Okay, thanks,’ I nod. ‘Once you’ve left, I’ll shower then get going.’

He groans, running a hand down his face.

‘What?’ I ask, alarmed at his reaction.

‘It was already going to be hard enough to focus on surfing well this morning,’ he says, dropping his hand to gesture at me. ‘And now I’ll have the image of you naked in my shower in my head. How am I meant to think about anything else?’

I smirk, deeply satisfied. ‘You told me, Mr Silva, that when you are out surfing those waves, you’re firmly in the present. The rest of the world disappears, right? Nothing else matters but you and the ocean. That’s what you said.’

‘Yeah, I know that’s what I said,’ he says glumly, turning round and disappearing into the bathroom. ‘But that was before last night.’