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I open the car door and climb out quickly, turning around to help Sophie out of the car. “I’ll tip you on the app,” I say, but I shut the door so fast it’s anyone’s guess what the driver heard.
Sophie giggles as I settle my hand against her lower back and move her forward quickly. As we enter the swanky hotel, I tip the driver on the app, give him the five full stars, and click a few boxes about good conversation and some other shit, then shove the phone into my back pocket. I lead her to the elevator at the opposite end of the lobby, flash my key card against the receiver, and stride inside, then hit the button for my floor.
Finally alone with her, I reach—
The elevator stops, the doors open, and I drop my hand, nearly groaning in frustration as more people shuffle into the small space. They smile sweetly and I—very gallantly—don’t bite their heads off. Instead, I force a polite smile as I step aside to settle into the corner. Sophie steps in front of me, the top of her head at nose level, and teasing me with the soft scent of her shampoo.
She shakes her long brown waves loosely, then straightens her shoulders, and boldly takes a step back.
Mercy. I clench my jaw as she presses her ass against me, then bring my hands to her sides, tighten my fingers around her hips, and hold her still.
Too many people in this small space means I can’t touch her like I so desperately want to, but then she leans her head back on my chest, giving me a clear shot down her blouse, and I nearly groan.
“Trouble,” I whisper.
She tilts her head to look up at me, all wide eyes and innocence when she’s anything but.
I shake my head subtly, then glance at the buttons lit-up within the panel on the wall. Too many floors still to go.
One of the other passengers reaches out and presses the button for the floor two down from mine and I squeeze my eyes shut. A man can only take so much.
Sophie chuckles softly, like she knows I’m barely keeping my shit together.
She finds this funny, does she?
I pull her tighter against me, smirking when she sucks in an audible breath. With my erection snuggled tightly between us, I slip my hands beneath her suit jacket, then tug gently at the silky fabric of her shirt until it’s loosened from her skirt. With one hand firm on her hip, I guide the other up beneath her shirt, then trail my thumb over the fullness of her lower breast, grinning triumphantly as her chest—flushed with pale pink—rises and falls on a heavy intake of air.
Easing my hand up further, I tease her nipple through her bra, just a quick drag of thumb over lace.
She takes another shaky breath, then presses back against me more firmly.
When the doors open to my floor, I bark out an abrupt, “Excuse us,” wincing when the remaining two people in the elevator startle and step aside. “Sorry,” I say as I grab Sophie’s hand and haul her into the hallway.
As soon as the doors close behind us, I spin around and push her back against the wall.
Chapter Seven
Sophie
Acutely aware of the hard length of him pressing against my groin—and desperately wishing there weren’t layers of clothing between us—I push up onto my tiptoes and circle my arms around Dawson’s neck, desperate to be closer to him. He smells of musk and pine, a deeply sensual, inherently manly scent that curls into my senses and has the potential to drive me absolutely wild with need.
I look into his eyes, dark and dilated, the lust pouring out of them stoking my own.
Before I can say anything, he licks his lips, then leans forward and slants his mouth over mine in a searing kiss. Hard and unforgiving, his lips move against mine, urging me to open up to him.
I do so eagerly, moaning as his tongue strokes along the length of my own, then he snakes his arms around my waist, hauling me even tighter against his body. His beard scruff scrapes the skin around my mouth in a deliciously painful way as he deepens the kiss.
Already, I can’t get enough of Dawson Riggs, and I’m so fucking thankful I said yes tonight.
To Lisa.
To this man.
And to myself.
I drag my fingernails up his neck and tangle my hands in his thick brown hair, meeting each hungry stroke of his tongue with matching fervor until my legs become weak and my breathing is labored. Desire is a pool of liquid heat between my legs, and it takes everything in me not to shove my dress up around my waist and climb up into his arms right here in the hallway.
Shit.
