Incapable of backing down when challenged, I nearly mutter off a random number. I would if I weren’t concerned every man on that floor would be placed on Alex’s hit list if I did. I don’t give a shit if he crosses his heart and hopes to die, there is no way he is an accountant. He is too alpha to sit in an office all day crunching numbers. He craves adrenaline as much as I do. That’s why the heady scent of lust bouncing between us is so strong.
“Floor, Regan,” Alex demands again. His deep and dangerous voice increases the sticky situation between my legs.
Not wanting him to discover I’m a woeful liar, I lean across him to hit the penthouse button. My hand isn’t even halfway across his broad shoulders when he snatches my wrist, twirls me around, then pins me to the wall with his impressively firm body.
Kill me now. I’m a goner.
“There are only three men in this building who could come close to bedding a woman like you. One is married; the other is away on a business trip; so that only leaves one lone soldier—the owner of this building. Is that who you’re visiting tonight, Regan? Are you going to pay your rent in a lump sum payment?”
He doesn't look at me while speaking, not even from the corner of his eye. He just glances past my shoulder, acting as if it is perfectly acceptable to pin a stranger to a wall while interrogating them with an eye-opening amount of knowledge.
I know the three men to whom he is referring. At one stage or another in the past five years, they’ve been added and removed from my list of suitors.
“It’s the owner of this building, isn’t it? That’s why you were texting him on your way out. You were giving him time to prep for your visit.”
To a normal person, the possessiveness in his tone would be classed as borderline psychotic. Unfortunately for all involved, my fucked up head isn’t settling on the same theory. My body is thrumming with anticipation, loving the ownership beaming out of him.
There is only one way our exchange could get more panty-wetting: if I were given the devotion of his eyes. I want to see if they’re clouded with dominance or narrowed with anger. I can hear his heart thrashing against his ribs, smell the manliness pumping from every orifice of his body, and feel the thickness a pair of jeans and a winter coat can’t hide, but I want his eyes on mine—badly.
“Answer me, Regan. Who are you visiting?”
I moan before I can stop myself. His growl of my name was better than any fantasy I’ve had the past two months. It was thick and hot and utterly devastating.
My throaty groan grants me my final wish. I’m given Alex’s eyes. They are as devastatingly beautiful as I anticipated. He appears both angry and confused, torn between wanting to possess every inch of me and walking away. His fight or flight instincts have kicked in full force.
I save him from making a bad decision by slinging my arms around his neck and sealing my mouth over his. Worry I haven’t just lost my self-pleasing mojo smacks into me when he doesn’t respond to my boldness in the way I’m hoping. He seems willing yet alarmed by my tongue piercing his stern lips.
It is fortunate persuasion is one of my finer points.
It takes several strokes of my tongue to calm the tension in Alex’s jaw, but when it does, mayhem ensues. His fingers weave through my hair as he returns my kiss with so much passion, I feel as if I am being claimed. He takes advantage of all the strong points on his face to dominate our exchange. His teeth sink into my lip before his tongue glides along the area throbbing with aroused pain. His Viking beard tickles my chin and neck when he drags his nose down my cheek to coat my face with his delicious scent, and the strokes of his tongue are purposeful and sensual.
His kiss leaves my mind filled with only thoughts of him. I can’t escape the madness—I’m trapped by his smell, taste, and warmth.
When the elevator comes to a stop on my floor, we stumble down the hallway, all legs and arms, neither willing to surrender our mouths from the other. The crash of our bodies on my apartment door is loud enough to wake the residents of my building. My moans will take care of the ones we missed.
After splaying my back against my door, Alex buries his hand deeper into my hair before taking our kiss to another level. Wetness pools between my legs when he teases my mouth with precise strokes of his tongue and sweet, controlled movements of his lips. His kiss is anything but innocent, but he doesn’t seem to care—finally.
He holds all the reins in our exchange, and I’m happy to hand them over. I don’t usually encourage a change of guard in the bedroom, but only a fool would feign disinterest in exploring his sexual prowess. Furthermore, we’re kissing, not fucking, so until then, I can let him take charge.
My nerve endings zing with pleasure when Alex rocks his hips forward. Layers of clothes can’t hide the thickness throbbing behind his zipper, begging to be released. He is long and hard. His body’s response to our kiss isn’t surprising. It isn’t chaste. It is steamy and hot, a perfect opener for what is about to occur.
As Alex’s tongue strokes mine, I blindly hunt for my keys in my clutch purse. I find them two seconds later, but it isn’t quick enough for Alex. His hand has already slithered under my dress to cup my engorged breast. He twists my nipple, causing goosebumps of arousal to pepper my skin. He’s barely touching me, but a violent storm brews low in my core. This is the sensation I’ve been missing the past two months: the chaos that arrives with both devastation and relief.
“Not yet,” I throatily purr when his fingers sweep away the material clinging to my hardened bud, nearly exposing my naked breasts to his avid eyes. “There are motion-activated cameras in every hallway of Hector.”
Agitation spikes through me when Alex’s eyes lift to mine. I hear the million thoughts streaming through his head without a word escaping from his mouth—just as much as I can feel them. He’s panicked, yet confident. Ready, yet hesitant. Blinded by lust, yet still holding back.
I don’t know how he does it. From the instant his scrumptious taste engulfed my taste buds, I’ve been in a dream-like state. I’m not drunk. . . unless fumes of lust are classified as a drug? If so, sign me up for rehab.
My heart rate triples when Alex scans the corridor for the security camera I mentioned. The tightness our kiss removed from his jaw returns stronger than ever when he locates its dome.
He bites out a string of profanities. I wish that was the worst of the tragedy. Unfortunately, it isn’t. The removal of my legs from his waist is the biggest blow I’ve endured this year.
Actually, scrap that. Make it the past five years.
I don’t know whether I should be humiliated or pleased by his rejection. If a simple grind up against a door under a watchful eye is too far out of his comfort zone, how will he ever handle a woman like me?
In less than a split second, the magic is over, our spell undone. I’ve never seen such an array of emotions cross someone’s face as I am seeing now.Confusion. Shock. Anger.And perhaps even a little bit of resentment.
