She gulped. “Yes.”
Another pause. Then came his faintly amused drawl, “Is that why you’re still hiding by the front door?”
An embarrassed flush heated her face. So much for all her bravado.
Quentin started toward her. “So what changed your mind, Alexis?”
He only called her by her full name when he was angry or deadly serious about something.
She licked her dry lips. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” His slow, stealthy advance reminded her of a hunter who’s sighted his prey and wants to make certain it doesn’t escape. “Are you sure you don’t know?”
Swallowing, she unglued her feet from the floor and took a brave step forward. “I want you,” she whispered.
He stopped moving. “I didn’t hear you. Speak up.”
So that’s how he wants to play this. Okay. You probably had it coming.
“I want you,” she said in a clearer, stronger voice. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since the night of that damn New Year’s Eve ball. I came here tonight against my better judgment because I can’t seem to help myself. I want to make love with my best friend. But if you’re going to play games—”
As she reached for the door, he lunged.
Her breath whooshed out of her lungs as he hauled her roughly into his arms and crushed his mouth to hers. The kiss was raw and blistering, the heat of his big, hard body scorching her from the inside out. She flung her arms around his neck and opened her mouth, sucking his hot, thrusting tongue with a hunger that staggered them both.
He pushed her back against the door and quickly hoisted her off the floor. She threw her legs around his waist, hiking her skirt up to her thighs as her stilettos clattered to the floor. He grabbed her butt, roughly palming both cheeks as he ground his rigid erection against her sex. She moaned, writhing against him as fingers of electrical explosions tore through her clitoris.
He reared back and impatiently ripped off her trench coat. Her nipples stood out sharply against her pale silk blouse. Nostrils flaring, he bent his head and sucked one into his hot, wet mouth. She arched back, keening with pleasure.
He kneaded and caressed her thighs, the rough heat of his skin penetrating her pantyhose. But it wasn’t enough; she wanted his hands on her bare flesh. As if he’d read her mind, he eased her feet to the floor, then sank to his knees before her. His fingers gripped the waistband of her pantyhose, yanking it past the swell of her hips and rolling it down her legs. She trembled uncontrollably, her breath rushing in and out of her lungs. When he reached her feet, she stepped out of the hose, then watched as he brought the nylon to his nose and deeply inhaled.
“It smells like you,” he whispered thickly.
She groaned, shuddering with arousal.
Setting aside the wad of pantyhose, he leaned forward and brushed his lips to the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. She moaned, delicious shivers racing to her groin. Holding her skirt out of the way, he trailed a path of sensual, open-mouthed kisses up her trembling thigh. When he reached her crotch he paused, heightening her anticipation. And then he pressed his tongue to her clit, stroking her through the silk layer of her panties. She cried out hoarsely.
As her knees buckled he caught her, steadying her in his firm grasp.
“Quentin,” she whimpered, writhing desperately against him as wetness coated her sex. “Ineedyou.”
He lifted his head and stared up at her. His face was flushed, his eyes bright and gleaming with barely restrained lust.
“Not here,” he growled huskily. “Not for our first time.”
He surged to his feet, then bent and swept her into his arms as though she were completely weightless. She clung to his neck and pressed her hot face against his chest, feeling small and vulnerable and powerfully outmatched.
He reached the second landing in what had to be record time and carried her into his enormous bedroom, where a lamp glowed invitingly on the bedside table.
He set her gently on the floor and slanted his mouth over hers, his kiss as hot and hungry as the sensual needs pounding through her body. His hands caressed her back, stroking the silk of her blouse against her tingling flesh. Without breaking the kiss, he unbuttoned her shirt with a deftness that reminded her he’d had plenty of practice undressing women. But at that moment she didn’t give a damn. She wanted to be naked and joined with him, and the sooner the better.
Lifting his head, he dragged her blouse off her shoulders, then reached for the front clasp of her bra. Her breath caught at the sensation of silk brushing against her erect nipples. Pulse thundering, she watched Quentin’s face as he eased the straps down her arms and pushed the bra from her body. At the sight of her brazenly thrusting nipples, his nostrils flared and he swallowed tightly.
She gasped as his hands cupped her swollen breasts, his thumbs rasping over her distended nipples. Her womb contracted as spasms of pleasure tore through her. She’d never known her breasts could be so sensitive. They never had been before.
Swearing under his breath, Quentin knelt to unzip her skirt and slide it, along with her panties, down her legs. She could tell that he was trying to take his time with her, trying to savor her the way a connoisseur savored a fine wine.
When she stood naked and trembling before him, his gaze raked over her slowly, his eyes smoldering with fierce appreciation.
