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Every inch of him radiates sex from his dark eyes to the powerful muscles tensing beneath his suit as if he’s ready to pounce on me.
Do it.
I don’t cede control easily. Though not many men look at me as if they wish to ravage me. My ex never did.
Mr. Mistake isn’t welcome here.
Not when Gavin is on the cusp of taking my breasts in his hands.
But he surprises me. His hands travel down my torso, slipping out of my shirt. Then his arms drop to his sides, and I miss his touch.
“Raise your arms over your head, Kayla.”
I love how he uses my name. Not that I would have ignored his request if he tossed out a “sweetheart” or “baby.” But I’ve never liked those words. Endearments strip away identity. I want the person making love to me to want me.
Admittedly, I might have more hang-ups then most after the way my ex tried to add me to his list of things he acquired when he started making serious money. A Mercedes. An Upper West Side Apartment. A home in Westchester. A Wife …
Stop thinking about him.
I raise my arms and focus on the big, gorgeous Alpha Male standing in front of me. He grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head.
“Margaret would be disappointed,” I murmur.
He tosses my shirt to the floor. “That I’m planning to fuck—excuse me—make love to my fiancée?”
“Oh no, you’re going to fuck me.” The f-word feels foreign and naughty. So does lowering my arms and reaching for the buttons on his shirt, but I do it anyway. “And that might ruin the cuddly image she wanted you to project.”
“She won’t know if you don’t tell her.” He shrugs off his suit jacket while I work on the shirt.
I lean closer, releasing the final button from the long row designed to drive a woman mad with desire to run her hands over what’s hiding beneath the businessman exterior. “We’re not exactly alone here,” I whisper.
He lets out a low growl as his dress shirt joins his jacket on the floor. I glance at his plain white undershirt. “I’m tempted to tear this off you, but the people in the suite next door might hear.”
The band chooses that moment to complete a song. There is a moment of silence following the last note. I pull at Gavin’s undershirt, eager to get it over his heard before he takes me up on my offer to destroy the last barrier to his perfect abs.
His shirt lands beside my half-eaten cheesecake as the crowd erupts into cheers and applause. And I run my hands over his chiseled stomach. “Wow.”
“I could say the same thing about you.”
“I don’t have a six-pack.” I look up at him, but his gaze is fixed on my breasts. “Not even a one-pack. I’m pretty sure I’ve hidden all of my muscles beneath dumplings, pasta, and cheesecake.”
“Kayla, your breasts have one-hundred percent of my attention right now.”
I reach for the button on my jeans. “I wonder what will happen when I strip off my pants.”
The corner of his mouth curls up. “We’ll give anyone who dares to look in here a show. No cowboy boots required.”
I know Gavin. I’m familiar with his bad-boy reputation. Heck, I’ve seen the sex tape. And I’ve heard the humors. This set up alone—in a box surrounded by people who might hear us, or might catch a glimpse of us if they look up when the lighting is just right and the curious spectator happens to peer into our box—this is Gavin’s number one fantasy, with or without me.
“Kayla?” He cocks his head, his gaze flitting between my breasts and my face. “We can wait until we get back to the apartment. We don’t need to do this here.”
But we are doing this. We both know there is no way you forget the oops-we-got-halfway-naked-in-public-and-almost-had-sex moment. That’s not exactly one that pops up in every friendship, even after thirty years.
“If we’re throwing out rule number one, why not start here?” I ask.
I know him. And if we’re going to do this, my pride demands that I set us up for success. I kick off my boots as the band launches into a song about sinners. My pants hit the floor beside the rest of my clothes.
Gavin’s hands are on me, running up my thighs, drawing me closer. The fabric of his suit pants brushes against my legs. Then he’s lifting me into his arms and guiding my legs around his waist.
