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“I don’t have the key to access the penthouse level.” He gave her backside one last squeeze as the elevator doors opened. “This way.”
He took her hand and guided her down the hall. His gaze darted from left to right, as if surveying the options. Apart from the breathtaking view of the Strip when they stepped off the elevator, the corridor looked like any other hotel. Doors lined either side of the corridor. Room service trays piled with the remains of breakfast sat outside one or two. It was completely ordinary, yet her anticipation spiked with each step.
He stopped in the middle of the hall and drew to a halt beside her.
Oh, God, he’s going to make me come in the doorway of room 903.
“In here,” he said, leading her past a sign that read ice.
The small, white-walled room held an imposing stainless steel ice machine that jutted out into the space. When they reached the far side of the humming ice maker, he pressed her against the wall until the doorless entryway disappeared from her line of sight. Her world narrowed to the fluorescent lights above, the sound of ice falling into the holding bin, and her need to follow his fantasy to the end.
He dropped to his knees. His broad shoulders blocked the view of her lower half if anyone came by looking for ice and discovered them. Her breath caught at the thought, and her thighs pressed together as she glanced toward the hall.
“There’s a chance someone might walk by,” he said, running his hands up her calves. “But I promise they’ll hear you before they see you.”
His hands glided under her dress. Muscles that until last night had only worked during a torturous Pilates class tightened, and her core begged for attention. She leaned against the wall and felt the vibrations from the ice machine to her right.
It was a gentle hum that bore a stronger resemblance to a car moving over the road than a washing machine’s spin cycle. The trembling wall teased her senses but would never deliver satisfaction. But Cade’s hands—roaming her inner thighs, moving higher and higher beneath her cover-up—those hands might drive her straight into orgasm territory on their own.
She reached for the hem of her dress, ready to strip it off under the room’s bright light. One step closer to delivering a fantasy that felt more hers than his.
“No,” he said, his hands moving higher, reaching the top of her inner thighs. One finger slipped beneath her bathing suit and brushed the bare, damp skin beneath. “The clothes must stay on. Press your hands against the wall.”
She released her cover-up. What did he mean by “must”? Was it because someone could walk in? He’d written “with you” on the note, as if he wanted her. All of her. Just as she was. As if he wanted to see her.
His finger teased her slick folds. “Spread your legs. Let me in.”
She heel-toed her right foot closer to the stainless steel box. His finger rewarded her and slipped inside.
“Cade,” she moaned.
“Hold on tight, gorgeous. We’re just getting started.”
Chapter Eleven
The ice machine rumbled to life, and the sound of falling cubes echoed in the small room. Cade felt the vibrations pulse through Lucia, and her body tightened around his finger. He glanced up and watched her close her eyes and rest her head against the wall.
“Oh, wow,” she murmured.
He raised an eyebrow. He’d never gone head-to-head with an ice machine for a woman’s attention. But he’d be damned if he’d finish second to a vibrating wall.
He hunched his shoulders, slipped beneath her dress, and prepared for battle. His lips touched the soft, smooth skin of her inner thigh as his free hand pulled her swimsuit aside. He brushed her clit with his finger, and she thrust her hips toward him, away from the wall. Now that he had her attention, he replaced his finger with his mouth and ran his tongue over her.
Stay with me, gorgeous.
Last night, he’d learned what drove her wild. He was ready and willing to give her what she wanted—and maybe a little more. He left his mouth focused on her clit and let his hand wander around her hip and slip beneath her suit. He palmed her backside and traced the path his dick had taken earlier on the lounge chair. Only this time, there were no barriers.
Her lower back arched into his touch. His fingers moved closer and closer to his target. Lucia moaned, her hips bucking back and forth, demanding more from his mouth and his hand. The low, throaty sound coming from her mouth sent blood rushing to his crotch.
He wanted to take her right here, to hell with the list and his promises to keep the clothes on. When he’d asked for Post-its at the ba
r, he’d wanted to erase any doubts in her mind that she drove him off a cliff named desire.
But now, with her clit grinding against his tongue, her movements urgent and needy, he’d make damn sure she walked out of this room fucking glowing. He’d give her an orgasm that would follow her around like her new best friend, daring anyone to look at her and see anything but a sensual knockout.
And he planned to stay right by her side, taking on strangers who glanced at her and thought the scars, or the full curve of her body, made her somehow less.
“Cade!”
