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“I want to make a statement,” I bark at Jacob, even as I move toward Lola. “This does not happen again. Not to her.”
I hang up before he can say anything else, reaching out as I do to wrap an arm around Lola’s waist to guide her away from the window. Then I close the curtain, cutting off any chance of someone taking more pictures of her without her knowledge.
When I turn around, Lola’s staring at me, wide-eyed. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.”
She starts to argue with me, but in the end she just shakes her head like she can’t figure out what to say. Maybe she can’t, because the next thing I know she’s reaching her arms up and wrapping them around my neck. Pulling my mouth down to hers.
And just that easily, the world fucking explodes.
In the back of my head, there’s a little voice telling me that I need to be careful. That I can’t afford to blur the lines between us when I’m counting on this—counting on her—to help me get the throne back. And while I know that’s a reasonable argument, we’re only in this situation because I’ve been blinded by lust from pretty much the first second I laid eyes on her.
Which means, plan or no plan, warning voice or no warning voice, there’s no way I’m moving away from her right now. Not when she tastes like cinnamon coffee and feels warm and lush and gorgeous pressed up against me.
Which is why I wrap my arms around her instead of taking a step back. Why I pull her even closer. Why I kiss her until the top of my head feels like it’s going to blow clean off.
She tastes so good, feels so good, and as my mouth explores hers—as my tongue slides along her plump bottom lip—my head grows fuzzy and my body heavy. All I can think about is Lola. In my arms. In my bed. Naked, beneath me. Naked, above me. Soft and warm and wet as she slides down my dick and pulls me deep inside her.
I’m rock hard now, my body all but screaming for relief even though all we’re doing is kissing. With Lola, what we’re doing doesn’t seem to matter, though. One look, one touch, one kiss and I’m fucking desperate to bury myself inside of her.
I slide my hands down to cup her ass and she moans a little. Taking instant advantage, I slide my tongue between her lips and stroke deep inside. She moans again, her tongue tangling with mine now, and it’s all the invitation I need.
Turning, I press her up against the nearest wall, lifting her so that her sweet, warm pussy lines up with my cock, separated only by her yoga pants and my suit pants and underwear. I press deeper, relishing the softness and the heat of her. She responds by wrapping her legs around my hips, arching against me.
And fuck. Just fuck.
I need to think, but I can’t. Not when she feels so good. And not when I want her this badly.
Tearing my lips from hers, I try to breathe. Try to think. But Lola’s having none of it. As I try desperately to suck air into my starving lungs, she wraps a hand around the back of my neck and pulls my mouth straight back down to hers.
I go with it—of course I do—picking up where I left off only seconds ago. She moans again, low and breathy and sexy as all fuck. It does something to me, does everything to me. Has every joint in my body locking up and electricity slamming down my spine. And my dick? My dick is rock hard and begging for relief.
Lola gasps as I slide my tongue against hers. Then she slides her hands up my neck to the back of my head so that her fingers can tangle in my hair. I love the feel of her fingertips against my scalp and give a small groan of encouragement even as I slide my hands onto her firm, heart-shaped ass and squeeze.
She responds by tugging on my hair, not hard enough to really hurt, but definitely hard enough that small licks of pain shoot along my nerve endings, followed by longer, deeper waves of pleasure.
Fuck, she’s hot. And fuck do I want to bury myself inside her. Just say to hell with the reporters outside. To hell with my subjects who want every detail of my life, lascivious or otherwise. To hell with anything, and everything, that isn’t Lola Barnes.
But even as I’m thinking that, even as I?
??m rocking my hips against hers until she’s crying out a little bit with each broken breath she takes, I know that it’s not to be. Not right now, when we’ve got so many other things to settle.
With that thought in mind, I start to pull away. But Lola’s not ready to let go, her hands clenching in my hair, her mouth working frantically against my own. And fuck. Just fuck. I’m trying to be a good guy here, but all I want to do is fuck her up against this wall until the only thing she can think of—the only thing she knows—is me.
It’s that thought more than any other that finally gives me the strength to lift my lips from hers and to slowly, slowly, untangle our bodies.
She moans a little as I pull my hips back from hers, as I help her slide her feet back down to the ground. Like her other sounds, it goes straight to my dick. But this time, I force myself not to be sucked back under.
It’s hard, harder than it should be, especially when her eyes meet mine. I want to ask if she’s made a decision, want to demand that she say yes so that we can do this again and again and again.
But before I can so much as open my mouth, Lola whispers, “Yes.”
“Yes?” I repeat, wanting to clarify what we’re talking about here. Going to bed together? Pretending to be a couple? Or something in between.
“Yes. I’ll do it,” she answers. “I’ll pretend to be your American girlfriend for as long as you need me to.”
Chapter 14
