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She kissed him harder, as he impatiently held back, waiting as she licked and nipped his lips, trying to get him to respond. The way she rubbed against him, begging for him with her body, almost undid him. The more impassive he seemed, the harder she tried to convince him that he wanted her. Damn, he loved this.
He waited as long as he could. Before he could stop himself, he tangled a hand in her silky brown hair. She gasped, and made seductive sounds of distress as he dragged her closer to the Spyder and shoved her belly down on the hood.
“Fuck, yes,” she hissed, arching back against him with her delicious ass, tempting him to yank down her jeans and shove his dick into her hot little cunt.
Damn, damn, damn. Today wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.
He slammed the keys down on the hood next to her. “Did you forget what you were supposed to be asking for?”
“Please?” she asked breathlessly, grinding against his aching cock.
Several inarticulate Neanderthal thoughts started a fistfight in his head. He forced himself away from her, and realized he was growling. God, the more he was around this woman, the lower his IQ dropped. He got the impression that was her end goal—to see how close to a mindless sex monster she could make him. She might regret it if she succeeded.
“This is supposed to be a fucking date,” he snarled. “Get your ass behind the fucking wheel. Now.”
She turned and leaned back against the car like she couldn’t hold herself up. Her tits were heaving, and his hands longed to shred the thin cotton T-shirt hampering his view of them.
Slowly, she fumbled for the key ring behind her, and sighed as though it was the consolation prize, giving him a last longing look before doing what she was told.
When he got into the passenger seat, she was running a reverent hand over the dash. She palmed the stick shift, and he’d never envied a car more.
“So where am I taking you?” she asked. “Please tell me it’s somewhere we can be alone.”
“You wish. Head into town and I’ll give you directions when we get closer.”
For a few minutes she pointedly ignored him, but then settled into the drive, moving like the car was an extension of her body. She was good—like a dancer with unharnessed natural talent who only needed a stage to show what she could do. Watching her meld with the vehicle was magic.
When they got closer to the city, he started to direct her, unreasonably amused that she had no idea where they were going. Maybe this was a horrible idea, but knowing her like he did, he was betting she was going to love it.
She pulled into the parking lot he indicated.
“I thought this place was abandoned or something.” She arched a brow, likely assuming there was a tawdry reason he’d be taking her to an old, derelict hotel.
“They work hard to make people think it is.”
The graceful architecture of the sweeping turn-of-the-century building was incongruous, nestled as it was amongst the steel-and-glass structures around it.
“If it was really abandoned it would have been torn down by now and rebuilt as a parking garage.”
“Hmm. True.”
A man walked past them toward the Viper that they’d parked close to. Fox ignored him, but Addison’s head whipped around so fast she might have given herself whiplash.
“Oh my god. Wasn’t that . . . ?”
“Quiet, woman,” he mumbled. “If a celebrity is here without entourage, he’d rather just be a person today. Besides, no one sees anyone else here. It’s a rule.”
He led her past front-door security and past reception, to the old elevator. The uniformed elevator operator, who was so old he might have come with the building, nodded to Fox, and pushed the button for the third floor.
“What is this place?” Addison whispered, staring around, her expression bewildered.
Fox didn’t answer, but his wink made her blush. The place was a few different things, depending on what a person was looking for.
When the elevator stopped and the door opened, the air was filled with the buzzing and smell of disinfectant he’d come to associate with this floor. The high-end waiting area stood empty, as usual. Fitte didn’t cater to clientele who waited.
Loke Sigurdsson, looking huge and dangerous, was already watching them approach. “Fox, you bastard. Five minutes later I would have had security show you the door.” His raspy voice made the melodic Norwegian accent guttural rather than pretty. He and his partners all sounded like they’d spent their first thirty years screaming profanities at people. They pretty much had.
Geir and Rune glanced over and grunted affectionate insults at him, but they were discussing a sketch and turned back to their own conversation.
