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My hands are on her thighs again, and I’m not interested in chicken. I have a one-track mind and the hard-on in my pants is pointing right at her.
Her hands are on my shoulders, and I feel her fingers touching the ends of my hair at my neck. “Why are you alone?”
Sliding my hands higher, they’re at the edge of her skirt. “Work keeps me busy. Keeping up with the guys.”
“You must get lonely.”
“I live alone, but I’m not lonely. If I want someone, I have them.”
“Someone like me?”
My face is in her hair again, and I pull the top of her ear between my lips. She does a little shiver. I kiss along the line of her brow. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing you can’t fix.”
Leaning back, I find her eyes. “What?”
Her nose scrunches briefly. “It’s a line from a movie. I know. It’s so dumb. You just made me think of it when you said that. It’s Bogie and Bacall, and it’s really romantic. He says—”
I stop her talking with a kiss, softly at first, pulling her lips with mine, tasting her whiskey mouth. “Stop being nervous.”
Her hands touch my face, and she exhales a light laugh. “I can’t help it. I’ve never been with the devil.”
I kiss her again, tongues touching, heat centering below my belt.
I want to taste her. I want to be inside her.
My mouth moves to her jaw. “The devil’s just like any other man.”
“No…” Another kiss. “He’s absolutely not.”
That does it. My hands go under her ass, and I lift her off the bar. Her legs are around my waist, and I walk the short distance across the living room to my bedroom. Her face is against my neck, and I feel her tongue touch my skin. It’s a charge of electricity that shoots straight to my cock.
Lowering her to the bed, I slide my open shirt down my arms. She’s lying on her back with those long legs bent and her hair spread all around her.
Be sure… “I want to sleep with you.”
Her brow quirks, and a naughty smile curls her lips. “Can we do more than sleep?”
“You said I’m the devil, right?”
“So I’ve heard.”
I catch her bare ankle, pulling her closer. “Then definitely.”
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13
Raquel
They say the devil was heaven’s most beautiful angel. Patton Fletcher standing over me, looking down like he wants to devour me, blows that seraph away.
He’s the tiger, and I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.
I don’t.
His shirt’s gone, and my eyes trace the strong lines of his broad shoulders to his firm chest to the ridges of his abs. The sleeve of ink following the lines of muscle in his arm is wickedly sexy—it makes my insides clench. I’m so eager, I’m sure I’ll burst into orgasm the moment he touches me.
