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‘All this came while you were in the bathroom,’ he said, looking up and holding one of the flutes out to her. ‘Compliments of the hotel.’
‘Oh.’ Angie was relieved that she hadn’t been so besotted that she’d failed to see something so obvious. She also remembered what Vanessa had said about having a couple of drinks to relax before the big event, and came forward to take the proffered glass.
Lance smiled as he clinked her glass with his. ‘To my beautiful bride,’ he toasted, and everything inside her contracted anew, her own glass freezing in mid-air.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered, her eyes dropping away to the floor lest he see the sudden tears pricking behind the lids.
‘Don’t, what?’ he asked, a dark puzzlement in his voice.
‘Don’t make fun of me... of this...’
He swore, and her blurred gaze flew up to meet his stormy one. But once he’d witnessed her very real distress, he groaned. ‘You think I would do that? There is no fun in this moment, Angie, only a very deep regret that I have waited this long. I should have done this years ago,’ he murmured, curling his free hand round her neck and gently caressing it. His eyes moved from hers to her trembling mouth, then back down to where her breasts were rising and falling in a raggedly syncopated rhythm.
‘God, but you are incredibly beautiful,’ he said thickly, putting his own glass down and taking hers from her oddly frozen fingers. Odd, because the rest of her was quivering madly. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ he said. ‘But that’s irrelevant at this vital stage. I must drink of this cup...’ And he took a sip of the champagne. ‘And so must you...’
He held the glass to her lips till they parted, then tipped a little of the champagne inside, watching her through narrowed eyes as she swallowed, then as her tongue darted forward to lick up an escaping droplet.
‘More,’ he commanded huskily, and pressed the glass back to her lips, his hands shaking slightly. The crystal rim tinkled against her teeth, and her hands fluttered up to enclose his, both of them trembling as she helped him to tip more of the sparkling liquid into her mouth.
Angie had never experienced anything as blisteringly sensual as the feel of the champagne filling her mouth and throat, before she was forced to gulp it down. After the first swallow Lance filled her mouth anew, the action repeated till not one but both glasses were empty and Angie’s senses were spinning. The champagne had hit her empty stomach with a quite savage force, fizzing into her bloodstream with incredible speed. She began to tingle all over, swaying on her high heels. Lance put the second glass back down, then scooped her up into his arms.
‘My hero,’ she said, then shuddered with a type of surrender.
He didn’t say a word, simply carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the snow-white quilt. She closed her eyes when he sat beside her on the bed and started undressing her. Her head—and the room—had begun to spin slightly. Not that she felt sick at all. She felt glorious, and very, very accommodating.
When he told her to sit up, she sat up. When he told her to lift her bottom, she lifted her bottom. When he told her to lie back down, she lay back down.
It was only when she was down to her strapless bra and panties, and he appeared to have abandoned her, that her eyes flew open. But it seemed he’d only stopped to begin taking off his own clothes. His jacket and tie had been already discarded; his shirt was hanging open to the waist.
Their eyes locked—Angie’s blinking, his guarded. ‘You feeling OK?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted, aware the room was not entirely steady.
‘You’ll be fine in a minute or two. You drank that champagne too quickly.’
‘You made me,’ she accused.
‘Yeah, right, Angie. Just as I made you come here.’ He smiled a wry smile, then stripped off the shirt, giving her an unimpeded view of the same beautiful bare chest which had fascinated her all those years ago.
Her mouth went dry as she contemplated its glorious contours, from the width of his shoulders to his well-defined chest muscles and the washboard flatness of his stomach. The thought that shortly she would be able to run her hands at will over his body sent little tremors running through her. Her nipples peaked hard inside her bra, poking at the cream satin which confined them.
