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“You don’t?” Her eyes fluttered up at him provocatively.
“No,” he shook his head slowly, a smile at her sensual nature playing about his lips. “I have a room upstairs, if you’d care to join me for a private drink?”
How easy it was to issue the invitation. To slip back into the world of casual sex. A world he thought he’d left behind years earlier.
“That depends,” she said with mock consideration.
“Oh? On what?” He put a hand in the small of her back, and began to lead her towards the bank of elevators.
She waited until the elevator doors had pinged open, and they’d stepped inside, before she angled her body to his. She was close. So close she could feel the heat emanating from his frame. “I’m not thirsty.”
His laugh was low and rich. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find another way to pass the time.”
“Oh, I hope so,” she murmured, stepping away and staring at the elevator doors. He inserted his key card in the panel and pressed a button; the elevator immediately began its ascent to the top floor. It opened straight out onto the penthouse apartment of the boutique hotel.
“Very nice,” she said faintly, propping her clutch purse on the top of the marble and gold hallstand. Her breathlessness was not false. Now, standing in Gael Vivas’s hotel room, Carrie had no idea what the hell she was thinking. Was she really hoping to get some kind of childish revenge by sleeping with the man who’d sworn he didn’t want her? Was she trying to prove something to him? Or herself? Was she so desperate for validation that she needed this man to tell her she mattered? That she was beautiful?
He didn’t even know who she was! The insults were layering upon one another, leaving her partially insane. At least, that was the only justification she could think of for what she was about to do.
The second his hand came to rest on the exposed skin of her back again, any rational thought flew from her mind. She moaned softly and spun within the circle of his arms. His face was still the most beautiful she’d ever seen; his chin square, covered in a light five o’clock shadow, his eyes heavy and intense.
“You are gorgeous,” she blurted out unapologetically. She lifted her hands to the lapels of his jacket, so that she could feel the hard wall of his chest beneath her fingertips.
“Right back at you. I’m Gael.”
“I know,” she flicked her eyes to his. Still no recognition. Curiosity, yes, but knowledge? Absolutely not.
Carrie rather liked the idea of the plan that was formulating in her mind. Why let him in on their shared history and give him a chance to object? He desired her now, and it was sure as hell mutual. She lifted her hands to the slender straps of her dress. With her eyes locked to his, she eased them down her shoulders, pulling the dress with it, until it dropped to the ground. She was wearing a black thong, and sky-high heels. She walked away from him slowly, swaggering her hips.
The penthouse suite presumably had several bedrooms. Carrie walked towards the sofa.
“And you are?” He asked, his voice thick, his eyes hooded as he inspected her perfect body with obvious longing.
“Very interested in whether your reputation is exaggerated.”
His laugh was a seductive promise. He prowled towards her slowly. As he went, he pushed his jacket from his shoulders, and tossed it over the back of his sofa. “I must say, I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
“Well, this woman does,” Carrie promised.
“Excellent.” He discarded his shirt next, and then stepped out of his shoes and trousers. In just a pair of black boxer shorts, Carrie realised his body exceeded even her wildest teenage fantasies. Broad shoulders, check. Rippling abdominals, check. All over tan, check. Narrow waist and strong legs, check and check. She had no qualms enjoying her appraisal of his physical attributes.
His eyes flashed as they locked with hers. He dipped his head and meshed their mouths together with no preamble or warning. A thousand fireworks exploded through Carrie as sensations, long forgotten, swept over her.
All her life, and only one man had ever put the universe in her soul. It made a mockery of the last few years she’d spent trying to find a sexual partner who could answer the gaping whole of curiosity she bore in her breast. None had ever come close to the feeling he could arouse with one single kiss.
Gael knew he should be asking her name. Should be asking her anything. He didn’t go in for this kind of crap anymore. He wouldn’t be doing it now, if the woman before him hadn’t knocked on some spring of lust that he hadn’t even known he possessed. There was something familiar about her. Something strangely resonant. She was undoubtedly a model or actress – that explained the hitch of recognition that was being evoked. She was certainly beautiful enough to be either. Though she was a little too made up for his tastes – he generally preferred natural looking women – the effect was still startling. Perfect long eye lashes, cheeks that shimmered with bronzer and lips that were painted cherry red to emphasise the natural Cupid’s bow shape.
He ran his hands down her naked back, until he reached her rear. He cupped h
er buttocks and held them, pushing her forward, so that she came into close contact with his arousal. And he was ready. He was hard and desperate to possess her. He kissed her firmly, demanding more from her, and she met him there, her own mouth claiming and needing. Her hands tangled in his hair, and her breasts flattened against his chest. He groaned as need threatened to spiral out of control.
He stepped and she followed, their bodies locked in a dance of wordless understanding. His room was just off the dining area, and he led her to it without breaking their kiss. He’d never felt more grateful than when they stepped inside. They fell to the bed in a tangle of limbs and flesh, moving with a desperate hunger.
Carrie arched her back, as her hands reached for his boxer shorts. She pushed at them, impatient to feel him. Impatient for the conclusion to the feelings he’d inspired years earlier.
He laughed, but he was not amused. Frankly, he was terrified by the depth of desire that was pounding his insides. It was an all-consuming maelstrom of need. He shifted out of his boxers and then pushed her thong aside. Her shoes … well, her shoes he left in place. They were too entirely sexy to be discarded.
“Shit,” he swore, as he was poised to enter her. He always practiced safe sex. Always. And yet he’d almost forgotten. He sat up and reached for a condom. His fingers weren’t entirely steady as he rolled it over his length. He looked down at her, and something turned over in his chest. Some strange feeling that he’d been here before. That her eyes had looked at him with that hope and wonder.
