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“Yeah. You’re a safety risk, probably set your bed alight with one of those cancer sticks hanging out of your mouth.”
A little demon took hold. Solo brought his hand around and puffed, deliberately. Exhaled slowly. Smoke spiralled upwards in the arc of light thrown from his room.
They eyeballed each other.
“Quite possible,” he said.
For all her protestations, she was shifting slowly along the balustrade towards him, head tilted, thick curls tumbling around her shoulders. He let his eyes quickly pan down and realised she was wearing PJs with the shortest little shorts. Her thighs were pale, temptingly luscious, not slender, but shapely. Capable of wrapping around him and holding on tight for the ride…
Shut it down, idiot. A hard-on was not what he needed right now. Solo shifted his bulging crotch against the balustrade.
Still she shimmied along the rail and, as she got closer, he could see she was smiling, her lips like juicy summer fruit; ripe and ready to sink his teeth into.
He swallowed.
“Put it out,” she murmured as she got up close. Her perfume carried on the warmth of her skin.
“Make me.”
Laughter rolled soft and husky off her tongue and he had to work hard to keep his gaze from straying to those perfect breasts. Suddenly she reached out and grabbed his arm. Surprised, he pulled back and she lost her footing and stumbled into him. The soft fullness of her breasts pressed into his chest, and he arced his arm back to ensure he didn’t give her a cigarette burn. Her fingers latched on tighter, and now her hips and naked thighs were in full contact.
Solo stifled a groan. Polly’s eyebrows arched up.
She’d felt it. His cock, muscling in on the action. Her smile broadened into an evil grin. God, she was all-round gorgeous!
Their cheeks were almost touching, her breath sending shivers down his spine.
“I would. But I don’t like smoker’s breath.”
Holding his breath, he told his cock to back right down. Christ, it reminded him of when he was seventeen, getting it on with Jenny Bailey in the back row of the movies on his first ever date. He was thirty-two years old; surely he could control his libido by now? Even so, he couldn’t stop his words from following where every eager cell in his body was leading.
“Are you implying that if I go clean my teeth—”
“Or I go find my breath freshener—”
“We could come to some agreement—?”
“—That would be mutually satisfying. Maybe.”
“Hmm, that sounds… interesting.”
Those fingers still circled his arm, one stroking excruciatingly sensual circles on the skin just above his wrist. Solo tried not to pant. Her curls were tickling his neck, her lips so close he could just shift an inch to taste them.
“Breathe,” she said, ever so softly against his ear.
“No way,” punched out of closed lips.
“Come on, breathe on me.”
Did she have any idea how turned-on he was right now? Yes, he decided, she sure as hell did.
All of a sudden she released him and he watched, perplexed, as she flounced off in the other direction. She had the most amazing arse. His palms itched to fold around those beautiful butt cheeks and hear the sounds she would make as he pulled her close.
When she disappeared into her room, Solo fidgeted from one foot to the other, pinched the end of his cigarette out with his fingers, then slammed the butt onto the rail and stabbed at it hard several times.
No risk of fire now.
Not that kind, anyway.
