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He kissed her hard. His tongue dueled with hers, stealing her breath. “You have a smart mouth and a delectable ass. It’s a lethal combo.”
She wriggled in his arms, trying to get closer. “And you have the best, most wicked ideas. I never in a million years would have imagined Wynn Oliver having raunchy warehouse sex. But I love it.”
“I can’t get enough of you, Fliss.”
She sensed he hadn’t meant to say those words. They made him vulnerable. Or maybe not. Felicity had never been one to use sex as a weapon. “Take everything you want, Wynn.” She kissed him slowly, tracing his lower lip with the tip of her tongue.
Without warning, he pulled her tightly into his embrace, grinding the base of his sex against her needy spot. She literally saw stars. Or flashes of light. Later, she couldn’t re-create the precise memory of that moment no matter how hard she tried.
The climax was intense, and it went on forever.
She was still feeling the ripples when Wynn shouted her name and pounded into her. The hard metal post was the only point of solidarity when her world spiraled into madness.
To his credit, he never dropped her. Even when he lost his mind. He could barely breathe, but his hands and arms still supported her weight.
“Wow.” She rested her cheek against his bare chest. “How rich are you?” she asked.
She felt the chuckle that rumbled through his chest at her non sequitur. “Why do you ask, my sweet?”
“I just wondered if you could afford to buy this warehouse. It’s starting to grow on me.”
Wynn buried his face in the curve of her neck, still trying to catch his breath. “I agree. But we both have very comfy beds back at my place, and I told the sitter we wouldn’t be too late.”
Felicity sighed. “I know.” Suddenly, it occurred to her that her feet were still bare. “How are we going to pick up my shoes?”
He nuzzled the sensitive spot just below her ear. “There’s a folding chair behind you. How bad could it be? I’ll sit you down and bring you your sexy shoes.”
“Ugh...” The chair was probably like everything else—coated in dust. But it wouldn’t be as bad as stepping barefoot on the floor. “Okay,” she said.
Wynn walked over to the one item of furniture they could see. Carefully, he put her in the seat and stepped back. “Hang on.”
Moments later, he was back with her stilettos and something else.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at his left hand.
His grin was rueful. “Your undies? I didn’t think we should leave any evidence.”
She hid a smile, giving him her most solemn nod of agreement. “Very wise, Mr. Oliver.”
He stuffed her underwear in his pocket and squatted to put her shoes on her feet one at a time. With both his hands on her calf, she felt a simmer of longing. What would happen back at the apartment? Were they done for the night? Or was this only a beginning?
At last, he took her hand and helped her stand.
Felicity did her best to smooth her skirt. Maybe no one would look too closely.
Wynn handed her the clutch purse he’d been keeping in his pocket. “You might want to do a few repairs before we head back downstairs. You’re a little rumpled.”
“Thanks,” she said wryly. When she opened her compact and took a peek, she winced. Her long-wear lip stain had reached its limit. Her French twist was still intact, but little tendrils of hair floated around her face. And the smudge-proof mascara was...well, smudged.
Quickly, she dealt with the problems. “Okay,” she said. “That’s the best I can do.”
This time, Wynn didn’t smile. He stared at her in the semidarkness, his expression oddly blank. “You look beautiful, Fliss. Let’s go. I’ve already called my driver.”
Neither of them spoke in the elevator. But it was a short trip. In the lobby—also renovated—Wynn retrieved Felicity’s wrap and tucked it around her shoulders.
When they stepped outside, she caught her breath. The air was sharp, and the wind cut deep. Wynn helped her into the car and scooted in behind her, slamming the door to keep the cold at bay.
As they rode down one street and then another, he pulled her against his side and warmed her hands in his.
It was far too late in the evening to put up a fight. She laid her head on his shoulder and watched dreamily as the lights flashed past the car window in a dizzying array.
Wynn was silent, his thoughts a mystery. Again, she wondered what would happen if she made the first move and expressed her feelings? His lovemaking was focused and overwhelming. He was often both tender and dominant in the way he touched her. Was it possible he felt something for her but was afraid to let down his guard? How could she break through that invisible barrier?
