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She poured the bourbon and carried the glasses across the room. Lyon stood next to the sofa, the firelight playing across his chiseled features.
She handed him a glasse. “To our enemies. May they become our allies. But only when necessary.”
She was surprised when he laughed. It was a sound she hadn’t heard since she’d been back from the island.
Kira surveyed him over the rim of her glass, felt her composure slip under the weight of his gaze. Control was an illusion when it came to Lyon.
She should know that by now.
He held her gaze, and the air between them seemed to grow thick and heavy.
He downed his bourbon, took the glass from her hand, and leaned down to set both of them on the coffee table.
“Do you expect me to say thank you?” His voice was low and hoarse.
“No.” Her own voice came out in a croak. She recognized the look in his eyes. Registered the desire pooling in their depths.
“Good. Let’s go to bed.” He turned away from her and started for the staircase.
She hesitated, then followed him up the stairs. She could hardly breathe. Her pulse was pounding in her veins, her panties already damp with anticipation.
He waited on the threshold of his suite of rooms. “After you.”
“Is that an order?” She’d intended for it to sound defiant, but she heard the need in her own voice. She was fighting a rising tide and she knew it.
“Does it need to be?” he asked.
Her pride was no match for the lust he sparked at the center of her body.
She stepped through the open doorway.
He followed her in, shut the door behind him.
She stood uncertainly by the bed while he lit the gas fireplace. The room was instantly illuminated in the glow of the fire and he stood in place, like he was afraid to get any closer.
He walked slowly toward her, his eyes molten in the firelight. He stopped an inch away. She could feel the heat emanating off his body, could feel the pull of him, like a planet forcing her into orbit.
He reached for the elastic holding her ponytail in place, pulled it with a tug that almost hurt, tossed it aside.
Her hair fell around her shoulders.
He lifted the hem of her T-shirt over her head and threw it to the floor, leaving her in her pink lace bra. He leaned closer, whispered in her ear. “I knew you were wearing lace.”
Goosebumps rose across her arms.
He unclasped the bra and slid the straps slowly off her shoulders, his fingers lingering on her skin, feather light. Her nipples hardened as the crisp cotton of his shirt brushed against them.
He ran his palms up her arms and rested his hands at the base of her collarbone. He leaned almost imperceptibly toward her, eyes focused on her lips, and she wondered if he would finally kiss her.
A moment later, he leaned back, like he’d changed his mind. His hands brushed against her breasts, and she felt the flat of his palm against her stomach.
Her sex pulsed as he unsnapped her jeans and worked the zipper. She knew what it would feel like when he slid his fingers inside her, the perfect completion of it.
No, not perfect, that only came when his cock was inside her.
But close.
“Sit on the bed,” he ordered.
