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“It’s okay. I think I’ll just finish my drink and crash. I have to be up early, anyway.”
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“No. Why?”
“At least let me buy you dinner. And then you can crash.”
Her lips curled. “Okay. But only if you let me pay for it.”
As if. He’d cut his dick off before he let her pay, but they could argue about that later. “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “I know this great place right around the corner.”
* * *
Two hours later, he was kissing her as he kicked his hotel room door shut, and she clung onto him like he was the only rock in a storm.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured against her mouth. It didn’t stop him from kissing her again, his lips trailing down her neck.
“I know.” She tugged at his hair until his lips were on hers again, their tongues tangling as he pushed her against the wall of his hotel room, his body like a rock against hers.
They parted, breathless, and his dark eyes caught hers. She could see her face reflected in his dilated pupils. She looked ravaged, her hair a mess, her lips swollen.
“Tell me to stop.” His voice was graveled.
“Do you want to?” she asked, her brow lifting.
“No.”
Her lips curled. “Good, nor do I.”
He chuckled, and she pulled at his tie, his head lowering to hers.
“But I need you to know I don’t usually do this sort of thing,” she whispered against his mouth.
Irish lifted a brow. “Neither do I.”
“Sure.” She rolled her eyes. He was too good at this. Too smooth and practiced. He had to do this all the time.
Grace didn’t, though. But maybe she should have. She’d spent way too much time with guys who pretended not to be assholes. This one had no pretense. He made her feel good.
And she needed this. She deserved it. She really did.
They’d spend the last two hours laughing and flirting, their chairs getting closer and closer together as they ate the best French food she’d encountered outside of her favorite country.
He’d even chosen her favorite wine. And yes, it had loosened her inhibitions, but they’d only drank two glasses each. Enough to make her feel good, but not enough to make her choices seem suspect.
She was here because she wanted this. Wanted him. And she wasn’t ashamed about that.
“Unzip my dress,” she whispered.
And he did, his fingers deft as he reached behind her, finding the zipper without breaking their gaze. She felt the warmth of his hand against her skin, the smooth slide of her zip as he unfastened her.
And when it fell open, he pushed it down until she was in nothing but her bra and panties.
“You’re beautiful.”
Her lip quirked. “And you know how to make a woman feel good.”
Irish winked at her. “It’s my specialty.”
