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A knot of negativity unraveled within him but he wasn’t ready to call it jealousy. Laurent would be too drunk to know what to do with her, anyway. He followed that bobbing cloud of hair, plowing his way through the wall of bodies that opened and closed behind her like quicksand.
Her little exclamation of, surely not, disbelief when he grabbed her hand sent warmth spreading through his gut. Without looking at her, he dragged her toward the dim corridor near the restrooms and caged her against the wall, his hand still locked in hers. Not as private as he would have liked but he’d worked with worse. Much worse.
“Now, listen up, caveman,” she panted. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m the bloke you do not want to mess with, sweetheart.”
In his head, he had a whole raft of things to tell her, starting with how her cleavage was a menace and how she had better think twice the next time she pulled a stunt like that, but the sight—damn, the experience—of her glowing in the hallway’s shadowy light checked his speech hard.
Breasts heaving, warm, womanly scent filling his mouth and nostrils so he could hardly breathe. Those already moist lips of hers parted and quivered, a microcosm of the shake now pulsing through her entire body.
“Don’t do that again,” he growled, ostensibly a continuation of his mission to reassert control. Sure it was. Somewhere along the way, their joined hands had interlaced and were now pinned to the wall by her cheek. Her hand seemed so small in his and when she squeezed, it felt like the most intimate of pleas. A plea answered when he squeezed back, drawing a spark of relief in her big eyes. And relief was catching because just the knowledge that she wanted him, not Laurent, not some random dick, did it for him right there.
Something caught in his throat as he claimed her mouth. Her name perhaps, more likely a swear. Lips explored, tongues tangled, creating a chemical explosion of sweet that startled his body to glittering life, as if it had been waiting for this moment to wake up. She let out a rough sound that spurred him on, and he redoubled his efforts and kissed her harder.
He coasted his free hand along her hip before, finally, ah, he cupped her magnificent arse, enjoying the flawless fit in his palm. Her body unfurled for him and he hiked her up, then slipped between her legs, filling in the concave space of her sex with his own hardness. He reveled in the sensuous friction of her breasts against his chest. Another guttural sound escaped her, a sound of pure pleasure.
She hooked her leg behind his thigh for leverage and stroked that highly-sensitive part of his body with the side of her foot. He moaned against her mouth. Loudly. Dazed, he broke away but didn’t get far because she had a death grip on his hair.
“God, you taste good,” he said, wishing she’d release his hair because his head still hurt from this morning.
She blinked rapidly. “I know—I mean, you too. You taste good, too.”
He ran his tongue along his lips, confirming his findings. It had been so long since a woman had tasted this amazing. Hell, no woman had ever tasted this amazing.
“More,” he grunted.
“God, yes—” But he had already gone in before she could get the words out because he wasn’t really asking permission. He would never have thought it possible, but the kiss became even more intense as it flowed through his body, buzzing his skin. She must have felt it too because she jerked her foot against the back of his leg, dragging another loud moan from him. The slanting pressure of her lips ratcheted up the tightness in his jeans.
He felt the heated trail of her hand between their bodies, down his chest, his abs, to places onward. The kiss expanded to harder, deeper, hotter. Her hand inched below his waistband, tickling his zipper and Christ on the cross, if that wasn’t amazing. She hovered there, so close to heaven, and his brain and dick cheered her on. Lower, sweetheart, touch me, baby, please. His erection turned excruciating, and he swallowed a budding groan.
This had to stop.
At last, they came up for air and hopefully, a splash of cold-faced common sense.
Unfortunately, sense had left the building towing any remaining oxygen in its wake. They both stared, hauling air like marathon runners.
“Let’s go back to my place,” she said, low and druggy. “I live over the restaurant.”
Yes.
But.
That’s when the niggle kicked in, not in his jeans where there was no niggle room whatsoever, but in the limbic centers of his brain. The parts that were in charge of lust, sadness, joy, and fear. He wanted her—every inch of him was in agreement on that score—but he had made some promises to himself these last few months and a fuck-and-forget wasn’t part of the plan. He needed more information.
“Maybe we should slow down. Talk a little first.” She looked befuddled. He tried again. “What happened to getting to know someone?”
She cracked a sexy smile with a side of condescension. “Jack, I’m not looking to know you.”
No, she wasn’t, unless you counted biblically. She was looking for the guy who indiscriminately dated and bedded famous women. A guy whose life could be reduced to adjectives, most of them unflattering. That guy.
Really he should be applauding the novelty of meeting a woman unimpressed by his fame, only to find she just wanted him for sex. It sure made for a nice twist on the usual ‘what can you do for me?’ refrain. His gut churned in disappointment. There was some anger folded in there, though he couldn’t be sure if it was directed at her or his own sorry self.
“Lili, this isn’t a good idea.”
She released his hand and it felt all wrong. “It’s not?” He shook his head and that felt all wrong, too.
“Are you—are you turning me down?”
